The product of seven cans of Red Bull

It's 3am and I've just got home from work but I'm still buzzing, so what better way to wind down than by submitting you all to my ramblings?

I've been thinking of ways to get my revenge on dear Chez for the flagrant misuse of the apostrophe. It actually causes me physical pain to look at it, but I can't work out how to change it. Bastard.

I was thinking of posting some embarrassing photograph, perhaps from his childhood, but then I was assured by his father that no photograph in the world could embarrass Chez. After all, we are talking about a man who has a picture of himself in full Rocky Horror regalia - stockings, suspenders, red panties, the works - and he's proud of it. And we won't go into the Miss World costume. People, we are dealing with a sick mind.

It might be rather more effective, in fact, if I were to exploit my newly-instated powers and turn the website pink. I could have lovely tinkly music playing, hundreds of irritating and bandwidth-guzzling animated gifs, and I could discuss feminist issues and all things menstrual. Do you think a little manic laughter would be appropriate here? I do.

Now that's done with, I suppose I'd better talk about something with a little more substance than mere family politics. I'm a masochist, in that I voluntarily give up my spare time to work with 30 of Satan's spawn, also known as Brownies. And I was informed today in my oh-so-riveting monthly Guiding publication that the last line of the infamous Everywhere We Go song (you must remember the one if you were ever involved in the movement) - "And if you can't hear us, you must be deaf," usually 'sung' at a volume approximately fifty decibels above the volume needed to make eyeballs bleed, is to be changed as it is offensive to deaf people. I can't even begin to comment on this travesty. Will the last person to leave Britain please turn out the lights?

Hah! I've got the power!

Well, this is my first post as blogsitter for the criminally-named Smell's Like White Spirit. I shall take care of it in the proper fashion expected of blogsitters; that is to say, I'll raid the fridge, use the phone to call all my friends in Tokyo and spend all night watching movies on Sky Box Office.

I'll try to keep it in the spirit of Chez (pun very much intended, but just not very good) where possible, but it's not easy. His shoes are very difficult to fill, mainly because they're about twice my size and I wouldn't be seen dead in them anyway. I tried to get into his mindset (a scary thought) by reviving my German, but all I could remember from GCSE was, "Meine Tante hat Durchfall," and I really don't think she'd thank me for telling you that.

That's all for today, folks, and let me leave you with an important piece of advice: don't drink water. Fish have sex in it.

Due to Popular Demand...

Little Zoe in Chav-hunting regalia.











If Little Zoe is up for it, she will be taking over the reins until I return. I have emailed her my passwords... And in anticipation of a surge in grammar Nazism, I've also slightly changed the name of the blog, just to irritate her (and Shit Sandwich) until I get back.

So Little Zoe, you're in the big time now... A blog worth nearly $4,000... Treat her kindly and she will love you for it. You know, writing a blog is like making love to a beautiful woman... You turn her on... You put your log in... And think about what angle you're going to use...

Sorry, I appear to have turned into Swiss Toni. I clearly need this holiday.

"Making a cup of coffee is like making love to a beautiful woman. It's got to be hot. You've got to take your time. You've got to stir... gently and firmly. You've got to grind your beans until they squeak. And then you put in the milk."

Holiday!!

This is where I'm going on holiday. There are turtles too, although sadly none of them are of the teenage mutant ninja variety.




Oh yes, dear reader, it is with a certain degree of excitement that I write to say I will be going on holiday on Wednesday, not to return until late the following Thursday. So it may well be a whole 9 days until you get your next fix of White Spirit.

I know it's going to be hard for you. I hide heroin in the metatags, so there will be a certain amount of cold turkey for you all until I return. And as much as I'd love to spend all my week at an internet cafe writing the blog, I don't think I will. Unless something really cool happens. Or I get bored. Or it rains.

So... Based on the roaring success of Technical Monkey's guest editor spot at the Shit Sandwich, does anyone feel up to the challenge? Would YOU like the chance to take over the reins of Smells Like White Spirit while I'm away...?

Have you ever read a blog and thought 'That's rubbish. I could do much better'. Have you ever contemplated world domination, but don't know where to start? Or have you simply got way too much free time and / or a rather inflated opinion of your own self worth?

Whatever (and I don't mean that in a chav-esque manner) Chez Guevara needs you...

If you're interested, email me at AnythingyoucandoIcandobetter@chezguevara.com. Mark your email "Yes. Oh yes. This is my destiny, what I've waited my whole life for" and make sure you write before Wednesday lunch time.

How much is that Bloggie in the Window?

My blog is worth $3,951.78.
How much is your blog worth?

If anyone would like to buy White Spirit for 4 grand, please get in touch. One careful owner. Plenty of mileage left in it. Find out how much your blog is worth...

Fancy Dress for Dogs

It's all kicking off in Blackpool...

Very bizarre story today about a guy who was trying to commit suicide by jumping off Blackpool Pier. I don't know why he was, but can you imagine... It's all got too much for you. You're at your wits end. You see there is no other way to go, you really feel that it just can't get any worse... And then your rescuers arrive, and it's Lionel Blair and Alan Carr.











How would you react like that? It would either be enough to make you jump or just so surreal that it would perhaps wake you up to what the hell you are doing. Just goes to show that sometimes guardian angels come in the strangest forms.

My favourite quote from this story...

'He just kept saying he wanted to end it all,' said Blair. Then someone said it was Lionel Blair from TV and he did a double take.

And then in a separate incident, a man threatened to jump off a shop roof after arming himself with a vacuum cleaner. Police negotiators were drafted in to talk him down as he threatened to harm himself on top of the Bananarama fruit and vegetable store. After a few hours, he surrendered the vacuum cleaner but still refused to come down. Finally after 3 hours, Police talked him down.

No wonder it's the UK's top holiday destination. It's rock n roll from noon til night.

Bit less Martial, bit more Arts...

Went to my first ever Tai Chi class yesterday. I've been thinking about learning tai chi for years. But every time I've signed up for a class, it's always either been cancelled or I haven't been able to make it... I must have tried at least 6 times.

And I was quite surprised at how hard it is. I don't know why, I just assumed I'd pick it up really easily. But it's actually a lot harder than it looks. Although I did get the mild giggles halfway through when we were doing a couple of forms and I suddenly felt like we were doing a Peter Crouch-style robot dance. Try explaining that to the rather serious (but very nice) teacher.

But I've signed up for the course and I'm looking forward to it. I've always fancied a bit of martial arts. Not that I can see this being much good in a fight... Although I've never actually ever had a fight and hopefully never will. But I don't think slow motion waving of the arms will do me much good on Union Street on a Saturday night.

Get Well Soon, Hamster...

Q. What do elton john and richard hammond have in common?
A. Both have skid marks on their helmets.

Bad taste, but one I think he'd laugh at.

I really, really hope that Wee Richard Hammond is alright. I like him a lot. At least he's out of intensive care - it remains to be seen whether he will make a full recovery. I really hope that he does. Top Gear will not be the same without him. Anyone know if he actually got the record?

Friends Lost...

Writing about my experience with Bipolar Girl in the last post (which sounds like a kind of very dodgy anti-Superhero) reminded me of just how many friends I lost as a result of that relationship. It really was a 24-hour job keeping her in one piece and, well, sane that I was simply unable to keep in touch with my friends anymore.

And I miss them. Even though I do have some truly wonderful friends now, there are still old friends that I really do miss, even now. In my bedroom I have red fur stuck to one of the walls. Yes, really I do (some things never change). And on that fur I have stuck various photos taken over the years. There are a lot of my uni years.

It is truly sad that although those years were possibly the best of my life, I have lost contact with EVERYONE I went to uni with. It seems remarkable that I left uni 11 years ago. Eleven! That means I've known them for 15 years. Jesus, it seems like yesterday.

I miss Duncy Dunc, Susan and Rav the most. Dunc's Beavis laugh... Sue's yellow hair... Rav's fundamental Ravness. I'd love to catch up with what they're doing. And I'd love to know what Kilv is up to. And Chicken Leg... Kazza... Jen, Het & The Raven...

Would it be weird to see them again? Yeah, of course... Would we still get on? Indubitably. Some probably more than others. I think that with some friends a connection can transcend many years. A couple of years ago, I got back in touch with my schoolfriend Mikey G and it was like we'd never been apart, even though it had been 14 years since we'd last seen each other. I did demolish his house, though, within 5 minutes of turning up. Sorry about that.

So if anyone out there in blogland knows the whereabouts (or indeed if any of you are actually reading this!) then get in touch. It would be ace to meet up again and see what you're all up to. I'm in beautiful, sunny Devon. You're all welcome to come and stay. So long as you don't break anything.

Stephen Fry: The Secret Life of the Manic Depressive

Watched the Stephen Fry documentary on Manic Depression last night, and thought it was excellent. I didn't know until I heard about this series that he suffered from it. But hats off to him for making such a fascinating and informative documentary.

Up until recently, I only had a vague notion as to what bipolar disorder actually is, even though I have since realised that I lived with a (sadly undiagnosed) bipolar girlfriend for nearly 4 years. It was in many ways the best years of my life; it was simultaneously the worst years of my life. I wonder how different things would have been if I'd known then what I know now. When she was good, it was like walking with angels. When she was bad, it was like living with Satan.

But that's why programs like this are so important. We both thought she was just highly strung, whereas clearly she was seriously in need of help. At least once she had a full psychotic breakdown. And I am sad to say, I just simply didn't recognise it as a mental health issue. Yes, I was there for her. But I didn't realise that it was medical help she needed, rather than me trying to 'be there' 20 hours a day solid.

If I'd understood... Perhaps if I'd been more aware of what was going on... Perhaps if she'd been diagnosed... It might have made things easier to deal with for both of us. It took me years to get over her when she left.

I haven't seen her for about 7 or 8 years. I still sometimes wonder where she is, what she's up to. Last time I saw her, she was covered in bruises. Her new boyfriend was beating her up. She was returning some of the things she had stolen from me. She'd left me with debts, to the point where I was forced to live in a camper van by Putney Bridge. And yet still I felt sorry for her.

I guess I let her take advantage of me because somehow I had an intuitive feeling that despite everything it wasn't really her fault... And it turned out that it sort of wasn't. I hope that she got diagnosed. I hope that she got the help she needed. And I hope that this program educates people - sufferers and non-sufferers alike - about Manic Depression.

A Joke about Stars in their Eyes

A young man walks onto the stage of Stars in their Eyes, on crutches, with a plaster cast from his feet to his hips. Matthew Kelly Introduces him as Simon.

“It's very brave of you to come out here,” says Matthew. “Please tell the audience what happened?”

“Well” replies Simon “about a year ago, I was driving with my uncle when we had a really bad accident. Unfortunately my uncle was killed outright but I survived. I was trapped in the car for six hours before I was eventually cut free. The doctors had me in surgery for 12 hours but they couldn't save my legs.”

“That's terrible. But I see you have legs now. Are they artificial?” asks Matthew.

“No Matthew, while I was in hospital the doctors informed me that my uncle had in fact died, but that his legs were fine and with all the advances in medical science, they could graft the bottom half of his body onto mine. As you can see the operation was successful. I have been having physiotherapy for six months and hope to be walking fully again by the end of the year.”

A huge round of applause erupts from the audience. Kelly responds with:

“That's an unbelievable story. So Simon, tell us, who are you going to be tonight?”

“Tonight, Matthew, I am going to be Simon and Half-uncle”

"Flamin Galah! We're like two Dingos in a Pod"

Is what Alf Stewart would almost certainly not have said if ever he came face to face with useless ex-German and honourary Jock manager Berti Vogts.

Hogan's Ghost! A hearty "Strewth" & "Flaming Galah!" to my Aussie Readers

Yes, we really do think that all Aussies talk like Alf in Home & Away, and the worst insult you can throw at someone is that they should "rack off, ya flamin' mongrel".

Anyhoo, I was on MSN with my old friends Carla from Buenos Aires and Rahne from Oz. And I was amazed to hear that some of Rahne's school kids read this blog (which is why, dear reader, I haven't used the words 'cunt' or 'fuck' recently).

So I'd just like to say a hearty "flaming galah" to the Year 8's in, erm, Wagamamamamba school (Rahne did tell me the real name, but I've forgotten it. Sorry, I'm not the sharpest stingray tail at the bottom of the sea).

But fascinating to find out how many people are actually reading the blog, and from all over the world. As citizens of the world, I welcome you one and all.

Chicken in the Air, Deckchair up my Nose

Hooray! Hooray! I've booked a holiday! After working far too damn hard by far I've booked myself a last minute holiday next week in the Greek island of Zante. Apparently it's an Ionian island, which reminds me of my favourite Physics joke, where an atom goes to the Doctor:

"Doctor, I've lost my electron."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm positive"

Anyhoo, I'm even more chuffed with the holiday on account of the fact that it only cost £130. Which is a total bargain, when you consider that I'm going on my own. It's so irritating, having to pay single supplements when you go somewhere on your own.

It's funny. Last year I went to Ibiza on my own and it was absolutely amazing. There's something incredibly liberating about not having to worry about anyone or anything else. It was without a doubt the best holiday I've ever had.

But the looks that I would get from from people when I told them I was on my own... It was like I had two heads. And when I told them I did actually HAVE friends at home but had CHOSEN to go on my own... And that I was really enjoying it... Some people actually got offended by that. Crazy. As if I'd done it deliberately to get at them. It's amazing what some people do when faced with their own insecurities.

And as an added bonus... I booked a trip to the Turks & Caicos Islands today to go visit my friend Anna! Double hooray! And that was a bit of a bargain too... 5,000 airmiles and £185. I'm off in January. I can't wait, I've missed her like mad, there's been a big Anna-shaped hole in my life since May.

So all in all, life is looking pretty sunny today. But hopefully nowhere near as sunny as it's going to look next week.

A Joke about Poles

A Polish immigrant went to the Specsavers for an eye test. The optician showed him a card with the letters:

'C Z W I X N O S T A C Z.'

"Can you read this?" the optician asked.

"Read it?" the Pole replied, "I know the guy."

A joke about the Lottery

A woman came home, screeching her car into the driveway, and ran into the house. She slammed the door and shouted at the top of her lungs, "Honey, pack your bags. I won the lottery!" The husband said, "Oh my God! What should I pack, beach stuff or mountain stuff?" "Doesn't matter," she said. "Just get out."

A joke about Bondage

One day, a man came home and was greeted by his wife dressed in a very sexy nightie. "Tie me up," she purred, "and you can do anything you want." So he tied her up and went golfing.

Love him or hate him...

You just can't ignore ex Italy supremo, probable Mafia boss and owner of the mighty Rossoneri, Silvio Berlusconi. Here he is seen having 'fun' with a female traffic warden.

Talking of all things Italian, for a great short sketch on the differences between Italians and the rest of Europe, click here.

Liars and Charlatans of the Worst Kind...

Not much gets me cross. I'm a pretty laid-back kind of guy... But something that really gets my goat is when Big Business lies to you, or pretends to be something they're not.

I'm on a health drive. After years of living on crisps, chocolate and fizzy drinks, I've realised that I need something with perhaps a vitamin or two in it if I want to live to the ripe old age of 150. As mentioned on a previous post, I'm cooking my own food. But I just get so confused as to what IS actually healthy. So I rely on people like Tescos and the like to help me. But there are so many pitfalls.

I'll give you an example... I'm mildly wheat-intolerant. So I decided that wouldn't it be a good idea if I had an oat-based type breakfast cereal? So off I trundle to Tescos and I bought their own-brand oat muesli. You don't get healthier than muesli, and wheat-free to boot! But I was horrified when I read the lable to see that it was actually 40% sugar.

Yes, that's not a typo... In every 100g of cereal, there is 40g of sugar. I don't even think that Frosties has that much sugar in it. I mean that is absolutely staggering. And that makes me bloody angry.

Who buys muesli? People that are trying to be healthy. When I buy 'healthy' food, is it too much that it is actually fucking healthy? It's the equivalent of raising free-range chickens, but sneaking out each night to give them all a damn good shoeing. It goes against the point of WHY you buy that product.

If you buy 'nuke food' or sausages or something like that, you know that it's going to be full of lips, elbows, eyeballs, scrotums and a million other hideous things, not to mention preservatives, e numbers and the rest. But when you decide to make a difference, you shouldn't need a fucking degree in nutritional science just to buy a breakfast that isn't going to give you diabetes in 5 years time.

I propose a Traffic Light Series for ALL food. Green for healthy, Amber for moderation and Red for unhealthy. That would make all the food manufacturers sit up and take notice. And would perhaps help the rest of us to actually notice what it is we're buying.