Well in a month it will be that time of year when we do that once a year ritual of excessive drinking and eating mixed in with a few family arguments.
The same shitty Christmas songs that there is no escape from have already started..
Certain lines in the Feed The World song have always bugged me like:
“Feed the world do the know it's Christmas time” -unless they’re Christians then I don’t think they care.
“There won’t be snow in Africa this Christmas time” -Good! Hunger and snow is not a good combination.
“Well tonight thank God it’s them instead of you” - Should you really be thanking God for other peoples misery.
I guess most people look forward to Christmas because it’s some time off work, well I hardly get anytime off so that doesn’t apply to me.
I’m sure that I will have a good time over the Christmas period but maybe I would look forward to it more if it was every four years, like the Olympics and the world cup.
Tuesday 24 November 2009
Tuesday 17 November 2009
Just Get The Deal Done And Leave
One of my housemates friend is staying for a few days and she asked me if I could get any cannabis. I said no. I could of done but it isn’t worth the hassle.
I could never really get into smoking drugs, hash, weed, whatever. I only bought it for myself a few times and that was through a friend who sold it on to me.
One reason is that I have no need to smoke something that will make me a more lazier person than what I already am. I need no help with that.
But another reason is that I just can’t be dealing with drug dealers. The amount of time over the years that I’ve wasted in some grimy small time drug dealers flat because a mate wanted to get some weed.
My mate wants to buy some drugs, the dealer wants to sell some drugs so do the deal and get out of there. But no, I had to go into the flat and sit on the tatty cherry bombed sofa while small talk commences and a hyperactive pit bull type mongrel jumps up at me. Eventually he gets the scales out and weighs out the drugs. Right it’s in a bag, it’s in my mates hand and the money is handed over. Great, now can we get out of here please? No, my mate takes out a rizla opens the bag and proceeds to roll a joint.
So now it will be at least another twenty minutes of sitting on the edge of a stained sofa while pretending to listen to their tedious conversation.
Why feel the need for this fake social interaction ritual? When you buy a loaf of bread you don’t cut the loaf and eat a sandwich with the baker.
I could never really get into smoking drugs, hash, weed, whatever. I only bought it for myself a few times and that was through a friend who sold it on to me.
One reason is that I have no need to smoke something that will make me a more lazier person than what I already am. I need no help with that.
But another reason is that I just can’t be dealing with drug dealers. The amount of time over the years that I’ve wasted in some grimy small time drug dealers flat because a mate wanted to get some weed.
My mate wants to buy some drugs, the dealer wants to sell some drugs so do the deal and get out of there. But no, I had to go into the flat and sit on the tatty cherry bombed sofa while small talk commences and a hyperactive pit bull type mongrel jumps up at me. Eventually he gets the scales out and weighs out the drugs. Right it’s in a bag, it’s in my mates hand and the money is handed over. Great, now can we get out of here please? No, my mate takes out a rizla opens the bag and proceeds to roll a joint.
So now it will be at least another twenty minutes of sitting on the edge of a stained sofa while pretending to listen to their tedious conversation.
Why feel the need for this fake social interaction ritual? When you buy a loaf of bread you don’t cut the loaf and eat a sandwich with the baker.
Friday 13 November 2009
Happily Ever After [or maybe not]
‘The secret to a happy ending is knowing when to role the credits’
Cinderella.
So she goes to the ball tries on the shoe and it fits so the prince asks her to marry him. [because absolutely nobody else could possible have the same size feet as her]
Then a few years later the prince develops a bit of a drinking problem, he becomes abusive towards her. She gives him one last chance and then he changes his ways. They’re happier than they’ve ever been but then Cinderella gets some kind of wasting disease and she dies a slow horrible death. The prince is broken hearted and hit’s the bottle more than ever. He dies alone in a puddle of his own puke and shit. The end.
The Princess and The Pea.
The prince cannot be certain that the girls he’s met are real princesses. [because of course he has to marry into another inbred family like royal families always do]
Then a rain drenched girl who claims to be a princess seeks shelter in the castle, She sleeps on a bed of twenty mattresses. The mother of the prince puts a pea underneath the mattresses. When asked is she had a good night sleep the girl complains that she was kept awake by something hard in the bed. [Ungrateful cow, stay out in the rain next time.] The Prince rejoices [because of course only a princess would have the sensitivity to feel a pea under all that bedding. So obviously that is the girl for him] and they marry.
Mainly due to sleep deprivation the princess turns out to be a grumpy bitch and the prince is happy when she falls from thirty mattresses to her death.
While on the subject of fairytales I recently bought a paper that had a supplement with fairytales in. One of them was Snow White. A few things that I noticed about the Snow White fairytale:
When the queen asks the mirror who is the fairest of them all and the mirror tells her it’s Snow White, at the time Snow White is seven. Seven! The mirror should be put on the sex offenders list!
The huntsmen is ordered to take Snow White into the forest to kill her and bring back her lungs and liver as a token, but he lets her go and brings back the lungs and liver of a young boar which the queen eats in a stew. Even Hannibal Lector drew a line at eating kids.
In the forest she meets dwarfs who basically say that she can stay with them if she acts as their slave.
After a couple of failed attempts the queen poisons Snow White with an apple. The dwarfs put her in a glass coffin and place it on the mountain-side. Some time passes [doesn’t say how long, so lets be generous and say three or four years which would make snow white about ten or eleven] when a prince sees Snow White in the coffin and asks the dwarfs if he can have it because he can not live without the sight of Snow White. That's the dead eleven year old body of Snow White!
He takes the coffin and she wakes up when the piece of poison apple dislodges from her throat and he asks her to marry him. [Well Jerry Lee Lewis married his fourteen year old cousin.
Then for some reason the wicked queen is forced to dance in iron hot shoes until she dies]
They live happily married until Snow White found out that he has a thing for young dead looking girls I.e. young Goths, and leaves him.
Cinderella.
So she goes to the ball tries on the shoe and it fits so the prince asks her to marry him. [because absolutely nobody else could possible have the same size feet as her]
Then a few years later the prince develops a bit of a drinking problem, he becomes abusive towards her. She gives him one last chance and then he changes his ways. They’re happier than they’ve ever been but then Cinderella gets some kind of wasting disease and she dies a slow horrible death. The prince is broken hearted and hit’s the bottle more than ever. He dies alone in a puddle of his own puke and shit. The end.
The Princess and The Pea.
The prince cannot be certain that the girls he’s met are real princesses. [because of course he has to marry into another inbred family like royal families always do]
Then a rain drenched girl who claims to be a princess seeks shelter in the castle, She sleeps on a bed of twenty mattresses. The mother of the prince puts a pea underneath the mattresses. When asked is she had a good night sleep the girl complains that she was kept awake by something hard in the bed. [Ungrateful cow, stay out in the rain next time.] The Prince rejoices [because of course only a princess would have the sensitivity to feel a pea under all that bedding. So obviously that is the girl for him] and they marry.
Mainly due to sleep deprivation the princess turns out to be a grumpy bitch and the prince is happy when she falls from thirty mattresses to her death.
While on the subject of fairytales I recently bought a paper that had a supplement with fairytales in. One of them was Snow White. A few things that I noticed about the Snow White fairytale:
When the queen asks the mirror who is the fairest of them all and the mirror tells her it’s Snow White, at the time Snow White is seven. Seven! The mirror should be put on the sex offenders list!
The huntsmen is ordered to take Snow White into the forest to kill her and bring back her lungs and liver as a token, but he lets her go and brings back the lungs and liver of a young boar which the queen eats in a stew. Even Hannibal Lector drew a line at eating kids.
In the forest she meets dwarfs who basically say that she can stay with them if she acts as their slave.
After a couple of failed attempts the queen poisons Snow White with an apple. The dwarfs put her in a glass coffin and place it on the mountain-side. Some time passes [doesn’t say how long, so lets be generous and say three or four years which would make snow white about ten or eleven] when a prince sees Snow White in the coffin and asks the dwarfs if he can have it because he can not live without the sight of Snow White. That's the dead eleven year old body of Snow White!
He takes the coffin and she wakes up when the piece of poison apple dislodges from her throat and he asks her to marry him. [Well Jerry Lee Lewis married his fourteen year old cousin.
Then for some reason the wicked queen is forced to dance in iron hot shoes until she dies]
They live happily married until Snow White found out that he has a thing for young dead looking girls I.e. young Goths, and leaves him.
Tuesday 10 November 2009
Cat Rustling
Don’t feed the cat I told my housemates. Why not they said? Well it isn’t ours for a start. How do you know it isn’t a stray? It has a collar around it’s neck. But it’s so cute, don’t you think? It’s a cat, so what. But we have mice and the cat will get rid of them. I will set some mouse traps, we don’t need a cat to do the job. Why don’t you like cats? There’re lovely animals. If they are so lovely then why are thay one of the only animals that kills just for the fun of it? We can feed it until the mice are gone. Cats are so disloyal you only have to feed it a couple of times and it won’t stop hanging around.
They didn’t listen and I was made to look the bad guy for not acting all soppy towards it. Then it’s mate turns up for a visit, then the both of them are hovering outside everyday. So now there are two cats that they're leaving food out for. I had had enough, I chased them off. They came back. I through a glass of water on them. They came back. I hosed them. They came back. I ask my mate how to get ride of them and he suggests the river Roding. Something less extreme as that I say. He suggests chilli powder. So I put chilli powder in their food. They came back. Resilient fuckers I must admit.
Then the cat gets pregnant. I told you not to feed the cat, now we have a whole family. Don’t expect me to buy cat food, it's not my problem.
So in the garage the cat gives birth to four kittens. Of course they all take soppy into overdrive, talking baby talk to the kittens. “You’re a lovely little thing arnt you? Yes you are, yes you are. They are just so sweet, blah blah blah.”
The landlady says that the kittens have to go, and she doesn’t want any cats in the house. So one of the girls makes arrangements for people to collect the kittens. By this time the Romanian couple who live in the house have taking a shine to the white kitten and think it’s theirs. I tell the Romanian bloke that the landlady says they have to go. He won’t listen. Someone comes around to collect a kitten. He is adamant they don’t take the white one. Soon only the white kitten is left. He makes it clear that he is keeping the cat. So on a Friday night I am walking to the train station to meet a girl who is going to take the kitten. Yes I put the kitten in a bag and smuggle it out of the house. Cat rustling on a Friday night. I am left to do the dirty work. Me who said not to feed the cat in the first place.
It all came to a head. A kitchen showdown. “I will get my kitten back, I love that kitten, who let the person in the house to get it?” he repeated while looking at me. I told him that the landlady said they had to go. He knew I had a major part in giving it away. He said that he and his wife will be moving and they want to take the mother cat. Fair enough, all that’s well that ends well.
Since the kitchen showdown there hasn’t been any hostilities. In fact he has been very reasonable towards me, friendly hellos and asking if I have had a good day. Something’s up. If it was part of a mafia film right now I would be worried about getting whacked. It’s not a mafia film but I might start locking my door at night.
Don’t feed the cat I said.
They didn’t listen and I was made to look the bad guy for not acting all soppy towards it. Then it’s mate turns up for a visit, then the both of them are hovering outside everyday. So now there are two cats that they're leaving food out for. I had had enough, I chased them off. They came back. I through a glass of water on them. They came back. I hosed them. They came back. I ask my mate how to get ride of them and he suggests the river Roding. Something less extreme as that I say. He suggests chilli powder. So I put chilli powder in their food. They came back. Resilient fuckers I must admit.
Then the cat gets pregnant. I told you not to feed the cat, now we have a whole family. Don’t expect me to buy cat food, it's not my problem.
So in the garage the cat gives birth to four kittens. Of course they all take soppy into overdrive, talking baby talk to the kittens. “You’re a lovely little thing arnt you? Yes you are, yes you are. They are just so sweet, blah blah blah.”
The landlady says that the kittens have to go, and she doesn’t want any cats in the house. So one of the girls makes arrangements for people to collect the kittens. By this time the Romanian couple who live in the house have taking a shine to the white kitten and think it’s theirs. I tell the Romanian bloke that the landlady says they have to go. He won’t listen. Someone comes around to collect a kitten. He is adamant they don’t take the white one. Soon only the white kitten is left. He makes it clear that he is keeping the cat. So on a Friday night I am walking to the train station to meet a girl who is going to take the kitten. Yes I put the kitten in a bag and smuggle it out of the house. Cat rustling on a Friday night. I am left to do the dirty work. Me who said not to feed the cat in the first place.
It all came to a head. A kitchen showdown. “I will get my kitten back, I love that kitten, who let the person in the house to get it?” he repeated while looking at me. I told him that the landlady said they had to go. He knew I had a major part in giving it away. He said that he and his wife will be moving and they want to take the mother cat. Fair enough, all that’s well that ends well.
Since the kitchen showdown there hasn’t been any hostilities. In fact he has been very reasonable towards me, friendly hellos and asking if I have had a good day. Something’s up. If it was part of a mafia film right now I would be worried about getting whacked. It’s not a mafia film but I might start locking my door at night.
Don’t feed the cat I said.
Sunday 8 November 2009
Bean Bag Blues
I once heard someone say that when you buy your first sofa that’s when you’re finally all grown up. If that’s the case then I have a long way to go until I’m all grown up. Maybe your status in life can be recognised in what chair you own. The king sits on a thrown, then peasant sits on a tree stump.
Well the only kind of chair that I own is a bean bag, no actually I own two bean bags. I also own a stool but I use that as a bedside table so I guess that doesn’t really count.
I used to own a table and chairs set that I bought from Ikea over ten years ago but when I moved it occupied too much space in my new room. So to maximize possible room space I got rid of them a replaced them with the two bean bags. I now call that part of my room the lounge area. Sometimes I sit on my bed and sometimes I gravitate towards the lounge area.
From table and chairs to bean bags. Downsizing. I’m going in the wrong direction to get that three piece suit sofa. And I won’t change direction if I keep living my early 30’s like my early 20’s.
But I really don’t won’t to spend Saturday afternoons trouping around DFS looking for a cheep deal on a three piece sofa. Maybe one day I will purchase a huge lazy boy chair. But for now I am content with the bean bags. This aint no blues. Hail to the bean bags!
Well the only kind of chair that I own is a bean bag, no actually I own two bean bags. I also own a stool but I use that as a bedside table so I guess that doesn’t really count.
I used to own a table and chairs set that I bought from Ikea over ten years ago but when I moved it occupied too much space in my new room. So to maximize possible room space I got rid of them a replaced them with the two bean bags. I now call that part of my room the lounge area. Sometimes I sit on my bed and sometimes I gravitate towards the lounge area.
From table and chairs to bean bags. Downsizing. I’m going in the wrong direction to get that three piece suit sofa. And I won’t change direction if I keep living my early 30’s like my early 20’s.
But I really don’t won’t to spend Saturday afternoons trouping around DFS looking for a cheep deal on a three piece sofa. Maybe one day I will purchase a huge lazy boy chair. But for now I am content with the bean bags. This aint no blues. Hail to the bean bags!
Friday 6 November 2009
Angels Vs Devils
Last night I found out that the postal strike was called off. I was relived in a way because money is tight on a four day week.
But I found out around seven thirty and by this time I was already a few beers down and had it in my mind that I was going to get drunk and have the next day off.
Some options went through my mind.
1 Go in to work as normal.
2 Act like I hadn’t watched the news so was oblivious that the strike was off.
3 Go in late and say that I had only just found out the strike was off when I heard it on the radio.
Whatever way I was going to get drunk so I went to the pub and drunk a lot more.
Usually when I’m in the pub and I’ve got work in the morning the cartoon devil is on my shoulder telling me to stay out and drink more and the cartoon angel is telling me that it’s about time I went home to sober up and get a good nights sleep.
Well yesterday the angel didn’t get a look in. Not one bit.
I set my alarm but slept right through it. My manager phoned me up at 6.30 and said that the strike is off. “Is it? Okay I will be there in half an hour,” I said.
Sometimes you just got to got with what the devil says. If you listened to the angel all the time then life sure would be a bore.
But I found out around seven thirty and by this time I was already a few beers down and had it in my mind that I was going to get drunk and have the next day off.
Some options went through my mind.
1 Go in to work as normal.
2 Act like I hadn’t watched the news so was oblivious that the strike was off.
3 Go in late and say that I had only just found out the strike was off when I heard it on the radio.
Whatever way I was going to get drunk so I went to the pub and drunk a lot more.
Usually when I’m in the pub and I’ve got work in the morning the cartoon devil is on my shoulder telling me to stay out and drink more and the cartoon angel is telling me that it’s about time I went home to sober up and get a good nights sleep.
Well yesterday the angel didn’t get a look in. Not one bit.
I set my alarm but slept right through it. My manager phoned me up at 6.30 and said that the strike is off. “Is it? Okay I will be there in half an hour,” I said.
Sometimes you just got to got with what the devil says. If you listened to the angel all the time then life sure would be a bore.
Tuesday 3 November 2009
Guy Fawkes
Celebrating the downfall of the gunpowder plot with fireworks on November 5th every year is like one day a year people dressing up as a Taliban or IRA member to celebrate the downfall of failed bombings.
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