Saturday, 18 September 2010


Well bugger me! It's been a fair auld while hasn't it?! But hold your freakin' horses...I'm back! Back again to spin you amazing dits of derring-do and heroism the likes of which have never been seen. Or something outrageously similar.

Went to France last week. It was alright if I'm honest. Bit disappointed by the complete lack of anyone wearing a beret/stripy jumper combo or riding a bike with a baguette wrapped around their neck...but you can't have it all. But yeah - Paris. It's a cool city, but there's a distinct lack of 'normal' shops, y'know, like an Off Licence or whatever, just selling odds and ends, drinks and stuff: every shop you come across is either full of plastic Eiffel towers or is a brasserie. And do you know what a brasserie is? It's a cafe. Albeit one that will sell you a cup of coffee the size of a thimble and then charge you about 8 quid for the pleasure. Also, and at the risk of offending an entire culture, what's with the fucking tips? Every place you go in, there's a waiter who comes hovering over and making you feel uncomfortable while you try to smash your food in...and then you have to give him a tip for it. Gah! Just give me my food and go away! Ho hum.

Other Paris musings: the metro (underground) is always ridiculously busy...yet you get the odd carriage with a classical violinist playing in it. The cars drive the other way, so you spend your first few days trying not to get knocked over when you cross the road. There are people selling corn on the cob in the street...that they've just cooked in a shopping trolley with a BBQ in it. Fewer people than you'd think actually speak English.

Which was a bit of a shock to an ignorant English fuck like me. I suppose the French have every right to speak their own language in their own county...but Jesus does it make things difficult. Especially when you're staying in a hotel that makes Fawlty Towers look like the Malmaison and none of the staff can speak the Queens, or apparently understand the most basic of improvised sign language. Bloody foreigners. And yes...that was a fucking JOKE before you decide to write some pathetic complaining response in the comments section. I feel I have to include these disclaimers just to make sure anyone reading this doesn't report me to the FBI or something.

Going back to the holiday though, we (myself and my better half, naturally) managed to cram a hell of a lot into the 5 days we spent in Gaul. Some of the fine attractions and museums we visited included The Louvre (where we saw the Venus de Milo and Mona Lisa), d'Orsay (where we saw some Van Gogh pictures), Le Orangerie (where some bloke called Monet had some pretty pictures of flowers hanging up), Conciergerie (a historic prison-thing), Montparnasse Tower, the Eiffel tower, a Seine river cruise, Notre Damme, Sacre Couer, Napoleon's Tomb, a museum about the army...and various other excrutiatingly cultured things. I reckon I ingested that much culture in those 5 days that I could get my own show on Radio 4 where I don't actually say anything - the culture just radiates from my inanimate body and out through the listener's speakers. Cough.

The best bit really though, was going to see a show at the world famous Moulin Rouge. It's true - the birds have their tits out the whole time...and there was some cool dancing too. In short, it was ace - and a special mention must go to the incredible juggler who was throwing about 20 clubs about at one point...whilst he walked around on his fecking knees! Awesome. And even more awesome was the way we were only meant to have a small bottle of champagne between us...but the staff fucked up and gave us a full-size one instead! Hehe!

Summat else in Paris that made me happy was this:

Yep, it's a white chocolate Twix. Why has this never been done before?! It's so beautifully simple, yet I've never seen one in a shop in dear old Blighty. And yes - it was simply divine.

Speaking of food, I spotted something in ASDA this week that registered on the opposite end of the edibility scale to the white chocolate Twix: The Crispwich. I took a pic of it on my trusty Palm Pre but I have no way of getting said snap onto the net at the moment so I'll just have to describe the horror to you: It's essentially two monstrously thick slices of buttered bread, entombed in a cardboard sandwich box along with a little bag of crisps. You build it yourself. You eat it. You feel dirty.

Other news: Proton. It's quite well known to those me that I drive a Proton Impian, and if you check back through the archives of this very blog, you'll eventually come across a post where I go on about my experiences with said vehicle. I think it's a quality machine and have had no problems with it, other than people taking the piss. Last week though, I discovered that Proton actually had a team in the 2003 British Touring Car Championship. Here's a pic of their vehicle:

Yes! It's an Impian! And according to the little blurb I found on Wikipedia about the team, the vehicle was only a slightly modified version of the one I've got! So in your face, all you twats who take the piss out of my car!

Right, that's enough crap for one day. Only a few weeks left of this fucking horrendous job...and then I'm free! Woohoo!

Update: I've just washed my beloved Proton...and some cunt has traded some blue paint with it. Grrrr...

Thursday, 26 August 2010

Bleary-eyed Musings

Well, it's 4am and I just thought I'd check in to spill my thoughts across the technological void. Just finished watching series 1 of Dexter - a US TV show/drama about a psychologically unhinged Miami forensics expert who also moonlights as a serial killer. And I have to say that it's one of the best shows I've had the pleasure of watching. Prior to Dexter, I was pretty engrossed in Fringe - a kind of next-gen X Files clone, but I got a bit bored of it towards the end of season 2 because it got a bit ridiculous and started throwing loads of random new characters in...and just got a bit boring. Same thing happened when I tried to get into series 1 of 24. I know everyone bleats on about how good 24 is, but I got to episode 15-ish (I think) and then got bored. Dexter, on the other hand, kept my attention all the way through. I borrowed the series 1 DVD box set off a friend last week and blasted through all 12 episodes in under 2 days and I'm seriously considering purchasing series 2 and 3 once I have sufficient funds. And for someone who never, ever buys DVDs, that's a strong indication of how good I thought the first series was.

Thinking about it, it's quite apparent that I do have something of an issue when it comes to sticking with things to the end. That's because it something doesn't really grab me, I switch off and let it fall to the wayside. And it's not just TV series - I do it with films too. Most movies follow some kind of formula and with the vast majority, I seem to be able to predict what's going to happen and then just switch off about three quarters of the way through. And then there are games too - I usually get a fair way into a game and then get bored and end up trading it in before I've even finished it. Why? who knows...but I guess I'm just one of those people who needs to be constantly shown something new for my attention to remain focused. Probably why I'm always complaining about being bored. Hmmm. Either that, or I'm just generally bored with my life at present. Yeah - it's most probably that, to be fair. Pfft.

Just looked at the little clock in the corner of the screen. It's 4.35am now. 2 hours to go before I can get the fuck out of this hideous little cell and go to bed. And fuck, do I need to get some sleep. The past 3 days have seen me go to bed at about 7am and then get up again at about 11 to go to the gym or some shit, but I know for a fact that today that simply isn't going to happen. I am absolutely fucked beyond belief and I reckon I'll spend the whole cunting day in my pit. The upside of that is that tonight I (hopefully) won't feel like a wet, crumpled newspaper; the downside is that when I awake I'll only have coming back here to this fucking horrendous cubicle to look forward to.

It's bad news when you hate your job as much as I do. You spend so much of your life at work that when you despise it this much, it has an adverse effect on your whole personality. Look at the facts. If you enjoy going to work, there's a damned good chance that you're likely to be a generally happy or upbeat person. Which is great. If, however, you see your job as some kind of punishment or prison sentence (as I do), and you spend every second that you're away from it dreading going back...then it's going to manifest itself in the form of a generally negative attitude. Hence my current, slightly melancholy outlook on life. Oh, to have a job I enjoy. Oh to have a job where there's someone to actually talk to or have a laugh with. Humph. I have had jobs in the past that I enjoyed, but they were mainly temp jobs and so by their very nature didn't last that long. One particular job I had was working in the reprographics department of a huge law firm in Manchester. The 'workshop' was in the basement of the office block and there was a team of about 5 of us down there basically photocopying documents etc. Sounds dull as fuck, I know, but in reality it was anything but. Normally, we would have to enlarge building plans etc and because the photocopiers were only able to enlarge up to a certain size, we sometimes had to do it by hand, using rulers and massive sheets of paper across the tables. It was actually quite good fun recreating massive scale copies of the documents and architectural plans, and the banter was brilliant, too. Ah...halcyon days! A far cry for the miserable and solitary existence I now lead. Tut.

This post has gone off on a bit of a random tangent (don't they all?!) and I'm bored now (see paragraph 2 for further information), so until the next time (probably 4am tomorrow morning)...adios.

Monday, 23 August 2010

The Week That Was

Hola. It's been a week since I last updated and a fair bit has gone on. Well, a 'fair bit,' when compared to the usual amount of non-stuff that happens in my weeks away from this hallowed keyboard. Non-stuff. Hmmm. Could be a worthy entry in the Newspeak dictionary of 1984. Anyway, yeah - I've been away for a week but now I'm back grinding out the night shift for the next seven. Pfft. I can see myself getting to Wednesday before I start to hate all of humanity and the entire pantheon of creation on Earth, due to the cranium-destroying boredom and tiredness that is associated with my current post. Hopefully the vast collection of reading materials I have amassed will tide me over. Bit of Lovecraft, bit of Orwell...and maybe even a tiny little bit of Dan Brown's latest novel, The Lost Symbol, if I can prise it from a colleague's gnarled talons.

Went to a driving range on Monday. Was a bit elitist, being in deepest, darkest Dorset and all, and when me and my accomplice entered the club shop in order to collect some clubs/get some tokens for the ball machine (er...where you get the golf balls from) there was a sudden change in the courteousness of the old twat behind the counter. Probably because neither of us speak like we have broom handles wedged up our rectums and weren't wearing chinos and pink tank-tops. But nonetheless, we acquired some 'irons' and some balls and proceeded to smack them up a range for a good hour or so. Was quite a good laugh and I actually went again later in the week for round two. Probably won't make me want to dress up like a prize prick and take up the 'sport' proper, but visiting the driving range is something I might be tempted to do with more regularity after trialling it this past week.

Tuesday saw me take a trip out to visit a mate at his flat. We played on the Xbox for a bit and then, inevitably went to get a few cans of 'refreshment' from a local shop. This then turned into a load of other people turning up at his gaff and us both being coerced into visiting a local town for a few more 'quiet drinks.' It was a fairly uneventful night to be honest, and certainly didn't involve me relapsing and doing everything I poured scorn on in one of my recent posts - i.e. getting wankered and spending a shit load of cash on booze...although it did see me get twatted by a group of bouncers and then taken to the hospital for a head X-ray. I won't go into the details of the story but it involved me being refused entry to a bar, me trying to gain entrance, and then me being punched to the ground and having my head jumped on by several rather burly gentlemen clad in black bomber jackets. Police, ambulance, X-ray, yadda yadda yadda. I ended up with two black eyes, a broken nose and various other cuts and bruises...which I'll bet looked a treat here at work the following night when I covered a mate's shift on the Desk of Doom (TM). Quite brilliantly, my wounds seem to have healed with amazing rapidity and now, barely 5 days later, the only signs of my beating are a slightly bruised right eye and a scab on my elbow. Ain't the human body ace?!

Wednesday I recovered (a bit) and did the aforementioned night shift. Thursday I went to Lidl and gawped at the weird and wonderful foreign scran they sell there. Seriously, if the one nearest to me was closer than Tesco, I reckon it'd be my supermarket of choice. They've got all kinds of shit in there that you'd never get in ASDA or Tesco. And it's cheap as fuck too. May make an extra effort to get over there more often in the future.

On Friday I just chilled with one of my mates (who, incidentally has had my Dreamcast in his possession for the last two months, and has completed about 20 of my games...something I've not managed in 5 years of owning it), watched Roadhouse (yeah, that shit Patrick Swayze film), ate sausage & mash and just generally loafed about in a pit of filth. It was just like being back at university...but on a military base. Frankly, it was awesome - you've gotta love working over leave periods. But I digress. Went over to see my ladyfriend at the weekend and we indulged in various activities including a visit to an abandoned town called Tyneham. Tyneham, according to the various articles on the net, was cleared of it's population during WWII when the US Army set up a tank training range nearby. The people left all of their belongings there but never returned after the war, so there's this eerie abandoned village just there, slowly falling to bits in the middle of the countryside. It's pretty cool to see it all there and fully open for the public to wander around in. Some of the buildings (the Parish church and the school house) have been renovated and are like mini museums to the history of the town, but the rest of them are empty shells.

On Sunday, I was persuaded to go to the cinema and endure The Sorcerer's Apprentice. I was fully expecting it to be a complete load of shite...but I must admit to being fairly impressed. In case you have no idea what the fuck I'm on about, it's the new Nic Cage film and is about some young lad who is a descendant of Merlin and who is the last saviour of mankind. Fairly bog-standard stuff, I'm sure you'll agree, but there are a few laughs and some excellent magic-filled fight scenes. After that, I enjoyed an amazing Sunday roast (all 20,000 calories of it), and today I came back to reality. Which is where I now reside. And will continue to do so for the next seven nights...but it's not all face-shatteringly bad: I'm off to Paris in two weeks' time. And that will be superb.

So, 'till the next time I can be arsed to update: bonjour mi amigos. Or some shit.

Saturday, 14 August 2010

Rotten Apples

So my iPod has finally died. Well, semi-died. And I have to admit I'm slightly annoyed. It's an iPod Nano 5G - the one with the camera on it - and up until about two weeks ago it worked perfectly and I pretty much took it everywhere with me. It provided tunes in the car (via my slightly antiquated tape-deck adapter) and it provided the motivation I need when I go running. Alas, a few weeks ago it started playing up. Namely, the 'wheel' stopped registering commands and only worked intermittently when I tried to lower or raise the volume and then last week it just died on me altogether. It works fine when attached to the (expensive) dock/speaker thing I bought a few months back, but once it's disconnected it just shuts down and dies. I had a quick look around the iPod forums online and discovered that I'm clearly not the only person who has suffered from this rather infuriating iPod 'death' and it seems that the only way to remedy the problem is to send the thing off to Apple who will attempt to repair or replace the thing for an extortionate amount of money. And they can fuck right off. I've already spent £120 on the thing - I'm not paying to have it fixed when the fault is their...erm...fault! Apparently it's some kind of battery malfunction that stops the iPod from holding a charge, thus rendering it useless unless it is connected to a power source. Grrr. This is, infact, the third iPod I have owned and had go tits up on me. The first two were iPod Shuffles - a first (long and white) and a second (with a clip) generation. They both stopped working due to charging issues. Now this one, my third and most expensive one has also stopped working as it should due to charging issues. I'm seeing a developing trend here.

Here's another developing trend: I will never buy another Apple product for as long as I live. They've had enough of my cash for their products just to fuck up after a few months of moderate use. And to think that my first 'proper' job after I left University was working for an Apple-authorised dealer! Yes, I was a sales monkey at a Apple dealer in Manchester and my days usually consisted of demonstrating the (then) new Power Mac G5 to potential customers and trying to show people why they should go for an iMac instead of an eMac even though at home I had a PC and wouldn't have had anyMac (see what I did there?) even if they gave me one for free. Sure - they look nice...but what, exactly, can you do on them that you can't do on a PC for less money and with more support?! Pfft. Indeed, one of the managers was trying to persuade me to purchase a teeny weeny Powerbook through the staff finance system and as such let me borrow a brand new one for a few days. I got it home and unboxed it, marvelled at the tinyness of it with my housemates...and then it just sat there in my room until I took it back to work because all it had on it was the OS. Great fun.

We also had a load of those old skool iPods with the black and white screen and an actual 'wheel' that span round on the front instead of the fuck-up prone 'touch wheel' that the newer ones have. I bet those fuckers are still working now...unlike my Nano. It makes me want to fucking scream. As a result of Apple's crappiness, I'm having to use my Palm Pre in the gym or when I go running and even though it's pretty small as far as phones go, it's still like having a pebble in your pocket when you're out pounding pavement.

I've decided that as soon as I've got the cash, I'm going to just buy a normal MP3 player again. Sure, it won't be able to utilise the admittedly brilliant iTunes-based music transfer interface I know and love...but Apple - you've lost a customer here. I'll Probably just go down to Argos and pick up a mid-range Phillips or Creative player (or maybe another Sansa Clip, if they still make them), and hopefully it'll last longer than a few months. Gah...

Thursday, 12 August 2010

Books and Boredom

Hello there. Me again. Finished my book yesterday - Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell. And what a book it is/was. It's an account of the trials and tribulations faced by the author as he tries to eek out a meagre living whilst looking for work in Paris, and then later living as a tramp in London in the late 1920s. Reading it, you'd be forgiven for thinking the book is a factual account of Orwell's personal experiences (indeed, I though it was), but upon researching the book on the net and looking at Orwell's biography, it appears that the tale is a work of fiction. Fiction based in fact, but fiction nonetheless. Which was a bit surprising considering the amount of detail Orwell goes in to when describing his various situations throughout the story. Fact or not though, the book is a fantastic read and you'd never guess it was Orwell's first proper novel if no-one told you. I was a little sad when I finished it - kind of like how I felt when I completed Zelda: Ocarina of Time. I played that fucker from start to finish in about 2 weeks whilst I was in the first year of my A Levels, and when I finally restored the land of Hyrule to it's former glory, I was gutted. Gutted because in the back of my mind a little voice was saying "now what?!"

So, while the various inhabitants of Kokiri Village and Hyrule Castle were engaging in an eternal dance of victory, muggins here was sat there wondering how the fuck he was going to continue to fill his evenings. And good as it was, I'm not the kind of person who completes a game, only to start again and repeat it. What's the point in that? You've already seen everything so why do it again? OK, so I didn't catch a massive fish in the hut on the shores of Lake Hylia...but who gives a fuck? Reminds me of Metal Gear Solid on the PSX. Yeah - it was a fucking incredible game...but do I really want to replay the entire thing just because Snake is now wearing a tuxedo? I think not.

But going back to Down and Out in Paris and London, I feel that it was such an amazing book and painted such vivid images in my head that I don't think I can read anything else for a few days. Just need to get over it's brilliance before I start on The Road to Wigan Pier. I've also got Animal Farm (as mentioned t'other day) and The Clergyman's Daughter to read, but I've never heard of the latter so may read that last. It seems that I've become slightly obsessed with George Orwell in recent months, but I suppose an obsession with a dead author and his work is more desirable and less destructive than an obsession with drugs, booze, prostitution, crime or vandalism...right?!

I also managed to get hold of some second hand HP Lovecraft short story collections when I was in Bath (love that place) a few weeks back, and I've already smashed through some of them. Slight deviation from Orwell, being horror and all, but they're very good. Noticed severe over use of the term 'waning' when describing the moon...but who am I to argue with the creator of Cthulu (pictured above, yesterday)?!

On a different note, I've started road running again. Went on a few lengthy runs at the start of last week whilst I was up in Manchester, but running through a city like that is fraught with perils - namely busy roads and bus stops crammed with people who simply refuse to get out of your way even though they can see you coming a mile away with your luminous yellow top on. Running in Somerset is somewhat more enjoyable (if running can be described thus) due to the quiet lanes, stunning scenery and over-powering stench of cow shit that wafts like a wraith across hill and dale. Well, maybe not the last point, but you get the idea. Been for three Somerset runs this week and will be embarking on my fourth today. I'll be doing it at dinner time just so I can get off this godawful base for an hour or so. Small pleasures.

Been thinking about my future over the past few weeks. Well, my employment future. I'm quite unhappy with my current job and can't decide whether to put my notice in or not. I really miss city life and wouldn't mind leaving the navy and going to live somewhere like Bristol and just working in an office or a shop or something. Sounds a bit dull, I know, but I really miss having some kind of stability in my life. As it is, I never know where I'm going to be from one month to the next - even now I have no idea how long I'm based in my current location so I simply can't make any plans or think about my future on a personal level. It's quite unsettling not to know where you're going to be in a year's time...which may be great if you're 19 and have no worries in the world...but when you're almost 30 and it's a little worrying. I've got no home, is what I'm getting at, and it's an awful feeling knowing that there's nowhere you can retreat to when things get a little stressful. Hmmm. Leaving the relative security of the services right now just because I don't like my current position may seem a little hasty, but that's just how I feel. My next draft may be fucking awesome and actually live up to everything I thought being in the navy would mean...but so far, I'm decidedly unimpressed with the lifestyle and the levels of abject boredom I'm privy to. Wouldn't mind working on an oil rig or something to be honest, but where does one start when trying to transfer into a career like that?! Something to think about, for sure.

Until next time, bitches!

Tuesday, 10 August 2010

Austerity Measures

Well here we are, only 10 days into the month of August and already I'm worrying about having no money. How? Well, it's down to my age old problem of going out on the piss and spending way, way too much money. It's something I do far too regularly for my own liking and it's got to fucking stop sooner rather than later. Here's the scenario: I go out on a Friday or Saturday night. I plan to spend a set amount, say £30, so I take it out of the cash machine before the evening begins. A few hours later and after several pints of lager or cider, I decide that I'm not drunk enough yet (I'm probably smashed already, I hasten to add) and then proceed back to the cash point and draw out another ridiculous sum of money. Cue more drinking, ridiculous behaviour and waking up in the morning with a massive hangover, feelings of regret and a gigantic hole in my bank balance. And this destructive cycle has happened not once or twice, but thrice this month so far. And I'm fucking sick of myself for it.

Granted, the nights out I've had have been pretty good, but this is besides the point. By the middle of the month, I don't want to be scabbling around in the dirt for enough money for some petrol, a loaf of bread or a day out. It's no way to live and after next month's trip to Paris (more later), it fucking ENDS.

The nights out? Well, the main one was a trip to Bristol that culminated in a stay in a backpacker's hostel. It was a really good night out to be fair and I always enjoy taking in the experience of an unfamiliar city, it's just that the excursion signalled the start of my week of unbridled spending. That was on the Friday. The Sunday saw me take a car trip up to Manchester and the petrol wasn't exactly cheap, and the following few days were a flurry of nights out, meals and trying to entertain myself while various friends and family members were at work. As a side note, I must stress that whenever I do go back home, I kind of feel obliged to go out with alarming regularity simply because I have various groups of friends that are totally unconnected and others who can never make agreed meetings due to working hours etc. I obviously feel honoured that people actually want to see me and make arrangements to do's just that it all adds up price-wise. Which leads to my current and rather boring predicament.

Anyway, I'm back at work now and I fucking hate it, but what can one do? At least sitting here and writing this crap, worrying about what I've done and how I'm going to survive the rest of the month means I can't go out and blow the meagre sum I have left on ridiculous, wasteful and unessecary sheight. Urgh. Speaking of work though, I believe I only have around 5 months left in this truly hideous position before I am 'drafted' back into my actual, trained branch. I can't actually put into words how happy this makes me feel...but more about this (maybe) in a future post.

Anyway, must try to stay positive and learn from my mistakes. Although changing the habit of a lifetime will be tough. But tough it must be, or I'll never break this fucking horrendous cycle. I need to start saving, so that's what I'm gonna do instead of go out drinking and wasting money. You'll see. In exactly one year from this post, I'll tell you how much I've managed to save up. Mark my words.

Next week (Monday) I'm off to see the final show of Jimmy Carr's UK tour down in Weymouth with my lady. Actually really looking forward to it. I saw Frankie Boyle live in Bournemouth a few months back and he was brilliant so I'm expecting similar things from Carr. Well, he's pretty funny on TV so I'm guessing it'll be more of the same at his live show, right?! Knowing my luck though, Jimmy Carr will fall ill the day before the show and we'll have to endure an hour and a half of Lenny Henry instead as a back-up act. A man so unfunny he makes cancer look like Shooting Stars.

Random interlude: I had no idea Scott Mills, the Radio 1 DJ, is a big gay. I read it on this thing called the 'Pink List' on the Sunday Telegraph website when I logged on to the internet this morning. I thought it might have just meant he was a gay icon or some shit, but when I looked at his Wikipedia page, it confirmed that Mills came out in 2001 and now prefers the cock. He kept that quiet. Let me clarify that this in now way changes my opinion that the guy is the most tolerable of all the cunts who spout their shite on that godawful station, I just found it quite suprising. Probably won't listen to him anymore, like, but hey. And for those who can't tell - that was a JOKE. Not the gay bit...the not listening bit...erm...

Cough. Anyway.

Decided to smash though all of George Orwell's back catalogue after reading his classic 1985 last week. I've already read Animal Farm and bits of The Road to Wigan Pier, but that was years ago so I'm starting again. This time, however, I'm starting with Down and Out in Paris and London....something I'm likely to be next month if I don't try my damnedest to save some of the remnants of this month's wage to supplement my/our jaunt to the French capital at the beginning of September.

Tuesday, 20 July 2010

Nights into Dreams

Something is wrong. I finished my shift at 0630 this morning and only managed to get about 2 and a half hours sleep before I had to get up again...and I've been up since then (and been to the gym. And Tesco. And Gamestation), but yet I don't feel even slightly tired. True, I've had about 15 cups of coffee today, but still - I should surely be feeling some kind of lethargy. Maybe it'll kick in at 3am and I'll get court-martialled for falling asleep on duty. Ah well.

As I mentioned just a few sentences ago, this afternoon saw me venture to Gamestation with all of my 360 games with a view to swapping them for something I'll actually play. Previous hopes of getting a good trade-in value for Modern Warfare 2 didn't come to fruition though, as the cunts would only give me £18.50 for six (yes - SIX) games. They were: Fifa 09, Fifa 10, Modern Warfare 2, Red Faction: Guerrilla and Project Gotham 3. I left with Lost Planet 2 and Project Gotham 4. Doesn't really add up thet - especially considering that I also had to pay an extra fiver. But hey. Fresh games come at a price.

Not played PGR 4 yet, but Lost Planet 2 appears to be quite a good shooter in which you get to run around a jungle shooting massive aliens with massive guns. I'll post more in-depth thoughts on it when I've played more than the first few chapters, but initial impressions are positive.

Speaking of jungles, guns and aliens - I went to see Predators last week. Wish I hadn't bothered. That's because it's a nonsensical load of old bilge. Sure - it's better than both of the AvP movies (fuck, eating dog shit is more enjoyable than either of those celluloid carbuncles), but there are so many "eh?!" moments peppered throughout the film that I left with more questions than answers as to what the fuck was going on. OK - I get the basic premise: humans are dropped onto an alien world and then hunted by the Predators...but why is that other Predator strung up on that totem pole thing? And why do the 'dog' things disappear halfway through? And why is Lawrence Fishburn a big fat cunt if he's been living off the land and fighting Predators for so long? And what's with all the half-assed pseudo references to the first film? See where I'm going with this? Basically, I didn't like it. It wasn't a complete disaster (see AvP Requiem for that), but it was well below par in my humble opinion. I just hope the rumoured Aliens prequels end up being semi-decent, or I'm giving up on both franchises.

I might go and watch Inception next week as it's one film I've been looking forward to for some time. That, and Di Caprio's movies are generally quite good. In fact, most of the films I've seen with him in have been pretty damn decent: The Aviator, The Beach, The Departed, Catch Me If You Can...the list goes on. Hopefully Inception will be added to that list, and if the reviews are anything to go by, it won't disappoint. The only slight issue I have with the concept of the movie is thus: all of the 'dream' clips I've seen tend to be set in real-word locations like cities or hotel corridors etc. How often do actual dreams resemble anything like real life? Sure, some do, but the vast majority of my dreams (well, the ones I can remember) seem to take place either in completely unrealistic places or just 'nowhere' and don't actually have a narrative or logical sequence of events. OK- maybe having dream sequences in a film where a frying pan just floats about in front of a rainbow wouldn't actually lend itself to any kind of decent or coherent storyline, but Hollywood always makes 'dreams' out to be totally legible things - not just a load of completely random bollocks...which is what the vast majority of mine are. Just thinking out loud, people.

Anyway. I'm off to heat up some ASDA Smart Price soup in the microwave. Now that's the stuff of dreams. Or is it nightmares?

Perplexions of a Dangerous Mind

Howdy. Been off for the past week and couldn't be arsed writing owt. That, and it's been quite sunny so I've had no inclination to sit indoors on my laptop writing arse just for no fucker to read. But now I'm back for another week of the dreaded night shift, so blog away I will!

Just read on the BBC News website that PC Zone magazine is closing down in September. Seems that a lot of mags are being wound down at the moment because no-one is buying them. I'm not particularly fussed about PC Zone shutting it's doors as I've probably only read it once or twice (I've always been more of a PC Gamer kinda guy), but it's still sad that yet another mag is going to the wall. During my teenage years, my whole life was gaming - buying/swapping games, talking about games, arguing about games, fighting - yes, fighting - about games and reading/writing about games. I was obsessed with games and more to the point, games mags. I regularly bought about 3 or 4 of the things a month and still have the vast majority of them stacked up in a bedroom at my dad's gaff. There are hundreds of them and if someone with a sadder life than mine actually wanted to arrange them in date order (requests via email, peeps), you could probably see which console I had at the time due to the leanings in the purchased content.

I used to get CVG and Gamesmaster every month anyway, but along with those I bought stuff like Mean Machines Sega, Saturn Power, Official Saturn Mag, N64 Magazine, DC-UK, Dreamcast Magazine etc. Because of the mags, It soon came about that I started to think that maybe I could become a games journalist and began writing reviews for a local newspaper (South Manchester Area News...anyone know if it's still going?!). I did that for about 2 years all in all and got paid £20 per article...which was a fair old bit for a tramp like me back then. As usual, this isn't going anywhere - I just thought I'd regale you with a tale of Tomleecee of yore. A trampy, skint cunt who played too many computer games and wanted to write about them for a living. It didn't work out as I planned - I'm in the navy now. But who knows where I'll be in 20 years. I could be the editor of Edge by then. And if I am, I'll sack the whole editorial team and reform the team from Amiga Power circa 1994 and turn it into a decent, fun and entertaining periodical. Edge: taking the fun out of gaming since time began.

So yeah, PC Zone is no more. Which is sad. Sort of.

Did some volunteering last week. I've not suddenly become some kind of charitable avenger of justice - I just did it to avert my attention from the boredom of living in Hades (Somerset). The week before, I signed up with a volunteering website and then someone from the Council rang me a few days later...and viola - the following week I was building a gate in a field. Oh, and removing some graffiti from a fence. And pulling up weeds. It was a pretty good day to be honest and quite a good laugh. I may go back and help out again next week - it certainly beats walking around the town centre on my Jack Jones looking at crap in shops that I don't really want or need but am buying because my life is dull and void of interesting shit. Although, speaking of interesting shit - I'm going to Paris in September with my ladyfriend. Actually quite excited as I've never been to France before - hell, I've never organised a holiday before - so it's a whole new (grown-up(ish)) experience for me. Me - doing 'grown-up' shit. There's an oxymoron right there. Hmmm.

The hotel I've booked is pretty basic (and has received some horrendous reviews), but to be fair - I don't give a flying toss. I spent the early part of my life living in battered wives refuges and homeless families hostels so I'm sure I can handle sleeping in a basic-looking hotel for a week. Furthermore, I'm not going to be sitting in the fucking hotel 24 hours a day - I'm going to be out and about and revelling in the culture and hustle bustle of a 24-hour continental capital city. It's going to be about as far removed from fucking Yeovil as you can possibly get. And for that, I am truly, truly thankful. That's because - and I make no apologies whatsoever for the following statement - Yeovil is a boring cess-hole. But I digress.

Completed the single player campaign on Modern Warfare 2 today. I'm a bit perplexed. Y'see - I was just getting in to it...and then it ended. What a goddamn joke! And what a crap final scene! Sure - I'm happy to take back my previous comments about the game, but the ending is such an anti-climax. Bah! And what's all that shit with the museum thing at the end?! Bizarre. I'm going to take it to Gamestation this week and swap it for Alan Wake or Lost Planet 2. Hopefully they'll give me a decent trade-in amount for it as they've bumped the price of a new copy back up to £44.99...aaaand here I am talking about swapping games again. Old habits die hard, evidently.

I've got more stuff to write about, but I'm going to try and stretch it across the week. Because it gives me something to do when I'm at work, to be honest. Bye bye, me hearties.

Thursday, 8 July 2010

Topical Thunder

Imagine sitting in a tiny cell for 12 hours a day with nothing to do but constantly get up to hand ignorant fuckwits a key that they bark the number of as they walk through the door. Imagine doing that for seven days a week. Welcome to my hellish existence. And people wonder why I sometimes appear to be a miserable cunt. Yep, my job involves little more than what I have just described, only augmented with a liberal dose of boredom and a good dollop of feeling like a worthless bitch. So, the next time you may think your job is dull or maybe a little monotonous, spare a thought for me sat in this horrible, tungsten-lit nightmare...where every fucking day is exactly the same. Groundhog day ain't got shit on least Bill Murray could kill himself in inventive ways, safe in the knowledge that he'd wake up again the next morning to the ambient chords of Sonny and Cher. Damn him and his fortune. Damn Bill Murray to hell.

Just seen an advert in the jobs section at the back of The Sun (the newspaper, not the heavenly body) that is advertising a position with a salary between £40k and £100k per annum. What is slightly bizarre though, is that it doesn't actually state what the job entails...just that you need your own car. I'm guessing for that kind of cash, it won't be delivering Grattan catalogues to council houses in Merseyside. Saying that, it could be delivering catalogues to houses in Newcastle - the massive wages coming in the form of danger money, what with that nutter running about with a shotgun up there. Topical and humourous? That'll be me. Guffaw.

It's 'Air Day' this weekend at the base that I'm currently calling 'home.' What this means is that the airfield will be opened up to thousands of plane-spotting geeks and their spoilt, bratty, posh children so that they can wander around taking photographs of old planes and marvel at the Vulcan bomber as it soars overhead burning thousands of pounds worth of aviation fuel every few minutes. Not that I'm all about berating the Vulcan. I've seen it flying a few times at various airshows I worked at whilst I was a recruiter, and it's a pretty impressive sight. I'm just being a moany biatch because I hate my job (see paragraph one, above). That's enough cock and bull for one day. See you next time for more of the same. Bye!

Wednesday, 7 July 2010

Minimal Pretention

Hello. You must excuse my absence from's just that nowt has really been happening that I thought anyone would want to read about. Saying that - does anyone actually blog about stuff anyone else wants to read about? The answer is: NO. I've been looking at some other blogs on blogger, and the vast majority are complete and utter arse. I'm not saying that the shit I write on here is any less arse, but at least I fucking know that what I compose comes under that heading. I can't actually explain why I get so riled up about this, but blogs with stupid, in-jokey names and have posts about the most mundane crap written in some kind of obtuse manner in order to make the author appear to be a troubled literary genius...well, they fuck me right off. Don't use long words where you can use a short one, dickhead, because contrary to what you may think, it actually just makes you look like a fucking cunt. Oh, and you're not a troubled genius - you're a pathetic amoeba scrawling excrement all over the internet and nobody cares what it is you're scrawling, big words included. So there. And my dad could beat up your dad, too.

As an experiment, go to the top of this page and click 'next blog' or whatever it is in the blogger navigation bar thingy. Chances are, the next blog will be some minimalist bullshit with a little entry written about raindrops on a window with a sultry image of the author holding a rose. FUCK OFF! I wouldn't mind if it was meant to be a joke or something, but the vast majority aren't! Aaaaargh!

Anyhow. Now I've got that off my chest...what else? Went and watched Shrek Forever After the other day with 'er indoors. A word of advice: never go to watch a kid's film at 6pm. Because, invariably, the theatre will be full As this one was. Fucking thousands of the little cunts. All screeching and whooping and cackling at the screen. Now, I realise that what I'm saying here is making me sound like Victor Meldrew...but fuck it - I don't give a toss. The film was pretty good...the surroundings slightly annoying due to having to strain to hear the film over all the prepubescent hollering. Furthermore, when we emerged from the cinema, I managed to fall down the steps and land on my back like a complete retard. Winner!

The day after, I went down to Plymouth and got hammered. Which was all well and good...except the drive 'home' on Sunday was slightly emotional due to the fact that I kept (almost) nodding off at the wheel of the inglorious Proton. I stopped a few times in order to get it together, but it was no use - I just had to power through. Got back in one piece though, so it's all good.

Look, I told you there was fuck all interesting happening at the moment.

Another rant though: Facebook. Again.

Right, on my phone (Palm Pre), I used to be able to access three different versions of Facebook: The official Palm 'app,' the official Facebook 'touch' site, and the actual proper version of Facebook that you get on your PC. Now, for some reason I can no longer access the proper version of the site, just the two cut-down 'mobile' sites. These are all well and good for updating statuses etc, but they are too basic to do anything can't view photos without the thing locking up, you can't view photo comments, you can't actually do anything of any real short, it's fucking useless. The thing is, somehow, the powers that be at Facebook have engineered it so that you can no longer access the full site, even if you put the normal url into the address just reverts to the 'touch' version. Why? WHY?! Fucking arseholes.

I'm off to look at some more pretentious blogs with stupid names. Adios!

Wednesday, 23 June 2010

A Thousand Words

Have a look at these two pictures:

Do I really need to say anything? Well yes - I do, actually. That first picture...why did the artist see fit to include the broken pots on the right? There's a naked guy with a face in his chest wandering around - surely anything else in the picture is purely academic? And the bottom one...what the fuck?! Jesus after a car crash? No - apparently these two creations are actual mythical (oxymoronic) 'beasts' from cultures around the world. I don't know about you, but a guy running about with backwards legs is hardly the stuff of my nightmares...but hey. Who am I to argue with shit cultures from foreign lands?

Speaking of foreign lands, Jamaican rozzers have arrested a 'suspected' drug lord who goes by the name of Christopher Coke. Could his his name be any more apt?! Chandler mode de-activated. I'm bored, by the way. Just so you know. I was going to do a post about how much I hate my job and how shit everything is, but what's the point? Every cunt thinks I'm a moaning twat anyway, so why fuel their bonfire by confirming it through well-written, humorous, Booker Prize-worthy prose? They can suck my 12ft cock, to be sure. To be sure.

Hurry up and get here, Sunday night. You herald my release from this work-based prison of boredom and my one-way ticket to drunken buffoonery. Can't wait!
EDIT: I deleted the top picture because I was accused of being rude. There are some fucking assholes on the internet aren't there? The artist probably only realised I'd posted it here because they Googled their own name or some shit. Tragic twat.

Thursday, 17 June 2010

Small Pleasures

Life is full of small pleasures. From the sound of cartoon bluebirds tweeting outside the window every morning, to the smell of freshly cut grass and sizzling bacon. Some may also cite the tarring and feathering of a black person in this category, but I don't, as such an activity being carried out by myself would probably make me some kind of racial hypocrite. But I digress.

Today, I discovered a new small pleasure:

Yep, it's Original Source Mint & Tea Tree shower gel. What's so great about shower gel, you may be thinking. Well, apart from the divine menthol fragrance that eminates from the dark green slurry once it is ejaculated from it's plastic prison, Original Source Mint & Tea Tree has a little trick up it's sleeve (?). When one applies said gel to one's scrotal region, the sensation can only be described as 'pleasurable,' and I'm also reliably informed that if you shave your bean bag prior to applying a lather, the experience is magnified thrice-fold. Guess what I'll be doing next time I visit the shower. No, not that - you filthy fuck.

But don't take my word for it, people: in the immortal words of Art Attack's Neil Buchanan (above left, in the shower, yesterday) - "try it yourself!"

Wonder what would happen if a female experimented with the stuff. Hmmm. Answers in the comments box, please.

In a slight change to the tone of this post (it was getting a bit on the perverted side - I know), I've recently learnt of Nintendo's successor to the Nintendo DS, the imaginatively monikered Nintendo 3DS. Who the fuck comes up with Nintendo's hardware names? OK, Wii is a departure from the norm, but the vast majority of their consoles have been pretty obviously named: Nintendo 64 was a Nintendo console with a 64-bit architecture; Gamecube was a cube games; DS had Dual Screens etc etc etc. So, with the get, well, a 3D screen! You read that shit right, Sherlock - it's a Nintendo DS-style contraption that plays games in 3D...but without the need for 3D specs! I know it sounds mental and hard to believe, but according to the various reports that have come out of this year's E3 convention, the technology is pretty darn special-looking.

Here's what one looks like:

So yeah, you can see the similarity with the DS but it's the specs-less 3D technology I'm excited about. And it's not crappy old red & black pseudo-3D like you got with the Virtual Boy (I actually owned one of those, back in the day...and it was shite); it's genuine, full-colour, Avatar-esque 3D...BUT WITHOUT GLASSES! This kind of shit is what I used to dream about when I was a nipper...and now it's real! Also, a lot of the launch titles seem to be re-releases of old N64 games but re-invented with 3D imagery in mind. This shit makes me want to rub more Mint Source on my balls right now, and make no mistake. I want 3D Mario Kart, and I want it right fucking now, Nintendo.

I've honestly not been as excited about getting my hands on a new piece of gaming kit since I saw the first fuzzy, low-res screens of Super Mario 64 in CVG Magazine back in 1995. I was always more of a Sega/Sonic man when it came to allegiances, but as soon as I saw Mario in 3D, I knew I had to have it and an Ultra 64, as it was still known as then. That's what it feels like now. Call me sad if you want - yes, I'm 28 and I'm getting a boner for a fucking games console...but FUCK YOU! I don't care! Nintendo 3DS - you will be mine, oh will be mine.

Right, I'm off for a shower. Peace out, ma bitches.

Clutter Snipe

I've been a bit of a miserable cunt recently and I've let a few things get out of hand, so what I propose to do from now on is try to keep myself busy to take my mind off all the less appealing events that have been going on recently. So, the first things I intend to do are finally have a good auld fucking tidy up. You may remember how I waxed about being evicted from my house-share a few weeks ago via text message. Well, since then, I haven't actually unpacked any of my belongings or clothes - I've just thrown them into a big cupboard in my room and left it all in a big heap, leaving me rummaging around for items of clothing whenever I need them. Not an ideal situation by any means, so I need to sort the detritus out and put it in some kind of order.

On the subject of my recent eviction, once I had got back to my previous (or is that current?) dwelling, I noticed that I was slightly lighter on clothing than I thought I should have been. After a quick call to one of my previous housemates, I discovered that I'd left a load of clothes in some draws in my old bedroom. Shortly after this call, the cowardly bastard of a landlord texted me to tell me he was leaving my clothes in a bin bag outside the back door on the following Sunday. Fucking charming behaviour for a middle aged, apparently professional adult, eh? What a cock (sucker). Hope him and his live-in closet boyfriend go on to be very happy in their own little version of Narnia.

I also need to tackle the obscenely scruffy article that is my car. Since I used it to move all my shizzle from the house of a thousand pillow-screams, It's become something of a shit-tip. Food wrappers, empty bottles, old shoe boxes (?) - it is just full of crap. It needs a damn good internal clear out and a good scrub on the outside too. It shall be returned to it's former glory and regain the crown of best mid-range family saloon driven by a family-less bloke in the South mark my words.

So what else has been happening? Well, it looks as though my time as a glorified security guard/boredom researcher is coming to an end - and thank fuck. I can honestly say that the last 6 - 7 months (of my employ, naturally) have been pretty damned dire. Overall though, said months have been pretty interesting and, let's say, 'character building.' Sometimes, random sequences of events pepper your life and they can leave you head-fucked and completely at a loss as to who you are, where you're going or where you've even been. My sequence of events, I'm sure, have been going on for a few years now, but I just need to re-address how I'm looking at things and move on. So that's what I'm doing. If not physically, certainly in an emotional sense. And the first thing I'm going to do is sort my clutter out.

Wednesday, 16 June 2010


Christ. Feel like I'm some kind of ethereal trance as, for some reason, I haven't been able to sleep for the past few days. I'm currently working nights (that is, from 6.30pm through the wee hours up until 6.30am), so as soon as I finish my shift I try to get my head down. However, due to some fucked-up disorder (or whatever it could be described as), I'm finding it very difficult to drift off to slumberland during the daylight hours. Makes me kind of glad I don't live in Alaska or wherever it is that the sun doesn't set for 6 months. Perpetual daylight would no doubt inevitably lead to my premature death through obscene tiredness and exhaustion. On the flip-side, living in such a location would also mean 6 months of perpetual shadow, meaning I would probably have to go into hibernation like some kind of bear/human hybrid. I'd gladly take that though, if it meant I could evolve massive Grizzly-style claws with which to gouge out the eyes and throats of my enemies.

But yeah - back to reality, and here I am - bleary eyed, feeling light-headed and fuzzy and oh so tired...but without the physical means to actually go to sleep. Could this be the fabled insomnia? Whatever it is, I'm going to invest in some sleeping tablets if this crap doesn't sort itself out over the next 24hrs.

I'll keep you pos...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Monday, 14 June 2010


Hello there. Been an odd couple of weeks for me, and I've been all over the place so not really had the time or the inclination to post any of my usual brand of shite on here. I'm back at work for the next two weeks though, so I should be spilling my mind onto the tinterwebs with alarming regularity over the next couple of (well, 14) days. So what's been occurring then?

Well, last week I ventured out of the south and headed back up to the Great Industrial North (tm) for a week of head-clearing, reflection and relaxation. Inevitably though, it just ended up being a bit of piss-up that lasted for 5 days. I had every intention of going up there to just chill out and get some good running and cycling done, but due to recent events my mood was slightly awry and this was perceived by most of my friends and family (Gawd bless 'em all) as "let's get him pissed to cheer him up." It kind of worked for the most part, and I had an enjoyable time (more later), but I still just couldn't help but go over the events in my personal life over and over and nausea. Which was shite.

However, apart from get monumentally bollocksed, I did partake in some decent activities. I went up to Jodrell Bank space telescope in Cheshire with my cousin after enquiring with a former housemate (who now works there) as to whether there was a visitor's centre. He enthusiastically informed me that there was a 'small' one there. So me and cousin ventured out to the place...only to discover that the 'small' visitor's centre (that also charged a £2 entry fee), was little more than a room with a few pictures and an extortionately expensive cafe. Unimpressive is the least offensive word that I can use to describe said vistor's centre. The telescope itself, however, is a real feat of engineering - the thing is fucking hur-uge, and it can rotate on a massive track-type job. It did actually move at one point, and it makes you think why it was moving and what the bods in charge were looking at/for. As a side note, I remember that when my former housemate (who was studying for a PhD in Astrophysics at the time) hooked up his bedroom PC to Jodrell Bank's through the internet, all that came up on the screen were rows upon rows of numbers etc. Not what I had in mind when I thought about telescopes...although it is a radio telescope so assuming that there'd be big pictures of nebulae and shit on the guy's computer screen does seem a little on the naive side when I actually think about it!

Also at Jodrell, there were these things called 'the whispering dishes,' which are these two big facing each other and are spaced about 200 yards apart. If you stand in front of one and whisper into it, the person standing in front of the other one can hear your voice as clear as a bell. Fuck knows how it all works, but I would hazard a guess that it's got something to do with acoustics or something. Still, a brilliant little curiosity and unlike the crappy visitor's centre, they were free to marvel at.

After Jodrell Bank had offered up all (well, both of) it's wonders, I took a trip to Stockport to see a mate who I've not seen for about 2 years (which, as you've probably predicted, turned into a visit to the pub). This event was tinged with regret though, as it saw me break my year-long, self-imposed ban on the consumption of the donner kebab. Look - It was late, I was pissed and I hadn't eaten all day. I was attracted to the bright lights of the kebab outlet like a moth to a flame...and the rest is history. I have to say that after I'd consumed it, I felt disturbingly horrible. Greasy and disgusting, in fact. I toyed with the idea of trying to wretch the fucker up into some bushes, but there were a load of boy racers watching me from their hideously coloured and 'tuned' Vauxhall Corsas in a supermarket car park across the road.

The week also saw me take a train ride to Southport, which is a little seaside town just down the coast from Blackpool. It's quite a decent place, but you can tell that it's a shadow of it's former self (thanks Resident Evil for that quote - I use it more often than I should). There is a fun fair like the Pleasure Beach at Blackpool, but it's been closed for a while and there are umpteen closed down food stalls and arcades along the seafront. It's quite sad, really, as you can see that the whole place is slowly dying off - maybe it's down to the recession, or maybe just down to the fact that Blackpool is just up the road (you can see the tower and the Bog One roller coaster from the beach at Southport), but it's still quite eerie when you walk past the closed rides and empty pier. On the plus side, we did stop for a pint at the world's smallest pub (they've even got a plaque on the wall that was issued by the Guinness records people) and also got some proper fish and chips that was devoured with gusto on the sea front.

On Thursday, I finally got to speak to my sister and see her baby girl (my niece, obviously). She's a big old unit considering she's only 8-ish months old and I was scared shitless of dropping her, so declined the offer of carrying her. Added to this, she was probably wondering who the fuck I was and started to flap every time I got near her, but I eventually got the chance to have her sit on my which point she shat her nappy. Always nice. But yeah, seeing a real-life baby was cool. Which reminds me that my brother's baby is due in August, too. Mental. Gonna be an uncle for the second time in the space of a year!

So, it was fairly good week, and it was good to see so many people again who I've not seen for ages...and it only took me 4 hours to get back up there in the Proton (which is still going strong, for those who are interested). If only there hadn't been so much negative horse-shit going round in my head. Ah well. Maybe the shrink I'm off to see can suck it all out of my swede. If that doesn't work, I'm going to employ Mike Tyson to beat it out. Hmmm...!

Friday, 4 June 2010

Home Truths

Why the fuck can't someone hurry up and invent a time machine? Preferably priced at £9.99? If such an item existed, I'd more than likely travel back to last weekend and change the course of my personal history drastically. As it is, I've lost my abode, lost a lot of self respect and am now on the verge of losing someone very dear to me...all through my own rash stupidity and bad behaviour. I suppose I'm just one of those people who has a self destructive gene. Hardly surprising when I sit back and actually think about my upbringing - most of which consisted of chaos, destruction, violence, women's refuges, homeless families hostels, fighting, violence...and, er, fighting.

Obviously, there was a bit of guidance away from this cycle in the latter part of my adolescence (hence my journey through college, university, umpteen jobs and now the military), but I can't help but feel that if I'd had a more 'normal' childhood (y'know - like not having your toys smashed up on Christmas day by your dad; or seeing your mum beaten up by her subsequent boyfriends) I wouldn't be anywhere near as melancholy or generally self pitying as I am now. Don't get me wrong - I don't walk round with a constant scowl adorning my face (infact, quite the opposite), I just seem to always manage to bring about the worst outcome in any given pseudo-negative scenario. Recent events have only proven to me that I need a drastic change of attitude, but how does one go about changing one's entire outlook on life, the universe and everything?

I have learnt through this past week though, that I must completely change my outlook if I am to change my attitude and subsequently my life, and just writing this is actually making me feel slightly better about recent events. Obviously I give more of a fuck about some of the past week's events than others, but without going into too much private detail (well any, actually), I also need to work out how to repair the damage I have done in certain areas of my life. I know this diatribe is a diversion from my usual rantings about O2, fucking ASDA Smart Price and the like, but it's been a while since I've felt so completely devastated and wracked with remorse over my actions, and I just wanted to vent.

On the flip side of this though, the rational, intelligent Tomleecee is whispering in my ear. You can't please everyone, is what he's saying. And you know - I think he's got a point.

Come back next week and I'm sure I'll be back to my usual crap, regaling with tales of drunken derring-do and bargainous gadgets that I've managed to beg, steal or borrow...but for now, I'm in a slightly pensive mood.

Tuesday, 1 June 2010


Just spotted some adverts in the newspaper for O2 (spit) broadband. These adverts ask the reader to meet the 'No Support-A-Saurus;' a shitly designed cartoon monster who apparently represents useless, ignorant, condescending customer support call-handlers:

One of the ads goes on to say 'If you're tired of his gibberish, why not give us a call?'

Surely the dictionary definition of irony? Either that or a very bad joke.

Guess What?

Its raining and I just ate some crisps. However...

Don't usually talk about current affairs on here because, well, I don't want to - but what the fuck is going on with Israel? Boarding aid ships full of civilians and blasting the hell out of them? That ain't on, seriously. Can you imagine if British forces did that? or French or German? Hell, forces from ANY supposedly 'developed' country? No, me neither. Those fuckers seriously need to be dealt with by the international community. A nation that allows it's special forces to board an AID SHIP full of unarmed CIVILIANS and then shoot a load of them, is a nation that could potentially cause problems of the mushroom cloud-shaped variety, if you catch my (radioactive) drift. Anyway, that's enough about pseudo-interesting news items - lets discuss ME. That's me, by the way, not M.E., just so we're clear.

Really need to sort my shit out. Not literally, you understand - I'm not implying that I need to take a dump into a petri dish and have a rummage around with a scalpel/breadstick - no, I mean I need to actually unpack all my belongings and get my current (albeit hopefully temporary) abode in some kind of order. Since I moved last week I haven't had the inclination or the willpower to get up off my arse and get all of my crap out of my myriad suitcases and put it all away. Ergo, my room looks like the kids' bedroom from Poltergeist after the little girl gets sucked into the telly. But fuck it, that shit can wait. I have more pressing matters to attend to - namely Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2. Now, I know that I lambasted this game upon it's (in my honest yet humble opinion) over-hyped release, but I finally bit the bullet on Sunday and bought it. It was reduced to £22 in CEX (used) because Gamestation has recently reduced the price of a new copy to £25, so I just thought "why not?"

And yeah, I have to concede I may have been a little hasty in my slagging of the game, as from what I've seen so far, it's a quality piece of software. Granted, I only managed to get up to the infamous Airport mission, where you have to mow down scores of innocent civilians in the terminal with a massive great gun (Israeli military training aid, perhaps?) before I had to retire to my pit, but yeah - I'm suitably impressed. Great graphics, brilliant shoot-outs, baffling storyline - it has it all. Don't know if I'd have been as impressed if I'd shelled out 50 notes for it like some knobs did, but what you gonna do?

Went for another run last night. It was pretty balmy and my balls kept squashing out of the side of the lycra boxers I was wearing under my shorts, but it felt good to be running the old routes again. Somerset - even though I think most of the towns are chav-infested shitholes with fuck all going for them - has some beautiful countryside, and for this reason I find running round here more of a pleasure than a hindrance. I'm also going to join a proper running club and start entering runs etc, just to keep me busy. And with any luck, my fucking knees will hold out permanently this time.

Anyway, that's enough inane bullshit for one morning. Might check in later with some more. Peace, bitches.

Monday, 31 May 2010

Living and Learning

Well. How the devil art thou? It's been a long time since I updated this little baby hasn't it? A month and a day if I'm not mistaken, and rather shockingly, quite a bit has happened in my social-wraith-like existence.

Went camping in South Wales during the second weekend of May. I went with my better half to the idyllic, shining beacon of industry known as Swansea...and it rained. It wasn't actually Swansea town centre that we camped in - it was a place called Clyne, a bit further down the coast, and had it been as sunny as it was when I decided to book the campsite, I wager it would have been a pretty spectacular weekend away. As it was, we got there on the Friday evening and had a little BBQ in the brief spell of sunshine that the Gods granted us...before the heavens opened and unleashed Dante's vision of Hell upon the campsite. And there said vision presided - through the night, into the Saturday and then on into Saturday night. The weather was, happily, the only shite thing about our little excursion. We had a nice walk into the town centre, ate a fucking enormous meal in a pub, and walked around some ornamental gardens. All in all, a rather enjoyable weekend. Shame the tent was fucking tiny and the rain came through in one corner, but you can't have it all.

Which is pretty fucking weird, considering the weather has been pretty damn fine throughout most of the rest of the month. Ah well. Speaking of the fine weather, I have made the most of it by resuming my running. My knee has finally decided to stop pissing me about and sorted it's act out. So no more ridiculous pains and no more painful feet when out pounding pavement. I, as previously documented at great length, had reverted to using a cross-trainer to get my exercise done whilst my knee was out of action, but in recent weeks it seems to have fully recovered and as such I'm back out in the wilderness again. Not to the excessive levels I was previously, you understand, but out there nonetheless. As such, last week I bought some new running trainers: Saucony are back in my life.

Saucony are, without a shadow of a doubt, the best running trainers I have ever used. I was previously wearing Nike, and the physio I was seeing advised that I get some dedicated running footwear in order to lessen the effects of my injury. Alas, I couldn't afford any new trainers at the time and that's where my love affair with the cross-trainer began. Last week though, I pooped into the new TK Maxx store in Weymouth and spotted a pair of (gasp!) size 9 Saucony Grid running trainers for the meagre sum of £29.99 wedged in between the hideous bright blue pairs of Converse basketball shoes (who the fuck buys those?!). As soon as I spotted them, I knew they had to be I handed over the card and purchased them. And as predicted, they are every bit as comfortable as both of my previous pairs - the first of which fell apart after so much use; and the second which shrank after I washed them and tried to dry them on the radiator (as previously documented here, on this very blog folks).

Also been doing a bit of reading. After the marvellous Frankenstein, I have acquired a copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula, and it is superb. Far better than the film adaptation, but then that's to be expected these days. Not finished it yet, but getting there.

Remember how I was going on a few months ago about trying to find somewhere to live and then deliberating about how I was thinking of moving out? Well, the decision was made for me earlier this week by my landlord: I was evicted via text message. Seriously. The reasons are still a little cloudy, but the story leading up to the aforementioned text message are as follows.

On Sunday last, my dad and cousin ventured down from Manchester to visit me in my shared house for a few days. I had previously asked the (live-in) landlord if this was OK, and he was quite enthusiastic and had said it was fine - they could use the spare room. He even went to the trouble of making up beds etc. Which was very good of him. When my guests arrived on Sunday evening, I had already arranged a bit of a BBQ for them and a few beers in the extensive garden, and also strategically arranged the seating etc in an area as far away from the occupied bedroom windows as I could in order to a) prevent smoke going into open windows from the BBQ; and b) prevent anyone being bothered by noise. Furthermore, I invited several of my housemates to come and join us. None of them did, but the landlord and his partner (he's gay) came out to chat with us for a while. It was all fine, up until half eleven that night when the previously jovial landlord came storming out of the house in his dressing gown to tell us, quite abruptly to shut up and keep the noise down. It was news to us that we had been making an inordinate amount of noise, but with that we decided to call it a night and went to bed after tidying up our mess. The next morning, I spoke to him (the landlord) and apologised for the 'noise' and that was the end of it...or so I thought.

That same night, after being out of the house all day showing my old man and cousin around the town and the beaches etc, we went back to the house end ended up sat outside again, as we had the previous evening. Not long after we had got back, one of my housemates appeared with his girlfriend, a crate of Budweiser and a bottle of vodka. Cue much merry making, but in greatly hushed tones due to the previous night's chastisement. We finally retired at around 2am, making sure as not to disturb any of the other people in the house. And so the night was done. Until the following morning, at about 8am when the landlord decided to boot my bedroom door open (while I was still asleep and thus waking me up), and go into a raving tantrum about how we'd kept him up all night with our 'yapping' and how we'd left the garden looking like we'd had a 'festival.' Don't know how many festivals the tit has been to, but if any of them looked like how we'd left the garden, they must've been pretty shit.

I got up, went downstairs and tidied up the beer bottles and ashtrays that had been left on the table. It was done in under 3 minutes - just to illustrate the scale of the debris. Landlord then flounced off to work. After this (and after also, unbeknown to me, being rude to my dad and cousin), neither of my guests wanted to stay in the house and cut short their visit by a day. I avoided the landlord for a further two evenings by staying one night in my room and then the next night at my girlfriend's house. By this time, it was Thursday morning and I still hadn't seen or heard from the melodramatic twat. I decided to try to clear the air by sending a text message to him asking if we could sort it out. He responded by saying he thought it would be best if I moved out by the middle of June!

For a bit of fucking noise!

I'm actually working for most of June, and won't be at the house very much, so decided to move out there and then, humping all my worldly possessions back to my previous residence at the military base I sometimes (but once again, exclusively) called home. In some ways, I'm a bit disgruntled because there are some people living in that house share who have done some pretty shocking things whilst lodging (one guy held a fucking knife up the throat of a previous resident, for example...but still happily resides there); but in others I'm quite happy to be out of the place as I no longer have to give a chunk of my wage away just to live a lonely existence in a town where I know nobody whilst sleeping in a room the size of a shoebox. Silver linings and all that.

Other events that have littered May are: a cricket match that turned into a piss-up that nearly turned into me pissing in my girlfriend's wardrobe; a visit to a tapas bar that, again, turned into a piss-up; a day's temp work on a building site that saw me dig a ditch around a building with a pick-axe; nearly getting citizens arrested by a Community Support Officer (a fake cop, basically - with no real powers of arrest) for riding my bike along a coastal path that didn't have any signs stating that I wasn't allowed. At 7am. When said path was deserted (what the fuck was the jobsworth doing down there at that time anyway?!); being recognised by somebody watching a Navy recruiting video; meeting my girlfriend's parents (I was shitting myself, but it turned out to be a great day); and then, at the death of the month, having a bit of a fall out with the aforementioned lady in my life. Not a great end to May if I'm honest, as both that and the eviction episode occurred in the same week, but we live and learn don't we. Well, most of us do.

Lastly, yesterday I purchased a used copy of the much-hyped Modern Warfare 2 for my 360. Got it home and popped it into the drive to be confronted with the 'disc unreadable' message. Upon closer inspection, it appears that the disc is cracked in 3 places. Which means I've got to drag my ass back to the shop and get an exchange. Not impressed, CEX. The moral of the story is to check your game discs before you leave the shop, folks.

Thursday, 29 April 2010


Went for a run yesterday. It wasn't a proper 'outdoors' run, mind. No, I went on a treadmill. It was the first time I'd actually stepped on one for about 8 months and to be honest it felt a little strange. As I've documented here numerous times over the last few weeks, I've been suffering from a knee injury that was brought about by excessive road running (70 miles a week on average), but yesterday's return to the treader has had no repercussions whatsoever. So hopefully, I'm fixed! Like the 6 Million Dollar Man, but on a budget of 28 pence. I'll still exercises some restraint with over the next few weeks so I don't encourage my knee to go tits up (?) again, but hopefully I'll be back out pounding pavement like the good old days soon. Possibly won't be trying to crack 20 milers like I was doing...but we'll see how it goes.

That's about as exciting events in my life have been since my last post to be honest. Well, the events I'm willing to write about on here, anyway. Sorry. Er...I'll be getting my tax disc tomorrow. Heart racing bloggage, right there. Oh, fuck it. I don't even know why I'm bothering to write this arse. No cunt reads it anyway. Bye.

Tuesday, 27 April 2010

Misadventures in Perpetual Skintness

Hello. Suppose I'd better update. I've been off work for the last two weeks, and it's been nice and sunny...ergo I've been spending a lot of my time beyond the veil. Well, outdoors in the garden. To be honest though, I haven't really been up to much of real interest owing to the fact that I'm still monumentally borassic. So last week I went for a walk down some coastal paths (where I was attacked by a particularly large bee), went for a bike ride around the villages and hamlets of south Dorset, and went for a look at Lulwoth Cove and Durdle Door. For those who don't know, Durdle Door is a bit of rock that sticks out into the sea...and has a natural archway in it. All very quaint, I'm sure you'll agree. The best bit about all of these activities, though, was that they were all completely and utterly free. And being a broke-ass motherfucker, they suited me just fine.

I did, however, partake in a few activities that involved the exchange of currency - the most notable being my return to the enchanting world of the carboot sale. Back in the mists of time, before I joined the navy, I frequented car boot sales pretty much every weekend. The result of this activity was the assembly of a rather magnificent collection of retro games consoles and software. Said collection was hardly a treasure trove of rare and collectible items: Megadrive, MegaCD, 32X, Atari Jaguar, Sega Saturn, SNES, Game Boy,, Game Gear, Nintendo64, Nes...but I did have a shitload of games for them all. Regrettably, I was forced to flog the lot to Computer Exchange (or CEX, or Entertainment Exchange, or whatever they're calling themselves today) when I graduated from uni because I was massively skint (never!) and jobless. I think I got about £300 or thereabouts for the haul. But I digress.

So, I went to a carboot at the weekend. It took me right back to the 'good' old days. I wasn't looking for anything in particular (although my fair accomplice was hell-bent on finding a picnic hamper, fuelled only by intense and burning jealousy that her housemate has one), but my eyes lit up like beacons when I spotted a MINT condition (Dual Shock) PlayStation on a table...for a fucking FIVER! And by 'mint,' I mean that it had all the wires, two joypads without cheese or rotting flesh stuck between the buttons, and the console itself looked like it had never even been out of the! It all came flooding back: the heart palpitations; the cold sweat; the overwhelming JOY of finding a retro (ish) console for a knock-down price at a carboot! After some discussion about whether I should buy it, and the pooling of several pockets' (and a purse) worth of change...the deal was done. I also managed to blag boxed copies of Ridge Racer Type 4, Rayman and Colin McRae (RIP) Rally for a quid each. So yeah. I'm now the proud owner of PlayStation. For a total cost of £8, which is pretty cool considering that when they came out, they sold for about £300. Which leads me to remember how much N64s were when they launched in the UK - and the fights outside HMV on Manchester's Market Street when people queueing for one found out that there weren't going to be enough consoles to go around. Fucking idiots.

I was secretly hoping to find an 'as new,' still-sealed copy of Rez or Project Justice for the Dreamcast on an old lady's table and selling for 50p...but alas there wasn't even a whiff of anything DC related. Damned heathens.

Thinking about games for the moment, though - they've played a pretty big part in my life. I can recall any era in my past by thinking about the console that I had at the time. Sounds pretty sad, I know, but they are the one constant thing that I've always owned. No matter what else was going on in my life, be it school, college, university, various jobs or family feuds...I can pretty much remember which console I had at the time. Probably because said bit of plastic was my only real source of fun and entertainment at the time. My only friend. Sniff. Just to be straight - that last bit was what's called 'poetic license.' Just so you know, yeah?

It's payday on Friday. Not that it's much cause for celebration. Pretty much my entire wage packet is already earmarked for some dreary activity - my overdraft, car tax, rent or loan repayments. Due to this, my love (hate) affair with ASDA Smart Price foodstuffs will not be abated this month...and will probably continue into June and beyond. It's not all bad - I'll just be giving the Noodle Snacks and 2% lager a wide berth. And on the subject of's almost BBQ season again. Had two BBQs in the past fortnight, both of which were superb...and involved chicken breast! When I was a lad, the sole preserve of a BBQ was a packet of Farmfoods hoof & arsehole sausages and a box of economy burgers with added onion and rusk. Usually sold in a box of 48 for 99p. Thinking back, this is probably because the main purchaser of the BBQ fodder was a very, very...almost perpetually skint man. My dad.

Like father, like son eh?

Sunday, 11 April 2010

Big Brother is...

Facebook. It's a modern phenomenon. Pretty much every fucker I know is on it, and in my opinion it's a society-defining application. Back in the olden days, before Facebook, if you lost touch with someone or lost their mobile number or something (in my case usually by losing/breaking my phone whilst out pissed), that was it. No more contact until you randomly bump into them 6 years after you last saw them. This happened to me loads of times before I entered the world of Facebook and to be honest, these situations are generally quite awkward. Awkward becase you find yourself face to face with someone you used to know but haven't seen for fucking ages. Any common ground you had has long since been swallowed up by the canyon of time and so you just end up asking the same fucking moronic, 'polite' questions: how've you been; where are you working now; what've you been up to...BUT YOU DON'T FUCKING CARE. I'm just being honest, people.

Like I said, when I was living in Manchester this kind of thing used to happen all the time, until it got the the point where if I saw someone in the street who I used to sort-of know, I'd make a point of avoiding them. Where is this bullshit going, you may ask. Well, with Facebook, you can avoid all that awkwardness and crap. If someone you used to know pops up and requests to add you as a 'friend,' then it's fine. Exchange a brief message, click 'accept,' and all is right with the world. There's no making excuses to get the hell away from them, and no cringeworthy "can I have your number...we'll meet up" moment. Because you know, you fucking know that after you walk away from that encounter, you'll never, ever ring that cunt you just spoke to. And that's life. So yeah, Facebook has it's good points - one of which I've just illustrated up there in the paragraph you've just read with your eyes.

It's not all rosy in the garden of Facebook though. Oh no. And this is what I really want to get off my chest in this post. There are several things that I find vexing when it comes to everyone's favourite social networking site. And here they are:

Status Updates

Some people post short, enigmatic statuses (stati?) about something. They are usually of the sad/fed up variety. They don't give much away, just that they are sad or melancholy for some unknown reason. Why? Because they want fucking ATTENTION. Next time you see someone with 'is annoyed,' or 'is pissed off,' have a look at the comments box. It's the same shit, every fucking time: "what's wrong, hun?" Firstly - anyone who uses the term 'hun' need wiping off the face of the Earth like a bug splatter off a windscreen. I despise that term, as many people who know me will attest. What the fuck does it even mean? Honey? It does my nut in. So, to surmise - sad status updates simply written to invoke an enquiry of the problem. Gets up my nose. Like a Gillette Fusion (see previous post).

The next update variety that I despise is the 'I'm having a great time' update. If you're having such a fucking good time, WHY THE FUCKING SHIT ARE YOU ON FACEBOOK?! Example: " in the pub having a pint and a good laugh with my mates." No you're not. You're sat on your jack browsing Facebook because either a) you've got no actual mates; b) because the mates you're with are either outside smoking and you're sat on your own inside waiting for them to come back, or they're in the bogs; or c) your mates are sat at the same table as you, but they're not including you in the conversation because they all think you're a bit of a twat. The reason I know these FACTS? Because I've done it. Many a time! These kinds of updates can be used in any kind of situation, be it at a party, at a concert or anywhere that's meant to be a 'fun' place. Don't do it, people.

Another kind of update that irritates me is the 'too much info' update. For instance: "...went to the shop and bought some peas for my tea, then went for a shit and the shit was green." Does anyone actually give a flying fuck? Negative. So sort it out.

OK, so people can put what they want as status updates, and that's the point of Facebook and freedom of expression, but when people don't even try to write something interesting it bugs me. Who cares about the inanity of somebody else's existence? Not me, for one.

At the risk of sounding like either a cuntish hypocrite or a narcissistic wank stain, I at least try to make my updates humorous or relevant. But even that back fires on me almost daily. People are constantly asking me why I'm so miserable or pissed off/angry all the time, but they are missing the point totally. I could write complete arse, and for the general populous this is fine, but I enjoy in-jokes and slagging things off. I enjoy finding the faults in everyday life and pointing them out - and the best way of delivering these thoughts to the masses is through Facebook. I'm kind of descending into a diatribe here, I know, but the point is that...well there is no point. To fucking anything, really. Just speaking my mind. So arse off if you don't fucking like it.


One thing about Facebook that my cousin recently pointed out (at great length, I must add), is that Facebook is a kind of 'encouraged voyeurism.' And he's got a point. Obviously, it's up to you to decide how much personal information you make available, but the vast majority of people will share their address, telephone number (indeed, my Palm Pre automatically imports people's phone numbers from their Facebook profile!), relationship status...every minute detail about their lives. Add to this the photos, the videos, the interests, the political leanings...and you can pretty much choose any one of your 'friends' and make a fairly accurate profile of the kind of person they are. It's quite scary when you look at in that way. Obviously, you can only look at the pages of people you already 'know,' but this is besides the point - and the single reason that as of today, all of my personal information has been deleted. I don't want people knowing where I work, live or how many times a day I have a danger wank in my boss's office. But it's 3, just incase you're curious.


I don't know how many other people this actually applies to, but I'll be the first to admit that I have gone through various stages of Facebook addiction. You know you're an addict when you wake up in the morning and the first thing you do it check to see if anyone's commented on your status. I'm speaking from experience here, and yes, I know it's sad. Now, I have various actual friends who are scattered around the globe in various hostile environments and their only real link to home is through Facebook, so this particular niggle isn't aimed at them. But there are people whose lives revolve around Facebook and what other people are doing. The number of times I've heard people talking about what somebody else wrote on Facebook, or people who've been caught cheating on their partner via Facebook, or even people who've had arguments on Facebook that have escalated to actual punch-ups, are many. And it all comes down to an unhealthy obsession with the site. It's not right to always know what other people are doing - whether they offer up the information willingly is irrelevant. Having to be constantly looking at what others are doing is akin to being jacked into the fucking Matrix, and I'm just as guilty as anyone else. But no more.


Friends. Friends. I have about 203 'friends' on Facebook. I speak to about 20 of them regularly on the site, and even fewer of them in reality, on a day to day basis. Some people have thousands of 'friends.' These are the people who actually have no real friends, the people who are so fucking insecure and pathetic that they feel the need to garner thousands of virtual sycophantic followers just to feel needed. And what's with people who request your 'friendship' that you've never even met?! What's that all about? I got a request the other day from somebody who'd seen a question I asked on a Facebook forum, liked my question and wanted to be my friend. A little bit of investigating revealed that they lived in Peru and were a devout Catholic. Not got anything against 60-year-old, sexually ambiguous Peruvian Catholics, but seriously - how far is that 'friendship' going to go? As a result, I rejected it.

Just to clarify, this post isn't a declaration of war on all things Facebook. I use it almost daily and I do appreciate the benefits of such a global's just that some aspects and users take things to the extreme. And if it came to light that Facebook was actually a New World Order-backed scheme for keeping tabs on the world's population, it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest.