Noodle Snack My Bitch Up

What up, ma be-hatches? Cough. Seemed to have slipped out of my usual Queen's English for a moment there. Anywho, I thought it was about time I updated you, erm, be-hatches on what's been going on in the wonderful world of me. First up - I'm not moving. Which is a major relief, because according to some bullshit article/urban myth we've all undoubtedly heard of, moving is apparently the second most stressful 'thing' that can happen to you, after a family bereavement. I personally believe this to be a massive, steaming pile of sweetcorn riddled shit. To whit: when you move house or whatever, all you're doing is throwing your meagre possessions into a few boxes, transporting them to a new gaff, and then getting them out again. What's so fucking harrowing about that? Fair enough, it's a pain in the fucking arse - but second to a family bereavement? Have a word, sunshine. Here's a (non-exhaustive) list of things that are worse than moving house:

• Having Cilla Black sit on your face


• Knowing that you had a fiver in your pocket, reaching for it when you've got a load of ASDA Smart Price Noodle Snacks on the checkout, and then realising that you've lost said fiver.


• Waking up with a hangover and spew all over your duvet


• Having a shit job that you hate


• Living in a the squalor of a shanty town

Not that I've ever experienced the last point on the list, but I can guess that the notion of moving for someone who does (live in a shanty town), is far from the 2nd most grief-filled experience of their life. Especially if they're moving out of said shanty town. Into a big pink mansion. But I digress. I'm not moving. This is because after weighing it up, moving all the way back to my previous abode, what with it's freezing temperatures, basic kitchen facilities and complete lack of mobile phone signal, would be an adventure too hideous to bear. Furthermore, my landlord offered me the opportunity to keep my room, but pay vastly reduced weekly rent when I'm working (for a week at at a time) on the base. Can't say fairer than that, really. Furthermore, the nights at the house that were intended to be my last were actually a really good laugh with my housemates, so I rescind any previous comments I may have written here without justification. Consider me devouring an entire, family sized ASDA Smart Price humble pie.

On the subject of Smart Price, who the fuck decided this shit is 'smart'? Fair enough - the price is low enough, but 'smart'? I think not. Y'see, this month I overspent massively. And I mean massively. So with just over a week to go till payday, I found myself a fair way into my overdraft, and keen to avoid any further sinkage into the mire of debt, I cleverly decided to try and get to payday spending as little money as possible - something I'm sure we all do from time to time.

Cue a trip to ASDA, and a trolley full of green and white-labelled foodstuffs. At this point, I'd just like to point out that on a QWERTY keyboard, the letters A,S,D are all next to each other. Conspiracy? You decide. But going back to the point, I bought a butt-load of Smart Price stuff. And it's all fucking disgusting. Case in point: the 'Noodle Snack.' Now, I know it's only 20p a pot and I know that it's hardly going to be a luxury dish by it's very nature (it's dried noodles in a pot, for Christ's sake), but fuck me...the shit is barely edible once you've added the boiled water. The noodles themselves simply will not soften - no matter how long you leave the thing to stew...and the lack of any discernible flavour is...well...not really that surprising, to be honest. In retrospect, I suppose having to endure the tasteless sensation of an ASDA Smart Price Noodle Snack is my punishment for being too frivolous with my money. A rather fitting main meal to go with my dessert of humble pie. Hmmm.

Ass Clowns

Hello. Thought it was about time I updated this bastard again. It's been a few weeks. Not that much of note has appertained in said time-gulf. You know how I was bitchin' and whining about finding somewhere to live? And that I found somewhere? Well, today I gave my landlord notice that I'm moving back to the military establishment from whence I came. Sounds a bit retro-active, I know, but the reasons for this are two-, possibly three-fold.

Firstly, I'm hardly ever at the house. The weeks when I'm at work I stay at the base; the weeks I'm off I'm rarely at the house...and also I don't actually know anybody in the town where the house is situated so when I am there I'm bored off my fucking nut. Now, you may be thinking "you soft cunt...go out and meet people..." Have you ever tried to meet random people?! In a town where you know no-one? To say it's difficult is an understatement...especially when there is no common ground to fall on, as that twat who sang Breakfast at Tiffany's may once (or maybe twice) have said (sang). The other biggie for me kinda ties in to the other reasons for my desertion - the rent. I'm effectively renting a room out that I only stay in occasionally. When I think about this, it just seems fucking stupid. And finally...my house mates. There is nothing particularly menacing about any of them - in fact they're all perfectly decent people...it's just that they're a totally random bunch who never socialise together. Not really the kind of environment I was looking for when I set out to find a suitable abode. Ah well, we live and we learn. So yeah, I'm moving out. On the plus side, I'll have lots of money again, and I think one of the first things I'm gonna do is get one of those European train tickets and go for a little jaunt around our fair continent. See a bit of the place. I've not been to many places - namely Turkey, Holland and Sweden outside of the UK, but I really want to experience France, Germany, Italy etc.

Everyone needs a change of scenery every now and then, and I've been moping around sleepy rural England for far too long. It's fucking boring, is what I'm getting at. So, certainly within the next few months I expect to be updating this motherfucker from Paris or Rome. Well, that's the plan anyway.

In other news, I was involved in a bit of a fracas last week. It's all been dealt with though, so I have no worries about recounting the experience here. Here goes:

I went out for a few beers with some mates last week to 'celebrate' a birth. We went to a well-known chain pub and had several beverages. Afterwards, as is usually the case, a few of us decided that some food was in order, so we ventured out in serach of a chippy/olde worlde kebab shoppe. We found a suitable outlet and went inside to order our chosen grease and trans-fat laden delicacy, which arrived promptly and was, in hindsight, thoroughly delicious.

As we were all shoving horrendously tasty fast food into our gobs, the door swung open and in marched a 'jolly' fellow dressed up like a 50 Cent's younger, poorer cousin who then proceeded to aggressively enquire as to which one of us (we were the only 6 people in the shop) had spilt a drink on his shirt. Bemused, we all politely told him that he was mistaken and that he should take his line of enquiry elsewhere - especially as none of us had a fucking clue who the ass-clown was. 30 Cent (geddit?!) then approached one individual in the group and 'squared up' to him, repeatedly accusing him of spilling a drink on his shirt; before ripping said shirt off his back pushing his forehead into the face of his quarry. At this point I decided to step in and try to diffuse the situation, so I took 30 by the shoulder and escorted him to one side explaining that there was a mix-up, none of us had spilt our drinks on him and that he should probably just go home. He then shoved his forehead into my face, while simultaneously asking what I was going to do about it. Without going into too much detail, I then demonstrated what I was going to do about it and the following actions left him in the corner with a busted lip and nose.

At this point, two Policemen came barging through the door and gripped a hold of both of us...although when I explained what had happened, they let me go and took 30 Cent away for some 'questioning.' I've since spoken to a Policeman friend of mine, and he says that the other guy was in the wrong for head-butting me and that I was technically acting in self defence. Whoever was in the right or wrong is irrelevant...the fact is that that guy came into that chip shop with every intention of starting a fight - and he got his just desserts.

Moving on, by FAR the most annoying thing that's happened since my last blog here is the malfunction of my Nintendo DS. Well, it's less of a malfunction, more of a fault that developed literally overnight - I turned it on the other morning to play a bit of FIFA 10, only to discover that the top screen had spunked several blue vertical lines all over the middle of itself. I can still play it perfectly well, but said lines are a little distracting...and they simply were not there the last time I put the thing down. I've looked into replacing the screen myself with a DIY screen replacement kit you can get off ebay, but I've decided that it'd probably be wiser (if not a little more costly) to get Nintendo to do it for me. I'm good with a screwdriver, but I'm convinced I'll just end up breaking it - so I've filled out a fault report on their website and they've sent me a little freepost sticker thing to send the console to them for repair. Which is nice. Still probably gonna cost the best part of £50 to mend it though. Fuck it...travel comes first.

The Law is an ARSE

Yesterday I nipped home from work at lunch time. I ride a bike to work, and a very nice bike it is too - it's a Carerra Subway. No suspension, no fancy bells or whistles, but it does the job and does it well. But this ain't a bike review, oh no. It's a review of the type of week I'm having: a fucking bad one.

So, like I said, I rode home from work at lunch time. So I'm cycling along a deserted street and get to the traffic lights. No cars behind me, none infront. Not even any waiting at the junction ahead to turn. But the lights are red, so like any dutiful cyclist I stop and wait for the green. I wait for another 5 MINUTES for the bastard lights to fucking change, still perched there like a bell-end on a deserted street, with no pedestrians anywhere in sight; waiting for the lights to go green.

Enough. I proceed across the deserted junction at a leisurely pace...only to spot a bright yellow blob in my periphery accompanied by "EXCUSE ME, SIR."

The fucking filth. On extremely expensive-looking mountain bikes. There was no way I could outrun them on my Subway. FUCK. They booked me for contravention of some traffic law and gave me a £30 on the spot fine for going through a red light. On a deserted road. On a fucking push-bike. What makes me even more annoyed is that at the time this jobsworth cop was writing me a ticket, a group of about 5 (obviously unemployed) scrotes shuffled past on the other side of the road clutching bottles of alcohol and jeering at me.

Justice always prevails, eh.