Rocking out Aussie style

so many high points to this performance by Aussie John.... The temporary sheepishness following his stumble to check if anyone noticed and to regain composure - quickly replaced by the inate rock god within, the head banging that's so fast the camera can barely keep up, and the finishing touches of discreet rock horns and polite applause for the band... All the time ably assisted by wingman Paul, as an entire row of semi-comatose pensioners wonder what the hell's going on in the background.

John, I salute you. You are the master, and I a mere pupil.

Helen and Lee's wedding

So, back in London town after a lovely week back at home... On Saturday we attended the wedding of what I can now refer to as "The Goudies"... It's only the second wedding of a friend I've been to, thanks in part to our refusal to grow up and assume adult responsibilities, and it was a fantastic day. They got the mix just right, in that the wedding service lasted all of 20 minutes and the drinking 9 hours....

Helped in no small part by the band, who are normally fixtures at the Limelight in Belfast rather than weddings/bar mitzvahs, there were some spectacular moves being pulled on the dancefloor. I managed to capture two of the highlights - John rawking out to "Last Night" by the Strokes, and Lee facing down a challenge to a dance off towards the end of the night. It says a lot for the man that he still had it in him to pull of some pretty good shapes at almost 1am - although on this day of all days, there was never any doubt that he would get the girl at the end. I particularly like the way that Helen, having wafted in from Stage Left to greet her all conquering hero like a demure angel, then flashes a little rock horn at the very end to give her man the respect he deserved.

Cheers for a great day guys, and congratulations.

I'm daydreaming about travelling

by moseying about on Google Earth... I keep reading things about the far north of Norway and really want to travel by boat up to see the Northern Lights. But then when I get to Kirkenes I'd have to go across to Russia to check that out too.... In fact, I'd love to travel round the entire coast of Russia. Ever since I read one of those adventure books (you know the type - if you want to make 'x' decision turn to page 127, if you want to make 'y' decision turn to page 450) based in the USSR - and Vladivostock in particular - at the age of about 12 I've been fascinated by what it must be like. Flying over Siberia on my way from Japan back to the UK a few years ago just made me want to be on the ground even more - hundreds and hundreds of miles of nothing, punctuated by foreboding concrete buildings in the middle of nowhere... I'm not normally accused of having the most active imagination, but every childhood daydream and romantic notion I have about far flung spots seems rooted in the remote wilderness of Siberia. Conveniently there is also a range of active volcanoes down near the Chinese border, so with my lovely girlfriend in tow it is marginally more likely to happen than it has been in the past. Marginally.

Irn Bru Snowman

I only saw this for the first time today on quality time-wasting channel "Dave". There just aren't enough Scottish adverts on English telly (sod Carling - I want Tennents!)

Somehow this puts me in the Christmas mood more than most things, whilst simultaneously making me want to buy tooth-rottingly sweet garish soft drinks

Now that's what I call.....

.....Christmas!!!

Currently downloading a raft of tunes to provide suitable ambiance for our Christmas dinner tomorrow. It's become a bit of a tradition for my group of mates to meet up near Christmas and celebrate the festive season/get hideously drunk in a safe and comfortable environment.

As my starting point, I have downloaded just about every song from the original "Now that's what I call Christmas" cassette, which is still just about going strong back at my mum's house and has provided the soundtrack to Christmas for as far back as I can remember. I just need to hear Wings or John and Yoko and am instantly transported back to the build up to the big day in the late 80s/early 90s, as the excitement built up for what seemed like an eternity, with more and more presents arriving under the tree and my sister and I trying to "subtly" find out which were ours and work out what could be inside.

These days of course, technology has progressed a little from the good old cassette and this year's selection is going to be on my Ipod (due to CDs only holding 24 tracks - rubbish). I've gone for some classier stuff along with the cheese so we'll have a bit of Frank and Dean and a bit of Louis Armstrong as well to while away the wait for dinner - which seems to take as long to cook these days as Christmas day did to arrive when I was a kid.

I just hope I don't get mugged on the way to Helen's house - the shock and feeling of injustice would only be outweighed by embarrassment as the mugger stuck on my tunes to discover Slade and Cliff Richard blaring out.....

As a further reason to celebrate, J found out today that she has got her dream job! She starts as a lab assistant in a Geotechnical consultancy on the 2nd of January. She bloody deserves it.

Mistletoe and Wine

ah, Christmas.... a mere fortnight away no less. Wasn't it only last Thursday we were having our annual moan about how the shops are starting to sell Christmas cheer earlier every year?

Christmas this year in the Chomper household is going to be a quiet affair, and all the better for it - we've limited ourselves to one present each and are instead going to focus on chilling out and getting drunk. Initially I thought this would take all the stress out of the pre-Chrimbo run in, with fewer present ideas to bandy about. Alas, it has proven otherwise, as now all the pressure is on choosing the right gift from the range of options available. Normally, due to my fortuitous monthly pay day on the 18th, I am relatively flush with cash in the last week before the big day, and thus can afford to run about buying everything on people's wish lists, saving myself the hassle of making any decisions whatsoever, whilst simultaneously covering every base and looking downright generous to boot.

My own present list - which my mum insists on - is looking decidedly more mature than in previous years, no doubt connected to my passing the crest of the hill in October and cultivating more grey hairs than is possible to count on my head these days. Previous years saw a range of cds by popular beat combos, stupid books, gadgets and a variety of other stuff place themselves firmly at the front of my brain screaming "you need me!". This year, all I would like is (one of) a new bag for work, a teach-yourself-Polish CD, a new wallet, or a lead to connect my PC to my telly. Rock, and indeed, roll. It reminds me of the year I couldn't think of anything to buy my dad for Christmas and ended up buying him a belt.

All this Christmas present thought reminds me of when I was a kid, and a gullible kid to boot - I firmly believed in the presence of the big man until I was at least 11 or 12. Old enough, at any rate, to enter secondary school still too scared to waken up in the middle of the night for fear of disturbing him. Of course, things were simpler back then, and kids didn't grow up as fast as they do now, although I think perhaps I grew up a bit slower than most. But then, there was the proof - the mince pie eaten and whisky drunk; the muddy boot prints leading up to our back door on Christmas morning (given the lack of snow in those pre-Global warming days).

I remember once coming downstairs to my parents at some ungodly hour (probably about 9.30pm) on Christmas Eve, totally stressed that I couldn't get to sleep. What would happen if Santa came and I was asleep? Pretending wouldn't fool him - if he could communicate with Robin Redbreasts to find out if you were behaving, he could sure as hell tell if you were pretending to be asleep when he squeezed his fat belly down the chimney. Thankfully my mum, who I think was friends with Santa or at least had met him, had the solution, and my stocking was removed from the end of my bed and placed in the living room, at the opposite end of the house to me.

Poor old Santa got a rough deal from me on more than one occasion - and my parents were the ones who had to sit there, consoling their only son on Christmas morning and I wailed about the unfairness of it all that Santa hadn't got me exactly what I wanted. I mean, to me he was something like first cousin once removed from Jesus, and therefore should be telepathic as well as capable of commandeering 6 reindeer and a sleigh big enough to carry presents for all of the Western world.

So, one year I asked for a radio. I got a radio. I cried. What I actually wanted was a radio with a cassette player on it like my sister's - I mean, surely Santa would have realised that? My parents were there to console me. As they were the year I asked for a guitar. Santa bought me a guitar - a very beautiful child's size acoustic guitar, that would no doubt have cost an absolute fortune if it had been bought in a local shop rather than manufactured in an elven sweatshop at the North Pole. Again, I was gutted. I wanted an electric guitar, not an acoustic one. Surely Santa would have realised that? Again, my parents were there to comfort me and explain that, from what I'd written in my letter, Santa probably thought that he'd got me the right thing. Poor old Santa - I'm just glad he wasn't there to hear me whinge and moan and be genuinely distraught that these lovingly bought presents hadn't gone down as well as he no doubt thought and hoped they would when he chose them. And I want to take this opportunity to apologise for being such an ungrateful, naive little shit for not appreciating them the way I should - they were amazing presents and I was incredibly privileged to grow up in an environment where I could act like such a little snotrag over the "wrong type" of very expensive present.

Of course, the fact these two episodes came to me years later as I thought back and cringed about them only goes to demonstrate how wonderful all my Christmases were growing up. I was one of those kids who were fortunate enough to be in a position where, if I asked Santa or my parents for a "big" present, I generally got it. I still have all my Christmas presents from over the years - from my Scalextric, to my remote control car, to my "Manta Force" (an early and disgraceful example of marketing to kids via their classroom which I shall explain at some point), my Amiga, my Nintendo - even my stereo, which I got (I think) when I was 11 years old, and is still pumping out the tunes in my bedroom as I speak. I loved them all, even the radio and the guitar, and with hindsight wish I'd made that more clear.

I'm waiting for payback when I have kids.

and, erm, have to give feedback to Santa.

I'm having a beer

Normally on a Sunday I would be stressing at this moment, as it would no doubt have been my 6th of the day and 20-somethingth of the weekend. But thanks to a lack of funds and a new found sense of boringness that has manifested itself since October, it is my 3rd. Something much nicer about relaxing on my bed, beer in hand and watching the football, than forcing pint after pint of water down my neck in a desperate attempt to avoid waking in the middle of the night with sweats, dehydration and heart palpatations... Being old and boring rocks.

Wouldn't it be funny if Poland and Northern ireland were drawn in the same World Cup Group....

.....I said to my girlfriend on Saturday evening....

World Cup Draw - Sunday afternoon:

FIFA World Cup European Qualifying : Group Three Table

25 November 2007 16:35

		P	W	D	L	F	A	GD	PTS
1	Czech Republic	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
2	Northern Ireland	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
3	Poland	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
4	San Marino	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
5	Slovakia	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
6	Slovenia	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0

Bloody typical! Now it's gonna be a struggle for us both to qualify, although the games should be entertaining to watch. We initially thought of attending both games, until I remembered some clips of Polish football "fans" on You Tube, and given I'm the kind of guy who gets intimidated at a Charlton game, maybe I'll stick to trying to get some tickets for Windsor Park....

Congratulations to DH

Yes, another victory over a traditional European powerhouse team, and another goal for St David of Kilkeel. That's his 13th of the qualifying campaign, ensuring he is now the record scorer in Euro Championship qualifying history - taking the record from no less a luminary than Davor Suker of Croatia. If only we hadn't developed a tendency for scoring own goals in September, I'd be joining the scramble for flights to Austria next summer. As it is, the spineless Swedes did us no favours by folding against Spain last night, and the longest of shots will see me glued to the telly on Wednesday hoping Latvia pull off a shock and we somehow rediscover the spirit of '82. Hmmmm.

I'm off to see Arcade Fire this evening

Have to confess I don't know a huge number of their songs but I'm reliably informed by just about anyone with their finger on the musical pulse that it'll be a fantastic gig. And it's up the Ally Pally, which I've never been to, so I'm really looking forward to it. Of course, being 30 now, I'll probably end up stood at the back grumbling about not being able to have a nice seat for three hours.

T to the Chizzle steps out

yes, due to my being tied to the most rubbish and expensive tariff vodafone have to offer, coupled with a girlfriend in another city and no landline and resulting in a phone bill this month of a mere £160, I have taken my first step towards becoming a hustla.

I'll now have one phone for my everyday use, and one for my bitches (i.e. my girlfriend and my mum). J's on O2 meaning I can get a pay as you go sim card and 500 mins free to O2 and landlines for a mere tenner a month. Pity I didn't think of it, oh, about 30 days ago?

Welcome to the Slaughterhouse....

On return from my birthday tour of the northern United kingdom (of which more to follow), we were thrust straight back into London life with an invite to Helen's house's halloween party. We were both tired and fragile after two weeks on the go, so imagine our consternation as we wandered into deepest Nunhead to be confronted by a sign saying "welcome to the Slaughterhouse". Inside was like some kind of mass murder had taken place, except from what I could gather it seemed to be humans vs beasts. Good old London town, where pigs feet are available from all good corner shops...




The full pics are available here

If you're bored tomorrow evening

And are not irritated in the extreme by Graham Norton, why not watch "Who do you think you are" at 9pm on BBC1? He ends up in my mum's home village and visits the church where I was baptised and our local pub (in fact there's now a picture of him hanging on the wall in the pub, right next to one of Prince Charles pulling a pint).

How to be a writer

I was reading an interview with Douglas Copeland yesterday, and he was explaining how he got into writing... He'd been out in Japan being an illustrator for a magazine but got ill and had to return home to his bedsit in Vancouver. Whilst he was in Tokyo, he'd written his mate a postcard which she'd then stuck on her fridge - this happened to be read by a "magazine editor friend" of hers who immediately called him and asked him to write for his rag.

No disputing the guy's a talented writer, but really - how jammy is that? And what the hell did that postcard say?

"Hi Mavis, saw this postcard of a Japanese man in a giant nappy and thought of you. Hope the kids are well. Wish you were here."

Not exactly the voice of Generation X, is it?

Expect a flurry of postcards from London to arrive in the post over the next few weeks. Obviously only those of you with contacts in the industry need check your letter box.

Click on this

You could win the contents of a page of Woolworths' new Big Red Book, simply by firing a real live catapult at a target. Kind of like Ant & Dec's Saturday night Takeaway, but better....

Anyway, what you do is register for the launch (geddit) of the catalogue, then if you're lucky enough you get to fire a real catapult, somewhere in a field in Rutland or somewhere, whereby you choose your numbers of catapulters, direction etc - then if you hit a target you win whatever's on it - if you hit the one with the catalogue on it then that's where your page number comes in. There's a handy link here to premium page numbers here....

Give it a shot (ha ha! see what i did there?!)

I'm going for page p487 - 6 laptops....

Big red book launch



PS - sorry about the talking sheep - maybe better with the sound off, eh?

Happy anniversary

As I sit here polishing off my second can of lager and stubbing out my 6th fag, it's hard to believe that this time last year I was the healthiest I've been since being a stalwart (i.e. occasional substitute) of the most mediocre rugby team my school had seen for years.

Yes, last Sunday marked the first anniversary of "the 10K". The reason for the blog, the proof that even a couch potato can drag himself round Hyde Park if the notion takes him. It all seems very long ago - the hot summer and routine of jogging.... I kind of miss it as I sit here shivering, wheezing and still drying out from being caught in the pissing rain this afternoon....

Just noticed I only posted 5 times in September

Rubbish.

To be fair I was moving house, but this time last year I don't think that got in the way. So to my army of two readers, I apologise. It won't happen again.

So, err, here's another post. Just to get the numbers up.

Poland

So, Poland....






Unfortunately my camera is currently knackered, so the only photos I managed to take myself whilst behind the iron curtain were these two - summing up how grim the place really is. I truly felt like a spy as I sat on the terrace, eating fish and chips and looking out at ships sailing past on the Baltic.... I'm starting to think that during the Cold War, all the leaders of the Western nations were actually coming to places like Prague and Gdansk for their holidays, and just making up shit about them to stop the tourist hordes descending and shattering their tranquility...

The main reason for our visit was to attend the wedding of Justyna's schoolfriend, and as previously mentioned I was kind of pooing myself at the prospect.

But, of course, I shouldn't have worried. The first part of the day was a bit weird, what with me never having been at a catholic church service before, never mind one in Polish with a priest who was so old, when he stopped mid-sentence at one point, I thought he might have had a funny turn. After an initial bit of confusion right at the beginning when everyone crossed themselves and I, taken by surprise, tried to do the same before realising my only knowledge of what to do comes from "nuns on the run" (spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch) and looking round at Justyna panicking - only to be told that it "wasn't compulsory" - I settled back to sit, stand, sit, stand, mumble along to some kind of incantation, sit, stand, repeat for an hour. It was all very cool though - the fact that it was in a foreign language meant I didn't get the usual cold sweats i normally do in church and just observed the whole thing like some kind of low budget Michael Palin. It helped that everyone was pre-warned that i was the "British person" and therefore they probably assumed I was a heretic, thereby excusing me from even having to pretend to get involved in the proceedings. But, as with all weddings, it was all very lovely and emotional at the vital moments, and we stepped outside into the sunshine to queue up and pay our regards to the happy couple.

This involved lining up with your gift outside the church and taking it in turns to go up, give your present, offer your congratulations etc etc.... I spent the entire wait trying to learn the correct number of times to kiss the bride on the cheek, how to say "congratulations" in Polish and trying desperately to stop my hands sweating profusely. All of which, of course, went out the window as we reached the front and I mumbled "hi" before kind of stumbling sideways and out of the way....

Onto the reception, in an amazing stately home next to the chapel. I thought perhaps I could just sit there and be silent and eat my dinner, but it's not that simple when you can't even react appropriately to what everyone else is saying due to the language barrier. We were at the table with the friends of the bride and groom, so there was a fair bit of banter, and guests were actually rolling with laughter at times.... whilst I sat there stoically prodding at my pate looking like the least fun person in the world.

Thankfully, vodka came to my rescue, as the rest of the table realised how much fun it would be to make the Irish guy drink as many shots as possible. To be fair, it's not so much they were deliberately trying to make me drink lots, it's just that they seized any opportunity to toast the bride and groom. Still, gave me an opportunity to use my one word of Polish (or is that two words?) - na zdrowie!

Ahh, the disco - a merciful respite from the vodka.... The bride and groom had their first dance, which they'd obviously practised, as they swirled around in perfect harmony. I retired after that to the safety of the front hall to observe everyone else taking the floor. Except, of course, the next dance was "ladies choice", and the next thing I know I have the Bride's mother staring at me before leading me out into the middle of the dancefloor. The only thing I do less well than drinking vodka or speaking Polish is dance, and so it was that we stumbled around for a few minutes, not saying a word, with me making quizzical expressions at her in an attempt to communicate interspersed with looks of desperation at Justyna who was pissing herself and watching the whole thing....

We got to watch a sketch show by some famous comedians in the garden, which again seemed very entertaining - I was chuckling away, even if only at the visual gags....

After that it was karaoke all the way baby, although I missed out by a matter of seconds on popping my warbling cherry after they decided we didn't have time to perform our song (me and my new mate - I think it's probably a good thing the guests were spared a Polish-Irish collaboration on Wham's seminal hit "Wake me up before you go go").

And so it was, after 12 hours, 12 (ish) vodkas, and a bloody good time, I hit tipping point - the fabled shot that, despite downing them one after the other for hours and feeling fine, causes you to go over the edge. I think I did my people proud by lasting until 3am.... Unfortunately it was 4.30 by the time my still sober-ish girlfriend peeled me off the sofa I'd passed out on and helped me to a waiting taxi....

Greetings to my friends in Libya

And in Romania

Yes, bizarrely, I have had hits on my blog from such far-flung exotic locations as Tripoli, Bucharest and, erm, Brentford.

Speaking of football....

Had the pleasure of visiting the Emirates stadium last Tuesday for the Carling cup game between Arsenal and Newcastle. The Arsenal juniors destroyed the opposition without ever actually scoring a goal, at least until the final 10 minutes when they stuck two in right in front of us. The stadium is easily the best I've ever been in - it looks like a squat UFO as you approach it, and inside it's so compact it's hard to believe that you're sharing it with over 60,000 people. 60,003 on that particular evening, in fact.

Bouncy Bouncy Bouncy Bouncy

Yes, for once I'm not embarrassed to admit I'm a Rangers fan.... A quite stunning 3-0 demolition of French champions Lyon this evening in the Champions League...

As the Norn Irish purple patch comes to a sudden end, is it time for the other pish team i support to give me more nights of European glory?!

Pulling an all nighter

So, the countdown is on to another trip to Poland.... Now that I live in the sticks I have decided to splash out on a minicab to whisk me into Victoria, to pick up the coach to the airport at a very reasonable 2.40am. My flights at 6.10. Lovely.

Off to a wedding outside Gdansk which I'm nervous about to say the least. Not only do I have to meet the parents again, having reneged on my promise of January to have "learnt Polish" by the time I returned, I also have two days of mingling with people I don't know in a language I don't understand. Oh, with gallons of vodka thrown in. I don't know what I'm more concerned about - the language barrier or my ability to last the pace....

I'm sure it'll be fine - another step into the unknown but it's character building. And I get to be a date at a wedding for the first time ever which is nice. Maybe at some point I will manage to turn up to such a function with my girlfriend and the mutterings amongst the senior family members might die down.

I've taken the late night as an opportunity to sort out my room. It's massive, as previously mentioned, and I had this image in my head of some sort of studio apartment-style room displaying my interior designing, young professional bent. In reality, it looks like a living room that someone is using as a bedroom...

I've resisted the temptation to hook up the piece de resistance - the telly - and it is remaining in its box until Monday when I will have a whole day to savour it, seeing as I have to scrape my broken body onto the return flight at ten past nine on Monday morning after two days of toasting the happy couple. I'm impressed with my willpower on the telly front - one day I might try and direct it towards quitting the fags.

I've made a bed

I make that +10 Man points for me......?

Of course, the fact I have 9 screws left over, one of which isn't even in the inventory, only adds to the masculinity of the whole thing.

Can't wait to get into bed only to find it collapse around me like one of those clown cars from black and white movies.....

Hallo! Wie Gehts?

Bizarrely, since moving to my new house and hijacking Craig's internet connection, my blogger is now coming up in German. Which makes me think of lots more potentially common key words.

and we wondered why we always had allergies....

After four and a half years living in "edgy", "vibrant" and "alternative" Brixton, I have relocated to the suburbs, for a life more befitting a man who now has more grey hairs on his head than he can count.

Whilst cleaning my old bedroom, it became apparent there was a bit of dust about the place. In this case, a "bit" equating to "a lot".

It's honestly the dustiest flat I've ever lived in - it's not just that we were clatty bastards, honest. Considering it was laminate flooring-tastic and there were virtually no soft furnishings, we remain at a loss to explain where the bloody stuff came from. My theory is that there was a cleaner who was murdered years ago in the flat and this is her revenge......

Moving time again

Not actually "moving time", you understand, in a weird Denzel Washington movie kind of way. Although that would be cool.

No, the time has come again for me to pack my knapsack with all my worldly possessions and mosey off into the sunset. Another year's lease expired, another change of postcode. I make it that this will be my 15th different address since leaving home at the age of 18 - any wonder I can't get any credit. That may or may not have much more to do with my rubbish financial acumen, but I'm willing to believe it's purely because I'm the residential equivalent of a ninja - as soon as you think you know where I live, I'm gone... The longest I've stayed in one place was 15 months, which ironically was also the shittest place I've lived, seeing as my room was about the size of a shoebox and the guy that lived behind me liked to take out his frustrations by hurling dinner plates out of the window.

But as of Saturday I'm off again, although this time it's to the pleasant suburban delights of West Dulwich (or thereabouts). No longer will I reside in "edgy" and "up and coming" Brixton - after four years I am moving to a more genteel environment with a garden and a conservatory. And a feckin massive bedroom, given that it is supposed to be the living room (as demonstrated by Craig in the picture). It might not be for very long due to the expiry of the lease on the house in November and uncertainty over who's doing what afterwards, so I may find myself on house number 16 before much longer. I also have to buy a bed which is a bit of an expense, but then I suppose it's the kind of thing I'm always likely to find useful.

I'm supposed to be packing at the moment but can't quite motivate myself. Oh, and I'm supposed to be buying the aforementioned bed. And booking a van to move me to South East London and J to Portsmouth (sniff). I might start tomorrow.

Next stop Christmas

Yes, the final bank holiday is past for another year. How was yours?

I took advantage of a summer spent stuck in work to take a few extra days off this year. Managed to fit in Get Loaded in the Park and a visit to Portsmouth, so also didn't feel like I'd wasted the time off.

Get Loaded was as good as always - yet again after a shit summer the weather was on its best behavious and we sweltered int he heat/the various tents all day. Unlike last year, we didn't spend 3 hours getting drunk in a pub in Clapham and actually made it through the gates about an hour after it opened. The highlights w ere Bonde do Role (in the video below) and 2 Many DJs, although the Streets weren't far behind, despite me being pretty unimpressed last year at Roskilde. The fact I was starting to get a hangover kicking in and it was 1am probably didn't help my mood in Denmark though. Bonde do role are your usual crazy Brazilians which made for the best atmosphere of any gig I've been at for a while.



Portsmouth is not a dump.

I was as surprised as you. Obviously there are certain parts of it that need a bit of work, like every town in the UK, and it helps if busy sea ports and ship yards make you wide eyed with child like wonder, but the whole area around Gunwharf Quay and Southsea is lovely. We were down flat hunting for 'er indoors' impending relocation for the university year, and we even managed to achieve our goal. Although considering the feature that clinched the room was a brick chimney, perhaps it wasn't as difficult as it could have been. The flat's in a really nice area near a nice local pub and about 5 minutes walk from the beach, so it couldn't be better. I'm glad I managed to see the room and the town before the move - I 'm now very likely to visit on a regular basis and know that she'll be happy down there. Meanwhile, I'm moving out to the suburbs, having admitted defeat at staying young. Nice tree-lined street, back garden, big room - a far cry from my current bachelor pad (which doesn't contain any bachelors). All change at Casa Tattie, that's for sure.

Before the move I have a bit of international jet-setting to do - Edinburgh next week for 3 days, then Poland for 4 days a fortnight later for a Polish wedding. By all accounts they last for 2 days and the 2nd day is where the leftover booze and food gets used up, so god knows what nick I'll be in upon my return. After that, it's a couple more weeks of work and then off to the motherland for birthday shenanigans and a wee trip to Glasgow to visit my spiritual home. All this and the rugby world cup. I have no idea how my liver or bank balance is going to come out the other side unscathed, but sure it's all about the thrill of the journey. Anyway, this time two months I'll officially be old and knackered and bits of me will start deteriorating, so at least I'm going out in style....

Ah, summer eh?

Summer is drawing to a close, which can only mean the weather is going to improve... It seems to have vanished in the blink of an eye, porbably whilst I was holed up in a pub at the weekend sheltering from the rain. I honestly don't know what's happened to 2007 - I was so certain that this was going to be an amazing year, and yet here we are with only 4 months left to go and it seems to be the same as it always was.

Still! Never mind! As of 5pm tomorrow, I have 5 whole days off, without even thinking of work. Off to Get Loaded in the Park on Sunday to dance like a dick to 2 Many DJs and perhaps even listen to the Streets. Just found out that several folk have managed to get their hands on some free tickets as well, so there'll be a bigger than expected crowd of us - the sun should finally stick its head out too so all systems go for some fun on the common. And my mates can get the beers in, as I had to fork out £80 for two tickets! That's what I get for planning in advance I suppose.......

There's so much wrong with this picture I don't even know where to start......

God bless the internet

I checked my Google Analytics this evening, just to see what's been going on. Bizarrely, someone had found their way to my blog by typing "Noel Mellor" into the search engine. And spent almost 10 minutes on it.

"Who's he?, I hear you cry...." Well, it would appear he is a former Ticketmaster employee now working for Bruntwood Estates in Manchester (and abusing his internet access), who decided to Google himself the other day.

Having found it weird that the name was on the list of referrals, I Googled it myself to see where I appeared in the results, and clicked on the link to my post of November last year. There were four comments. Now, having a life 'n all, I wasn't sure what they said.... two were between my friend and I, but there were a further two that grabbed my attention. For the benefit of those who don't remember, you can read the original post here. The additional comments are posted below.........

Noel, all I can say is, you made my night. I did laugh quite a lot. Obviously 9 months have passed and I no longer give a shit about my crappy little argument with you. But fair play, you were quite entertaining with your response. Really though, don't you have anything better to do than search for yourself on the internet?

PS - by way of explanation, I accidentally called him Neil in earlier correspondence because their was a guy called Neil Mellor who played for Liverpool for about 4 games.

__________________________________________________________________

Anonymous said...

Hi Timmy,

Just so you know, I dont work for ticketmaster any longer but recall having great fun with wankers like you thinking that they were going to get somewhere by attempting to sound clever and crafty...

I should also point out that each time you spent half an hour writing an e-mail that would so accurately 'wind me up' and crack the corporate machine that is ticketmaster (you little armchair militant you) I was pressing a button that sent you an automated response.

By the way, did you ever get that refund? Didnt think so.

8:03 AM

Anonymous said...

(I just noticed I got your name wrong tee hee fucking hee)

Yours so very sincerely

Noel

8:05 AM

This google analytics thing is awfully clever

and more than a bit 'big brother'. Andy was talking about it and saying some of the slightly dodgy internet searches that have led people to his site, given that he normally has random movie quotes in there.

My first discovery is that I've had 11 unique visitors in the last 24 hours, one of whom found me by typing "john smeaton.com" into Google. I googled the same phrase, and there I am - number 5 on the list of results! Who says you have to spend money to get a favourable listing?

I can also tell that at least two of the visits have been by me, as the name of my company is shown in the networks listing. Hope they're not checking out similar things at their end.....

I've addedd Google Analytics to the blog

so I can see who has been visiting it. Thereby confirming once and for all that apart from me and my mum, the thing only has about two readers. Still, until it gets to just me reading it (or even beyond that), I shall continue waffling crap and clogging up the information superhighway....

wasted Sunday

or should that be wasted on Saturday night, leading to a wasted Sunday? Yet again I have managed to not leave the flat for the entire day and my weekend has disappeared in the blink of an eye. Thank goodness for J working the late shift, as going to collect her will force me to get some fresh air before the weekend is over completely.

Welcome to the world Leon Philipp Bickelman

Yes, another of my friends has gone and had a baby. So congrats to Stella and Pino on their new arrival. I'm off to the pub, and looking forward to having a teenie hired assassin available in years to come to settle any scores necessary.

The two videos I posted on You Tube have been viewed a combined total of 150 times

Do people have nothing better to do?

2

I thought that my posts this evening might look a bit like popular drama series "24", only with days of the week. Then I realised nothing of note really happened on Saturday, Sunday, Monday or Wednesday, so it became similar to an annoying box set after you've had a party and someone's nicked half the dvds.

Anyway, it's been an eventful week.

Tuesday

4pm, Tuesday afternoon. Sitting at my desk feeling reasonably productive. The phone rings. Jane answers. "Tony, it's for you - it's Group Security and Fraud". Panicked thoughts streak across my mind - finally my idle internet surfing has caught up with me - I've accidentally clicked on an Ebay link once too often, they've done an audit of my internet and emails and I'm buggered....

I pick up the phone with a greasy palm. "Hi Tony, this is Steve from Group Security. A couple of days ago you entered....."

Oh God, what's he going to say... Hotmail? A porn site accidentally? The alarm code to our building on a burglar forum?

"....a competition to win a tv...."

Did I? Buggered if I can remember that. Wait, hold on. Why would he be ringing me about that unless..... unless.....!!!!!

"...and I'm delighted to say that you've won! It's a Samsung 32 inch LCD digital tv"

Oh. my. God.

Spend the rest of the afternoon in shock, surfing Currys website to see how much the bad boy costs - well, the next 30 minutes anyway, before deciding I really can't concentrate so might as well go home early. Speak to Craig on the way home; arrange to meet him for a pint to celebrate my good fortune.

Meet Craig in the local pub, and bask for a couple of hours in the sunshine before calling it a night at a very reasonable 8pm. He walks round the corner with me to get a kebab; I go home. 5 minutes later my doorbell rings - it's Craig, hanging onto my doorframe with blood streaming from his mouth. "I've been mugged. Can you come to the hospital with me?"

I got a ride in the back of the ambulance with Craig to the hospital, which wasn't nearly as much fun as I'd hoped. The paramedic said it was because the sirens weren't on, and promised to put them on for me next time. I thought she was flirting with me, then I just got a bit perturbed about the possibility that there might be a "next time".

The NHS was working a full velocity on Tuesday evening, so after a mere 4 hours of sitting in the waiting room trying to avoid eye contact with the assorted freaks and weirdos a south London A&E attracts, he was seen at around midnight. Thanks to some strategically placed sovereign rings and Craig's inability to let go of his mobile without a struggle, his mouth is pretty much mush. The latest is he's had two Xrays on teeth and jaw, and needs to see an orthodontist next week for an assessment. So this little prick not only nicked a top of the range (and now useless) mobile phone in broad daylight, he's caused Craig untold suffering into the bargain.

The only positive is that the stupid little prick did the whole thing about 10 feet away from a CCTV camera, and I think they might have caught him.

It certainly put my good fortune into sharp perspective.

Friday

Last Friday I had the dubious pleasure of being scanned with a metal detector on the way into the pub. Such are the wondrous times we live in these days. I felt a little bit like I was in Total Recall for a moment, as the bouncer pointed at the square, wallet-shaped thing in my pocket and asked what it was. However, the novelty had worn off by the time I got inside as I wondered exactly why they were doing it. Were they expecting trouble or was it just a precaution? Whichever the reason, I made sure we didn't sit anywhere near the window.

It was absolutely mobbed but I was knackered so made my excuses and left early, stoppping off at the pub on the way home to see what time J would be finishing. Stayed around for another beer to wait until closing, whereupon the local schizophrenic and bon viveur came out to provide me with more of his interesting assessments of my parents' marital status, which part of a lady's anatomy I most resembled, and what he was going to do to me - although hastening to add it was nothing personal. I've heard all this pish a hundred times before and am very bored off it, and on Friday I ranted back at him. His hatred of me seemed to stem from the fact that I was from "Belfast", as he kept referring to my "mates" inside - meaning a couple of Belfast boys I'd seen earlier. I tried to point out I'd never even met them and anyway, how can where you come from dictate whether or not you're a nice person?

I'd forgotten about Liverpool, of course, and the fact that I was talking to a schizophrenic, so understandably these arguments had little effect. Just as I was getting ready to leave (with my pissed mate not understanding that this is a waltz the two of us play out everytime he sees me and trying to physically manhandle the guy away, whilst J did a subdued Polish version of "leave 'im Dean, ee's not werf it"), the subject of religion came up. Probably in terms of him calling me a Catholic-something-or-other. At this point I said "but I'm not even a Catholic, I'm Protestant". This guy goes "What? Say that again?" and I repeated myself, after which he held his hands up saying "Sorry, I didn't know, I didn't know" and backed right down. I did ask what the feck that mattered anyway but he just kept saying "I didn't know". I have never disclosed my "religion" to randoms, most definitely not to win an argument - I haven't even been to church since I was 13. But had I known that saying that 6 months ago when he started giving me grief would have apparently stopped it straight away, I would have been willing to make an exception.

A bit of German pop for you....

This is Wir Sind Helden, who I saw at the ICA last night. Am guessing you won't really get a feel for it via the 2 megapixel brilliance of my camera phone (or my position right at the back of the crowd) but seeing as they're my first ever uploads to You Tube, I thought I'd share them.

Hello again

It's been a while again, hasn't it? I entirely blame Facebook for my lack of action - I don't actually do anything on it, but just spend hours seemingly refreshing the browser to see if anyone else has done something. I'm sure it's not the most productive way of spending my fast-disappearing youth.

Recently I've also been up to a fair bit - went to see my favourite German pop band last night at the iTunes festival at the ICA which was a nice and unexpected way to spend a Monday evening, when I was still feeling the effects of a night of horrible debauchery on Saturday. It was quite a small gig with only about 350 people there, but there were enough actual fans there to have the place jumping and demand a second encore.

Previously on Saturday we braved the rain to visit Lambeth Country show, the highlight of which was the small children on motorbikes jumping through hoops of fire. They were only about 6 years old - I was sure there must be laws against stuff like that. Unfortunately the awful weather drove us back to my flat and then to the pub, upon which the drunkenness began. Somehow remained unconscious until 3pm on Sunday and spent the rest of the day with my head down the toilet. You know when you wake up still drunk at that time of the day that the hangover, when it hits, ain't gonna be pretty.

But I'm almost back to normal now and have spent a lovely evening cleaning my flat in preparation for the return from Poland of Justyna. I even cleaned my rug. And no, that's not a euphemism. I now have a completely clean bedroom which seems about twice the size it was earlier on, not that it'll last.

Mum is now back from Kenya, and had an amazing time by all accounts. Unfortunately her camera sneakily broke just as she arrived in Nairobi but she didn't realise, so returned with 3 films worth of nothingness as a record of her trip. Pretty gutting - she has got a copy of other people's, but it's not really the same.

Went to the Tour de France first stage in Greenwich a couple of weeks back - was a very exciting 20 seconds, as we were stood right at the start line. Of course, by now the whole thing has descended into drug-fuelled farce yet again, with the favourite testing positive for blood-doping and his whole bloody team withdrawing from the event. What's the point? Surely these people realise they'll get busted by now? Being from Kazakhstan is not an excuse.

Anyway, I'd best be off, as I was using bleach in the bathroom earlier and judging by the burning sensation on my hand and my face may have failed to wash my hands correctly afterwards. Still, if I got some on my hair it might give me an attractive skunk-esque streak to cover the new grey hair that has appeared right in the middle of my fringe. Bloody Mother Nature and her sense of humour....

Intelligent humour

I'm trying to clean a variety of stains from our sofa at the moment in preparation for the landlord finally bringing round a sofa cover, and noticed that this has appeared due to the way I've tried to get the (rather nasty) fag burn cleaned up a bit. Not quite the same as seeing Jesus' likeness in a Kumquat, but a phenomenon nonetheless. Or at least a mildly amusing accident.

Kenyaaa.....Ohhh Kenyaaaa.....

.....where the giraffes are..... and the zebraaaaaa!

Yes, as I write, Mother tattie (on the left in the photo) has been in Kenya for 5 days and her trek is, amazingly, almost over. In the past few days, she has seen giraffes, buffalo and gazelles, abseiled down a 25 metre cliff and climbed 550m up the side of a volcano... and these are just the things she has told me about.

She'll never realise how proud I am of her for doing it and taking the plunge - those of you who sponsored her will have received a very nice email from her before she set off which outlines how determined she is to use it as the start of a new chapter in her life. It was so nice to be there at Heathrow to wave her off last Saturday (almost, but that's another story) - although she was so excited about the trip she barely spoke to me the entire time I was there!

Go on that mum.

Glasgow's a tough city...

Just look at this piece of evidence. Unfortunately You Tube have disabled the embed function but if you clik on the link you should be transported back to another era, when men were men and wore moustaches with pride....

Glasgow Diamonds Football Team

"Dreamt" is the only word in the English language ending with "-mt"

Amazing what you can learn from the back of a Penguin wrapper

I take it all back

Thanks to Helen for making me feel a whole hell of a lot better about missing Roskilde this year.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/6283822.stm

This brightened up my Monday morning

A public service announcement

Courtesy of Mr Murray Gordon.

Psycho cabbie

The latest satirical news website on the internet

At least, I hope to God it is. I mean, they can't actually be serious with headline likes this can they?

Headline 1

Headline 2

The John McClane of Glasgow

Those north of the border will no doubt already be familiar with Mr John Smeaton, or "the Smeatonator" as he's now known. This is the guy who - irritated at having his fag break interrupted - single-handedly took on the terrorists at Glasgow Airport last Saturday. As the wonderful article today in local rag "The Daily Record" quoted him as saying:

"This man went straight for the policeman and started attacking the policeman. You're not hitting the polis mate, no chance.

"I ran straight down towards him, hundreds of members of the public did exactly the same thing, we all ran towards the guy and tried to get a kick in, get a boot in.

"Just to subdue the guy."

Or to put it another way:

"This is Glasgow and we'll no accept this. You try this and we'll set about ye."

Understandably, the man has acquired legend status and his own fan club:
John Smeaton.com

I love summer

This evening it felt like the apocalypse was nigh....

Freaky Storminess

Pics of said freaky storminess

very odd. I would have my own photo but had to put my camera out the window to take it and it got soaked and blurry.

Bloody summer.

Lorna Hunter

The day many never thought would happen is finally here - my thank you post to Lorna.

The official reason (not excuse) for not writing one sooner is that I didn't have a photo of her to accompany the glorious tribute, but some handiwork with my scanner a few minutes ago means I now have one at my disposal. Erm, this one. I did have another one but I gave it to Andy about 2 years ago to scan for me and never saw it again. I shudder to think what's happened to it....

But I digress. "Who is Lorna Hunter?", I hear you cry. Well, at least those of you who haven't been fortunate enough to meet the young lady yet. The photo is actually from Optimo about 2 and a half years ago, although it's debatable that anyone else who was there at the time remembers much of the evening whatsoever.

I first met Lorna on July the 10th, 2000. Which by now is a long, long time ago. Fresh from my graduation the previous Friday, I was taking my first faltering steps into the world of full-time work. The time and effort I had spent applying for countless graduate positions had paid off handsomely, and I had secured a coveted place with Lloyds TSB, working in their call centre for £5.50 an hour. Thankfully there were other normal people who were equally blase about getting a job (about 4 of us - the rest were all a bit weird - Lorna, this will only mean something to you, but Stef? Jeez.)

I didn't actually become friendly with Lorna straight away, as she had begun the job along with three of her uni mates (they were all planning on ditching it after a few months to go travelling), so I hung out with Mhairi the first few days - an equally lovely girl but one who hasn't sponsored me.

Lorna and I were put on the same team when we started, and it was through the long boring hours of Sunday shifts that we became friends. I think I would have gone completely crazy during those days, listening to Grannies trying to access the internet via their kettle whilst knowing my mates were still going from the night before, had it not been for the serene presence of Ms Hunter. She also had the coolest car imaginable - a purple restored VW Beetle - and I still remember when my heart leapt when she first offered me a lift home in it. As we chugged up the 45 degree incline of Gardner Street that first evening, I felt my chest swell with pride as neighbours' curtains twitched frantically....

"Shug! Shug! Cum'ere! That lanky Irish streak of pish fae nummer ferty six is in a car! Wae a bonnie lassie! Ah always thought he wis buftie, no?"

Thank God for Glasgow's antiquated public transport, which closed at 5pm on a Sunday.

Alas, Lorna pissed off to Australia after a mere few months, returning just before I myself made good my escape to the other side of the world; this combined with me not moving back to Glasgow means that inevitably we haven't seen much of each other over the last few years. Very pleasing, however, to see that she got rid of that bloke with the flouncy barnet and fake tan and is now living a life of blissful domestic contentment with Donny, whilst spreading her own personal rays of sunshine to the less fortunate members of Glasgow's community through her work as an Occupational Therapist. I'm sure some of the "less mentally firm" of her congregation must mistake her for an angel as she floats into their lives - I am marginally less insane but would concur fully with their deduction.

She is one of the people on "the list" when I return to Glasgow - one of those who, if I don't get a chance to catch up with them, it'll cloud the rest of the trip. She is even more guaranteed to have me harranguing her to meet for a pint from now on, as she has joined an elite group in my heart - she has sponsored both me, for my 10K last year, and my mum, for her impending trip to Kenya (she leaves on bloody Saturday! How did that happen?!).

Your generosity and loveliness know no bounds and I am glad I got a shit job straight from uni.

Toaster* x.

*before you ask - I have no idea.

Cigars. Rubbish.

Adieu

Ban? What ban?

The end of an era is upon us

A sad day

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/business/6252300.stm

Will probably mean less to you if you didn't go to Glasgow Uni (or similar)

Blogged with Flock

An interview with the wee man himself

who says there's no news in Scotland?

I know everyone's already seen it

but this had disappeared of You Tube for a while and now it's back! Bolt, ya nugget.

God it's been ages

so it's been a while since I've posted anything. Rubbish. Let's just get it clear at this point that I am aware there are a few hardy souls who do actually look at this thing once in a while and for them I can only apologise for the lack of witty banter that has been forthcoming in recent weeks. I'm also more than aware that I owe Lorna and Im a write up for their generous sponsorship of my mum (1 week to go!!!).

I've obviously been up to a great deal, rather than just being really knackered after work and content to sit and watch mind-numbing telly or go to the pub for a beer rather than write something.

So what's new? well I'm sat in my flat on a Friday night, having left my mates int he pub cos I'm too skint and don't want to be any more drunk than I already am. My flat smells a bit like a sewer - I think because the bucket under the sink is yet again filled with rancid effluent from the washing up. I'm going to wait and see if anyone else notices as I have had to lug the stinking, rotting, acidic mixture out of the flat on the last three occasions. Elsewhere, the crickets that form the major part of Borys the tarantula's diet are making an unholy racket in my bedroom from their vantage point under my radiator. I always thought crickets were quite interesting, majestic creatures, but it turns out that I might be thinking of cicadas. Crickets are ugly little black beetly things which don't sound at all like I'm on holidays somewhere hot. Still, they're going to get eaten by a large spider soon so it's not all bad. The problem is you have to feed them too, so it becomes a never ending food distribution cycle.

Next time I'm buying a stuffed owl - much less hassle.

sorry for the lack of blogging recently

bear with me - normal service will be resumed soon

Blogged with Flock

This time last year I was getting ready for Roskilde

This year I'm sat watching Glastonbury getting verrrry jealous.... I never really cared before, but now all the memories are coming flooding back.

Next year Rodney. Next year.

I added the "cities I've visited" application to Facebook this evening

37 cities in 10 countries, eh? Sounds almost impressive. Except that 75% of them are places like "Birmingham", "Glasgow", "Belfast" and "Brighton", whilst the rest are pretty much a detailed map of mid-80s middle class holiday destinations.

Still, in the past year I've been to Berlin, Gdansk, Malmo and Copenhagen, so maybe it's not too late.

New kid on the blog

I am thinking of retiring from blogging, as I will otherwise just get depressed at the gulf in quality between this tattie (like what I did there?) rag and the newest addition to my "links" - Withafacelikethat.

This is the forst foray into the internet revolution by my good friend, Mr Gavin Wilson. Unfortunately, he is a professional journalist, and you can therefore guarantee that the content of his musings will be significantly more interesting, wittier and grammatically correct than mine.

In fact, he's so used to writing entertaining copy that even my attempts to big him up to the point where he feels unable to live up to his billing will no doubt prove ineffective. I hope so. I'm as bad at keeping in touch with him as I am with everyone else, so it will be nice to get a peek into life in New York. Another alternative would be going to visit him - as I have been claiming I will for the past 3 years - but for the foreseeable future I think this is the best I can hope for.
Who knows, he might even have some celebrity dirt on his mobile phone he can post.

Withafacelikethat

Musicovery

I stumbled Upon this the other day - it's quite cool

Musicovery

I'm a bit pished

oops

I have Roskilde-envy

The paper had a feature on European festivals today. Made the mistake of looking at the line up for Roskilde. CSS, LCD Soundsystem, Arcade Fire...

200 Euro for a week of camping out in a dusty field whilst an 18 year old scandinavian kid pisses against your tent before setting fire to it - come on! Who's with me?!?!

I've made my can of beer last 2 hours

rock and roll

Egads, what to talk about

Always the way, isn't it? You finally get an opportunity to sit down and chew the fat/entertain the masses with some blog-situated frivolity and then you come over all shy. Probably just as well though - am supposed to be job hunting.

All I ask for is £25K, no uniform and Fridays off to go down the pub. Can't be that feckin hard, can it?

The adoring look of the father to be

Worshipping Stella's belly. Either that or Pino had just overdone it last weekend and couldn't stand up in the park. Still love the photo though.

Slowly returning to normality

I had a very civilised weekend this weekend - skintness helped force my hand and resulted in me having a few beers on Friday, a nice afternoon in the park and then a very civilised Saturday evening getting all cultured on the South Bank at the reopening of the Royal Festival Hall, and the best, most sober Saturday night's sleep I've had since I was about 14 years old. I slept like a log and woke up feeling so good I swore then and there never to drink again. Bounded out into the sunshine to meet Pino to play football in he park.... and then ruined it all when our "two pints" in the Prince Regent turned into "six pints". Was asleep by 7pm, woke up at 11pm not knowing what the hell was going on, ate a cheese toastie, and sweated my way through the rest of the night. And suffered the whole way through work today as if I'd been out on a bender for 3 days. Bah.

Getting cultured for free

At the reopening of the Festival Hall

25% of Londoners think I'm boring

Wouldn't-know-a-frothy-get-you-home-in-the-evening-anecdote-if-it-hit-them-in-the-face-and-
then-pooed-on-their-heads philistine twats.

Quality control goes out the window again

Quite how thelondonpaper manages to fill it's column inches on a daily basis is beyond me, as I am convinced there is a complete lack of submissions for their "columnist" feature. The latest proof is that they have printed my drunken mush, penned when in a state of some fuzziness on Thursday evening.

Whilst I was proud the first time I got a column printed, it's more a case of "quantity over quality" this time round, and I expect to get much less than the 100% more vote I did last time. About time I got a reality check maybe.

Anyway, there's a link here if you're one of the unfortunates who didn't manage to read it first hand (from the texts so far i can pretty much guarantee that Sarah is the only one who did). The one bonus from the online version is that it doesn't have the cheesy photo I decided would best sum up my personality, which i found staring back at me on the Tube somewhere between Pimlico and Vauxhall this evening (see below).

Of course, I'm still gutted I didn't get recognised.

The article

Summer's here...

Pushing the boundaries of journalistic endeavour

after months and months of writer's block (caused in no small part by people telling me they actually liked my previous column), I finally found inspiration this evening in the form of a plucky fly. Kind of like Robert the Bruce. Thanks to Gav for pointing out the obvious, i.e. that it was a spider in the story. So much for poetic license.

Anyway, it's not pulitzer prize winning and probably won't get published but here is my story. And to think I was worried I have nothing to contribute to the world.

"I have had many moments of epiphany down the pub over my illustrious drinking career, but not many have topped tonight.

There I was, chatting away with my girlfriend (and no doubt boring her to tears), when I glanced down. Lo-and-behold, a small fly was doing the doggy paddle across my pint. Normally a student of the “mush it into the table for being so cheeky” philosophy, on this occasion I adopted a more philanthropic bent. Don’t ask me why – perhaps it was the sunshine and company – but I noticed the little fella was swimming like dixie in a fruitless attempt to get out of his predicament.

In a stubby finger went - almost drowning him at first - until he rose majestically from the San Miguel, looking more than a little soggy. At this point I must admit I still thought it better to put him out of his misery, but a supportive word from my girlfriend persuaded me to give him a shot. He was a sorry sight, wings plastered down over his back legs, staggering in a manner all too familiar to those with a love of the pop, but then a remarkable thing happened.

Perched on my finger, he started to dry his front legs, then crawl up my hand before eventually coming to rest on the leaf-like greenery of my hoodie. A bit more staggering, then his middle legs started functioning, and things started looking up. I still thought “no way is he ever flying again”, but suddenly his back legs came free and he started purring his wings like an airline pilot checking the controls before take off. A few practice buzzes – “yep, all seems in order” – and off he flew into the sunset. I like to think he returned to the waiting fly army hordes and shouted “stop the invasion! The humans are actually all right!” - kind of in the same way as Woody Allen’s character in A Bug’s Life, but different. That, however, was a potential side effect of the lager.

It made me feel great, that little moment. Next time you’re tempted to crush someone, spare a thought for what might be. A fly’s life is short, but to allow it to live another day by a moment’s thought makes me feel like a better person - even if half that life is spent with a raging hangover. Welcome to my world."

Blogged with Flock

Not trying to be annoying...

Thanks so much to everyone who's sponsored my mum for her trek so far - Imogen, Gav, Louise, Julie-anne, Jennie and Colin.

I know a few others mentioned they might chuck a few bob her way and I've realised I didn't really say when she's going etc... She's off on July the 7th, just over 5 weeks away, so I think she needs to know how much she's raised before then. She's training hard at the mo, and so was I at the weekend, as I was dragged down a mountain, across a valley, up the other side, along the top, back down, back up again and back along the top again in a 9km hike round a local forest park. Given that me ma is doing 3 times that each day, I don't envy her one wee bit. if I'm that desperate to see lions and giraffes I'll go to the zoo.

Blogged with Flock

Over-emotional pretentious text message of the weekend

the award goes to me, I believe, for this nugget of drunken articulation....

"I'm enveloped in a sea of belfast accents... Used to hate it, now it feels like a comfy pair of ear muffs. Maybe it's a reaction to London".

Apologies, Jennie, for cluttering up your inbox with such drivel.

Blogged with Flock

What will we call our company?

Imagine being "Mr Porn". Quality.

For anyone who's interested....

I thought I'd put my photos of my trip home with J online... I say my photos, what I mean is "the photos deemed acceptable by J", which seems to include any of me looking like a twat and exclude any of her unless you can't actually make her out from the one pixel high spot in the middle of the picture.

Anyway, they do a reasonable amount of justice to my wee neck of the woods, and somewhat scarily by the time I'd got to viewing the album after uploading, someone had already viewed the one of me making a gimp face at the camera.... the world is full of freaks, people...

Northern Ireland photos

I feel properly pished off the back of 3 pints

I think I must be getting old. Back in the day (as I remember it) I could have 6 pints of Stella and still be up fresh as a daisy the next morning to right the world's wrongs...

It could be the fact I know I have to get up at 4.45 in the morning to get my flight back to the motherland, and am already panicking because everything has to work perfectly to make my flight. If I get the half 5 tube I should be at Stansted for around 6.40, giving me a whole 15 minutes leeway before my flight closes. Bah. Life shouldn't be this stressful.

Welcome to Trafalgar Park

Wales photos are Flickred up

Unfortunately I forgot to give them a set name and I can't work out to add them to the group, so this link will have to do....

http://www.flickr.com/photos/44222788@N00/

Blogged with Flock

I'm pure knack'd

It's been fair hectic this month and no mistake. Back in the NI for my friend Peter's wedding on the 5th, then J arrived on the 6th, mum's birthday on the 7th, the Glens and the Giants Causeway on the 8th, back to London on the 9th, off to Wales for Jennie's birthday on the 11th, back on the 14th, then the Heineken Cup final at Twickenham last Sunday. Me head's pure spinning.

It's been a very enjoyable if slightly exhausting month in tattie-land, and I am currently trying to upload some photos. I'll link stuff up and provide witty and erudite commentary tomorrow perhaps, as i have a bit of time to kill before heading off to Stansted (again) to fly to Northern Ireland (again) for my mate Nikki's 30th. I am the ultimate party jet-setter. All I want is a nice lie in.

Liverpool lost. Oh well

The more important thing is I lost £170. I say lost, what i mean is "didn't win", which is almost the same, as I had a fiver on Milan to win 3-0 at 33-1. Seemed like good odds up until the 85th minute.

Feck me it's hot

not "warm" or "pleasant", but Hot.

I'm all for global warming, but can they not at least get a bit of consistency?

Blogged with Flock

Crowd a stonners....

Oh where to start with this beautiful memory of Messrs Zimmer, Davidson and Browning from way back in 1998.... The World Cup in France was a mere two days old and we were looking forward to the excitement of "honours" classes next year. At least, those of us who had managed to complete our first two years at university were.... Apparently Andy Cole was still quite good and playing for Man Utd at this point, according to the somewhat tatty newspaper poster stuck to the wall. I think it compliments the rancid curtains and "rejected by the binmen" sofa quite nicely though.

Yes, this was our flat in Ruthven Street where we spent a full year breathing a mixture of fag smoke and chip fat from Psycho Paul's fry ups, watching Wide Neil spit flem into a (never emptied) Irn Bru bottle, and dancing on the breakfast counter to "Hawaii Five O", whilst waiting for Mr Miah the landlord to turn up and fix whatever was broken with "GripperRod" (kind of a poor man's duct tape). I remember at this party Wide/Dutch Neil threw Pissed Kate out for no apparent reason and I pulled Emma Lawson, much to the chagrine of Chris "Poor Performance".

Some fashion points of note from the photo:-
1) The fetching Lacoste polo shirt on Coco
2) The earring on Euan, combined with no grade skinhead and white polo shirt to complete the "king of neds" look
3) where to start with Neil?! Can't decide which is worse, the Bart Simpson haircut or the Kickers sweatshirt/shirt combo

God we were cool.

Old pic of the day....

Ahh.... Hogmanay 2000... a distinct chill in the air as we walked to the Old Fruitmarket (aka knee deep slush). Saw in the new year standing bollock freezing in the queue for the club. Lovely. You would not know from this photo that merely 2 days later I was phoning NHS direct and persuading Gav to take me to Casualty (leaving as soon as we realised it was a minimum 5 hour wait for a doctor) as I lost feeling in my legs and couldn't stand up without falling over again. Of course, I completely blame the cold weather and not the debauchery of the evening in question.

Have been getting all retro

They don't make theme tunes like this anymore

Blogged with Flock

I think that two cats are shagging outside my bedroom window

Either that or there's a banshee on the loose.

Blogged with Flock

I've wasted another evening

messing about on Facebook. Before anyone gets all high and mighty, I know it's for people 10 years younger than me ("lol") but it's all Helen's fault for inviting me to sign up. Now I spend lonely hours, trawling for names of half-remembered aquaintances... Obviously either I have a bad memory or everyone else has far better things to do with their time. Bizarrely my work has its own group. I think that I might avoid contact, rather than rocking up and going "hey kids! I'm that grumpy old bloke that never talks to you! Wanna be my virtual friend?". Would probably get me arrested or something.

Blogged with Flock

My bank's taken £1300 of my money

in charges over the last 4 years. Bloody daylight robbery I tells ya. Fair enough, around £700 of that is in interest on my overdraft, but the rest is for bounced direct debits and the like. The cheek! If I can get my arse in gear am going to try and claim it back - only problem is if they give me back the charges they might then expect me to pay back the money I owe them.

Blogged with Flock

I'm getting too old for this....

After a fantastic holiday, firstly in Northern Ireland and then in Wales, I managed to take it too far on Sunday and obviously broke myself slightly. The result, encouraged by a bumpy trip out of Canaervon in the back of Murray's (mum's) Mini, was possibly the most scenic chunder ever seen, down the side of a valley in the middle of Snowdonia.

The resultant shakes, sleeplessness, feelings of queasiness and knackeredness has further convinced me that the time is right to take a break from my passion and stop drinking for a while. This is a problem on several levels, not least that there is always a reason to have a drink in London, as well as the fact that I really enjoying going for a "quiet one" with J whenever we have some time off. But even health matters aside, I just can't afford to keep drinking. So the question is, when do I stop?

At the moment the most likely month to try is June, given that I have full weekends between now and then. Ideally I'd like to start on the 18th of the month - it being pay day - just so I can see how much better off financially I might be if I controlled my boozing. But then of course, the smoking ban comes into effect in England on July 1st - can I really bring myself to deny the experience of the end of an era? Like I say - there's always an excuse.