The fourth day and the country are starting to get twitchy. Already people are grumbling about lack of gold medals and a poor return on the all round medal situation. So far GB, sorry Team GB (sounds so contrived don't you think or is that just cynical old me?) has got the following;
1 silver - Lizzie Armistead - Heroic
1 silver - Team Eventing - Team horsey stuff
1 bronze - Men's Team Gymnastics - 1st medal in 100 years - i have incredible respect for their strength and fitness but lets face it Gymnastics is the sort of thing you do along with Woodwork at school as two least favourite things. Pants and vest Evans. Pants and Vest - i can hear my old PE teacher's voice ringing out in my ears. Cringe.
1 bronze - Rebecca Addlington - swimming
Poor return? Suddenly the media, the phone ins (if you want to feel depressed at human nature listen to one of those for 2 hours) are starting to lose their optimism and criticise the Athletes. 'All that funding to come in 5th' etc etc. Suddenly the public are turning into experts on 10 metre synchronised diving, handball, water polo, archery and any other sport for that matter.
Don't get me wrong, i love a medal. I get a buzz from most of the dramatic sports that deliver those moments in time, that victory, that medal, particularly gold and especially in the humble sports. The stats say there is usually a 15-20% upturn in performance because of home support. Other Olympics have showed that, but not so far in London.
Why? Is it the funding? The psyche of the Athletes? The system? The structure?
I think i know why. It's because of pasties.
Performing in front of a fervent home crowd must be such a buzz a huge adrenaline rush. But that only lasts so long. I mean, if after 50 metres you're initial surge has petered out, what are you left with then? It then becomes the job of the home crowd to keep up that support and drag the athlete home to some kind of victory. This hasn't been happening so far and i blame the crowd.
Every time i switch on the swimming the TV cuts to the crowd (don't get me started on the empty seats debacle) and all i notice is a sea of people in Team GB replica shirts who are vastly overweight. Now I'm not going to start on my fattest rant again, as people who read this blog are convinced I'm unfair on overweight people. I'm not, obesity is now the worlds biggest danger to health. The biggest killer and biggest drain on resources. It's a fact.
The Olympics is The bastion of sporting greatness and participation. Designed to inspire people to play sport to become the best they can. Yet this Olympic ideal is sponsored by McDonalds, a fast food giant who have little interest in health, just profit It fucking smacks of hypocrisy and chip fat. What chance do we have? I don't blame the overweight people i blame the massive pressure, convenience and deviousness of the fast food companies and food providers. They are like dealers, spiking food with sugar and preservatives to make you hooked and come back for more and more.
So why is it the crowds fault GB are doing shit so far? Well they are lardy in London. No getting away from it, so it's no surprise they run out of puff at 50 metres in support of GB athletes. They're knackered. It's hard to shout support when you're munching on a Ginsters pastie. If you look close enough at the crowd, that's not dandruff on their official Team GB replica shirts, it's pastie crumbs. It;s not the Athletes that are running out of steam it's the crowd. Shame the Olympics aren't sponsored by Red Bull, that would keep them going.
Big news of the day, GB win silver in the Team Eventing. I'm not sure how i feel about that. I mean I'm, pleased they won a medal but i have about as much interest in that sport as i do about dusting. Just can't get Poz about it.
The other news, London is deserted. Looks like all the fear based warnings of carnage in town has resulted in everyone living here buggering off for 2 weeks, consequently it;s dead and business is going to suffer. Tough times. But really great for me though. Can we have the Olympics every year. Its how i imagine London to be in the 70's before we became over populated, just with less beige and sideburns, though Bradley Wiggins will make up for that when he cycles the Time Trial tomorrow.
Thank god for twitter. People posting pictures of empty trains at rush hour. We definately win the Dull Olympics. It will be the return of the bad weather next.
You get the feeling the Games needs a gold medal for everyone to get behind. To lift everything. Preferably in a random sport that usually wouldn't get any coverage, before the big boys of cycling, rowing and track start off.
Then i will hear my mother talking about it excitedly as that is my barometer if the Games will have become a success, as she as very little interest in sport, yet when there is something happening that's big she's all over it and i would consider her to be a great barometer for rest of nation. I'm a sports nut. I love it. I was obsessed as a kid, I'm obsessed now, i play it, do it and watch it, so for me it's natural - bit for rest of nation. Well they just need that moment, that Gold, that performance that will be played over and over again and really lift the Games off to another level.
Will that be Bradley Wiggins tomorrow? The rowers?
Who knows people but it will be fun finding out. I'm not working and I'm meeting my Mate Peach from Rio, where will be going to Hampton Court to watch the Road time trial. Olympic event on my doorstep. Don't mind if i do
I can't help but feel though as he's from Rio we really should be going to Beach volleyball, never mind. Anyway, i must dash need to pack the pasties for tomorrow. And if it all goes badly at least i can take him to 'Rio's' in Kentish Town. London's leading naturist health sspa. Not quite De Janero or even Ferdinand, and not very healthy. There's certainly not many replica Team GB shirts but certainly a London experience for any London tourist, i mean £30 plus extras where can you go wrong?
xx
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Day 210 - Mon 30th July - Olympic Diary Day 3 - That diver
Day 3 of the Olympics. I'm not going to lie. It was a slow day. You know it's slow when the country goes mad over a 3rd place in Gymnastics like everyone had won the Euro lottery and got sucked off by a Doberman Pincher. Classic GB. Celebrate partial failure/surprise victory with complete abandon yet treat clinical cold success with deafening ambivalence.
Here's today's line up;
7am - Awake - Not alive
7.30am - Do i have to get up? Tired. Of course not I'm 'working from home today'. After seemingly 7 years of panic scare warnings that central London will be like a war zone with queues stretching back to Glasgow. To avoid everything, i stayed to 'work from home' for the 1st 'working' day of the Olympics. I need to discipline myself, to maintain a routine, a structure, to get on with work without distraction of office or commuting. I can do this. Focus
9.00am - Get up.
Olympic Breakfast. (Cup of tea and power wank - at home, not local cafe)
9.15am - Equestrian (Greenwich looks awesome if not Zara Phillips)
9.30am - 1 hour run around Richmond Park
11.00am - breakfast - (cup of tea and power wank)
Weightlifting (no more snatch gags)
12.00pm - send email
12.01pm - Rest & watch rowing, handball, tennis, table tennis
14.00pm - lunch (cup of tea and power wank)
14.30pm - rest
14.59pm - Send email number 2
15.00pm - Tom Daley and the other bloke no-one takes notice of come 4th in high diving sparking a mass twitter slating of the 17 year old attention seeker. Not sure if I'm qualified to criticise the divers seeing as everytime I've got on the high board I've looked down, shit myself and jumped into a rather painful bomb or 'splits' rendering my nut sack as sore as Lizzie Armistead's ass.
16,00pm - Leave to train PT client
18.00pm - Home. Rest. Gymnastics
dinner (chicken salad plus cup of tea and power wank)
Repeat x 6 hours
01.00am - Asian Haven 6
02.00am - Bed
Granted it's an unorthodox Monday. But it's my Monday and no-one can take it away from me. I did loads of work depending on your definition of 'loads', and both emails were 2 paragraphs.
It's hard work though watching all the Olympic sports. i think i need a lay down after it, after all it's the team equestrian tomorrow morning and i can hardly wait. I'm literally pissing myself in excitement.
Nite
x
Here's today's line up;
7am - Awake - Not alive
7.30am - Do i have to get up? Tired. Of course not I'm 'working from home today'. After seemingly 7 years of panic scare warnings that central London will be like a war zone with queues stretching back to Glasgow. To avoid everything, i stayed to 'work from home' for the 1st 'working' day of the Olympics. I need to discipline myself, to maintain a routine, a structure, to get on with work without distraction of office or commuting. I can do this. Focus
9.00am - Get up.
Olympic Breakfast. (Cup of tea and power wank - at home, not local cafe)
9.15am - Equestrian (Greenwich looks awesome if not Zara Phillips)
9.30am - 1 hour run around Richmond Park
11.00am - breakfast - (cup of tea and power wank)
Weightlifting (no more snatch gags)
12.00pm - send email
12.01pm - Rest & watch rowing, handball, tennis, table tennis
14.00pm - lunch (cup of tea and power wank)
14.30pm - rest
14.59pm - Send email number 2
15.00pm - Tom Daley and the other bloke no-one takes notice of come 4th in high diving sparking a mass twitter slating of the 17 year old attention seeker. Not sure if I'm qualified to criticise the divers seeing as everytime I've got on the high board I've looked down, shit myself and jumped into a rather painful bomb or 'splits' rendering my nut sack as sore as Lizzie Armistead's ass.
16,00pm - Leave to train PT client
18.00pm - Home. Rest. Gymnastics
dinner (chicken salad plus cup of tea and power wank)
Repeat x 6 hours
01.00am - Asian Haven 6
02.00am - Bed
Granted it's an unorthodox Monday. But it's my Monday and no-one can take it away from me. I did loads of work depending on your definition of 'loads', and both emails were 2 paragraphs.
It's hard work though watching all the Olympic sports. i think i need a lay down after it, after all it's the team equestrian tomorrow morning and i can hardly wait. I'm literally pissing myself in excitement.
Nite
x
Monday, July 30, 2012
Day 209 - Sun 29th July - Olympic Diaries Day 2 - 1st Medal & 50 shades of Grey
I was all set to do Day 2 of my Olympic diary. It was a day for the girls. Team GB ( hate using that can i just use GB?) got off the mark with the medals, creating scenes of mass media hysteria and coverage. Lizzie Armistead got a silver medal in the women's road race & Rebecca Addlington got a bronze. A superb performance and richly deserved.
It was inspirational to see the cycling, she went with the break with an hour and 40km to go, hung in there and just lost out on the line to the butch Dutch woman Michelle Voss, who's teammate was, for a female athlete, rather superbly called Marie Van Dyke.
Lizzie clinched the silver after a gripping race in pissing wet conditions and it just made you want to get out on the bike and cycle the course. Superb and what the games is all about.
She was lead item on 6 o'clock and 9 o'clock news, radio, Internet, twitter, everywhere. Just a little over the top with coverage for a silver but well won none the less. Just showed the UK media's thirst for any kind of British success, not that the media blow anything out of proportion of course.
I was going to write about how everyone was suddenly hooked on road cycling, how fantastic the course looked, the support, how i was out of the chair cheering and shouting at the TV, how i cannot sit still when the race was getting down to 'the business end' (love that term always sounds ultra dirty to me) - I was well up for it, buzzing and that was just for silver. Just imagine what i will be like when that bloke in the boat wins gold at sailing a boat with a sail or something.
Speaking of which I just don't get sailing as an Olympic sport or as a TV spectator sport, it's like watching someone hoovering. #dull. But as long as GB win golds and are the best, who gives a fuck. I don't care if it's as boring as a reformed smoker. If GB wins gold. It stays.
I was going to write about Rebecca Adlington winning bronze in 400m freestyle, about how Frankie Boyle has received pelters by saying she looks like a dolphin. I was going to write about the mass hysteria in what was just a joke, about how good a swimmer and athlete she is and that joking about someone doesn't mean you don't admire them or their efforts. The media are total wankers, not the comedian or indeed any athlete who doesn't win a medal.
I think the media will annoy me more than anything this Olympics. You are either a hero if you win or a failure of you don't. Black and white and i genuinely despise our media for that, very ignorant.
For instance Piers Morgan tweeting today that Cavendish should stop moaning for blaming the Aussies for riding negatively in yesterdays road race. I'm sorry but what the fuck does that smug cunt know about world class bike racing? Who the fuck is he? He became the worlds biggest cunt today. He was already in the top 10 but he went straight to number 1 with such a pig ignorant, arrogant, self opinionated view. Not only was it wrong but fucking stupid too. He is basically a 3d walking talking tabloid newspaper. #cunt
If there was an Olympic cunt competition, Morgan would win it by miles. Clegg would get silver and then take your pick for bronze between Terry, Diamond and Katonia......
I was going to write about how much i admired the gymnastics today. The parallel bars which to most Brits is The Rose & Crown and White Swan next door. The vault, floorshow and rings. Wow those guys are amazing. Though i was disappointed as 'the floorshow' wasn't what i was hoping for.
I was also going to write about how drawn to the weightlifting i was and how i was super impressed by the women's 57kg lifting class. The girl from Sweden had the most incredible snatch. So impressive. GB's was pretty average and Russia's was just immense. #wrong
But all of this went out the window when tonight Channel 4 aired a documentary about 50 shades of Grey and how BDSM has infiltrated the mass market and popular culture because of the trilogy.
I haven't read them, but i have been informed they have sold loads of copies and is basically Mills & Boon with butt plugs. Christian Grey is a Dom and uses a variety of willing 'slaves' to perform sm and bdsm games. It's apparently trash that you just can't put down.
Interesting programme and exploring the whole ethos behind female submission and role play of the master and sub. They interviewed couples, writers, women and had some women debating it round a table and as a total cliche had a fat loud feminist denouncing the depiction of females in submission as setting feminism back 50 years. I'm not so sure BDSM and women admitting they like being 'led' sets feminism back 50 years, i think she did.
Now it's dangerous ground for me, a man to criticise feminists. It's just not PC, but why was she the loudest, spoke longest and forcibly tried to get her point across. Most feminists i see interviewed give off a distinct lack of humour or self deprecation and tonight she missed the fucking point so much, it made me shout at the tellie as much as i was for the road race. #fuming.
Lets get it straight, most people's sexual preferences are private and aside from everyday life. A lot of women have fantasies of being dominated and giving control to the man. This is just in a sexual sense, but most miss the point that this is not in life, in society, is not part of a misogynistic or inferior role. Domination and submission is actually based on nurture, love, respect and safety. If a woman is loved enough, feels safe enough and respected enough with a man, she is then comfortable to give up the control and be dominated. It fulfills a base primal urge deep down that is far more complicated and deeper than mere male/female roles.
The feminist missed this point, instead seeing it in exactly the same way as the media do of the Olympics, black and white and simply refused to look deeper into it and consider a balanced view.
It was interesting, today was a day for the girls in the Olympics. They delivered GB's first medals. A world class cyclist and swimmer. Forget all the banter about fitness, bodies and Frankie Boyle's pretty insensitive joke about looks. These girls are great role models.
They have trained so hard, dedicated their lives to their sport and got deserved media coverage for their sport. They are fine female role models. I wasn't looking at them in a female objectification way. They were athletes, i was supporting them. They delivered. Sex didn't matter, nor does ethnic origin when supporting sport. Surely that is what they wanted all those years ago? equality. Don't judge me by the colour of my skin or my sex, judge me for what i do and am?
But then on the documentary, it concentrated on the relationship between sexual domination and submission. Now it maybe that some powerful women, women who have been in control of their lives, raising kids, building a career, nurturing all and sundry and they need therefore to fulfill a yearning to relinquish that control in sexual and play. Does this then set back feminism and the role of womankind back 50 years? Does it bollocks.
God I was fuming there wasn't i? That's my little rant over. Clearly I'm going to have to go an read this 50 shades of fuck. It has earnt the author millions and become a worldwide phenomenon, written by a woman who has clearly nailed a gap in people's lives. Sales of whips and BDSM items have risen enormously and now, just like dogging and swinging years ago it's become part of mainstream and no longer that shocking.
Maybe they could make it an Olympic sport. If so i reckon I'd be up there with gold medal favourites. #carefulwhatyouwishfor
So day 2 is over. 2 medals. Road race cycling and sado masochistic sex. My 2 favourite hobbies. Roll on day 3!
Day 2 medal count;
Lizzie Armistead - silver - female road race - legendary ride, exciting finish
Rebecca Addlington - bronze - 400m freestyle swim - Not her best event, powerful finish, go for gold in 800m
Thrilling Olympics so far and loving the 16 hour a day coverage
x
It was inspirational to see the cycling, she went with the break with an hour and 40km to go, hung in there and just lost out on the line to the butch Dutch woman Michelle Voss, who's teammate was, for a female athlete, rather superbly called Marie Van Dyke.
Lizzie clinched the silver after a gripping race in pissing wet conditions and it just made you want to get out on the bike and cycle the course. Superb and what the games is all about.
She was lead item on 6 o'clock and 9 o'clock news, radio, Internet, twitter, everywhere. Just a little over the top with coverage for a silver but well won none the less. Just showed the UK media's thirst for any kind of British success, not that the media blow anything out of proportion of course.
I was going to write about how everyone was suddenly hooked on road cycling, how fantastic the course looked, the support, how i was out of the chair cheering and shouting at the TV, how i cannot sit still when the race was getting down to 'the business end' (love that term always sounds ultra dirty to me) - I was well up for it, buzzing and that was just for silver. Just imagine what i will be like when that bloke in the boat wins gold at sailing a boat with a sail or something.
Speaking of which I just don't get sailing as an Olympic sport or as a TV spectator sport, it's like watching someone hoovering. #dull. But as long as GB win golds and are the best, who gives a fuck. I don't care if it's as boring as a reformed smoker. If GB wins gold. It stays.
I was going to write about Rebecca Adlington winning bronze in 400m freestyle, about how Frankie Boyle has received pelters by saying she looks like a dolphin. I was going to write about the mass hysteria in what was just a joke, about how good a swimmer and athlete she is and that joking about someone doesn't mean you don't admire them or their efforts. The media are total wankers, not the comedian or indeed any athlete who doesn't win a medal.
I think the media will annoy me more than anything this Olympics. You are either a hero if you win or a failure of you don't. Black and white and i genuinely despise our media for that, very ignorant.
For instance Piers Morgan tweeting today that Cavendish should stop moaning for blaming the Aussies for riding negatively in yesterdays road race. I'm sorry but what the fuck does that smug cunt know about world class bike racing? Who the fuck is he? He became the worlds biggest cunt today. He was already in the top 10 but he went straight to number 1 with such a pig ignorant, arrogant, self opinionated view. Not only was it wrong but fucking stupid too. He is basically a 3d walking talking tabloid newspaper. #cunt
If there was an Olympic cunt competition, Morgan would win it by miles. Clegg would get silver and then take your pick for bronze between Terry, Diamond and Katonia......
I was going to write about how much i admired the gymnastics today. The parallel bars which to most Brits is The Rose & Crown and White Swan next door. The vault, floorshow and rings. Wow those guys are amazing. Though i was disappointed as 'the floorshow' wasn't what i was hoping for.
I was also going to write about how drawn to the weightlifting i was and how i was super impressed by the women's 57kg lifting class. The girl from Sweden had the most incredible snatch. So impressive. GB's was pretty average and Russia's was just immense. #wrong
But all of this went out the window when tonight Channel 4 aired a documentary about 50 shades of Grey and how BDSM has infiltrated the mass market and popular culture because of the trilogy.
I haven't read them, but i have been informed they have sold loads of copies and is basically Mills & Boon with butt plugs. Christian Grey is a Dom and uses a variety of willing 'slaves' to perform sm and bdsm games. It's apparently trash that you just can't put down.
Interesting programme and exploring the whole ethos behind female submission and role play of the master and sub. They interviewed couples, writers, women and had some women debating it round a table and as a total cliche had a fat loud feminist denouncing the depiction of females in submission as setting feminism back 50 years. I'm not so sure BDSM and women admitting they like being 'led' sets feminism back 50 years, i think she did.
Now it's dangerous ground for me, a man to criticise feminists. It's just not PC, but why was she the loudest, spoke longest and forcibly tried to get her point across. Most feminists i see interviewed give off a distinct lack of humour or self deprecation and tonight she missed the fucking point so much, it made me shout at the tellie as much as i was for the road race. #fuming.
Lets get it straight, most people's sexual preferences are private and aside from everyday life. A lot of women have fantasies of being dominated and giving control to the man. This is just in a sexual sense, but most miss the point that this is not in life, in society, is not part of a misogynistic or inferior role. Domination and submission is actually based on nurture, love, respect and safety. If a woman is loved enough, feels safe enough and respected enough with a man, she is then comfortable to give up the control and be dominated. It fulfills a base primal urge deep down that is far more complicated and deeper than mere male/female roles.
The feminist missed this point, instead seeing it in exactly the same way as the media do of the Olympics, black and white and simply refused to look deeper into it and consider a balanced view.
It was interesting, today was a day for the girls in the Olympics. They delivered GB's first medals. A world class cyclist and swimmer. Forget all the banter about fitness, bodies and Frankie Boyle's pretty insensitive joke about looks. These girls are great role models.
They have trained so hard, dedicated their lives to their sport and got deserved media coverage for their sport. They are fine female role models. I wasn't looking at them in a female objectification way. They were athletes, i was supporting them. They delivered. Sex didn't matter, nor does ethnic origin when supporting sport. Surely that is what they wanted all those years ago? equality. Don't judge me by the colour of my skin or my sex, judge me for what i do and am?
But then on the documentary, it concentrated on the relationship between sexual domination and submission. Now it maybe that some powerful women, women who have been in control of their lives, raising kids, building a career, nurturing all and sundry and they need therefore to fulfill a yearning to relinquish that control in sexual and play. Does this then set back feminism and the role of womankind back 50 years? Does it bollocks.
God I was fuming there wasn't i? That's my little rant over. Clearly I'm going to have to go an read this 50 shades of fuck. It has earnt the author millions and become a worldwide phenomenon, written by a woman who has clearly nailed a gap in people's lives. Sales of whips and BDSM items have risen enormously and now, just like dogging and swinging years ago it's become part of mainstream and no longer that shocking.
Maybe they could make it an Olympic sport. If so i reckon I'd be up there with gold medal favourites. #carefulwhatyouwishfor
So day 2 is over. 2 medals. Road race cycling and sado masochistic sex. My 2 favourite hobbies. Roll on day 3!
Day 2 medal count;
Lizzie Armistead - silver - female road race - legendary ride, exciting finish
Rebecca Addlington - bronze - 400m freestyle swim - Not her best event, powerful finish, go for gold in 800m
Thrilling Olympics so far and loving the 16 hour a day coverage
x
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Day 208 - Sat 28th July - Olympic Diary Day 1 - Mens Road Race
I'm doing an Olympic diary. Not because I'm an athlete, or participating, but as a voyeur. As a resident of the host city. As a fan of sport and as someone who's pretty much up for the whole event, I will spend the next 2 weeks dedicating my daily blog to London 2012.
I will pick an event of the day and i will write about how i see the Olympics. Ready, steady, go!
After getting totally fired up and excited last night, i spent the early hours watching the opening ceremony, writing my blog and then disconcertingly surfing the Internet until 5am. For regulars who read this blog you will know I've been pretty candid about my liberal and obsessive viewing of adult related websites. Well, i was at it again last night. But I don't know what's happened to me. I've replaced an online addiction to XXX rated sites, to searching you tube for 'the worlds toughest cycling climbs'. I'm obsessed with road cycling.
Clip after clip of Tour De France, climbing mountains in preparation for the men's road race. Excited. Knackered.
I basically fucked myself with a lack of kip. Woke early doors, and planned my viewing for the road race. It passes near my house, along routes i run daily, and into the surrey hills i used to train for my Ironman's. It is all familiar terrain. It is on my doorstep. It is the Olympics. It is Wiggins and Cavendish. It is free. It is here. It is today!!!!
I could have cycled out early doors to Richmond Park, or Surrey Hills, but decided instead, keep it local, keep it simple, watch a bit and then retire back to watch on TV.
I headed to St Margarets. All roads were closed off. I ran down in my Lycras, crowds were huge, lots of families and kids, there was excitement and a buzz in the air. Lets face it there is usually fuck all going on in St Margarets, so to have an Olympic event passing through was a big deal.
I stumbled across Mhairi and Gary from my time at London Scottish Fc who had a group of friends, chairs, flags, cool box, wine, grub and Team GB replica shirts. They were bang up for it and i watched with them. Good people and added to the fun.
I stood next to a woman who had travelled down from Llanelli. Fucking yes. The only way is Llanelli! I run 15 minutes down the road to an Olympic event to bump into a woman from my home town. We compared notes about MC Asda and mobility scooters. It was Ace.
Even the Team GB captain is from Llanelli, Dai Greene. It's the centre of the earth. TOWIL.
The crowds built up, 1 million were expected to line the route. People were on step ladders, standing on bus stops, all with phones out ready to take pictures. Twitter and FB was buzzing, it was great.
The Police riders riding in front of the Peleton came by first. The crowd had sod all to cheer about so they cheered them. Even the coppers played to the crowd, you know it's the Olympics when the Police show a sense of humour. #mazing
And then they arrived, the peleton roared through at huge speed. 160 riders tearing round the corner, flashing past and then in 25 seconds they were gone. That was it. I'm not going to lie it was thrilling to see them, but i wanted more. It was a little like premature ejaculation. Lots of build up but over far too quickly. It was time to return home to watch on TV. Though you just wanted to get on your bike and cycle the route. The support and crowd were incredible
I got the bike hooked up to rollers and spent the next 4 hours cycling, smoking, drinking tea, grazing, messaging (not all at same time) glued to the Road Race.
It was amazing to see all the routes i have cycled and run so many times on TV. To see how beautiful the area is and familiar sites. To see world class cyclists making the sort of climbs i sweated my arse off look like speed bumps. Incredible. To think i have done what the Olympic athletes were doing was a buzz. Granted they didn't stop off at regular intervals for tea and a snout, but then again my training was always somewhat unorthodox.
The TV coverage was pretty shit, no timings, long gaps of not alot happening. Funny episode in the lanes of Surrey when the peleton passed 4 blokes totally starkers waving GB flags. Us Brits just love to get naked. It's in our blood. streaking.
The race panned out, Cavendish and the boys unfortunately didn't deliver. They got left behind from the breakaway and couldn't make the time up. It fascinated me the tactics and was gripping to see if they could make the time up. It made me laugh the commentators saying that Richmond park was flat (hilly to me) and that they would be fresh for the last 80km after having an easy ride for the first 200km. Those boys are machines!
So it ended in disappointment. But i enjoyed the experience. The Olympics were off and running and so was i. Though to be fair i thought it was a bit selfish they put the route in the way of my usual running route. I had to amend that later in the day.
I Hit the gym for some Olympic style weightlifting, which involved laying down in the sauna thinking about it, and was very interested in the Beach Volleyball on TV until i saw it was the Men's. Boo.
Team GB came away without any medals on Day 1. I think I'm going to be interested in the gymnastics actually. Watched a bit of it, and man those girls have got hot bodies. Plus i reckon pound for pound gymnasts are the strongest athletes. Ever tried to pull your own body weight upside down on Olympic rings? #fuckinghard
I'm also interested in the weightlifting, if only to see massive beasts lifting incredibly massive weights covered in chalk (PS random thought what's happened to white chalky dog turd? You never see it on pavements anymore - have dogs changed their diet in last 10 years?)
So that's my start to the Olympics. A decent day 1. I'm slowly easing myself into it. I particularly love 'Olympic Breakfast' on BBC1 from 6am. In the old days my Olympic breakfast consisted of a full English and glass of crisp dry white wine. Not sure Cav and the boys would have been on that one this morning. But it's great to have Olympics on Tellie as soon as you wake up to catch up on some random sport you really have no interest in but some Brit is performing so you get behind it of course.
Medal Table Day 1- Team GB - 0
Lets hope it gets better. Female swimmers and Female road race tomorrow. Come on the girlie's (actually if you read that phrase back it's actually genuinely filthy. Sorry girls)
xx
I will pick an event of the day and i will write about how i see the Olympics. Ready, steady, go!
After getting totally fired up and excited last night, i spent the early hours watching the opening ceremony, writing my blog and then disconcertingly surfing the Internet until 5am. For regulars who read this blog you will know I've been pretty candid about my liberal and obsessive viewing of adult related websites. Well, i was at it again last night. But I don't know what's happened to me. I've replaced an online addiction to XXX rated sites, to searching you tube for 'the worlds toughest cycling climbs'. I'm obsessed with road cycling.
Clip after clip of Tour De France, climbing mountains in preparation for the men's road race. Excited. Knackered.
I basically fucked myself with a lack of kip. Woke early doors, and planned my viewing for the road race. It passes near my house, along routes i run daily, and into the surrey hills i used to train for my Ironman's. It is all familiar terrain. It is on my doorstep. It is the Olympics. It is Wiggins and Cavendish. It is free. It is here. It is today!!!!
I could have cycled out early doors to Richmond Park, or Surrey Hills, but decided instead, keep it local, keep it simple, watch a bit and then retire back to watch on TV.
I headed to St Margarets. All roads were closed off. I ran down in my Lycras, crowds were huge, lots of families and kids, there was excitement and a buzz in the air. Lets face it there is usually fuck all going on in St Margarets, so to have an Olympic event passing through was a big deal.
I stumbled across Mhairi and Gary from my time at London Scottish Fc who had a group of friends, chairs, flags, cool box, wine, grub and Team GB replica shirts. They were bang up for it and i watched with them. Good people and added to the fun.
I stood next to a woman who had travelled down from Llanelli. Fucking yes. The only way is Llanelli! I run 15 minutes down the road to an Olympic event to bump into a woman from my home town. We compared notes about MC Asda and mobility scooters. It was Ace.
Even the Team GB captain is from Llanelli, Dai Greene. It's the centre of the earth. TOWIL.
The crowds built up, 1 million were expected to line the route. People were on step ladders, standing on bus stops, all with phones out ready to take pictures. Twitter and FB was buzzing, it was great.
The Police riders riding in front of the Peleton came by first. The crowd had sod all to cheer about so they cheered them. Even the coppers played to the crowd, you know it's the Olympics when the Police show a sense of humour. #mazing
And then they arrived, the peleton roared through at huge speed. 160 riders tearing round the corner, flashing past and then in 25 seconds they were gone. That was it. I'm not going to lie it was thrilling to see them, but i wanted more. It was a little like premature ejaculation. Lots of build up but over far too quickly. It was time to return home to watch on TV. Though you just wanted to get on your bike and cycle the route. The support and crowd were incredible
I got the bike hooked up to rollers and spent the next 4 hours cycling, smoking, drinking tea, grazing, messaging (not all at same time) glued to the Road Race.
It was amazing to see all the routes i have cycled and run so many times on TV. To see how beautiful the area is and familiar sites. To see world class cyclists making the sort of climbs i sweated my arse off look like speed bumps. Incredible. To think i have done what the Olympic athletes were doing was a buzz. Granted they didn't stop off at regular intervals for tea and a snout, but then again my training was always somewhat unorthodox.
The TV coverage was pretty shit, no timings, long gaps of not alot happening. Funny episode in the lanes of Surrey when the peleton passed 4 blokes totally starkers waving GB flags. Us Brits just love to get naked. It's in our blood. streaking.
The race panned out, Cavendish and the boys unfortunately didn't deliver. They got left behind from the breakaway and couldn't make the time up. It fascinated me the tactics and was gripping to see if they could make the time up. It made me laugh the commentators saying that Richmond park was flat (hilly to me) and that they would be fresh for the last 80km after having an easy ride for the first 200km. Those boys are machines!
So it ended in disappointment. But i enjoyed the experience. The Olympics were off and running and so was i. Though to be fair i thought it was a bit selfish they put the route in the way of my usual running route. I had to amend that later in the day.
I Hit the gym for some Olympic style weightlifting, which involved laying down in the sauna thinking about it, and was very interested in the Beach Volleyball on TV until i saw it was the Men's. Boo.
Team GB came away without any medals on Day 1. I think I'm going to be interested in the gymnastics actually. Watched a bit of it, and man those girls have got hot bodies. Plus i reckon pound for pound gymnasts are the strongest athletes. Ever tried to pull your own body weight upside down on Olympic rings? #fuckinghard
I'm also interested in the weightlifting, if only to see massive beasts lifting incredibly massive weights covered in chalk (PS random thought what's happened to white chalky dog turd? You never see it on pavements anymore - have dogs changed their diet in last 10 years?)
So that's my start to the Olympics. A decent day 1. I'm slowly easing myself into it. I particularly love 'Olympic Breakfast' on BBC1 from 6am. In the old days my Olympic breakfast consisted of a full English and glass of crisp dry white wine. Not sure Cav and the boys would have been on that one this morning. But it's great to have Olympics on Tellie as soon as you wake up to catch up on some random sport you really have no interest in but some Brit is performing so you get behind it of course.
Medal Table Day 1- Team GB - 0
Lets hope it gets better. Female swimmers and Female road race tomorrow. Come on the girlie's (actually if you read that phrase back it's actually genuinely filthy. Sorry girls)
xx
Friday, July 27, 2012
Day 207 - Friday 27th July - Opening Ceremony - BOOM!
Fuck me, that was amazing. Boyle totally nailed it. A thrilling spectacle. Emotional, inspiring, funny, surreal, spine tingling, incredible and then Paul Mcartney came on.
Bejing, Barcelona, Sydney, Atlanta, Los Angeles, Athens, Moscow were you watching? Your boys took a hell of a beating. Fuck you with your crows nest and £200million budget. We had £27million budget and Sue Barker's camel toe. We had James Bond parachuting in with the Queen, the Artic Monkeys singing cool rock with neon birds floating around, we had grass being laid, ages of history, Beckham in a speedboat (unfortunately floating) the greatest Olympians ever, fireworks, passion, humour, surrealism and...Paul McArtney.
I am buzzing. I was out all night getting wound up for the cycling tomorrow, getting excited. Everyone i asked didn't care much for it, but i managed to turn them into Olympic fans just by sheer weight of enthusiasm. I can't fucking wait. I remember being so excited and inspired by the Olympics as a kid. I have that back. I love it. How can you not?
Usually i care little for opening and closing ceremonies, it's all about the sport for me. About the Athletes, the dedication to training, the heroic performances. But although i missed some of it, i saw most of the end and fuck me, it got me going. It was like visual Viagra.
Incredible. A truly global event, watched by 1 billion people, set right here, in London. A massive world event. Everyone was all over Twitter, Facebook, TV's. All united in one thing. Watching the spectacle. You can feel that unifying energy.
Yes you can pull it apart. Like when McArtney came on in the end. It felt like the longest and best foreplay you've had only to go flaccid and soft at the crucial moment #letdown.
And yes if he wanted to really represent Britain he would have put a few underage teenage pregnant obese binge drinking in. But that's just being pedantic. Bottom line he got James Bond to rescue the Queen for fucks sake. That was surely worth the £27 million alone? That and the Vegas Elvis style tracksuits GB wore for the never ending team displays. I did think i needed to get on the amphetamine train to keep watching but he managed to pull some pearlers out the bag at the right time to keep it moving
But fuck me, it made me want to run through walls. To do something heroic, to get out and fucking well get on it. Shame it's 2AM. I'll have to make a heroic Olympic sandwich and heroically watch some Olympic porn, oh and plot my viewing route for the cycling road race tomorrow.
It's the real deal now, i Can't wait, I've turned into a cycling nerd. Will there be a breakaway, will Cavendish win gold in a sprint, will my Corned Beef sandwiches last until lunchtime or will i heroically scoff them by mid morning in a gold medal style binge? So many possibilities
I'm not really sure I'm on board with all the proud to be British chat though. Yes it was amazing, yes it was superb and yes it did capture the spirit of Britain (apart from Argos, Primark and Londsdale tracksuits) but making you proud to be part of a country for a few hours just doesn't feel right to me. Pride is in what you do for your country, helping someone less well off than you, running a marathon for charity, not ripping someone off, being the best you can in someting. That's pride in your country, in yourself, not tweeting it whilst watching an inspiring show. That's fake pride for me. Show me don't tell me!
And that's what we'll be seeing in the next 2 weeks, Sportspeople who have dedicated lifetimes, weeks, hours, days to training to become as good as they can, and they will be showing that pride for them, for their families, for friends, for everyone supporting them. Even writing that makes me tingle, and not from a hard on. From imagining what people have put into this and for the next 2 weeks we will be viewing that and it will be a pleasure.
That for me is why football has no part to play, can you really say they will be heart, body and soul into this like a cyclist, a weightlifter, a swimmer, an athlete? Not for me they won't but fuck em, overpaid nonce's anyway, soon forgotten
It's all about the Olympics now folks, the dopers, the mopers, the gropers, the world class no hopers. Bring them all on. Bring on the games, after tonight I'm ready. Britain's ready, are the gladiators ready. Awooga!
Can't wait
xx
Bejing, Barcelona, Sydney, Atlanta, Los Angeles, Athens, Moscow were you watching? Your boys took a hell of a beating. Fuck you with your crows nest and £200million budget. We had £27million budget and Sue Barker's camel toe. We had James Bond parachuting in with the Queen, the Artic Monkeys singing cool rock with neon birds floating around, we had grass being laid, ages of history, Beckham in a speedboat (unfortunately floating) the greatest Olympians ever, fireworks, passion, humour, surrealism and...Paul McArtney.
I am buzzing. I was out all night getting wound up for the cycling tomorrow, getting excited. Everyone i asked didn't care much for it, but i managed to turn them into Olympic fans just by sheer weight of enthusiasm. I can't fucking wait. I remember being so excited and inspired by the Olympics as a kid. I have that back. I love it. How can you not?
Usually i care little for opening and closing ceremonies, it's all about the sport for me. About the Athletes, the dedication to training, the heroic performances. But although i missed some of it, i saw most of the end and fuck me, it got me going. It was like visual Viagra.
Incredible. A truly global event, watched by 1 billion people, set right here, in London. A massive world event. Everyone was all over Twitter, Facebook, TV's. All united in one thing. Watching the spectacle. You can feel that unifying energy.
Yes you can pull it apart. Like when McArtney came on in the end. It felt like the longest and best foreplay you've had only to go flaccid and soft at the crucial moment #letdown.
And yes if he wanted to really represent Britain he would have put a few underage teenage pregnant obese binge drinking in. But that's just being pedantic. Bottom line he got James Bond to rescue the Queen for fucks sake. That was surely worth the £27 million alone? That and the Vegas Elvis style tracksuits GB wore for the never ending team displays. I did think i needed to get on the amphetamine train to keep watching but he managed to pull some pearlers out the bag at the right time to keep it moving
But fuck me, it made me want to run through walls. To do something heroic, to get out and fucking well get on it. Shame it's 2AM. I'll have to make a heroic Olympic sandwich and heroically watch some Olympic porn, oh and plot my viewing route for the cycling road race tomorrow.
It's the real deal now, i Can't wait, I've turned into a cycling nerd. Will there be a breakaway, will Cavendish win gold in a sprint, will my Corned Beef sandwiches last until lunchtime or will i heroically scoff them by mid morning in a gold medal style binge? So many possibilities
I'm not really sure I'm on board with all the proud to be British chat though. Yes it was amazing, yes it was superb and yes it did capture the spirit of Britain (apart from Argos, Primark and Londsdale tracksuits) but making you proud to be part of a country for a few hours just doesn't feel right to me. Pride is in what you do for your country, helping someone less well off than you, running a marathon for charity, not ripping someone off, being the best you can in someting. That's pride in your country, in yourself, not tweeting it whilst watching an inspiring show. That's fake pride for me. Show me don't tell me!
And that's what we'll be seeing in the next 2 weeks, Sportspeople who have dedicated lifetimes, weeks, hours, days to training to become as good as they can, and they will be showing that pride for them, for their families, for friends, for everyone supporting them. Even writing that makes me tingle, and not from a hard on. From imagining what people have put into this and for the next 2 weeks we will be viewing that and it will be a pleasure.
That for me is why football has no part to play, can you really say they will be heart, body and soul into this like a cyclist, a weightlifter, a swimmer, an athlete? Not for me they won't but fuck em, overpaid nonce's anyway, soon forgotten
It's all about the Olympics now folks, the dopers, the mopers, the gropers, the world class no hopers. Bring them all on. Bring on the games, after tonight I'm ready. Britain's ready, are the gladiators ready. Awooga!
Can't wait
xx
Day 206 - Thursday 26th July - Olympic Fever
OK, after 7 years, bags of scepticism and ambivalence over the past few days, i got struck by Olympic fever today. Yes I'm looking forward to it.
I can't believe it was 7 years ago that London got the vote. Lots has happened in 7 years. I'm not going to bore you with what, but we've had around 8 recessions, a war (if you can include Afghanistan as a proper war), Woolworth's has shut down, Twitter has been invented, 3 prime ministers, 2 relationships, 7 more sober years, 2,100 wanks and several dodgy haircuts. It's all been going on.
The Olympics has always been something that's happened on tellie. In someone Else's country. My first time i was aware of it, was in 1980 for the Moscow Olympics, i was 8 and i remember Big Alan Wells winning the 100m and the great rivalry between Coe/Ovett.
Then it was Los Angeles in 1984 and Daley Thompson was the man. I was 12 and sport crazy so i loved watching it. You can't help but be inspired, especially when watching the archery. Not.
Then to Seoul 1988. I was 16 and my pal Philip Brewerton had a party and there was loads of booze and 16 year old virgins. An Olympic mix. I remember watching the famous 100m when Ben Johnson won by streaks but had as many drugs in him as Keith Richards. Classic.
We moved onto 1992, Barcelona. I was at University and taking more drugs than Ben Johnson and doing Olympic drinking, my memories are hazy. I think that's when Sally Gunnel won gold and i remember looking up the word 'tranny' after she won.
1996 was Atlanta, and i wondered why the fuck the Yanks got another Olympics within 12 years of the last. Greedy sods. I remember GB being toss and only the rowers being world class. Linford was disqualified from the 100m for being so high on steroids he false started twice. I was drunk and remember watching an old school mate Mark Richardson, coming in 7th in the 400m heat and criticising him whilst i was pissed and 16 stone in my armchair. #twat
2000 was Sydney and roundly considered the best games, but then again the Aussies consider themselves the best at everything, even Shane Warne has managed to make himself look the best knob head in the world. Main memory of the Games is being high on coke and booze at a friends house in Ealing, watching Redgrave, Pinsent, Cracknell and the other bloke get gold in the rowing at 4am. All of us screaming at the box and celebrating whilst off our faces. It shows the true magnitude of the Olympics, all screaming at a sport we couldn't give a fuck about at 4am. The fact we were buggered watching high class athletes and scremaing advice lends a cute irony.
2004, i was sober by then thank fuck. Athens. I was by now noticing other sports like Cycling, Rowing, Marathon, triathlon as basically GB were becoming bollocks on the track. Though there is a real glamour and pull to big Athletic track events. It was a decent games but not particularly memorable, but it was Nice to be actually participating in sport rather than criticising athletes whilst fat and pissed. That's called looking down on people from the gutter.
Then to Beijing, 2008, i was sober and happy. It was a fantastic games. Usian Bolt and Chicken nuggets where his performance made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, as you witnessed something special. The GB cycling team were just awesome, swimmers & rowers looked pretty decent and even the track shone, with Kelly Holmes emerging as the star. It was a top games and provided a perfect backdrop to the summer.
It's on TV all the time, in the morning, you become interested in sports you really couldn't give a toss about and you feel part of a global event that is so huge, so captivating. It's easy to become cynical, of the money spent, the location, the games lanes, the dignitaries, the bribery, the commercial sponsorship and 'nanny' state. But it's fucking huge, it's here. It's in London and it's tomorrow.
I'm getting fired up for the Olympic road race on Saturday which passes near my house and the female road race, the time trial, the triathlon and marathons. All the free events you can go and see and the ones i actually participate in.
In all the Olympics, it felt good to train for the marathon and to run past an Olympic Gold medalist, James Cracknell in Richmond Park. I'm in a much better place than i was a few years ago.
I've run 5 London marathons and the crowds are just phenomenal. Mind blowing support so god knows how the athletes will feel in their events. It acts as an extra stimulant, performance should increase and it will be an unforgettable experience for them #jealous
So readers, I'm throwing off my cynical head and I'm embracing the games. I'm looking forward to them and will try to get along to see as much of it as i can. After all the next time the Games comes to London I'll be 165 years old and my nuts will be dragging on the ground by then. I may even possibly be dead.
Viva 2012, though just to keep in line with my cynical ranting head, for fucks sake who the fuck in the marketing department came up with Team GB? It's GB. We are a nation. Fucking marketing people, makes you sick. They should stick to fucking stationary
Go for Gold GB, there are Poppers called Gold so you can always have a snort on them to get you pumped
xx
I can't believe it was 7 years ago that London got the vote. Lots has happened in 7 years. I'm not going to bore you with what, but we've had around 8 recessions, a war (if you can include Afghanistan as a proper war), Woolworth's has shut down, Twitter has been invented, 3 prime ministers, 2 relationships, 7 more sober years, 2,100 wanks and several dodgy haircuts. It's all been going on.
The Olympics has always been something that's happened on tellie. In someone Else's country. My first time i was aware of it, was in 1980 for the Moscow Olympics, i was 8 and i remember Big Alan Wells winning the 100m and the great rivalry between Coe/Ovett.
Then it was Los Angeles in 1984 and Daley Thompson was the man. I was 12 and sport crazy so i loved watching it. You can't help but be inspired, especially when watching the archery. Not.
Then to Seoul 1988. I was 16 and my pal Philip Brewerton had a party and there was loads of booze and 16 year old virgins. An Olympic mix. I remember watching the famous 100m when Ben Johnson won by streaks but had as many drugs in him as Keith Richards. Classic.
We moved onto 1992, Barcelona. I was at University and taking more drugs than Ben Johnson and doing Olympic drinking, my memories are hazy. I think that's when Sally Gunnel won gold and i remember looking up the word 'tranny' after she won.
1996 was Atlanta, and i wondered why the fuck the Yanks got another Olympics within 12 years of the last. Greedy sods. I remember GB being toss and only the rowers being world class. Linford was disqualified from the 100m for being so high on steroids he false started twice. I was drunk and remember watching an old school mate Mark Richardson, coming in 7th in the 400m heat and criticising him whilst i was pissed and 16 stone in my armchair. #twat
2000 was Sydney and roundly considered the best games, but then again the Aussies consider themselves the best at everything, even Shane Warne has managed to make himself look the best knob head in the world. Main memory of the Games is being high on coke and booze at a friends house in Ealing, watching Redgrave, Pinsent, Cracknell and the other bloke get gold in the rowing at 4am. All of us screaming at the box and celebrating whilst off our faces. It shows the true magnitude of the Olympics, all screaming at a sport we couldn't give a fuck about at 4am. The fact we were buggered watching high class athletes and scremaing advice lends a cute irony.
2004, i was sober by then thank fuck. Athens. I was by now noticing other sports like Cycling, Rowing, Marathon, triathlon as basically GB were becoming bollocks on the track. Though there is a real glamour and pull to big Athletic track events. It was a decent games but not particularly memorable, but it was Nice to be actually participating in sport rather than criticising athletes whilst fat and pissed. That's called looking down on people from the gutter.
Then to Beijing, 2008, i was sober and happy. It was a fantastic games. Usian Bolt and Chicken nuggets where his performance made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, as you witnessed something special. The GB cycling team were just awesome, swimmers & rowers looked pretty decent and even the track shone, with Kelly Holmes emerging as the star. It was a top games and provided a perfect backdrop to the summer.
It's on TV all the time, in the morning, you become interested in sports you really couldn't give a toss about and you feel part of a global event that is so huge, so captivating. It's easy to become cynical, of the money spent, the location, the games lanes, the dignitaries, the bribery, the commercial sponsorship and 'nanny' state. But it's fucking huge, it's here. It's in London and it's tomorrow.
I'm getting fired up for the Olympic road race on Saturday which passes near my house and the female road race, the time trial, the triathlon and marathons. All the free events you can go and see and the ones i actually participate in.
In all the Olympics, it felt good to train for the marathon and to run past an Olympic Gold medalist, James Cracknell in Richmond Park. I'm in a much better place than i was a few years ago.
I've run 5 London marathons and the crowds are just phenomenal. Mind blowing support so god knows how the athletes will feel in their events. It acts as an extra stimulant, performance should increase and it will be an unforgettable experience for them #jealous
So readers, I'm throwing off my cynical head and I'm embracing the games. I'm looking forward to them and will try to get along to see as much of it as i can. After all the next time the Games comes to London I'll be 165 years old and my nuts will be dragging on the ground by then. I may even possibly be dead.
Viva 2012, though just to keep in line with my cynical ranting head, for fucks sake who the fuck in the marketing department came up with Team GB? It's GB. We are a nation. Fucking marketing people, makes you sick. They should stick to fucking stationary
Go for Gold GB, there are Poppers called Gold so you can always have a snort on them to get you pumped
xx
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Day 205 - Weds 25th July - Jumpsuit v Leather suit
Good news! Managed to Book an awesome band for Pub Idle 2, XXX Factor, my 40th birthday shin dig. I did something similar for my 30th, (i can't believe it's 10 years)
I really cannot stand having a party about me, for me. Even for someone as self obsessed as me, it would be too cringe and embarrassing, so i produced a template for a kind of pub cabaret singing competition show type thing 10 years ago called Pub Idle.
Pop idol was big at the time, and i had just spent 10 years sitting on a bar stool drinking, in a pub saying what i was going to do but to bone idle to do anything about it. So when i got sober and then shortly after i had my 30th birthday. Pub idle was born.
The basic premise was to have a party where everyone was encouraged to dress as rock star/pop stars then invite 8 people up to sing in the style of their chosen act (Karaoke but with more humour) - we had judges, a promo film and i acted as MC all night & dressed as Elvis (1970's jumpsuit) but making the cardinal sin of forgetting my pants, it was not a pretty sight for anyone. I still have nightmares.
It was a top night and we did it for a couple of years, making a new promo film with the genius mates Cooper & Burge who did all the filming and editing. Such a scream, doing a pastiche of Beastie Boys Sabotage music video.
Now they have done what i was supposed to do in the last 10 years, get married, have kids, have no time. There is no chance of a 3rd film of the trilogy being done (not for another 10 years anyway until they get a life again when their kids grow up) There is however a return of Pub Idle for my 40th. This time with a live band and Elvis in pants. It will be epic.
Obviously i can't really sing and make a real tit of myself, but when else can a man wear a skintight white jumpsuit in public with complete abandon? They are brilliant. If i had my way i would have one for every day of the week, it's just without pockets i would be forced to have a man bag to carry my stuff around. Elvis employed people to carry his things. Instead of phone, wallet, keys, money, he carried donuts, prescription drugs, nappies and a gun around. I'm not at that level yet.
Once jumpsuit is on, there is most definately a character change. You cannot take yourself seriously, you start grinding your hips and standing with a legs wide apart stance and you cannot help but feel like a rutting dog with a lampost. I am considering whether to return to the jumpsuit; I know it's become a sort of joke with so many poor qulity suits, shades, hair etc - but i actually quite like the jumpsuit. You will not be suprised.
Or as people have suggested go with the 68 comeback special black leather type look
That look was pure class. Tigh black leather suit and total rock legend look. Who wouldn't want to look like that?
There is no doubt that Elvis was a good looking boy and super talented. In his 68 black leather special he looks superb, but trying to replicate that from 'partyzone' in Isleworth is not going to happen. It;s more a Primark Elvis. Than Elvis in his prime.The quality of some of these places make that outfit look more like Black bin liner than black leather and more Alison Moyet than Elvis. It's hard to pull off (unlike me)
Plus i am drawn to the Vegas jumpsuit era. It's ridiculous, over the top and skin tight. All the things i appear to be. Nuts. Oh how i long to be mean, moody, brooding, black leather rock god prowling round the stage like a panther with a growling voice. Instead i fear I'm more Liberace pantomime dame, poncing round the stage in tight jumpsuit and jewels squealing like a pig. I have a month to prepare.
I need help people. Black leather or Vegas Jumpsuit? Which one to do?
x
I really cannot stand having a party about me, for me. Even for someone as self obsessed as me, it would be too cringe and embarrassing, so i produced a template for a kind of pub cabaret singing competition show type thing 10 years ago called Pub Idle.
Pop idol was big at the time, and i had just spent 10 years sitting on a bar stool drinking, in a pub saying what i was going to do but to bone idle to do anything about it. So when i got sober and then shortly after i had my 30th birthday. Pub idle was born.
The basic premise was to have a party where everyone was encouraged to dress as rock star/pop stars then invite 8 people up to sing in the style of their chosen act (Karaoke but with more humour) - we had judges, a promo film and i acted as MC all night & dressed as Elvis (1970's jumpsuit) but making the cardinal sin of forgetting my pants, it was not a pretty sight for anyone. I still have nightmares.
It was a top night and we did it for a couple of years, making a new promo film with the genius mates Cooper & Burge who did all the filming and editing. Such a scream, doing a pastiche of Beastie Boys Sabotage music video.
Now they have done what i was supposed to do in the last 10 years, get married, have kids, have no time. There is no chance of a 3rd film of the trilogy being done (not for another 10 years anyway until they get a life again when their kids grow up) There is however a return of Pub Idle for my 40th. This time with a live band and Elvis in pants. It will be epic.
Obviously i can't really sing and make a real tit of myself, but when else can a man wear a skintight white jumpsuit in public with complete abandon? They are brilliant. If i had my way i would have one for every day of the week, it's just without pockets i would be forced to have a man bag to carry my stuff around. Elvis employed people to carry his things. Instead of phone, wallet, keys, money, he carried donuts, prescription drugs, nappies and a gun around. I'm not at that level yet.
Once jumpsuit is on, there is most definately a character change. You cannot take yourself seriously, you start grinding your hips and standing with a legs wide apart stance and you cannot help but feel like a rutting dog with a lampost. I am considering whether to return to the jumpsuit; I know it's become a sort of joke with so many poor qulity suits, shades, hair etc - but i actually quite like the jumpsuit. You will not be suprised.
Or as people have suggested go with the 68 comeback special black leather type look
That look was pure class. Tigh black leather suit and total rock legend look. Who wouldn't want to look like that?
There is no doubt that Elvis was a good looking boy and super talented. In his 68 black leather special he looks superb, but trying to replicate that from 'partyzone' in Isleworth is not going to happen. It;s more a Primark Elvis. Than Elvis in his prime.The quality of some of these places make that outfit look more like Black bin liner than black leather and more Alison Moyet than Elvis. It's hard to pull off (unlike me)
Plus i am drawn to the Vegas jumpsuit era. It's ridiculous, over the top and skin tight. All the things i appear to be. Nuts. Oh how i long to be mean, moody, brooding, black leather rock god prowling round the stage like a panther with a growling voice. Instead i fear I'm more Liberace pantomime dame, poncing round the stage in tight jumpsuit and jewels squealing like a pig. I have a month to prepare.
I need help people. Black leather or Vegas Jumpsuit? Which one to do?
x
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Day 204 - Tuesday 24th July - Olympic Torch comes to where i live....and i f***g missed it
Today was a once in a lifetime opportunity. The Olympic torch passed by where i live. Richmond. It went All along Kew Road, past the Private Shop, making a really tricky exit with thousands of people spying the dark carrier bag crammed full of nipple clamps, DVD box set of '300 AD CD ACDC' and Poppers.
It really would have been highly embarrassing had i actually been there and not on the North fucking circular going to work. Missed it.
I missed the once in a lifetime opportunity of mass ranks of people cheering Billy Mitchell from Eastenders in a white shell suit holding a gold plated torch that looks like it's been bought from one of those bling shops in Tooting Broadway. I was gutted.
Billy f****g Mitchell? What on earth has that talentless c**t got to do with Richmond or indeed the Olympic games. Have they picked the most obscure C list celebs and put them up on the oche? Had Andy Peters called in sick or something? What is Olympic about Billy Mitchell? His services to banal and mundane acting? Not only did he appear they also screend it live on Eastenders. Is this the best Britain can do? My god is that really the legacy of inspiration. If he would have set fire to Dot Cotton with it, it may have been mildly interesting
Why not go the whole hog and hand the blingy thing over to Kerry Katonia and then 'Mr Baxter' from Grange Hill. FFS. Tour it around Primark and H&M. Stop off at Greggs for a pasty and then JD Wetherspoons for a quick pint of 99p bitter.
Having said all that, the number of people and specifically kids who have come out to witness the shell suit parade is inspiring. I have spoken to a number of people who went along with their children and they all said it was a buzz and they enjoyed it, and at least it got the little sods off the PS2 for an hour.
It is also very Britain 2012 that several little youths tried to steal the torch at various towns around the UK. The pace the torch is carried is at no more than a small jog, yet there they were, the little out of shape youths running up alongside it, panting and puffing to keep up, as it's the first time they have moved their lazy arse for years, trousers flapping around their arse, thick laced trainers making it impossible to run - trying to reach out and grab the torch from the carrier.
It was amazing they actually had the strength to reach out such is the nutrient free diet of Pizza and Facebook. Of course we all thought they did it because it represented a lost generation of respect and interest in anything historical, mythical or meaningful, that they are vacuous disaffected and disinterested morons who are the future generation of call centre operatives. But no, this wasn't the reason they tried to steal the Olympic torch, they were just after a light for their Lambert & Butler 100's. Simple.
The Olympics is nearly upon us. 3 days and counting. I am determined not to be negative about it, but when i was faced with 2 lanes to drive in today, one an Olympic lane and one a Bus lane it's hard not to think this whole charade is fucking stupid. Couldn't they have staged it in Llanelli? It would have made the whole thing much more entertaining.
Mobility scooter road race, the 1500 metre dash to the dole office, quickest pasty eating, word tea making record and of course the classic blue ribband event which is literally eating blue ribbands.
No, i am actually looking forward to the Olympics, though unless you are an IOC dignitary, official sponsor or an official hanger on you have about as much respect and standing as G4S at a government briefing.
It's all about the legacy. Well so far all i can see in SW London of the legacy is a nomad actor in a shell suit holding a big lighter, trundling along to hundred of plebby kids waving cheap plastic flags made in China boosting their economy wondering what the fuck are all the road markings and how the heel you get about your city for the next month.
See Seb, I'm right behind London 2012. Bring it on.
xx
It really would have been highly embarrassing had i actually been there and not on the North fucking circular going to work. Missed it.
I missed the once in a lifetime opportunity of mass ranks of people cheering Billy Mitchell from Eastenders in a white shell suit holding a gold plated torch that looks like it's been bought from one of those bling shops in Tooting Broadway. I was gutted.
Billy f****g Mitchell? What on earth has that talentless c**t got to do with Richmond or indeed the Olympic games. Have they picked the most obscure C list celebs and put them up on the oche? Had Andy Peters called in sick or something? What is Olympic about Billy Mitchell? His services to banal and mundane acting? Not only did he appear they also screend it live on Eastenders. Is this the best Britain can do? My god is that really the legacy of inspiration. If he would have set fire to Dot Cotton with it, it may have been mildly interesting
Why not go the whole hog and hand the blingy thing over to Kerry Katonia and then 'Mr Baxter' from Grange Hill. FFS. Tour it around Primark and H&M. Stop off at Greggs for a pasty and then JD Wetherspoons for a quick pint of 99p bitter.
Having said all that, the number of people and specifically kids who have come out to witness the shell suit parade is inspiring. I have spoken to a number of people who went along with their children and they all said it was a buzz and they enjoyed it, and at least it got the little sods off the PS2 for an hour.
It is also very Britain 2012 that several little youths tried to steal the torch at various towns around the UK. The pace the torch is carried is at no more than a small jog, yet there they were, the little out of shape youths running up alongside it, panting and puffing to keep up, as it's the first time they have moved their lazy arse for years, trousers flapping around their arse, thick laced trainers making it impossible to run - trying to reach out and grab the torch from the carrier.
It was amazing they actually had the strength to reach out such is the nutrient free diet of Pizza and Facebook. Of course we all thought they did it because it represented a lost generation of respect and interest in anything historical, mythical or meaningful, that they are vacuous disaffected and disinterested morons who are the future generation of call centre operatives. But no, this wasn't the reason they tried to steal the Olympic torch, they were just after a light for their Lambert & Butler 100's. Simple.
The Olympics is nearly upon us. 3 days and counting. I am determined not to be negative about it, but when i was faced with 2 lanes to drive in today, one an Olympic lane and one a Bus lane it's hard not to think this whole charade is fucking stupid. Couldn't they have staged it in Llanelli? It would have made the whole thing much more entertaining.
Mobility scooter road race, the 1500 metre dash to the dole office, quickest pasty eating, word tea making record and of course the classic blue ribband event which is literally eating blue ribbands.
No, i am actually looking forward to the Olympics, though unless you are an IOC dignitary, official sponsor or an official hanger on you have about as much respect and standing as G4S at a government briefing.
It's all about the legacy. Well so far all i can see in SW London of the legacy is a nomad actor in a shell suit holding a big lighter, trundling along to hundred of plebby kids waving cheap plastic flags made in China boosting their economy wondering what the fuck are all the road markings and how the heel you get about your city for the next month.
See Seb, I'm right behind London 2012. Bring it on.
xx
Monday, July 23, 2012
Day 203 - Monday 23rd July - Olympic toilets and heckling at Comedy Gigs
Monday means Blog suggestion day. I forgot last week, but today i've had fuck loads of suggestions. This was the line up;
1- The Dark Knight Rises - Presumably in reference to the mass killer in USA who gunned down 12 people during a particularly mundane part of the new Dark Knight movie. At 161 minutes he had plenty of opportunities
2 - Men as Players - A request from a girl who had recently been played by one - Tricky subject for me seeing as i'm a self confessed sex addicted, love seeking, lunatic alcoholic commitment phobe who's been accussed of being a player many times. I think you'll know which way that blog would go. Not pretty for the female readers. If you want brutal honesty message me. If you want brutal S&M message me.
3 - My experience of Brits abroad. Same is this country really. Most are wankers with a few good uns
4 - Daily struggle Not to eat Chocolate Cake - I like this one, seeing as after 40GG.com, Chocolate cake is one of my favourite things. The daily struggle not to eat it is akin to G4S trying to run a credible company. #fuckingtough. A subject i will revisit
5 - Should a tie be windsor. Half or skinny? Again a subject i like. Easy. Go with windsor. A big fucking knot signifies power, greed, ego and stupidity, all the great male traights. Men started to become wimps when the skinny tie came into fashion. A skinny tie is too X factor. Can you imagine Clint Eastwood wearing one? nuff said
6 - Are there enough toilets in the Olympic Games? - This is a lead out topic from a friend of mine and is a headline for the strangest heckle at a Bill Bailey gig. If i write this i am not creating a blog, merely passing on a story. But a fucking good one at that. It's really about heckling
7- Breastfeeding - A subject i don't quite feel qualified to talk about. Apart form the fact that when i was 7 i walked into my living room to see my Mum's friend Laura Thomas breastfeeding. I noticed these enormous breasts out. In scale seeing as i was small and 7, they looked about the size of a hot air ballon. These massive jugs were on display and so started my lifelong obsession with big tits. Easily influenced at that age
It's a tough choice. They all have their own merits, I love writing about new topics and suggestions, having said that creating a new topic takes time, crafting, planning, thought and effort. Fuck that I'm going with the Olympic Khazi story. #lazysod
Friends of mine, bought other friends of mine a 40th birthday treat. Dinner at Ivy and then front row tickets for Bill Bailey at Leicester Square Theatre. An awesome 4sum. My pal, his wife, other pal and his wife. 40th birthday boy's wife is a kiwi GP and doesnt give a fuck about social etiqutte. She just spills out whatever is in her head no matter what. She is random. What can genuinely be called a 'character'. Christ knows what she dishes out to her patients. I should imagine laughter.
So they had a few drinks, got to the gig 10 mins late, disrupted the show in taking their seats (not a good start) and then settled down to enjoy the rather good Mr Bailey's routine.
That is of course up to the 10 minutes mark when up went Kiwi Gp's hand, like she was at school. Bill noticed this rather peculiar act and pointed out it wasn't school and what she wanted. This is the point where she asked the weird question;
"do you think there will be enough toilets in the Olympics this year". Cue laughter from the audience.
His routine hadn't mentioned the topic of Olympics or toilets and was totally out of the blue. He dealt with this in a resepctful yet puzzled way. A random heckle that was a genuine question.
He moved on with his routine. However she wouldn't let this one go and kept interupting. Eventually people were tapping her on the shoulder saying 'shut up'. The laughter had turned to hate. All 3 of her mates were trying to gag her, by now the crowd were imploring her mates to drag her out. She had in small matter of 10 minutes turned 2000 people against her. Impressive
Even the barman at the interval suggested she left. She was public enemy number 1. Thankfully she kept it shut in the 2nd half and a chastened GP consoled herself with Pinot Grigo. They hung around after and got a message to the dressing room to invite Bill Bailey into the bar for a drink after the show. Of course the request was politely turned down, Bill would rather have had a drink with the Batman killer i think.
So, the weirdest heckle backfired. Mostly all heckles backfire. 2000 people pay to see the artist not the pissed up audience member. It would be like going into the heckler's workplace and annoying the fuck out of them. But in comedy it's fair game and part of the Gladiator style atmosphere.
My favourite heckle? well it's not so much a word, more an action. A friend of mine comes from a big family. They are all over 6ft 3 , even the girls, The guys in the family are up to 6ft 9. Anyway thay have a 'tall people' support group. Where they meet once a week and discuss being tall for support. I love this so very much. It's like Hagrid Anonymous
They went on their xmas party, a night out in Watford and met for drinks and then went to Jongleurs. There were 11 of them, all over 6ft 5 with some 7ft.
They got a bit pissed and went into Jongleurs, having a table at side of the stage, One of the members of the group was pissed and mouthy, He heckled the fuck out of the poor MC all night. Finally the MC could take no more and effectively offered him outside for a fight and mentioned something along the lines of 'and you can bring your pissed knobhead mates too'.
At this point it was cue for the entire table of 11 giants to stand to their feet as one. The MC's face dropped, the audience howled. The MC was completely destroyed never to recover. Poor bastard but an image i loved. He picked on the wrong table.
Heckling is a tricky subject. Usually the ones who do it most is the person you want to hear the least. Of course alcohol must be added to create said heckler, as alcohol makes people think they are at least 300% funnier than they think they are, and more attractive.
Usually the heckler thinks they have come out with a witty line, but in reality they have just said something equivalent to 'i'm a twat. I know i'm a twat but i've had so much Stella i'm actually bulletproof and have zero shame or self consciousness, i'm actually deeply unhappy with my life and have never bothered to get off my fat lazy arse to actually do someting creative so what i tend to do is sit on the sidelines, get pissed on high strength lager and criticise people and comedians who have spent hours, days, years writing this material to try and perform on stage and make people laugh"
Of course if you have 10 of these people on a table who are all 7ft tall. They can say whatever the fuck they like. As an MC my job is simple. Run like fuck
x
1- The Dark Knight Rises - Presumably in reference to the mass killer in USA who gunned down 12 people during a particularly mundane part of the new Dark Knight movie. At 161 minutes he had plenty of opportunities
2 - Men as Players - A request from a girl who had recently been played by one - Tricky subject for me seeing as i'm a self confessed sex addicted, love seeking, lunatic alcoholic commitment phobe who's been accussed of being a player many times. I think you'll know which way that blog would go. Not pretty for the female readers. If you want brutal honesty message me. If you want brutal S&M message me.
3 - My experience of Brits abroad. Same is this country really. Most are wankers with a few good uns
4 - Daily struggle Not to eat Chocolate Cake - I like this one, seeing as after 40GG.com, Chocolate cake is one of my favourite things. The daily struggle not to eat it is akin to G4S trying to run a credible company. #fuckingtough. A subject i will revisit
5 - Should a tie be windsor. Half or skinny? Again a subject i like. Easy. Go with windsor. A big fucking knot signifies power, greed, ego and stupidity, all the great male traights. Men started to become wimps when the skinny tie came into fashion. A skinny tie is too X factor. Can you imagine Clint Eastwood wearing one? nuff said
6 - Are there enough toilets in the Olympic Games? - This is a lead out topic from a friend of mine and is a headline for the strangest heckle at a Bill Bailey gig. If i write this i am not creating a blog, merely passing on a story. But a fucking good one at that. It's really about heckling
7- Breastfeeding - A subject i don't quite feel qualified to talk about. Apart form the fact that when i was 7 i walked into my living room to see my Mum's friend Laura Thomas breastfeeding. I noticed these enormous breasts out. In scale seeing as i was small and 7, they looked about the size of a hot air ballon. These massive jugs were on display and so started my lifelong obsession with big tits. Easily influenced at that age
It's a tough choice. They all have their own merits, I love writing about new topics and suggestions, having said that creating a new topic takes time, crafting, planning, thought and effort. Fuck that I'm going with the Olympic Khazi story. #lazysod
Friends of mine, bought other friends of mine a 40th birthday treat. Dinner at Ivy and then front row tickets for Bill Bailey at Leicester Square Theatre. An awesome 4sum. My pal, his wife, other pal and his wife. 40th birthday boy's wife is a kiwi GP and doesnt give a fuck about social etiqutte. She just spills out whatever is in her head no matter what. She is random. What can genuinely be called a 'character'. Christ knows what she dishes out to her patients. I should imagine laughter.
So they had a few drinks, got to the gig 10 mins late, disrupted the show in taking their seats (not a good start) and then settled down to enjoy the rather good Mr Bailey's routine.
That is of course up to the 10 minutes mark when up went Kiwi Gp's hand, like she was at school. Bill noticed this rather peculiar act and pointed out it wasn't school and what she wanted. This is the point where she asked the weird question;
"do you think there will be enough toilets in the Olympics this year". Cue laughter from the audience.
His routine hadn't mentioned the topic of Olympics or toilets and was totally out of the blue. He dealt with this in a resepctful yet puzzled way. A random heckle that was a genuine question.
He moved on with his routine. However she wouldn't let this one go and kept interupting. Eventually people were tapping her on the shoulder saying 'shut up'. The laughter had turned to hate. All 3 of her mates were trying to gag her, by now the crowd were imploring her mates to drag her out. She had in small matter of 10 minutes turned 2000 people against her. Impressive
Even the barman at the interval suggested she left. She was public enemy number 1. Thankfully she kept it shut in the 2nd half and a chastened GP consoled herself with Pinot Grigo. They hung around after and got a message to the dressing room to invite Bill Bailey into the bar for a drink after the show. Of course the request was politely turned down, Bill would rather have had a drink with the Batman killer i think.
So, the weirdest heckle backfired. Mostly all heckles backfire. 2000 people pay to see the artist not the pissed up audience member. It would be like going into the heckler's workplace and annoying the fuck out of them. But in comedy it's fair game and part of the Gladiator style atmosphere.
My favourite heckle? well it's not so much a word, more an action. A friend of mine comes from a big family. They are all over 6ft 3 , even the girls, The guys in the family are up to 6ft 9. Anyway thay have a 'tall people' support group. Where they meet once a week and discuss being tall for support. I love this so very much. It's like Hagrid Anonymous
They went on their xmas party, a night out in Watford and met for drinks and then went to Jongleurs. There were 11 of them, all over 6ft 5 with some 7ft.
They got a bit pissed and went into Jongleurs, having a table at side of the stage, One of the members of the group was pissed and mouthy, He heckled the fuck out of the poor MC all night. Finally the MC could take no more and effectively offered him outside for a fight and mentioned something along the lines of 'and you can bring your pissed knobhead mates too'.
At this point it was cue for the entire table of 11 giants to stand to their feet as one. The MC's face dropped, the audience howled. The MC was completely destroyed never to recover. Poor bastard but an image i loved. He picked on the wrong table.
Heckling is a tricky subject. Usually the ones who do it most is the person you want to hear the least. Of course alcohol must be added to create said heckler, as alcohol makes people think they are at least 300% funnier than they think they are, and more attractive.
Usually the heckler thinks they have come out with a witty line, but in reality they have just said something equivalent to 'i'm a twat. I know i'm a twat but i've had so much Stella i'm actually bulletproof and have zero shame or self consciousness, i'm actually deeply unhappy with my life and have never bothered to get off my fat lazy arse to actually do someting creative so what i tend to do is sit on the sidelines, get pissed on high strength lager and criticise people and comedians who have spent hours, days, years writing this material to try and perform on stage and make people laugh"
Of course if you have 10 of these people on a table who are all 7ft tall. They can say whatever the fuck they like. As an MC my job is simple. Run like fuck
x
Day 202 - Sunday 22nd July - Lazy Summer Sunday
What is the perfect Sunday? For some it's a roast dinner, family, friends, wine, kip and Sunday papers. For others it's a 6 hour cycle in the country, stopping at cafes for coffee and cake. For some it's an all day club for the come down from a big Saturday night, for others it's a day for religious celebration and contemplation (not many of those granted)
Me? Well today i put on my Lycra triathlon suit and flip flops and attacked the overgrown front garden with a strimmer and sheers. Granted it wasn't typical garden wear but i got a good tan.
I've never seen the point of gardening. For me it is what's known in the trade as an 'inconvenience'. Valuable porning time is wasted pruning rose bushes, strimming the grass and trimming bushes, though to be fair those phrases wouldn't be out of place in the porn industry.
I've never really 'got' gardening, probably because I've never actually had one. If i did it would probably end up looking pikey. You know the one all neighbours hate as it's unkempt & overgrown, looking like an Eastern European Weight lifter's snatch during a razor shortage.
I can understand it, open air, growing your own plants, colour, relaxation, aesthetically pleasing. But it's as boring as Chris Moyles. It's just not for me, but who knows, maybe when i turn 60 I'll be all over it, but lets see.
Big day today for Brad Wiggins who won the Tour De France. An incredibly insane cycle race over 2,500 miles in France over 21 days. He pissed it and became the first Brit to win the race in 100 years. All achieved with a massive pair of sideburns. It's refreshing to see a sportsman retain some kind of originality and chops in an age of banal soundbite robots. Good on yer lad.
Papers full of chat about the impending Olympics. Can't believe it starts on Friday. Seems like only yesterday we became underwhelmed Seb Coe and Co won the bid for 2012. So, despite G4s doing their best to fuck up security, and around £2billion of our cash. It's finally going to happen. Even the Sun has made an appearance.
There seems to be some kind of media propaganda campaign to make it unpopular to be sceptical and negative about the Games. Like we should get behind it as an event to make you proud to be British and of your country. They are forgetting we are critical bastards in this country, particularly after £2billion's been spunked down the drain on stadiums no-one is going to use after the games.
I on the other hand am looking forward to the games, fired up at the prospect of Badminton, Equestrian, Archery and Sailing, and frankly semi hard at the thought of Judo. It's going to be epic.
The air is full of the smell of BBQ's, the hot weather has finally made an appearance so i think everyone should get a month off. Kids are on holiday so we should 'break up' too. Long lazy summer days spent doing nothing but running around, firing people with water pistols (why didn't the dude in USA do that instead of real life ammunition what the fuck is wrong with people?) lolling about in Parks, reading, sunning, kicking a ball round aimlessly, getting hard on's at inappropriate times and then having to discreetly place 'The Times' in front of it so you don't get arrested and placed on the register.
Park life in the Summer is a total British classic. In fact someone should write a song about that.
I had a good day today, enjoyable, relaxed and pleasing. The good weather helps of course. It means you don't have to do anything special, just sit out. Us Brits are hardy souls. We brave the elements all year and then at the first sight of sun, put our living rooms outside for the afternoon in the Park or Garden on a big blanket and sit around but in sunlight. Easily pleased.
This can then be extended into something called 'a holiday' for camping or caravaning. Where you take your house with you and place in a smaller space. Again typically British. They should have included this in the Olympic Games. That and teenage pregnancy, underage binge drinking and obesity would have made us gold medal favourites at these disciplines. Throw in Queueing and rioting and we would have cleaned up
If feel Todays blog was a little uninspired & boring, as you can tell i had no chat, no subject and little in the way of creative inspiration. I would mark it as a 3 out of 10 day, but thats OK. I am wanting topics for Monday please readers, like a form of Blog jukebox.
Give me some inspiration people, i'm running dry here
xx
Me? Well today i put on my Lycra triathlon suit and flip flops and attacked the overgrown front garden with a strimmer and sheers. Granted it wasn't typical garden wear but i got a good tan.
I've never seen the point of gardening. For me it is what's known in the trade as an 'inconvenience'. Valuable porning time is wasted pruning rose bushes, strimming the grass and trimming bushes, though to be fair those phrases wouldn't be out of place in the porn industry.
I've never really 'got' gardening, probably because I've never actually had one. If i did it would probably end up looking pikey. You know the one all neighbours hate as it's unkempt & overgrown, looking like an Eastern European Weight lifter's snatch during a razor shortage.
I can understand it, open air, growing your own plants, colour, relaxation, aesthetically pleasing. But it's as boring as Chris Moyles. It's just not for me, but who knows, maybe when i turn 60 I'll be all over it, but lets see.
Big day today for Brad Wiggins who won the Tour De France. An incredibly insane cycle race over 2,500 miles in France over 21 days. He pissed it and became the first Brit to win the race in 100 years. All achieved with a massive pair of sideburns. It's refreshing to see a sportsman retain some kind of originality and chops in an age of banal soundbite robots. Good on yer lad.
Papers full of chat about the impending Olympics. Can't believe it starts on Friday. Seems like only yesterday we became underwhelmed Seb Coe and Co won the bid for 2012. So, despite G4s doing their best to fuck up security, and around £2billion of our cash. It's finally going to happen. Even the Sun has made an appearance.
There seems to be some kind of media propaganda campaign to make it unpopular to be sceptical and negative about the Games. Like we should get behind it as an event to make you proud to be British and of your country. They are forgetting we are critical bastards in this country, particularly after £2billion's been spunked down the drain on stadiums no-one is going to use after the games.
I on the other hand am looking forward to the games, fired up at the prospect of Badminton, Equestrian, Archery and Sailing, and frankly semi hard at the thought of Judo. It's going to be epic.
The air is full of the smell of BBQ's, the hot weather has finally made an appearance so i think everyone should get a month off. Kids are on holiday so we should 'break up' too. Long lazy summer days spent doing nothing but running around, firing people with water pistols (why didn't the dude in USA do that instead of real life ammunition what the fuck is wrong with people?) lolling about in Parks, reading, sunning, kicking a ball round aimlessly, getting hard on's at inappropriate times and then having to discreetly place 'The Times' in front of it so you don't get arrested and placed on the register.
Park life in the Summer is a total British classic. In fact someone should write a song about that.
I had a good day today, enjoyable, relaxed and pleasing. The good weather helps of course. It means you don't have to do anything special, just sit out. Us Brits are hardy souls. We brave the elements all year and then at the first sight of sun, put our living rooms outside for the afternoon in the Park or Garden on a big blanket and sit around but in sunlight. Easily pleased.
This can then be extended into something called 'a holiday' for camping or caravaning. Where you take your house with you and place in a smaller space. Again typically British. They should have included this in the Olympic Games. That and teenage pregnancy, underage binge drinking and obesity would have made us gold medal favourites at these disciplines. Throw in Queueing and rioting and we would have cleaned up
If feel Todays blog was a little uninspired & boring, as you can tell i had no chat, no subject and little in the way of creative inspiration. I would mark it as a 3 out of 10 day, but thats OK. I am wanting topics for Monday please readers, like a form of Blog jukebox.
Give me some inspiration people, i'm running dry here
xx
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Day 201 - Sat 21st July - Friends & Parenthood
It felt like the first day of summer. No rain, sun out and BBQ all day with old friends, perfect Saturday fayre,
Started off with an exceptionally early rise. 6am. For no reason just woke up. BING! Awake. Hate that don't you? I was wide awake and alert. I thought i could write, read a book, go for a run. Anything. I had a chair to do at 9.30am, so i acres lots of time.
So what did i end up doing? Faffing. In fact i did so much faffing i had to rush to get to the chair in Holland Park. How the hell does that work? I had 3 hours to prepare and i ended up late and panicking. Unmanageable.
Faffing eats up large chunks of time without remembering anything specific you did. It's like a form of amnesia. Usually faffing is reserved for Women, blokes just arse about. A little like girls eat quiche and blokes flan. Same thing really just dressed differently. A little like transvestism, but without the meat and 2 veg.
It ended up being a lovely little meeting and set me up for a decent day. I nipped to the gym for a cycle, catch up on the papers for the sporting orgy for the weekend (loving the Tour De France by the way, awesome) and a short hard ass circuit session with weights.
I saw the dude who i snapped at the other week, i felt in a chilled mood so i shook his hand and apologized. He looked genuinely made up and happy, responding with a counter apology and a warm 'thanks'. It made me feel good.
Making amends clears the guilty head and you can go about your business with a clear conscience. Having said that, he started doing free weights next to me, with his Ipod and was grunting at lifting and strolling around rapping between sets. Fucks sake, is this the worlds biggest knob head or what? Please god let him get tendonitis of the arm, and tongue. Ggggrrr.
Then it was to my old school pal, Dan's 40th birthday at Caversham Lakes. A wakeboarding lake in Berkshire, near his home, with all my circle of pals, all of which are married and have kids. Except me of course.
I have known these guys since i was at school and the group is a wide one and just so cool when we all get together. It really is a pleasure. They are my friends. True friends. Friends you grow up with through the ages. We are all pretty much similar age and it is interesting to see how everyone has got on.
You go through the teenage phase, then the getting fucked up phase, the girlfriends phase, then for most, the getting married phase, the buying house and doing up the kitchen phase, the career or starting up your own business phase, then the having children phase, the young family phase, the not having enough time for anything phase and now the 40th birthday phase.
I of course got some of those phases wrong and mixed up and have yet to do some of them. The teenage phase i still appear to be in, the fucked up phase really went on too long, the married phase i have avoided and the kids, settle down, mortgage phase has largely sent me into mild revulsion's of fear and panic so much so that i seem to have permanently postponed them until further notice.
Despite not being in the same boat as ALL of my pals. I am now the only one left not to be married or have kids. I am the last man standing. The last biscuit on the plate. Or medically speaking 'commitment phobe'.
It was a great location, a private wakeboarding club, with a huge pig being spit roasted (just my scene). Big old area for hoards of screaming kids to run around (not so much my scene) and a trampoline, which i loved. Grabbing 3 year old's (thats a statement that could well get me in trouble) and saying 'come on you want to go on the trampoline don't you', in the vain hope it looked like i was actually doing it for their benefit, not the fact i just love bouncing up and down (see Spit roast on previous line)
All the gang were there, Big Dan (wakeboarder, drummer, father, husband, business dude and an excellent story teller) Elliot & Sue (Ranked number 1 couple in the world, excellently funny and truly good people in every sense of the word) Karl ( funny and always looks a total shambles even though he has 2 kids, wife, job and runs nearly every day & was responsible for getting me into marathons and triathlons), The Big C and missus (Proper old pal who we've been through the wars together and come through) Cobs and missus (oldest pal who insists scored against me at football when we were 10 but I'm having none of it. Sports buff., Good man to have for pub quiz. Not just because he's ace at facts but he always stands a round) Stu and Kate (Stu is 6ft 6 and the loveliest man you could meet. It's comforting to be around someone like that. I should imagine it's how kids feel when watching Hagrid. Puts you at ease)
There were some faces missing, but it was a fine gathering and we just wound the day away, eating pig, fresh crackling (all the Paleo people would have been cumming in their pants) talking shit, wake boarding, going on the speedboat, trampolining, laughing, joking and mostly minding kids who were running around like small mad people.
To be a parent requires super human effort. I would be talking, but you know they are 40% concentrating on what you are saying, the rest is spent scanning the area for their kids, Like eagle eye action man, eyes darting. You cannot rest if you have kids (Particularly under 8), as you have to be permanently 'on'.
If they are not lifting up shovels, running too close to the lake, crying, screaming, falling over and banging their head, eating small toys or just being a small toy. They are needing food, water, something. My god it is exhausting just watching.
Of course i do my bit and muck in. Grabbing one of the small people to throw them in the air, or on the trampoline, making them laugh. Giving their parents a well earned break for 5 maybe even 6 minutes before getting exhausted and handing them back. How on earth they do that for 24 hours a day god only knows. Respect. Still, it makes me look good though. Yes, i'm that shallow folks.
The interesting part, was watching the negotiations in which parent got to look after them. 'you're turn', 'go and see mummy' seemed to be the sort of 'parent waltz' played out. Fascinating. Like the Mastrich treaty but with more Nappies. It seems that blokes have a 30 minute time period for duty, whereas mothers get 2 hours. Seemed to be slight inbalance but i kept my mouth shut on this observation.
Then of course, you saw the parents with the older kids, who didn't have to be permanently on the look out, They seemed far more chilled and relaxed. Like they have been through that harsh early days and can now have some kind of life. God being a parent seems torrid. Like facing the new ball as a nightwatchman in cricket. See that off and maybe it will get easier.
It didn't give me the urge though. I'm definitely carving out the niche as Uncle Fun. If i became a parent where would all my time go on self obsession? On gym, running, marathons, iron mans. Where would i get all the time to go to meetings, work? To please myself, to have my own 'space'. It just wouldn't work. I'm sure my pals wouldn't mind me saying that all the boys are packing a few pounds above their fighting weight. It seems that parenthood expands the waistline by about 6 inches and recedes the hairline by 2. Or maybe we are getting old?
It made me appreciate my pals. I don't keep in touch as often as i should. But last thing people with kids want is their single pals ringing them up saying 'lets go and play snooker', or even calling at 7pm. Christ i show my inexperience there. Last thing they want when having to bath 2 kids, feed a 3rd, deal with a work call is have their single pal on the blower complaining of being 'overworked', 'stressed' and wondering if they wanted to go out to a new play by Kevin Spacey.
The words 'fuck' and 'off' spring to mind.
My pals are my pals. I don't need to be in their ear every week. We see each other at intervals. Of course the ones with kids will see others with kids because that's the way it should and needs to be, but when i see them after a period of time, its the same as when we were 20, just with less weed and LSD.
I loved it today, laughed my arse off, ate lots of crackling and had lots of fun. It made me grateful to have such friends. Good non ego, real, open, friendly, funny, top people.
But above all else it made me super grateful not to have a young family as i can sit here in peace, in my pants, with a cup of tea, superjugs.com on the other screen and knock out this blog before knocki.........see i must stop being so base, so one dimensional. So dirty. Keep it clean Evans. There could be kids reading, though to be fair, they are too busy trying to eat a small plastic object or putting sand in their sisters mouth. Feeling for you parents. You are my new heroes
x
Started off with an exceptionally early rise. 6am. For no reason just woke up. BING! Awake. Hate that don't you? I was wide awake and alert. I thought i could write, read a book, go for a run. Anything. I had a chair to do at 9.30am, so i acres lots of time.
So what did i end up doing? Faffing. In fact i did so much faffing i had to rush to get to the chair in Holland Park. How the hell does that work? I had 3 hours to prepare and i ended up late and panicking. Unmanageable.
Faffing eats up large chunks of time without remembering anything specific you did. It's like a form of amnesia. Usually faffing is reserved for Women, blokes just arse about. A little like girls eat quiche and blokes flan. Same thing really just dressed differently. A little like transvestism, but without the meat and 2 veg.
It ended up being a lovely little meeting and set me up for a decent day. I nipped to the gym for a cycle, catch up on the papers for the sporting orgy for the weekend (loving the Tour De France by the way, awesome) and a short hard ass circuit session with weights.
I saw the dude who i snapped at the other week, i felt in a chilled mood so i shook his hand and apologized. He looked genuinely made up and happy, responding with a counter apology and a warm 'thanks'. It made me feel good.
Making amends clears the guilty head and you can go about your business with a clear conscience. Having said that, he started doing free weights next to me, with his Ipod and was grunting at lifting and strolling around rapping between sets. Fucks sake, is this the worlds biggest knob head or what? Please god let him get tendonitis of the arm, and tongue. Ggggrrr.
Then it was to my old school pal, Dan's 40th birthday at Caversham Lakes. A wakeboarding lake in Berkshire, near his home, with all my circle of pals, all of which are married and have kids. Except me of course.
I have known these guys since i was at school and the group is a wide one and just so cool when we all get together. It really is a pleasure. They are my friends. True friends. Friends you grow up with through the ages. We are all pretty much similar age and it is interesting to see how everyone has got on.
You go through the teenage phase, then the getting fucked up phase, the girlfriends phase, then for most, the getting married phase, the buying house and doing up the kitchen phase, the career or starting up your own business phase, then the having children phase, the young family phase, the not having enough time for anything phase and now the 40th birthday phase.
I of course got some of those phases wrong and mixed up and have yet to do some of them. The teenage phase i still appear to be in, the fucked up phase really went on too long, the married phase i have avoided and the kids, settle down, mortgage phase has largely sent me into mild revulsion's of fear and panic so much so that i seem to have permanently postponed them until further notice.
Despite not being in the same boat as ALL of my pals. I am now the only one left not to be married or have kids. I am the last man standing. The last biscuit on the plate. Or medically speaking 'commitment phobe'.
It was a great location, a private wakeboarding club, with a huge pig being spit roasted (just my scene). Big old area for hoards of screaming kids to run around (not so much my scene) and a trampoline, which i loved. Grabbing 3 year old's (thats a statement that could well get me in trouble) and saying 'come on you want to go on the trampoline don't you', in the vain hope it looked like i was actually doing it for their benefit, not the fact i just love bouncing up and down (see Spit roast on previous line)
All the gang were there, Big Dan (wakeboarder, drummer, father, husband, business dude and an excellent story teller) Elliot & Sue (Ranked number 1 couple in the world, excellently funny and truly good people in every sense of the word) Karl ( funny and always looks a total shambles even though he has 2 kids, wife, job and runs nearly every day & was responsible for getting me into marathons and triathlons), The Big C and missus (Proper old pal who we've been through the wars together and come through) Cobs and missus (oldest pal who insists scored against me at football when we were 10 but I'm having none of it. Sports buff., Good man to have for pub quiz. Not just because he's ace at facts but he always stands a round) Stu and Kate (Stu is 6ft 6 and the loveliest man you could meet. It's comforting to be around someone like that. I should imagine it's how kids feel when watching Hagrid. Puts you at ease)
There were some faces missing, but it was a fine gathering and we just wound the day away, eating pig, fresh crackling (all the Paleo people would have been cumming in their pants) talking shit, wake boarding, going on the speedboat, trampolining, laughing, joking and mostly minding kids who were running around like small mad people.
To be a parent requires super human effort. I would be talking, but you know they are 40% concentrating on what you are saying, the rest is spent scanning the area for their kids, Like eagle eye action man, eyes darting. You cannot rest if you have kids (Particularly under 8), as you have to be permanently 'on'.
If they are not lifting up shovels, running too close to the lake, crying, screaming, falling over and banging their head, eating small toys or just being a small toy. They are needing food, water, something. My god it is exhausting just watching.
Of course i do my bit and muck in. Grabbing one of the small people to throw them in the air, or on the trampoline, making them laugh. Giving their parents a well earned break for 5 maybe even 6 minutes before getting exhausted and handing them back. How on earth they do that for 24 hours a day god only knows. Respect. Still, it makes me look good though. Yes, i'm that shallow folks.
The interesting part, was watching the negotiations in which parent got to look after them. 'you're turn', 'go and see mummy' seemed to be the sort of 'parent waltz' played out. Fascinating. Like the Mastrich treaty but with more Nappies. It seems that blokes have a 30 minute time period for duty, whereas mothers get 2 hours. Seemed to be slight inbalance but i kept my mouth shut on this observation.
Then of course, you saw the parents with the older kids, who didn't have to be permanently on the look out, They seemed far more chilled and relaxed. Like they have been through that harsh early days and can now have some kind of life. God being a parent seems torrid. Like facing the new ball as a nightwatchman in cricket. See that off and maybe it will get easier.
It didn't give me the urge though. I'm definitely carving out the niche as Uncle Fun. If i became a parent where would all my time go on self obsession? On gym, running, marathons, iron mans. Where would i get all the time to go to meetings, work? To please myself, to have my own 'space'. It just wouldn't work. I'm sure my pals wouldn't mind me saying that all the boys are packing a few pounds above their fighting weight. It seems that parenthood expands the waistline by about 6 inches and recedes the hairline by 2. Or maybe we are getting old?
It made me appreciate my pals. I don't keep in touch as often as i should. But last thing people with kids want is their single pals ringing them up saying 'lets go and play snooker', or even calling at 7pm. Christ i show my inexperience there. Last thing they want when having to bath 2 kids, feed a 3rd, deal with a work call is have their single pal on the blower complaining of being 'overworked', 'stressed' and wondering if they wanted to go out to a new play by Kevin Spacey.
The words 'fuck' and 'off' spring to mind.
My pals are my pals. I don't need to be in their ear every week. We see each other at intervals. Of course the ones with kids will see others with kids because that's the way it should and needs to be, but when i see them after a period of time, its the same as when we were 20, just with less weed and LSD.
I loved it today, laughed my arse off, ate lots of crackling and had lots of fun. It made me grateful to have such friends. Good non ego, real, open, friendly, funny, top people.
But above all else it made me super grateful not to have a young family as i can sit here in peace, in my pants, with a cup of tea, superjugs.com on the other screen and knock out this blog before knocki.........see i must stop being so base, so one dimensional. So dirty. Keep it clean Evans. There could be kids reading, though to be fair, they are too busy trying to eat a small plastic object or putting sand in their sisters mouth. Feeling for you parents. You are my new heroes
x
Friday, July 20, 2012
Day 200 - Friday 20th July - Double hundred up - Half Term Report
Day 200, Christ how amazing is that? The only thing I've kept up for 200 days solid is breathing, blinking, having morning glory, smoking, not drinking, having sideburns and now a daily blog. It's a powerful list. I would have included masturbating to that list, but my wanking habits is just too far, besides i know there are some OAP's who read this blog. Don't want to cause another bout of angina do i?
God knows what they would have thought about 'When Tranny Met Granny', and i 've left alot of my murky past behaviour out of this public domain. There's only so far you can talk about BDSM and group sex. Besides my Mum reads this blog. (Sorry mum)
Some say I've revealed too much of my thoughts about work, personal life and alcoholism. I suppose people are entitled to their opinion, but really what is the point in keeping up a daily blog without putting some kind of truth and honest inner feeling behind it?
If anyone has read day one of this blog (seems like a lifetime ago yet time has passed too quickly), my preamble said at times i will reveal too much, at other times it will be boring, some entries funny and some negative and depressive. It's a snapshot of me i suppose and I'm pretty open , complex, needy, depressive, emotional, negative, enthusiastic, funny and sad. Like most of us i guess, except of course only better and sometimes worse (all in my mind of course)
It's been an interesting journey so far. I have enjoyed writing, and i get a real pleasure when someone says they laughed out loud, identified or felt compelled to email me to ask for help (2 people have asked about drinking too much) Some cried when they read my entry about my father, it helped to write about my Beautiful Nan, and made me realise what great qualities she had.
It made me feel deeply about my spiritual home, Llanelli and see the humour and desperation in the place. Almost as a metaphor for how Britain is in 2012.
Yes there is all the hullabaloo about the Olympics but there are serious problems in this country. Race, poverty, obesity, addiction, fragmenting attitudes, no time for people, depression, illness, rich and poor, greed, honesty, double standards.
In my opinion it was all over when Woolworth's went under. That's when the country became fucked. I mean who doesn't remember going in there and stealing fuck loads of pic and mix, like a right of passage. Gaping at all the toys and squeezing past overweight aunties looking after their nephews and nieces in the school holidays.
I digress though, this is not a mouthpiece. I am not political or indeed a social commentator. Anyone who likes Flog it and regularly gets viruses on his computer because of his fondness for 'SuperJugs USA.com, can't really position himself as a serious observer of societies ills. Plus of course i display many of the things that have become wrong. It would be totally hypocritical of me to criticise, though to be fair it's never stopped me in the past.
No, 200 days is a good figure. Mid summer, there are 3 days of sun forecast, I'm feeling OK so the world is a decent place today.
What have i learnt in 200 days? Well to persevere, try to write succinctly, be reasonably honest and try to inject humour where i can. I've learnt that my patterns of thinking and behaviour are cyclical and then come around pretty often, both good and bad.
I've learnt I'm well loved though find it difficult to see this and accept it. I've learnt i have terrible low self esteem at times and that others do to. I've learnt i hold myself back with awful procrastination and fear but i seem to find a way to get there eventually. I have learnt that family is important and we can learn alot from the 'old school'.
I've learnt theres more than one way to eat a Kit Kat, that many of us are scared and sad and in need of help. I've learnt i am lucky to have AA and i have learnt above all else that no matter what, never ever give up on something even if your head tells you it's no good.
I have learnt that no matter if you believe or not, there is a higher power and in the immortal words of Terry from Bury, all i need to know about it, Nick, is that you;re not fucking it.
Thanks so much for reading so far, Keep on the journey bloggers and tell me what you've learnt so far this year?
x
God knows what they would have thought about 'When Tranny Met Granny', and i 've left alot of my murky past behaviour out of this public domain. There's only so far you can talk about BDSM and group sex. Besides my Mum reads this blog. (Sorry mum)
Some say I've revealed too much of my thoughts about work, personal life and alcoholism. I suppose people are entitled to their opinion, but really what is the point in keeping up a daily blog without putting some kind of truth and honest inner feeling behind it?
If anyone has read day one of this blog (seems like a lifetime ago yet time has passed too quickly), my preamble said at times i will reveal too much, at other times it will be boring, some entries funny and some negative and depressive. It's a snapshot of me i suppose and I'm pretty open , complex, needy, depressive, emotional, negative, enthusiastic, funny and sad. Like most of us i guess, except of course only better and sometimes worse (all in my mind of course)
It's been an interesting journey so far. I have enjoyed writing, and i get a real pleasure when someone says they laughed out loud, identified or felt compelled to email me to ask for help (2 people have asked about drinking too much) Some cried when they read my entry about my father, it helped to write about my Beautiful Nan, and made me realise what great qualities she had.
It made me feel deeply about my spiritual home, Llanelli and see the humour and desperation in the place. Almost as a metaphor for how Britain is in 2012.
Yes there is all the hullabaloo about the Olympics but there are serious problems in this country. Race, poverty, obesity, addiction, fragmenting attitudes, no time for people, depression, illness, rich and poor, greed, honesty, double standards.
In my opinion it was all over when Woolworth's went under. That's when the country became fucked. I mean who doesn't remember going in there and stealing fuck loads of pic and mix, like a right of passage. Gaping at all the toys and squeezing past overweight aunties looking after their nephews and nieces in the school holidays.
I digress though, this is not a mouthpiece. I am not political or indeed a social commentator. Anyone who likes Flog it and regularly gets viruses on his computer because of his fondness for 'SuperJugs USA.com, can't really position himself as a serious observer of societies ills. Plus of course i display many of the things that have become wrong. It would be totally hypocritical of me to criticise, though to be fair it's never stopped me in the past.
No, 200 days is a good figure. Mid summer, there are 3 days of sun forecast, I'm feeling OK so the world is a decent place today.
What have i learnt in 200 days? Well to persevere, try to write succinctly, be reasonably honest and try to inject humour where i can. I've learnt that my patterns of thinking and behaviour are cyclical and then come around pretty often, both good and bad.
I've learnt I'm well loved though find it difficult to see this and accept it. I've learnt i have terrible low self esteem at times and that others do to. I've learnt i hold myself back with awful procrastination and fear but i seem to find a way to get there eventually. I have learnt that family is important and we can learn alot from the 'old school'.
I've learnt theres more than one way to eat a Kit Kat, that many of us are scared and sad and in need of help. I've learnt i am lucky to have AA and i have learnt above all else that no matter what, never ever give up on something even if your head tells you it's no good.
I have learnt that no matter if you believe or not, there is a higher power and in the immortal words of Terry from Bury, all i need to know about it, Nick, is that you;re not fucking it.
Thanks so much for reading so far, Keep on the journey bloggers and tell me what you've learnt so far this year?
x
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Day 199 - Thursday 19th July - Swearing
3 people. 3 f****g people read my blog yesterday. 3 of you. There's more in a f*****g orgy for Christs sake. It's less than the entire line up of The Rolling Stones, though not The Beatles. 3 people. That's a 3 sum which read my blog yesterday.
I thought about all kinds of topics to write about today. Swearing. When more is never enough. Sex. (you could possibly merge all 3 together. There's the number 3 again, is it taking the piss?) The Olympics, Inappropriate behaviour or indecision, i just couldn't decide.
So i tossed for it. Very enjoyable it was too. Cheap gag, which incidentally is what they sell in Anne Summers. No, I spun some coins and by the process of elimination the topic of the day was swearing.
I love swearing. I really do. My father swore loads when i was a kid so i became used to it from an early age. As he was a raving alcoholic filled with resentment and intolerance so of course swearing was as natural as Jodie March and self obsession.
He would constantly be arguing to himself, no doubt with some ill conceived burning resentment against his bosses, muttering, the one sided argument to himself would always end in the term 'fucking arseholes'. Obviously aimed at someone, though he would also drop something and shout 'fucking arseholes' out loud.
So it was a very flexible swear word, not only describing a person but also a smashed pyrex plate. It made me like swearing alot.
He was also fond of the word 'wanker'. Again this was used liberally to describe a number of things, though usually aimed at people, mostly people better off than him. Envy and ego is a powerful mix and usually ends in the term 'wanker'. I remember one of my main goals when growing up was not to be a 'wanker'. I hope I've achieved that.
I think swear words are great. They just describe things perfectly. For instance if someone has behaved badly and either hurt you or made you feel bad, what other word describes that person as a 'twat' or plain and simple 'prick'.
If you are in an argument and are so angry that you have to get the last word in, then a forceful 'fucking cunt' makes you feel a whole lot better.
Yes it can signify a limited vocabulary and sometimes people swear unnecessarily. but there is nothing like it. And it is so underrated and underused.
For instance, you have amazing sex, you mount like an Alsatian on heat. You are magnificent. Your woman has multiple orgasms and then when you, cock god, finally climax, or as us men like to call it 'shoot your load', you repeatedly say the word 'fuck'. It describes a multitude of emotions, relief, stunned exhaustion, disbelief you have actually lasted for longer than 3 Min's. It just wouldn't have the same ring to it if you screamed 'gosh' loudly.
That is not to say Gosh is a fine term. I love it and think that too needs to be used more, just not in dirty sex. There is always a time and a place.
And speaking of sex, when you're feeling rather frisky and see someone you rather fancy, when chatting up and getting all sexy on the text, rarely have i known the phrase 'i really want to give you a good bonking' work. Immediately she would be turned off and suspect you wear underpants and vest and probably iron your socks. A good fucking is far more appropriate.
And that brings us to the ultimate. Now everyone has their own favourites and make their own up. Knobhead, cocklord, div, shithead. twat, knob, gaylord to name but a few, but there is one dominant word. The word that cuts through most sensitive people and makes them wince.
It's of course the C bomb. Now dropping 'cunt' into a phrase or description always divides the room. Some are openly shocked and wince, others don't bat an eyelid and welcome such savage wording.
Sometimes you are placed in such a position it really is the only appropriate word to find to describe someone or a situation. 'I've had a right cunt of a day' you know where you stand. Said person has clearly had a shocker. 'He's a right cunt' - again described person is clearly someone to avoid.
You then get into the realms of cuntishness, cunty behaviour and of course going back to sex, when feeling really dirty you will of course use the term when talking dirty. When you're in the middle of beastly sex, if she whispers in your ear 'Fuck me harder in the vagina', it's instant floppiness and you want to go off and watch Top Gear. Unsexy.
So swearing gets a bad press. Of course it's better delivered from a beautiful woman or posh, or someone straight laced. Double the impact then. And I'm always impressed with people who drop several into a sentence, actually placing more swear words than words.
For instance a football coach was once recorded on the touchline turning round to his assistant and saying , "Fucking hell, the fucking fucker's fucked the fucking fucker". Good work, if there was swearing scrabble he'd have pissed it. Impressive.
No for me it's as much part of the English language as 'Clarkson' (see above under the term 'cunt'), or any other words. It's poetry, it's language, it's powerful, it accentuates phrases and sentences.
I tell you what it is. It's f****g great, just not at a funeral
xx
I thought about all kinds of topics to write about today. Swearing. When more is never enough. Sex. (you could possibly merge all 3 together. There's the number 3 again, is it taking the piss?) The Olympics, Inappropriate behaviour or indecision, i just couldn't decide.
So i tossed for it. Very enjoyable it was too. Cheap gag, which incidentally is what they sell in Anne Summers. No, I spun some coins and by the process of elimination the topic of the day was swearing.
I love swearing. I really do. My father swore loads when i was a kid so i became used to it from an early age. As he was a raving alcoholic filled with resentment and intolerance so of course swearing was as natural as Jodie March and self obsession.
He would constantly be arguing to himself, no doubt with some ill conceived burning resentment against his bosses, muttering, the one sided argument to himself would always end in the term 'fucking arseholes'. Obviously aimed at someone, though he would also drop something and shout 'fucking arseholes' out loud.
So it was a very flexible swear word, not only describing a person but also a smashed pyrex plate. It made me like swearing alot.
He was also fond of the word 'wanker'. Again this was used liberally to describe a number of things, though usually aimed at people, mostly people better off than him. Envy and ego is a powerful mix and usually ends in the term 'wanker'. I remember one of my main goals when growing up was not to be a 'wanker'. I hope I've achieved that.
I think swear words are great. They just describe things perfectly. For instance if someone has behaved badly and either hurt you or made you feel bad, what other word describes that person as a 'twat' or plain and simple 'prick'.
If you are in an argument and are so angry that you have to get the last word in, then a forceful 'fucking cunt' makes you feel a whole lot better.
Yes it can signify a limited vocabulary and sometimes people swear unnecessarily. but there is nothing like it. And it is so underrated and underused.
For instance, you have amazing sex, you mount like an Alsatian on heat. You are magnificent. Your woman has multiple orgasms and then when you, cock god, finally climax, or as us men like to call it 'shoot your load', you repeatedly say the word 'fuck'. It describes a multitude of emotions, relief, stunned exhaustion, disbelief you have actually lasted for longer than 3 Min's. It just wouldn't have the same ring to it if you screamed 'gosh' loudly.
That is not to say Gosh is a fine term. I love it and think that too needs to be used more, just not in dirty sex. There is always a time and a place.
And speaking of sex, when you're feeling rather frisky and see someone you rather fancy, when chatting up and getting all sexy on the text, rarely have i known the phrase 'i really want to give you a good bonking' work. Immediately she would be turned off and suspect you wear underpants and vest and probably iron your socks. A good fucking is far more appropriate.
And that brings us to the ultimate. Now everyone has their own favourites and make their own up. Knobhead, cocklord, div, shithead. twat, knob, gaylord to name but a few, but there is one dominant word. The word that cuts through most sensitive people and makes them wince.
It's of course the C bomb. Now dropping 'cunt' into a phrase or description always divides the room. Some are openly shocked and wince, others don't bat an eyelid and welcome such savage wording.
Sometimes you are placed in such a position it really is the only appropriate word to find to describe someone or a situation. 'I've had a right cunt of a day' you know where you stand. Said person has clearly had a shocker. 'He's a right cunt' - again described person is clearly someone to avoid.
You then get into the realms of cuntishness, cunty behaviour and of course going back to sex, when feeling really dirty you will of course use the term when talking dirty. When you're in the middle of beastly sex, if she whispers in your ear 'Fuck me harder in the vagina', it's instant floppiness and you want to go off and watch Top Gear. Unsexy.
So swearing gets a bad press. Of course it's better delivered from a beautiful woman or posh, or someone straight laced. Double the impact then. And I'm always impressed with people who drop several into a sentence, actually placing more swear words than words.
For instance a football coach was once recorded on the touchline turning round to his assistant and saying , "Fucking hell, the fucking fucker's fucked the fucking fucker". Good work, if there was swearing scrabble he'd have pissed it. Impressive.
No for me it's as much part of the English language as 'Clarkson' (see above under the term 'cunt'), or any other words. It's poetry, it's language, it's powerful, it accentuates phrases and sentences.
I tell you what it is. It's f****g great, just not at a funeral
xx
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Day 198 - Weds 18th July - Procrastination
I kept meaning to write about procrastination but i couldn't be arsed. In fact, sod it i'll do it tomorrow
x
x
Day 197 - Tuesday 17th July - Workaholism - WTF?
My head is out of my arse. I've recommitted to meetings and I'm feeling 'normal'. Well, as normal and functioning as this raving lunatic can be.
I'm writing this at 1.45am. I have to be up at 6am, so yet again I've done myself few favours. I love to make it hard for myself, though those of you familiar with my online viewing will know these things.
I want to introduce you to a new concept in happiness. It's called the Grooveometer and it measures how good you feel throughout the day. It probably looks like a 1970's stereo. It has huge knobs of course and a dial that goes from 1 -10. It is basically made out of corduroy and velor. it is beige of course and measures 'grooviness' of the day.
Today my grooveometer was reading a respectable '6'. It peaked in the middle of the day when i chose the 2013 range of stationary. It was a very exciting moment, new designs on the Letterhead model 0013 XJS Ghia Plus. Historic.
It bottomed out at 3pm when i reached my customary mid afternoon dip, although to be honest this usually starts around 9.30am, when i reach the office and ends at 5pm, when i leave the office.
I'm such a knob that i genuinely believe i should get a round of applause if i get in on time, or a standing ovation of i do 4 hours work straight. If i do a decent days work i believe i should get 2 days off to recover.
i just don't identify with workaholics. What the hell is that all about? Spending all your time consumed by it, thinking about it, defining your esteem. Talking about it, taking it all really seriously. I mean, yes of course i understand the desire for money, prestige, power, control. i understand people who want to be a success and do their best. I commend it.
But unless you're Richard Branson, or just building up your own little niche, why the fuck would people flog themselves for a company who lets be honest doesn't give two tosses about you? If it the end of 40 years service and the best years of your life, you're given a carriage clock and bottle of Lanson, surely it's time to reevaluate your values.
I just don't get workaholics. Particularly the ones who are basically nomads and have as much chance of adding significantly to the economy as i have of becoming a workaholic. Working for bosses who care little for your welfare, companies that see you as a walking P&L (Profit and loss not ferry)
Father died? Sorry to hear that but you can't have a half day. Terminal Illness? happens to us all in the end - get those figures done yet? They don't care. How many people do i know who have been shafted by their company? Withheld bonus, sacked, let go? Overlooked? Answer? Fucking tons, literally thousands of people who have been anally raped by their company.
It sucks man. and i will refer to my Nan once again, 'It's only a job Nick'. Quite right too. And the trouble is, i get sucked in too, Like it;s big news that Alan from accounts sent me a dodgy email. Who gives a fuck?
Lets be honest, who can honestly say, hand on heart, on their death bed, they would look back on their life and say 'i really wish i would have bound those presentations for the board'. If anyone does they deserve to die.
Off for my long 4 hour sleep, i literally can't wait, the 20013 Ford XRI business card collection are arriving tomorrow. I may come under my desk. sorry
xx
I'm writing this at 1.45am. I have to be up at 6am, so yet again I've done myself few favours. I love to make it hard for myself, though those of you familiar with my online viewing will know these things.
I want to introduce you to a new concept in happiness. It's called the Grooveometer and it measures how good you feel throughout the day. It probably looks like a 1970's stereo. It has huge knobs of course and a dial that goes from 1 -10. It is basically made out of corduroy and velor. it is beige of course and measures 'grooviness' of the day.
Today my grooveometer was reading a respectable '6'. It peaked in the middle of the day when i chose the 2013 range of stationary. It was a very exciting moment, new designs on the Letterhead model 0013 XJS Ghia Plus. Historic.
It bottomed out at 3pm when i reached my customary mid afternoon dip, although to be honest this usually starts around 9.30am, when i reach the office and ends at 5pm, when i leave the office.
I'm such a knob that i genuinely believe i should get a round of applause if i get in on time, or a standing ovation of i do 4 hours work straight. If i do a decent days work i believe i should get 2 days off to recover.
i just don't identify with workaholics. What the hell is that all about? Spending all your time consumed by it, thinking about it, defining your esteem. Talking about it, taking it all really seriously. I mean, yes of course i understand the desire for money, prestige, power, control. i understand people who want to be a success and do their best. I commend it.
But unless you're Richard Branson, or just building up your own little niche, why the fuck would people flog themselves for a company who lets be honest doesn't give two tosses about you? If it the end of 40 years service and the best years of your life, you're given a carriage clock and bottle of Lanson, surely it's time to reevaluate your values.
I just don't get workaholics. Particularly the ones who are basically nomads and have as much chance of adding significantly to the economy as i have of becoming a workaholic. Working for bosses who care little for your welfare, companies that see you as a walking P&L (Profit and loss not ferry)
Father died? Sorry to hear that but you can't have a half day. Terminal Illness? happens to us all in the end - get those figures done yet? They don't care. How many people do i know who have been shafted by their company? Withheld bonus, sacked, let go? Overlooked? Answer? Fucking tons, literally thousands of people who have been anally raped by their company.
It sucks man. and i will refer to my Nan once again, 'It's only a job Nick'. Quite right too. And the trouble is, i get sucked in too, Like it;s big news that Alan from accounts sent me a dodgy email. Who gives a fuck?
Lets be honest, who can honestly say, hand on heart, on their death bed, they would look back on their life and say 'i really wish i would have bound those presentations for the board'. If anyone does they deserve to die.
Off for my long 4 hour sleep, i literally can't wait, the 20013 Ford XRI business card collection are arriving tomorrow. I may come under my desk. sorry
xx
Monday, July 16, 2012
Day 196 - Monday 16th July - The Trump Hairstyle
Woke up, or came to - took a peak outside, windy and wet, took a peak inside my bed, windy. Time? 6.45am. Oh god no.
After 3 cups of tea, 2 silk cut, gratitude list, prayer, another tea and another silk cut i was ready for the day. Well, when i say ready, my eyes were open, i was awake, my legs were moving and I'm breathing so that will have to do.
I got to the station and vowed to myself to have more clarity, focus, clear headed determination, professionalism and drive. I immediately left my brolly in the shop and my change. Fuck that I'll do focus tomorrow, clearly I'm still in spaceman land.
It's a big day today. London officially becomes an Olympic town as all Olympic athletes fly in to settle into the Olympic village. The Olympic lanes are open creating chaos is on the roads, massive delays, it's pissing down with rain, the security is a right royal fuck up, the Government are arguing, the circle line's fucked and there are now 8.1 million people living in the City without enough room. Welcome to London Olympiads! We hope you enjoy your stay.
The weather caused a huge problem for me today. Recently i took the bold step to go for an 80's 'wedge' haircut, with blond bits on the top and shaved at the sides. This means i have to bouffant it up to get a good quiff and to do this now requires loads of hairspray.
Now anyone following this blog will know 2 things. 1 - I am incredibly vein and care far too much on how i look and 2 - Am incredibly Eco friendly. This creates a problem, as hairspray is obviously unfriendly on the ozone and environment.
So i had to ask myself some searching questions. Do i really care more about the environment than me? Is it that important to get a high quiff than to save the ozone? We are merely visitors to this beautiful planet and does it really matter what we look like, it's whats inside that counts, right?
I searched deep within and knew the right answer. Fuck the ozone, i want big hair. Sod paying over the odds for ecologically green hairspray, that's a sodding fortune. Give me a large 'Silverkin' anyday.
I've got a feeling the barnet is looking slightly dodgy, and i was having a bad hair day. You know, no matter how many efforts you have at styling it, it just looks shit, like a birds nest that's been shat on. But even i wasn't prepared for the catastrophic turn of events i was to experience later today.
There seemed to be a huge coming together of elements that was to prove disastrous. First it was the rain, then the high wind and both these natural elements added with massive amounts of hairspray to give me whats known in the trade as a 'Trump'. A huge sprawling nest on my head.
Now for anyone unfamiliar with 'The trump'. it is extraordinary. Like 5 haircuts in one. A comb over, a teddy boy quiff, a drag forward, a flick back and then a sweep all around. All to cover up a bald spot.
it is unbelievable. It should be displayed in museums after he's gone. Children will queue up, point at it and say 'did people really have their hair like that Mummy'. No darling, only Donald Trump.
He loves a bit of hairspray, it's only that and pure ego that's keeping it together. It's only because he is a billionaire that he gets away with it. An ordinary man on the street wouldn't be able to get past primark before people would collapse in fits of laughter.
I admire his commitment to 'the trump' as he's had it for so long. Even Ivana started to copy it a little when they were married. It's a powerful statement.
So, late in the day when i was pissed on for the umpteenth time and wind was sweeping, i noticed as i walked past a shop window that my hair had morphed into a Trump. It was a disaster. How will i get back to my house and not a hat in sight?
Maybe i can launch a hairstyle called 'the evans'? It was like a comb over with a quiff and wraparound nest. Extraordinary. I hurried home immediately.
A bad hair day got worse, only thing to do on such days is lock yourself away. DO NOT enter into a social enviroment for fear of humilaition, ride out that bad hair day, get some sleep and come back tomorrow.
I'm sure the Trump will be gone. For me, but not for him, he commits to it every day. A 'Trump' is not a fad or a phase, like a 'Beckham' or a 'Hoxton Fin'. Oh fuck no, 'A Trump' is a way of life. A commitment to hair and ridiculousness. It's a commitment to ego, slef importance. He's basically saying 'Hey i know i look a twat but i'm only doing that because i'm well rich and famous and important. I just want to show you no-one can touch me even though i look like a massive knobhead"
A Trump is for life people not just Christmas
xx
After 3 cups of tea, 2 silk cut, gratitude list, prayer, another tea and another silk cut i was ready for the day. Well, when i say ready, my eyes were open, i was awake, my legs were moving and I'm breathing so that will have to do.
I got to the station and vowed to myself to have more clarity, focus, clear headed determination, professionalism and drive. I immediately left my brolly in the shop and my change. Fuck that I'll do focus tomorrow, clearly I'm still in spaceman land.
It's a big day today. London officially becomes an Olympic town as all Olympic athletes fly in to settle into the Olympic village. The Olympic lanes are open creating chaos is on the roads, massive delays, it's pissing down with rain, the security is a right royal fuck up, the Government are arguing, the circle line's fucked and there are now 8.1 million people living in the City without enough room. Welcome to London Olympiads! We hope you enjoy your stay.
The weather caused a huge problem for me today. Recently i took the bold step to go for an 80's 'wedge' haircut, with blond bits on the top and shaved at the sides. This means i have to bouffant it up to get a good quiff and to do this now requires loads of hairspray.
Now anyone following this blog will know 2 things. 1 - I am incredibly vein and care far too much on how i look and 2 - Am incredibly Eco friendly. This creates a problem, as hairspray is obviously unfriendly on the ozone and environment.
So i had to ask myself some searching questions. Do i really care more about the environment than me? Is it that important to get a high quiff than to save the ozone? We are merely visitors to this beautiful planet and does it really matter what we look like, it's whats inside that counts, right?
I searched deep within and knew the right answer. Fuck the ozone, i want big hair. Sod paying over the odds for ecologically green hairspray, that's a sodding fortune. Give me a large 'Silverkin' anyday.
I've got a feeling the barnet is looking slightly dodgy, and i was having a bad hair day. You know, no matter how many efforts you have at styling it, it just looks shit, like a birds nest that's been shat on. But even i wasn't prepared for the catastrophic turn of events i was to experience later today.
There seemed to be a huge coming together of elements that was to prove disastrous. First it was the rain, then the high wind and both these natural elements added with massive amounts of hairspray to give me whats known in the trade as a 'Trump'. A huge sprawling nest on my head.
Now for anyone unfamiliar with 'The trump'. it is extraordinary. Like 5 haircuts in one. A comb over, a teddy boy quiff, a drag forward, a flick back and then a sweep all around. All to cover up a bald spot.
it is unbelievable. It should be displayed in museums after he's gone. Children will queue up, point at it and say 'did people really have their hair like that Mummy'. No darling, only Donald Trump.
He loves a bit of hairspray, it's only that and pure ego that's keeping it together. It's only because he is a billionaire that he gets away with it. An ordinary man on the street wouldn't be able to get past primark before people would collapse in fits of laughter.
I admire his commitment to 'the trump' as he's had it for so long. Even Ivana started to copy it a little when they were married. It's a powerful statement.
So, late in the day when i was pissed on for the umpteenth time and wind was sweeping, i noticed as i walked past a shop window that my hair had morphed into a Trump. It was a disaster. How will i get back to my house and not a hat in sight?
Maybe i can launch a hairstyle called 'the evans'? It was like a comb over with a quiff and wraparound nest. Extraordinary. I hurried home immediately.
A bad hair day got worse, only thing to do on such days is lock yourself away. DO NOT enter into a social enviroment for fear of humilaition, ride out that bad hair day, get some sleep and come back tomorrow.
I'm sure the Trump will be gone. For me, but not for him, he commits to it every day. A 'Trump' is not a fad or a phase, like a 'Beckham' or a 'Hoxton Fin'. Oh fuck no, 'A Trump' is a way of life. A commitment to hair and ridiculousness. It's a commitment to ego, slef importance. He's basically saying 'Hey i know i look a twat but i'm only doing that because i'm well rich and famous and important. I just want to show you no-one can touch me even though i look like a massive knobhead"
A Trump is for life people not just Christmas
xx
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Day 195 - Sunday 15th July - List of things i hate
So guess what the topic of today's meeting was? Resentment. How very apt. Very apt indeed.
I actually wanted the topic to be acceptance, so i had to fight off a resentment about resentment being picked and accept that acceptance wasn't. I suppose the solution is in there somewhere.
Got talking to a couple of pals about things we really hated. Here are are few things;
I could go on, why don't you send me yours? Bit room 101 i know but f*** it
Chilled day, the highlight being attempting to do some gardening and trim my bush dressed in cowboy boots, long gloves and sunglasses. #wrong
Have a great week people
xx
I actually wanted the topic to be acceptance, so i had to fight off a resentment about resentment being picked and accept that acceptance wasn't. I suppose the solution is in there somewhere.
Got talking to a couple of pals about things we really hated. Here are are few things;
- Farmers markets - Who the fuck needs pickled Garlic for £6.99? Farmers should remain in the country, markets should sell shit that breaks after a day. Keep it real Britain and stop this middle class horseshit infesting our towns
- Alan Carr - Nuff said
- Therapy speak - The only place boundaries should be discussed is when talking cricket. Talk straight Britain. At least i can understand then.
- Inner Child - Any adult who discusses their inner child has clearly been listening to Gary Glitter. Keep it schtum
- Organic Products - So let me get this straight i have to pay £4 extra because it's packaged differently and has been sourced by politically correct minimum wage paid ethically sourced organically grown children over the age of 16? In the old days they just called organic apples. Apples. Sort it
- Arrogance - Usually displayed on people who least deserve it. EG - men who are decked in Lonsdale sportswear and retain zero character.
- John Terry v Anton Ferdinand race court case - What a waste of f****g time. 2 moronic over paid, over self importance footballers who traded insults without any real knowledge of what they were saying is then taken to a court of law at huge expense and then reported heavily in the media like it was actually news. #bollocks
- The media - Middle class reporting of news without actually saying the truth on race
- Carluccios - Why do people go there?
- Idiots - See Arrogance above
- Kings Road - soulless high street shops masquerading as a fashionable road. #fraud
- Young sloany girls who speak in actual text speak - Overheard on tube today she did actually say OMG out loud
- Richmond Bikram Yoga - Becuase i'm barred from there for arguing in class with the owner #angermanagment
- People who say "How are you doing?" when they have absolutely no interest in how you are doing and are only saying it on auto pilot and be polite - why can't we all just be brutally honest and say "I was going to ask how you are doing but i have no interest, plus you know that anyway so to save you replying 'fine thank you', when clearly you're not as i know your bird has left you and you have no job and were placed bankrupt this week', so rather than all that i'm just going to ignore you and go and speak to someone more interesting"
- Cobham -
- Deck shoes
- Jumpers slung over mens shoulders
- Gourmet Scotch eggs - They should never be gourmet they should be almost inedible and available to use as a missile just in case. For Gourmet please organic
I could go on, why don't you send me yours? Bit room 101 i know but f*** it
Chilled day, the highlight being attempting to do some gardening and trim my bush dressed in cowboy boots, long gloves and sunglasses. #wrong
Have a great week people
xx
Day 195 - Sat 14th July - Negative to Positive
An explanation into what I'm dealing with against my sodding head?
I rarely dream but the last thing i remembered this morning was someone pointing a finger at me saying 'shut the fuck up'. Then I woke up.
Great. Thanks head. Not only do i get to wake up feeling dreadful and terrible, but my head dreams of rejection and low self esteem. Why can't it dream of women with 12 knockers, winning the lottery or people made of corduroy. How dull my mind is sometimes. It's like having Roy Keane as a brain. #ugly
What a positive start to the day. Consumed by resentment of my job, resentful at having to do an AA talk today in Guilford, resented i agreed to go round to an OAP's house and try and fix her computer even though i have about as much IT skills as a packet of Weight Watchers Jaffa Cakes. She may as well get a cat taking a look at the pooter for all the help I'm going to be.
No, i was in an awful head space. All i could see were problems, Oh and i woke up lonely. No-one has fucking texted or called and i only got 2 'likes' on my blog from yesterday. Fucking bastards. Thanks brain.
Of course i spoke to myself at length. Having a long word with myself. prayed like a bastard, wrote a gratitude list through gritted teeth, did a 45 minute cycle, chain smoked cigarettes, drank tea, showered, changed. I was ready for.........bed. Bring on the day.
After fighting resentment at the heavy traffic for 'Guilfest'. Resentment against the amount of needless 4 x 4's on the road in deepest Surrey and feeling sorry for myself for having to drag myself to such hardship, i arrived at the convention to be confronted by what i considered to be a scene from Cocoon. Fuck me, i brought the average age down by 30 years, and I'm now middle aged.
I of course, buried my feelings, slapped on a fake smile and chatted to people, wondering if at any time their pacemakers would give out. #getonwithit
I delivered my 'share' but still felt disconnected from the meeting, from the group, from the world. Almost Like there was a sheet of glass between me and the rest of the human race. I still had one 'on me'. Carrying around resentment and negativity like a milestone round my head. Bugger it.
I drove back to London, and did what i hadn't done all week, or even for a few weeks, i called people. Friends, both from the gang and outside. I decided to try and not live in my head. I spoke to a few people, arranged to meet a friend who had recently had a liver transplant and now had been diagnosed with Cancer, and also made a revolutionary thought.
If i don't like my situation put some action in to change it. I'm 50k short of investment for my company to go full time, so go and try to get it. Sponsorship, investment, whatever - Just frigging try Evans, stop living in self pity.
After that, i felt instantly better, lighter, more normal, even a little positive. Yes i still had the resentment and fear about current job but it was now at the back of my head, not dominating the front. I was back in 'normal' shape. Thank frigging God.
Met my pal and have to say was rather inspired by his experience. I owned up to him that i found out he had Cancer on Tuesday but was so consumed by my own head, my own shit i kept meaning to call him, but never got round to it. #selfobsessed.
I even admitted to him, such was my selfish thinking all i could think was 'i can't be arsed trekking all the way across to Camberwell again to go to the hospital to see him. how sodding inconvenient. Poor me'. It's staggering such has been the level of my own consumed misery. Seems like my head is my enemy not my friend sometimes.
I also had a Fascinating conversation with someone who suffers similar thinking, they are not an alcoholic and arrive at the positive mindset through their own process. I admire people like that so much. I need people, AA, meetings, God, writing, advice and Malt loaf before i get there. I guess it doesn't matter though what you use, what journey you take, as long as you get there. And today, thank god i got there. For now.
I have also been told that sometimes after an intensive period of stress and grief it is quite normal to get bent out of shape, overwhelmed and a little 'on edge'. So I'm not going to flog myself. No, I'll wait until later to do that (wink, smiley face)
Hopefully this blog will now be a little lighter after the next few days. Who knows i may drop in a couple of jokes. Even laugh and lighten up. I know reading this can sometimes get a bit monotonous when I'm in a bad head space but i guess I'm just trying to be honest how i feel, at least, if nothing else i will look back on this blog and feel I've been brutally true to myself. I think that is something to be proud of.
I'll sign off now, I'm writing this on Sunday afternoon, in my pants, with the Tour De France in the background. I know that's a little too much information, but they are nice pants. Not boxers, or briefs or even cock jocks. They are a little like old school Y-fronts. Not so baggy that your nuts hang out like an old mans pants. They are not too tight like a great big gaylord. They are just pants, on a Sunday afternoon. Sunday afternoon chilling pants. I may even get the teacakes and crumpets out soon. Not from my pants, that would be wrong.
I'll stop now, i'm talking shit. Bye
x
Friday, July 13, 2012
Day 194 - Friday 13th - How can i be an alcoholic when i havent drunk for 10 years?
Alcoholism
Today's blog is all about alcoholism. Not the drink yourself to oblivion and an early death of my father type alcoholism. Not even the drinking kind of alcoholism. It's not even anything to do with alcohol type of alcoholism. So how the fuck can it be about alcoholism? It's a mental type of alcoholism
I will come onto that.
Quick synopsis of the day. Shit hole
Work was crap. I made some stupid errors. Got pulled up, got resentful by the tone that was taken, pulled the entire company apart, my role, lack of respect. Conveniently forgot i fuked up and felt like quitting then and there. Got fearful I'll be sacked. Had a financial crisis in my head. Blew things out of all proportions, got bent out of shape, felt grief, had feelings of being overwhelmed by everything, felt like gunning down people at waterloo. Head hurt, couldn't think, couldn't act, couldn't speak it out. Basically i was fucked. Time for a meeting
My home group. In Richmond. Humble, down to earth. Real. It helped.Alot
I hadn't done a meeting in 7 days. Now to the non alcoholics i guess this will mean fuck all. Which is fair enough because this is not meant to come across in a way that i have it harder, or that alcoholism is so different to many people who have hard times, tough lives, head problems or whatever. I personally believe alcoholism just maxes out on certain defective character traits that alot of humans get, to such an extent that the only way to 'shut this up' is to get fucked up, drink or take drugs. Trouble is, it then sets off that craving which is humanly impossible to stop. There is no off button. That is the difference. Some as they say pursue it to the gates of insanity or death, The numbers are grim. it doesn't really matter if you believe in alcoholism or not. Millions die every year regardless. It's fact. Believe it.
So, one of my favourite sayings is '7 days without a meeting makes one weak'. meaning what exactly?
The longer i go without my daily connection, the more my alcoholic head takes over, sometimes without me knowing it. Suddenly life becomes harder, queues get longer, red lights take forever to change, people get more annoying, i get more wound up, going to meetings seems like a massive hardship, and if you get there you hate them. Essentially your head (or the alcoholism, call it John Barleycorn, the devil, the disease, whatever the hell you like) is nagging at your head saying;
'don't go there, they are weird, it;s nonsense, you're not an alcoholic, fuk em, go the gym, do some work, isolate, you're better than they think at work. Fuck em all'.
Resentments grow & fester, fear levels rise, you become angry, intolerant, paranoid, Belligerent. Making rash decisions, sending off emails you shouldn't. Saying things you shouldn't. Creating confrontation, drama, neediness. Ultimately destruction.
Now how long can i keep up this behaviour for without hitting a meeting? 7 days? A month? A year? God knows, but what i do know, eventually there will come a time when i will get so pissed off with me, my job, the world, everything. That the big 'fuck it button' will be pushed and i will say 'it will be different this time, one drink won't harm me. It's been 10 years.' And boom I'll be off and running.
Once an alcoholic always an alcoholic. I can't stop when i start. I really have no off button (and that applies to Kit Kats, muffins, ice cream, porn, women. The Wire, Sons of Anarchy, Rebus and Homes under the Hammer) - So there is no 'different this time'. It maybe a gene, DNA structure or whatever the hell it is, i simply cannot drink - Please Insert AA here.
It is a direct replacement for drinking and for some reason (can't really go into it publicly as it is an Anonymous fellowship and one of it's spiritual foundations is attraction rather than promotion in fact I'm probably breaking that by writing this blog) It just seems to treat this alcoholic head/personality and help a new sense of perspective to come through. By doing some simple things it helps this raging fucking lunatic head of mine to settle and i can be a (reasonably) normal member of society.
Without it, i would be a mess. A one man walking car crash. Dramas, Destruction. And not just for me i hasten to add, to anyone who had the misfortune to get tangled in my life, because lets be honest anyone who is married too, related too, close too an alcoholic who drinks and cannot/will not do anything about it has a life of total misery, problems, hassle, drama until they too are worn down. Taking on the alcoholics problems and life, because here's the punchline. Alcoholics like me, deep down are deficient individuals who have a hard time coping with reality so use alcohol and people to 'prop them up'.
So For instance today, after sending the 3rd incorrect email of the day and contravening all kinds of FSA rules, i would have overturned the desk at my own ineptitude and sense of justifiable resentment, pissed on all the letterheads, told everyone to go and fuck themselves I'm better than this, nicked a case of wine from the secret stash gone to the nearest boozer and got on the piss of all pisses, tried to pick up the barmaid, got into an argument, blacked out, got arrested wake up the next morning, get released, go to the pub, drink on more resentment and so it goes on, until i woke up Monday with no work, no income and basically fucked. I would then call on a woman, preferably one who is emotionally needy, make them fall in love with me, then rely on them for everything, continue to drink until they are totally fucked too, and then end up in rehab, hospital, prison or the gutter. All because i sent that email and had that pint of Stella. See? That's why i do aa now.
if you think that's far fetched, what the fuck do you think happened to my father. Sorry, it does my head in that people don't want to see alcoholism as a disease. it;s not a choice, its not a personal weakness, or battle of wills.
Shit, i better stop there, I've gone all preachy. I get carried away. Sorry, I'll just pop another Butter mint in my mush and continue at a rather more less aggressive preachy type way
10 years without a drink and i am exactly the same underneath. One drink is all it will take to go back there and worse. But without a meeting man does all that shit bubble under the surface and i turn into a cross between Gengis Khan and a yappy little schnitzer. #nightmare
So, tonight, i heard everything i needed to hear at the meeting, people with same heads as mine, lives worse than my own, identification with their thinking. It put my head back on, got it back into shape, made me gain some kind of perspective, stopped me thinking bad thoughts and basically made me laugh at my own madness and quietened down that angry little fucker in my head. I think the Doctor ordered another one of those every day until i feel better. Oh and a holiday with loads of sun so i can genuinely say stop the world, i want to get off without any guilt.
Cor, that was a rant wasn;t it. Shit, I've got to go and lay down now. It's 2am and 'The Equaliser' is on UK Gold. See, i know how to roll. Some say getting sober is following your dreams, becoming spiritual, changing the nature of yours and everyone else lives. Well fair enough, I'll buy that, but it's also about finding the joy in small things and right now i will be overjoyed at settling down with a pack of pink ladies, a mug of tea (builders not of that herbal shit) and the Llanelli Star, have Edward Woodward on in the background with a dreadful 80's soundtrack that sounds like a Casio watch from 1983 and read about a bloke who got arrested for stealing a £2 bottle of Umbro aftershave from Pound stretcher in Llanelli to swap for a can of Super T. There but the grace of god readers...........
xxxx
Today's blog is all about alcoholism. Not the drink yourself to oblivion and an early death of my father type alcoholism. Not even the drinking kind of alcoholism. It's not even anything to do with alcohol type of alcoholism. So how the fuck can it be about alcoholism? It's a mental type of alcoholism
I will come onto that.
Quick synopsis of the day. Shit hole
Work was crap. I made some stupid errors. Got pulled up, got resentful by the tone that was taken, pulled the entire company apart, my role, lack of respect. Conveniently forgot i fuked up and felt like quitting then and there. Got fearful I'll be sacked. Had a financial crisis in my head. Blew things out of all proportions, got bent out of shape, felt grief, had feelings of being overwhelmed by everything, felt like gunning down people at waterloo. Head hurt, couldn't think, couldn't act, couldn't speak it out. Basically i was fucked. Time for a meeting
My home group. In Richmond. Humble, down to earth. Real. It helped.Alot
I hadn't done a meeting in 7 days. Now to the non alcoholics i guess this will mean fuck all. Which is fair enough because this is not meant to come across in a way that i have it harder, or that alcoholism is so different to many people who have hard times, tough lives, head problems or whatever. I personally believe alcoholism just maxes out on certain defective character traits that alot of humans get, to such an extent that the only way to 'shut this up' is to get fucked up, drink or take drugs. Trouble is, it then sets off that craving which is humanly impossible to stop. There is no off button. That is the difference. Some as they say pursue it to the gates of insanity or death, The numbers are grim. it doesn't really matter if you believe in alcoholism or not. Millions die every year regardless. It's fact. Believe it.
So, one of my favourite sayings is '7 days without a meeting makes one weak'. meaning what exactly?
The longer i go without my daily connection, the more my alcoholic head takes over, sometimes without me knowing it. Suddenly life becomes harder, queues get longer, red lights take forever to change, people get more annoying, i get more wound up, going to meetings seems like a massive hardship, and if you get there you hate them. Essentially your head (or the alcoholism, call it John Barleycorn, the devil, the disease, whatever the hell you like) is nagging at your head saying;
'don't go there, they are weird, it;s nonsense, you're not an alcoholic, fuk em, go the gym, do some work, isolate, you're better than they think at work. Fuck em all'.
Resentments grow & fester, fear levels rise, you become angry, intolerant, paranoid, Belligerent. Making rash decisions, sending off emails you shouldn't. Saying things you shouldn't. Creating confrontation, drama, neediness. Ultimately destruction.
Now how long can i keep up this behaviour for without hitting a meeting? 7 days? A month? A year? God knows, but what i do know, eventually there will come a time when i will get so pissed off with me, my job, the world, everything. That the big 'fuck it button' will be pushed and i will say 'it will be different this time, one drink won't harm me. It's been 10 years.' And boom I'll be off and running.
Once an alcoholic always an alcoholic. I can't stop when i start. I really have no off button (and that applies to Kit Kats, muffins, ice cream, porn, women. The Wire, Sons of Anarchy, Rebus and Homes under the Hammer) - So there is no 'different this time'. It maybe a gene, DNA structure or whatever the hell it is, i simply cannot drink - Please Insert AA here.
It is a direct replacement for drinking and for some reason (can't really go into it publicly as it is an Anonymous fellowship and one of it's spiritual foundations is attraction rather than promotion in fact I'm probably breaking that by writing this blog) It just seems to treat this alcoholic head/personality and help a new sense of perspective to come through. By doing some simple things it helps this raging fucking lunatic head of mine to settle and i can be a (reasonably) normal member of society.
Without it, i would be a mess. A one man walking car crash. Dramas, Destruction. And not just for me i hasten to add, to anyone who had the misfortune to get tangled in my life, because lets be honest anyone who is married too, related too, close too an alcoholic who drinks and cannot/will not do anything about it has a life of total misery, problems, hassle, drama until they too are worn down. Taking on the alcoholics problems and life, because here's the punchline. Alcoholics like me, deep down are deficient individuals who have a hard time coping with reality so use alcohol and people to 'prop them up'.
So For instance today, after sending the 3rd incorrect email of the day and contravening all kinds of FSA rules, i would have overturned the desk at my own ineptitude and sense of justifiable resentment, pissed on all the letterheads, told everyone to go and fuck themselves I'm better than this, nicked a case of wine from the secret stash gone to the nearest boozer and got on the piss of all pisses, tried to pick up the barmaid, got into an argument, blacked out, got arrested wake up the next morning, get released, go to the pub, drink on more resentment and so it goes on, until i woke up Monday with no work, no income and basically fucked. I would then call on a woman, preferably one who is emotionally needy, make them fall in love with me, then rely on them for everything, continue to drink until they are totally fucked too, and then end up in rehab, hospital, prison or the gutter. All because i sent that email and had that pint of Stella. See? That's why i do aa now.
if you think that's far fetched, what the fuck do you think happened to my father. Sorry, it does my head in that people don't want to see alcoholism as a disease. it;s not a choice, its not a personal weakness, or battle of wills.
Shit, i better stop there, I've gone all preachy. I get carried away. Sorry, I'll just pop another Butter mint in my mush and continue at a rather more less aggressive preachy type way
10 years without a drink and i am exactly the same underneath. One drink is all it will take to go back there and worse. But without a meeting man does all that shit bubble under the surface and i turn into a cross between Gengis Khan and a yappy little schnitzer. #nightmare
So, tonight, i heard everything i needed to hear at the meeting, people with same heads as mine, lives worse than my own, identification with their thinking. It put my head back on, got it back into shape, made me gain some kind of perspective, stopped me thinking bad thoughts and basically made me laugh at my own madness and quietened down that angry little fucker in my head. I think the Doctor ordered another one of those every day until i feel better. Oh and a holiday with loads of sun so i can genuinely say stop the world, i want to get off without any guilt.
Cor, that was a rant wasn;t it. Shit, I've got to go and lay down now. It's 2am and 'The Equaliser' is on UK Gold. See, i know how to roll. Some say getting sober is following your dreams, becoming spiritual, changing the nature of yours and everyone else lives. Well fair enough, I'll buy that, but it's also about finding the joy in small things and right now i will be overjoyed at settling down with a pack of pink ladies, a mug of tea (builders not of that herbal shit) and the Llanelli Star, have Edward Woodward on in the background with a dreadful 80's soundtrack that sounds like a Casio watch from 1983 and read about a bloke who got arrested for stealing a £2 bottle of Umbro aftershave from Pound stretcher in Llanelli to swap for a can of Super T. There but the grace of god readers...........
xxxx
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