Thiefing Fat Cunt. Or something.

See now my appraisal of went down here is that the maker of this sign (lets call them Person A) encountered a motor vehicle owned by someone (Person B) that may or may not have committed an act of theft and was willing to let Person B know that that shit was not cool by obtaining the use of some cardboard and a marker and making a passive/aggressive statement. I reckon that the simple act of throwing the result onto the ground and then going about his/her merry business makes Person B the clear winner in this scenario.

Christmas has officially begun.

Me and the bread knife took our little one to see the turning on of the Christmas lights in our town today. This is and was notable for it's special celebrity guest who was introduced with the following sentence (I shit you not):

"Ok! Do any of you watch a program on television called Coronation Street? Do you know who Fizz is? Well she has had a lot of trouble with boyfriends in the past, what with going out with Kirk and all."

At this point the crowd buzzed in anticipation of sharing oxygen with a bona fide soap star. Could it really be that a fat ginger lass from a shite soap opera was actually lowering herself to appear in our little borough on the outskirts of Leeds? Not exactly.

"Here tonight to turn on our lights is Fizz off Corries present love interest!!! Please go wild for this fella here!" (or words to that effect). Not a fucking clue. The fireworks were great though.

Bling bling.

If you were ever curious as to what an idiot wearing a £1500 coat might look like then wonder no more.

It's been too long/Dear me.

My neighbour has a massively skewed opinion of his own social status. He has built a wooden enclosed, tiny gravel driveway to house his Audi A4 convertible and there is a sign above the entrance proclaiming to all that he does not live in a terraced house like the rest of us mere mortals on the street, but in a "Villa". Christ, mine is the only house with a garage but you don't here me shouting about it. What a cock. Where was I? Oh, yes and when the council put the above notice (you will notice that it is definitely a notice) on the side of his house, he actually went and had that number plate printed up to stick under it. Just in case. This country.

Testing my new phone/look a rainbow.

Told you there would be sunshine and singing. I am singing right now as it goes. And testing Blogger on my new phone. I will try and take edgy, spur of the moment snaps and blog on the move as much as I can be arsed before the novelty wears off. Lets see where it takes us kids.

Writing a speech and the quacking of arses

Ok it's been a while. I have not really been in the mood and I still don't really think I am. I write here and a few other places, here because it's therapeutic for me to write certain thoughts down.

Not a lot has happened apart from my best friend got married on the 8th of this month, I was Best Man and I felt dead important for a whole day. I am not a nervous person by any means but for some reason the concept of delivering a speech made me shit myself for a good week leading up to the big day.

I had no real trouble writing it and my girlfriend made me read it to her and said she thought it was good but the prospect of delivering the fucker to a room full of people filled me with fear. On the night before the wedding I woke up feeling nervous and sick to my stomach, to the point where I thought I would actually vomit. It was a strange and unusual experience.

When we got to the hotel where the ceremony was taking place I felt better but had to force myself to not get massively pissed (which would ordinarily have been my first course of action at weddings in general and any situation that made me nervous). I stuck to two pints over a few hours and then when we sat down at the head table I had a few cheeky sips from a hip flask I had borrowed.

From then on a strange sense of calm washed over me and all nerves went away. I stood up when I was introduced and gave what I consider a strong and confident performance which was punctuated by laughter from the crowd and garnered spontaneous applause at the end. I have never felt so relieved in my entire life. I had people coming up to me all day telling me they thought I had done a good job and I can't put into words how good that made me feel after stressing for so long.

It was a great day and it filled me with warmth to see my best friend so happy and emotional.
He's on his honeymoon now in Kefalonia, the lucky cunt.

I would be a Best Man again in a heartbeat.

Thirst.

When I think of all the water wasted, taps I left to run, the washing out of glasses thrice when one time would have done.

The water fights in days of old I used pint after pint, the times in summer showering cold against the muggy night.

If neighbours trying to keep up must wash a car too much, then I can see the water run and I might shrug and such.

All the ways in which I sat and let it run away, not bothering to think that I may need it back one day.

If you could see me thirsty now, in need of just a drink, you may too have your regrets and you might stop and think.

If I had saved that which I spilt, regret would not exist, and my dry bones would live once more, cracked lips with moisture kissed.

It's too late now for me to live, I've gone a drip too far, I'm weak and thirsty, dry and spent, and asking for my ma.

The moral of my tale is this: look forth to looking back. For one day too you may be in the Red and not the Black.

Live your life as is your want, enjoy but do be nice, try save a little here and there, as squander is a vice.

Do all this as best you can, but hear a wise man say, never pity anyone, it comes to you one day.

The above is my first clumsy attempt at poetry. I wrote it while my other half was on the bog so it didn't take that long. Simplistic rhyming scheme aside I think it's ok, but then I have literally no fucking idea.

The internet and ones frustration when deprived.

My internet connection went down over the weekend and I was suddenly reminded of a time when I used to actually interact with people in real life AND watch television on the regular. Panic and fear set in and as I became aware of the fact I may have important unread emails and Facebook messages, my already unreliable heart missed a beat and my constantly clammy hands became that much clammier. In the day or so that it took the nice engineer to fix the problem I did not fully settle and was beset with unease and so I must ask myself "why?"

After about 45 seconds deliberation these are the conclusions reached:

-I am not a fan of telephones. I do not like talking on them or texting. I hardly ever put credit in my mobile and I do not posses a land line. This is due to the fact although I am labeled as ignorant I prefer to type instead of text and when I type I prefer to do it on a full sized keyboard using real language instead of typing an abbreviated mess with one fat thumb (have fatter thumbs than anyone you are ever likely to encounter but on the plus side, the ladies love them). I find "textspeak" in all it's Orwellian glory to be an abomination, robbing normal people of their ability to converse and limiting the options of inflection and conveyance.

-When I am at home and I want to vegetate, I would prefer it to be completely on my terms. With the internet I am able to pick and choose when and how I am entertained and in whatever format I choose. The option to educate myself is there at any moment, as is the option to watch a video where one semi-attractive lady might kiss another one and beyond. I can stimulate my mind and memory with a plethora of information or watch Kimbo beat the living shit out of an ill-prepared and latterly apologetic young man.

-I can choose the type of music I want to listen to/download and any accompanying video I may choose to watch as if by magic.

-I do not have nor can I afford SKY+

Thank you internets.

P.S. also a big shout out to the engineer squatting at the side of the road on Saturday morning for fixing the fault that affected LS28 even though my girlfriend (oh hell yes I do have one) wouldn't let me stop and offer you a bacon butty from the cafe over the road. Thinking on, said cafe does do a nice line in West Indian cooking, curry goat/jerk chicken/roti etc. Although that's probably by the by.

I have a stalker.

To set the scene, I walk to the bus stop after work every day along a straight road and there is a fellow that is always waiting for the same bus as me. I can see him from a fair distance away and he is always facing away from me anticipating the arrival of our bus. That is until he senses someone walking towards him at which point he turns, and upon spotting me spends the next ten or so minutes devouring me with his eyes until the bus arrives. He is in his late forties, around five foot ten or eleven, of large build with a beer belly, shorn Grey hair and a close cropped beard with both ears pierced.

When he gets on the bus he always sits in one of the side facing seats and stares at me until we get off (at the same stop) in town. We both then walk the same route to our respective buses out of the city centre. This has been going on for a long time now and is beginning to unnerve me somewhat. I have on a few occasions held his gaze and fired a dirty look at him but he seems unfazed (I am not a small bloke).

If at some point this man sticks a knife in me or tries to put his willy in me I will at least know that I have left behind enough clues for someone to catch him, however I may be penetrated. I plan to have a word in his shell-like very soon although I am ashamed to admit that while the prospect does not bother me, I feel I may be overreacting. I think he may be one of those gay bear blokes I have heard about and the fact that I am of a similar height and build with a shaved head and sometimes sport a close cropped beard leads me to the conclusion that he thinks we can smell our own.

For the record, I am a heterosexual man with a lovely girlfriend and a smasher of a daughter and I have no hang ups about gay people. In fact some of my sister's best friends are gay. Gay people impress me with their flamboyancy and sexual promiscuity and I think they have been dealt a pretty good hand when it comes to both.
Being made to feel like a piece of meat though, is a new experience.

Poetry? Poetry.

I have never been one for art or poetry although I do love literature. Sometimes I think I may not have too much of a soul. Or maybe not as much of one as I would like in comparison to the people I have met that are passionate about such things. I may suffer from soul envy.
Anyhow I think the following is the best piece of poetry I have ever read that is not contained within the lyrics of a rap song.

"In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting on the ground,
Held his heart in his hands
And ate of it.
I said, 'is it good, friend?'
'It is bitter, bitter,' he answered.
'But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.'"
-Stephen Crane
-Black Riders III

Quoted in the book Bad City Blues by Tim Willocks, a British ex-psychiatrist and surgeon turned amazing writer. I have only previously read Green River Rising and I am currently reading Bad City Blues (I seriously think it may just be the best novel I have ever read) and I implore anyone with a love of noir fiction to read anything the man has written. The poems author Stephen Crane was an American writer celebrated for his books and journalism but his poetry was criticized and met with bad reviews. He died in Germany at the age of 28. Shame that.

That is all.

Fame and the hunger of celebrity cunts.

I absolutely love reading tabloid newspapers, gossip magazines and any other documentation of vapid, fame hungry celebrities just so I can slag off the terrible journalism contained within and go on my merry way feeling a little superior to the people that contribute and the retards that spend their hard earned on such utter fucking tripe.

If I see a copy of The Sun abandoned on a bus seat or a two month old copy of Heat in my Doctors waiting room I have to pick up and read just to satisfy myself that the world is ticking along as before and that people are still being paid vast amounts of money to publish complete untruths, inconsequential drivel and the minutiae of the worlds "celebrity" existence.

My Good God but how far we have fallen insofar as the things that entertain us. Two words you may be familiar with if you are alive, live in the UK and are in possession of arms and a head are "Kerry" and "Katona". This idiot was in a girl group but left before they attained any fame, married a bloke from a boy band and, well, that's about it. She is richer than you or I because we live in a society that allows people to become famous for being famous.

You do not have to, as in days gone by, actually posses a trade, any talent, be the recipient of any awards or even acclaim in your chosen field or do anything at all. You can just be and these fuckers will still write about you and take pictures of you when you go out shopping or on the piss, thus fame begets fame and you are on the gravy train for as long as they will have you. If your life has any aspect of tragedy to it then all the better. Drug addiction, infidelity and mental problems are all lapped up because they sell copy. If your parent dies or your sibling has a bit of previous as a petty thief or drug dealer, "MORE, MORE, MORE" they shout. Who gives a fuck? Really? The conclusion rapidly reached is this: the blame lies with you, the consumer and fact you are willing to invest. There is a market for it, therefore someone somewhere will produce it. Personally, it can fuck off and die for me and if I am ever in any doubt as to the conceptual merits of anything I ask myself the following question: If someone announced tomorrow that it would cease to exist, would I at any point in the future devote a seconds thought to it's demise? Go ahead and by all means take a stab in the dark.....

When you have been at the forefront of media speculation for a certain period of time, you can be elevated to the lofty position of having your own column. This means you are paid, as a non talented waste of carbon with zero contribution to anything of any note to comment on other non talented wastes of carbon while they also achieve exactly fuck all. Then millions of people buy a magazine in order to read your informed opinions (which never extend beyond a paragraph per subject) that may enlighten the population as to your take on the results of someone's breast enlargement/the fact that they once went to China Whites and flashed their underwear/whether or not they have gained weight during pregnancy. The biscuit taker, (and this is a belter) is that if you are too busy, lazy or illiterate to come up with these magical and entertaining soundbites by yourself, a person will be tasked to write them for you and you will still get paid.

Wake up people and for fucks sake start thinking for yourselves. There is a wonderful world out there full of opportunity and education. Think beyond the petty aspirations of vanity, fame and having more money than you need because in the grand scheme of things these amount to less than zero and matter not a jot. Read a book, broaden your horizons, listen to some good music and enjoy and appreciate the people around you for as long as you are able. Don't feign interest in anybody in your life who may deserve it and then choose to turn on your television or buy a magazine and invest in someone who couldn't give a fuck less.

Fakery, eggs and the consumer.

Someone on a trainer forum I frequent brought everyone's attention recently to the fact that in China people make fake eggs and sell them to the public for consumption. Fake fucking eggs.

They retail for less than a genuine egg and contain amongst other ingredients: gelatin, benzoic acid, coagulating material, lemon-yellow colouring powder, alum, calcium chloride and paraffin wax.
People buy this shit and serve it to their families. Alum alone, when consumed in sufficient quantities, causes dementia.

Consider the fact that we are not talking about a nice Henry Lloyd coat, a Ralph Lauren shirt or a pair of Air Max here. I have no problem with fake goods, ("each to his own" is sometimes a motto I live my life by) I grew up in an area where such goods were sold in every local pub. It was the norm to have people congregate around a parked car on a Saturday dinnertime or outside work on a weekday and pick the knock off garments they would wear the next weekend. The usual story is that someone has acquired (read stolen) a job lot of designer clothing and needed to offload it quickly and at far less than retail. The reality was that it was all fake and manufactured in China and the sellers were taking regular deliveries, the bulk of which were sold through a network of single mums that would purport to have shoplifted it and the rest sold from the dealers car. You had access to a myriad of "expert" knowledge from pubgoing folk that knew what to look for as regards labels, barcodes, hangtags, packaging, position of embroidery etc. and so you were totally safe from falling into the trap of buying fake goods and the abuse that wearing a £100 shirt when you earned £600 a month would bring.

We as a country rely on the cheap labour that China provides, whilst turning a blind eye to their complete lack of moral fibre. Even if you occupy the high ground of boycotting sweatshop labour, the chances are that the manufacture of the clothes you stand up in and the shoes you walk in have in some way contributed to the suffering of someone in a country far, far away.

Eggs though, are a step too far. That's when the realization hits you that this world is a more fucked up place than you possibly imagined it could be.

Ageing and the ever quickening passage of time.

My nephew will be five years old tomorrow and I could not be more proud of the little guy. He is wise beyond his years, tall and good looking and a credit to his Mum and Dad. The moment when my sister and her (then) fiancee took me aside and told me that they were having him, and that I could not react in the way they both knew I would for fear of letting the pre-scan cat out of the bag in a room full of people (who were all wondering why my sister was abstaining from her usually Herculean alcohol consumption) will stay with me until my dying day. More relevantly, that occasion seems like yesterday, or perhaps last week sometime. People make statements like that all the time don't they? Did your parents ever say to you that the time passes so fast you would not think it possible?
Tis true my dears, tis true.

The last ten years seem to have passed in the blink of an eye. I have loved, hated, made friends, lost friends, seen my body/health go downhill etc. just like everyone. I have fought, won, been defeated, laughed and cried. Every second, minute and hour has been filled with something or other, the ticking of the clock on my wall or the watch on my wrist ever constant, but the hindsight of my experience much less so. Six week holidays as a child lasted much longer than advertised and yet the important memories of the last few years I strive to keep clear seem to fade with a rapidity I am unable to fathom. I feel as though am living in dog years.
I feel old today.

Manners and the downfall of polite society.

As part of my working week and by necessity at other times I have to rely on public transport. On average this means four buses a day Monday-Friday and maybe one or two buses or a train at weekends. The people that I encounter are, in the main, quiet and polite but there has always been a minority I cannot stomach. Recently the percentage of people that get right on my tits (for want of a better phrase) seems to have at least doubled. A few fundamental rules for users of public transport and those who see fit to venture from their homes and into the general public domain follow:

-When you ask a person employed in the public service industry for anything, no matter how minor or insignificant, say please. If and when the service you requested is fulfilled to your satisfaction, say thank you.

-When boarding or alighting a bus or train, consider your fellow passengers and especially those traveling in the opposite direction. For those among you uninitiated in the basic laws of physics, the following may help: "Every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external force is applied to it. and "For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction". I am not sure how many times Newton caught the bus in Leeds when he was coming up with his first and third laws but reading between the lines I reckon it was a fair few.
Basically, the poor bastards already on the vehicle who want to alight are unable to do so until you step aside and let them. This problem is compounded if, in your selfish desire to clamber aboard, you actually do so before they have the chance to get off. This Clash of The Traveling Titans is easily avoided by simply not being an impatient Fuckwit.

-Any and all persons traveling with an infant and it's required accessories take precedent over you if you are not. This means letting them do what they need to (and letting them do it first, utilizing as much physical space as they require) in order to get where they are going. There exists also the possibility of offering them help if they look as though they may need it. I know this person is a stranger to you but think about it: you were a baby once and you probably have a fair amount of respect and protectiveness as regards your parents, so recall how it feels when someone acts in a disrespectful manner towards them and react accordingly.

-The designated seats for the old and infirm are at the front of the bus for a reason. Old people and (interestingly) ageing skateboarders have imparted to me on numerous occasions the knowledge that the first bodily indication of old age is when your knees fail. It's totally cool to sit in these seats, but give them up if they are needed. For old people I mean, not skateboarders. Fuck them, they knew what they were getting into when they started throwing themselves down ten-sets although they will probably give their seat up for you in a heartbeat.
You will be old one day if you are lucky. You may experience people who are rude and inconsiderate. Don't make yourself a part of somebody else's suffering during the Autumn of their years.

-Music is great, we are as humans the only species that understands it and enjoys it. We all like what we like but I fully do not like what you like. Keep it to yourself by wearing a pair of headphones. I prefer reading a good book when traveling but I have never felt the need to stand up during my journey and read the fucker out loud to my fellow commuters. Please afford me the same courtesy, as sped up versions of classic songs with a fine, pumping beat are not really my cup of tea. Please also refrain from putting on "some more Akon or 50 cent" (although if you have the unreleased 50cent album The Power Of The Dollar, made before he was shot and when he could actually rap, please do as it is dope and I would welcome it with open ears) .

All of the above goes some way to making my life a tiny bit easier in all sorts of ways. I am convinced that The Business Man, random idiots and 15 year old scally cap-perchers will all be reading this at some juncture so I invite them to take heed and ask that we all just get along.

Equality and the struggle of the modern pansy man.

If you are male and between the ages of say, 18 and 40, this world is probably a fucking mystery to you. If, as I, your musings sometimes lead you to wonder what the hell your place in society is as regards equality then why do we never speak about it? I may just have a bash.

Equality is a true and proper thing and one that should be celebrated, but abuse of equality is prevalent in the modern world and it is this that galls me so.
For one thing, I would love to think of myself as a fairly well rounded and sensitive individual but sometimes I just can't help feeling that in modern society we have drawn the short straw as a gender. It all comes down to one thing. One indesputable fact: We are not allowed to fight a women in hand to hand combat. Before you start screaming "frustrated womenbeater!", allow me to elaborate if I may. I have experienced the kind of woman that is annoyed when I open a door and let them go through it before me, the type that is aghast at the very thought of me paying for everything on a night out or a meal. They have been conditioned to think that because they are created equal (an assertion I agree wholeheartedly with BTW), such gestures of chivalry are to be taken as a personal affront, as they undermine the victories fought hard for, and won by, the feminists of previous generations. OK, rewind and change that shit. Your date is teaching you fundamental life lessons here. Don't hold the fucking door and never again try and impress by displaying the caring side of your nature. The girl has her own money (she earns more than you motherfucker) and is perfectly capable of pulling out her own chair you dunce.

We now know where we are, no Alpha males here, just two equals sharing a little space in the world so let's move on. It's the end of the night and you are waiting the taxi queue having a bit of a chat, she seems a tad cold but do you offer your coat? Fuck knows so you err on the side of caution, if she starts turning Blue and seems confused you can worry about it then. She has had a lovely time and things are going grand when a bunch of drunken men stagger past and start making rude comments. Now you may look after yourself and know a bit of Kung Fu or you may just be a fat bastard with an easily employed "scary look", but if you have a modicum of intelligence you are not going to wade into a group of young drunken men at the drop of a hat. Because you will get your arse kicked. The reaction of your date is sullen and silent and when she springs out of her reverie, it's time for equality to take a back seat and female venom is injected via your equal ears into your brain. "Why didn't you be a man and stick up for me back there?" "Those lads were really offensive and you stood by and did nothing". My dear, the problem is this: you also stood by and did nothing. Even though societies rules dictate that you are mostly exempt from an arse kicking due to the fact you have breasts and a vagina.

Arguments are worse. If you have an argument with a man and it escalates, you either back down for a myriad of reasons (mutual respect/not being the dominant party/the safe knowledge that in five minutes you will be calm and, with the air cleared, are likely to reach a rational resolution/actually having the balls to admit you are in the wrong) or you know that as an animal, (albeit a self aware animal) you are going to have to fight. Fighting and violence are part of human nature and although best avoided are sometimes the only option. I am comfortable with this. It is the age old final settler of disputes and part of our genetic makeup.

You may have the exact argument as eluded to above with the modern woman, but at no point are you allowed to show aggression. However, the lady can be as aggressive as she wants, again safe from comebacks due to the selective and fully interchangeable rules of society and equality that she is able to dip in and out of at will. She is comfortable with shouting, she is comfortable with abuse and pushing and sometimes all out violence. You are, as a modern pansy man, rendered impotent by the very fact of being a civilized member of society.

From personal experience I ask the following: Where is the equality and civility in a drunken woman squaring up to you whilst on a night out, ripping open your shirt and spitting in your face when you know that to give in to your first instinct and have a fight not only goes against the grain of everything you were brought up to be but will lead to the disappointment of your peers and possibly a court appearance whereby you will instantly be the underdog no matter the circumstances?

Where is the equality in being present when a girl starts trouble with a group of men and you are the one that is beaten?

Show me a petition that states women should have equal pay, equal rights and not be discriminated against and I will sign that motherfucker in a heartbeat. I have never hit or abused a woman in my entire life and I don't expect props for this simple fact, I just think the modern man needs to take his Manhattan Portage manbag and his funny haircut and start standing up for his beliefs. Equality should mean equality.