Friday, March 16, 2007

Bastard ball of Blue Tack

Ahhh, after days of packing boxes we've finally moved out of the ole office today, and only one thing is in the forefront of my thoughts is....why cant some invent a Sellotape or parcel tape that tastes nice?

Aside from the taste cutting generic sticking tape with your teeth is one of the few primitive urges used today (expect the obvious ones; to kill, to shag, to kill and shag…oh and eat). Granted I know people whom open chocolate wrappers using their teeth, but I find this method rather crass. I think it all stems from when ancient man would sit around the fire and try to put up their caveman cave painting posters to liven up their cave type abodes, and having not invented the scissors there only means of cutting the tapes was to use their teeth. Of course this was years before the invention of Blue tack.

By the way, the office walls, now bare and empty, are littered with small Blue Tack marks, scraps and stains. If I had the time I would collect the scraps and make a moderately sized ball of scrap blue tack, firmly bonding and mixing the different brands, types, colours etc. Alas, I don't have the time or the inclination to do so.

As a child I was the purveyor of many a bastard ball of blue tack. In our household Bluetack was a priceless commodity, and used as a currency between us children, akin to Tobacco in Prison or Cheese in Student Accommodation. Over the years -notably the great 'tack' drought of 89', I used staples, homemade glue (flour and water) and even rolled up Sellotape to keep my beloved posters in their rightful place. Of course all these methods were strictly prohibited in our household, but the knowledge I gained from using said contraband materials proved invaluable. E.g when I ran out of drawing pins I stapled all my notices to my notice board in the office. Sadly, I have spent the past 40 or so minutes removing this staples.

Not one notice/picture/scrap of paper ever fell from that board- not one! This feat was often marveled upon by my colleagues, who in fits of jealously would often take to sabotaging my famed noticed board- though they rarely succeeded. Anyhow- a new office awaits, tomorrow I am “working from home” i.e. watching Seinfeld for hours on end. Bliss.

Holy water indeed.

Giving up booze for lent (along with the lesser abstinences of chocolate, crisps and cheese) has given me the glorious opportunity of using the word pious as often as possible. I’ve even perhaps over used it in recent days, but there isn’t many other opportunities one has to use it in a succinct sentence on a day to day basis.

The ‘d’ word has been used a couple of times though much to my disliking. Firstly it was Tony at work who asked how my diet was doing. I over reacted – rectifying him that I was on a noble and spiritual quest- and that men don’t diet- it’s a “health kick”.
Lisa also has used the word- as I chose to bring some grapes to snack on when we went to the cinema last week. She said enough was enough and I was going to waste away- “you never said you were on a diet” she asked me.
Once again I was quick to correct her. Despite it being a firm non-diet, I’ve managed to shed nearly ¾ of a stone in just over 3 weeks.

Eating grapes at the cinema was a smart move though. The grapes were juicy so I didn’t need a drink, quiet so I didn’t disturb the other patrons and tasty so I didn’t feel the need for popcorn or other generic confectionary. As I told a colleague the other day “this pious shit’s great”.
It would be fair to say that the grapes were probably the most interesting thing about our cinematic outing, as the film; ‘23’ was pretty poor, and I had the weirdest feeling that I’d seen it before.

Despite the pious existence, even going to see the excellent LCD Sound System on Saturday was not in any way hampered by my sobriety. Instead of the customary mass of sweaty and impatient bodies trying to get served at one of their two bars (which I hope to fucking God they rectify in their forthcoming refurbishment), I simply strolled over to the vending machine by the toilets to acquire my tasty Still Harrogate water. Holy water indeed. I think I even managed a crafty chuckle and uttered “suckers” under my breath at the hoards of thirsty punters trying so desperately to be served. St Matthew the Pious 1- Unhappy beer swilling masses 0.

I was also able to enjoy the gig as opposed to having to miss key moments whilst I fought my way through the crowds to relieve myself, only to struggle back, eventually find my friends then realise I need a drink or another piss (alas the latter is becoming a more frequent occurrence).

It was also a pleasing experience to wake up the following morning and actually be able to recall the events of the previous night. By the way the gig was fantastic- and I felt the sweet taste of justification in my choosing this show as opposed to the Fall’s annual shindig which fell on the same night over in Liverpool. Oddly enough the ole LCD Soundsystem kind of reminded me of the Fall in a peculiar way. Perhaps it was the repetitive rhythms and bass lines, or perhaps the way in which the front man James Murphy carried him self on stage, often fiddling with band member’s amplifiers and equipment.

T’was one of the best shows I’d been to in an age, and worth not being able to hear for 48 hours afterwards. A personal highlight was ‘Daft Punk..’ which was played about 15 BPM faster than on the record, and rocked like a mo fo- and rather pleasingly it was played second on the set.

Saturday, March 10, 2007

Don't talk just kiss

Not knowing the correct terminology can cause embarrassment, none more so as when one is growing up. When I was 11 on a school trip to Devon, I was excitedly told by a friend that two class mates had 'frenchied' for1 minute.

I didn't know what the fook he was talking about and asked innocently as to what this meant.
I was laughed at nervously and mocked by my friends for my naivety, suggesting that until five minutes ago they where unaware too.

"French Kissing!" I was told.
"Oh!" I said.

I thought for a moment trying to rack my brain as to what this could mean. I must have looked confused and was badgered by said friends to provide an explanation as to what it meant. I thought on my feet, which was lucky as I was standing up:

"It's how French people greet each other" I suggested.

This was greeted by looks of confusion, no doubt assuming that our Gallic neighbours stuck their tongues down each others throats upon meeting one another.

"You know, kissing on each cheek" I explained. A look of relief and modicum of disappointment washed over their faces.

"ahhhhhh- you don't know what french Kissing is" Was the taunt hurled into my innocent ears.

I came clean about my innocence.
One of my friends tried to demonstrate to me-not on me of course. After five minutes of confusion of my friend sticking his tongue out and waggling about it was fully explained to me....

"1 Minute!!!??" I said when I realised!
I had opened Pandora's Box.

Later in life, approximately 4 years, I still hadn't had a girl stick her tongue down my throat and I was literally bursting with hormones. If we'd had a dog in the house at least I could have practised on it, but thankfully for all, we only had cockatiels. Trying to kiss a small tropical bird wouldn't have been a pleasant experience for either me nor the bird. Alas, it appeared that all and sundry were snogging. I was informed of a party where an acquaintance walked in the door and had snogged two girls within 10 minutes, he said it was easy. This sounded too good to be true, akin to the last days of Rome and not knowing any girls willing to play spin the bottle with, it sounded like the only course of action to take. Thankfully Fortuna smiled on me in the form of a school trip to Ypres so I didn't have to befriend these harlets togain access to their inner sanctum. A day and a half travelling to Belgium, 3 hours of looking around some old trenches, followed by another day and a half of travel.

"It was a sure thing", I thought.

Sadly my lack of knowledge of kissing terminology cost me dearly. At the time, I had was pretty much head over heels in love with a girl from my class. Before we set off, I ensured that this was known by at least acouple of her friends- setting the wheels in motion and she'd find out. If she liked me in that way then all she had to do was ask me out, if she didn't then I would throw myself from the Famous White Cliffs of Dover on route to the continent.

The signs were good, I was sat next to her for most of the journey. Alas, once in Ypres I was asked in front of a large group of my mates by her closest friend "would you get off with her on this trip?".

I say "Alas" as I was unaware what 'Getting Off with' meant. I though it meant full on sex, which freaked me out. My reply was "really???"

"Yes-you could do it on the coach on the way home"

I freaked and could feel the pressure "well, that depends on how much you pay me".

Her friend tried to pick me up from my seat and drag me over to where she was sitting. I fought her not to move from where I was sat as I had the biggest erection ever! She left to inform this girl of my response. My friends thought I was insane. It would be safe to say that when I found out what 'getting off with' meant in the following few minutes I tried to jump of the white cliffs of Dover on route back to Blighty.

Anyway, I promised myself that if I was ever asked by a girl to do something that I wasn't sure about, I'd say yes- it had cost me too much heart ache. Anyway, the other night I was asked by Lisa if I wanted tobe fisted.....

LCD Soundsystem tonight...sans booze should be interesting.

Friday, March 09, 2007

Tattie Water

I arrived at work this morning shocked to learn that some sadisticschool has sent a poor defenceless 15 year old girl to this office for her work experience. Worse for her is that she's going to be guided and mentored by Tony. Already he has ensured that she will be attending someof the most boring meetings one could imagine as well as our 6 monthly team 'away day.'

I felt like slipping her a note, informing her to run for her life- but I suppose two weeks here will be enough to put her on the straight andnarrow, after all working shoulder to shoulder with moaning gits likemyself would be enough to inspire any young scholar to knuckle down andwork hard. Interestingly and suprisngly she seems quite keen to learn. I hope to God for the sake of the future generations to come, she doesn't enjoyworking here.

My previous work experience experiences have been nothingmore than a manager's son/daughter coming into work, looking bored as hell and playing patience on the computer trying not to get under anyone's feet. I saw her write something earlier today, and she wrote with the paper a full 90 degrees anti clockwise from how any normal person would write. It reminded me of the girls from school...Anyway,I'm going to be nice to her as she'll probably be my boss in about ten years.

Of course being a veteran of some 27 jobs, I can recall my own work experience in Currys when I was 14 and the positive impact it had on my life, after all I wouldn't have got where I was today if I hadn't worked there. I remember enjoying the experience, especially as most of the staff there hated the job, but at the same time appreciated that it was easy. Perhaps my career path could be attributed to this ethos? Most of all I recall going to the local greasy spoon, Gloria's for a portion ofchips every single day. I can also recall a really awkward conversation I had regarding this cafe. When asked what I thought of it I said something to the effect of "it full of smoke and single mums". This was greeted with "what's wrong with single mums?" and the admission from mycolleagues that they were brought up by a single parent. Of course Idon't think there is anything wrong with single mum's, and looking back at it now I can see they were just fucking with me, but I felt terrible for years about that. Oddly enough, whilst working as a labourer some 9years later I was left in Gloria's for three days to gut the place out.Ironically the purveyor's of the unhealthiest food in my local town was to be converted to a fruit a veg shop.The Cafe was is a very poor state, t'was REALLY disgusting.

On the first day our boss arrived with brand spanking new gloves for us all. This was surprising to us all as despite the fact the gaffer was a top bloke, he was as tight as a camel's arse in a sandstorm. When I saw the extent of the dirt and grime in the cafe I was extremely grateful. Alas, within ten minutes, I attempted to remove a extraction fan duct. Big Al' and I moved this heavy cylinder together slowly and took it outside to the skip. As we lobbed it in bothh is and my gloves were stuck fast on the 1 inch think grease that coated the metal and we both almost ended up in the skip too. We had to sacrifice the new gloves as they proved impossible to be peeled off fromthe ex-duct. Our boss wasn't too enamoured when he asked for the gloves back at the end of the day.

Whilst doing this job, I encountered a dog'sbody roofer in his late forties who look as if he'd smoked forty a day for the last 30 years.For some reason the topic of masturbation came up- I can only assume it was myself who started it. Anyway, this guy said that he could easily wank about 6 times a day and his p.b was 17!!!! He then uttered these haunting words that have stayed with me since:

"When I was your age (22) it was like a flow of hundreds of whitehorses galloping into the sea, and now it's like tattie (potato) water"

Anyway, I passed this useful and insightful information to our work experience girl today though I'm not so sure she understood what I meant. Providing a sample for her probably wasn't the best idea I've ever had.

Thursday, March 08, 2007


I think I’d make an excellent boss of somebody. I’d be harsh but fair.

I think I’d ware my heart on my sleeve, perhaps, some unbelievers would say too emotional- too fiery. But it wouldn’t bother me, after all the only thing that would interest me would be getting results. I’d be a cross between Spender and Brian Clough…only with more sarcasm.

Alas, I do not enjoy being given any responsibilities. I’m too much of a good moaner to be wasted on management. I’m also very poor at attending meetings- as today proved. I sat looking like a bored school kid in detention, doodling and drawing away. I’m pretty sure this was noted by my bosses, but I was too bored to care.

If it wasn’t for me reciting a few films in my head, recalling the few German and Czech phrases I knew and working on ideas for my previously aborted sitcom I think I would have rotted away.