hindsight is a twat

Despite avoiding public transport to get to work of late, I am discovering the wrath one can get immersed in when one decides to drive to work via Queens Drive, as this morning's journey demonstrated.
Personally, I have always preferred the Dock Road route to work and thus far I've had no real complaints regarding the traffic or the time it takes for me to arrive, however, two of my more learned colleagues have seriously lambasted me for my route decision. I have argued my case, but as they are locals, and Bob (one of the two said colleagues) has been traveling from South Liverpool to work for Sefton Council for some forty years, I felt obliged out of respect to his long service and vast experience.
What a load of crappola.

In 'Highway 61' , Dylan states that: 'the Highway is for gamblers', in response I agree but I would also add that 'Queens Drive is for suckers'. Better use your sense.
It just goes to show that just because someone has a superior knowledge, and experience it doesn't make them any more wise than the next man. In fact a newer, fresher approach can often be the better.
So I decided this morning, more as a whim, to travel down one of the worst road in this fair city and it took me approximately 20 minutes longer than usual. Granted, I appreciated that I could have taken a route which would involve going via Church Road and Mill Street to arrive in The Old Swan which would have saved me a significant amount of time, however, as we all know; hindsight is a twat.
For the most part of my tedious journey I was stuck in a traffic jam from hell. Forced to stare at a Renault Megane's rear end for nearly 27 minutes. Remember of course, the vehicle I am currently using has no radio and I have nothing to occupy my mind whilst I wait, expect to curse my colleagues and curse myself for not sticking to the courage of my convictions.
It seems totally crazy that people have to fight like that every morning, to get in the right lane, or prevent someone from getting in your lane ahead of you, guarding your position in the queue like a lioness guarding her cubs why do they do it?. There are so many cars too, it really makes you wonder if people were more prone to car sharing then it would rid us of half of the cars on the road.
I'm not knocking driving as a mode of transport. I actually love motorway driving and feel that's my territory.

I actually started to appreciate the small victories one gets whilst travelling via a train; getting the last seat, catching the train with seconds to spare, getting away without paying etc. Whilst driving, all the small victories are just too damned small and insignificant to be worth while tof their persuit. Take yesterday for example; I found a way of avoiding the round-a-bout on Princess Avenue/Croxteth Road/Belvedere Road. I tried this route and I could see that after executing this manouvre, I was several cars ahead of the van that was previously in front of me. A moment of great exultation soon vanished when the van pulled level with me at the Parliament Street Traffic lights minutes later. It seems so incredibly futile. At least whilst you are travelling via public transport it's you versus the system. Sometimes you beat it, other times it will beat you and you feel more secure somehow, you know what the odds are. Plus you occupy nothing but your own space rather than the protective shell the automobile provides. Human contact is unavoidable. Just knowing that in every single car that is trying to beat you to work, there is a human behind the wheel going through the same emotions as yourself, only they feel the satisfaction that they are protected from making real contact with the other commuters and therefore they can say what they want about them with no fear of reprisal. The poor bastards know no better. At least on the train you become extremely familiar with the other drones. You'll spot them elsewhere in the city outside of the setting of travelling to work and you can marvel at their civilian clothing or what their partner looks like. Sometimes, there will even be a smile or nod of acknowledgment from them. You also know that should anything awful happen like a fire, crash or bomb, then you'll be going down with them- which is oddly comforting.


If I wasn't so damned lazy, unfit and sweaty, I would love to be able to cycle/walk to work and avoid this misery. That's the loner's purest form of transport. It's just you vs the cars.

Last night 'the' Asda proved once again that domestic bliss comes at a cost. £128 to be precise.
It was a strange phenomenon, but I quite enjoyed it. I think this was partially down to the fact that I had picked up Lisa after she had got off the train (she was there with my old commuter pack...sob) so she was wanting to get back to the flat soon after another trying day at work. For some reason I really shine when people around me are miserable.
It was also a blessed relief not to be doing on a weekend as per usual.

It pretty much went without a hitch until we once again went on a quest for a baster. Can you believe that neither 'the' Asda nor Ikea sell this important item? I'm now going to have to walk to the Strand (shudder) to find one in time for Sweet Jonny's birthday tonight (don't worry-we've got him proper stuff too)I did purchase a casserole dish and managed to break some pottery whilst attempting to pick it up from the shelve, much to Lisa's embarrassment. As someone who thrives on other people's discomfort I then did a jokey-kick-under the shelves of the busted crockery, mostly for the further embarrassment of Lisa and for the general entertainment of the other shoppers who seemed to find my tomfoolery funny (ahhh I've still got it), this encouraged me to act in a hyper active and silly manner for the remainder of our time there, thus reassuring me that I can still be one of the most annoying people on the planet when I try.

It was this reassurance that helped me get the first decent nights sleep for a heck of a long time which helped me prepare for my visit to the Council's occupational health department as a result of my lengthy absense from work.

When You've Got No Use for Time.

Another weekend flies past all too quickly once again and like the majority of the population I too must wrestle with another Monday morning and engage in the trivialities of weekend conversation; football results, weather, Ikea, DIY and Saturday night Out anecdotes et al.

Like most weekends of late, my time was split between the visiting of my mother and trudging around a plethora of inane household shops with Lisa. My mum and my Grandparents were on good form on Saturday, and food was forced upon me as only my grandmother can do.

I woke early on Saturday as hungry as a mule and decided that whilst carrying out a list of errands that needed to be sorted before my departure to York, I would visit a fast food establishment with the intention of consuming something fattening. So I tip toed out of the flat and after my main objective of giving Jon & Eve their Manchester Vs Cancer concert tickets I drove on to my local outlet of McDonalds with naughty grin splashed across my soon to be fatter face.

When I drove to the window, I was greeted by a very familiar face, that of a young girl whom I walk past every day on the way to the train station. This flustered me somewhat as if someone could now verify my guilt's existence. I ashamedly asked for a cheeseburger, fries and a cup of tea. She looked quite bemused and flustered herself, so I came to her rescue as I realised it was only 10.15 am and quite clearly too early for the 'meals'.
"Is it too early?" I asked.
"Erm...yeah."
"It doesn't matter" and I drove away. I wasn't going to compromise my desire for comfort food by having to chose something from the 'breakfast menu'. No, a traditional sandwich shop was the sensible alternative.
I visited the shop opposite the McDonald below where I used to live with Steve, and asked for a sausage and cheese sandwich, which whilst asking for it infront of the Daily Star/News Of The World crew, l felt like a deviant.
I was happy enough with the sandwich, but whilst I drove in silence towards Yorkshire, I realised that the mounds of grated cheeses, coupled with the economy sausages was too rich of a combination for natural consumption, hence why so few establishments advertise it as an option.

As mentioned previously, my mum and grandparents were on top form. Perhaps it was the extra stodge in my system but I felt extremely drowsy for most of the afternoon, and soon I found myself fighting to keep my eyes open. As my g'parents eat about 4 hours earlier that I do, we went for a bite at the 3 Cups pub in Stamford Bridge ( tea at 5pm!!!). I of course was still full, but managed to negotiate my way through a steak and ale pie and I also managed to insert a wooden spoon in a bottle of vinegar in error (don't ask).

For Sat night festivities, Lisa and I watched the 80's classic: Weird Science.
It had been a while since I saw it last and I remember two of the following from my youth. Firstly, I believed that even if you weren't the most popular guy at school you could still have the potential to pull the school hottie, although one did require assistance from a computer made goddess in the form of Kelly Le Brock. As I grew up glued to my Commodore Amiga, I realised this wasn't the case, and infact most of the school hotties would be knocked up by the age of 22 and didn't care, as I was led to believe, for the sensitive types, unless of course they had a Porsche. (except for the Sally Williams Incident, whereupon I wrongly assumed that as she was a hottie she would have no interest in the likes of me, and when being told she fancied me I took it as a cruel joke- no doubt the sad details will appear on this blog at somepoint in the future)

The second misapprehension, was that all house parties would be like the one they have. I remember my first house party being the now legendary Sarah Head party in her parent’s terraced house in Bilton, but disappointingly it was just a mess of under age drinkers, cigarette induced sickness, sloppy kissing and ‘Blood, Sugar, Sex Magic’ being played repeatedly throughout. I mentioned this at the party scene and Lisa thought the same. It is still a fine film nonetheless, and the extensive work of John Hughes should be more revered that it is. I mean, the guy wrote and directed so many consistently good films, and 'Planes, Train & Automobiles', 'Ferris Bueller's Day Off' and 'Breakfast Club' should have his name mentioned along with the likes of Woody Allen, Hal Hartley and Wes Anderson.

Sunday brought on another dreaded trip to Ikea. Sadly this time weren't all wide eyed and in awe of the beech veneered furniture, this time it felt like a pain in the ass. I found myself judging the couples who also walked around looking to see if a set of shelves would look right in their living room. I would judge whether he was too good for her, or she was too good for him, this amused me until me head began to hurt and I started to roll my eyes with impatience. Thankfully we weren't there too long, but the whole trip was marred by an incident involving a Turkey baster.

We had spent the best part of 10 minutes looking for one, but despite coming across every variety of kitchen utensils from Pizza cutters to grapefruit slicers I couldn't find any, so decided to ask one of the apron clad assistants for some help. The chap whom I asked was putting glasses onto a display tower and wore a look of sickening despondency. I politely asked him whereupon one might locate the basters. His reply:
"I don't think we sell them"
I took immediate umbrage with this statement and repeated:
"You don't think you sell them?"
To which he grunted something.

I walked on and let my fury be known to Lisa, who of course took a diplomatic approach and told me to stop bleedin' moaning. But the fact still remains he didn't think they had any.
Later upon our journey back to Liverpool, I continued this thought. Lisa suggested that perhaps he was new or had been working for twelve hours straight or something and was waiting for we annoying customers to go. I mean, I have worked in several Supermarkets where indeed you are dying for the customers to bugger off, however basic customer service skills always prevented me from being unhelpful.
He didn't think they had any. This statement was not a conclusive answer to my simple question. Surely he could have asked one of his co-workers or even just lied and told me that they definitely didn't have any. I would have appreciated this more than his apathy.

The flat now has a linen chest, two beech veneer chest of drawers and yet another bookshelf all still in their packaging and require assembly. No doubt my ISS Pro Evolution 5 training will suffer.
‘The’ Asda tonight.
Great. Thankfully I have my job to keep me sane.

I am a cheese sadist

Grated cheese has got the greatest texture of all sandwich fillings but it sadly falls short mark when it comes to categorising a fillings sustainability i.e. staying in the sandwich. I have been giving the concept of cheese glue a serious consideration in my mind for a while now. Surely this must be a possibility, but how would they do it and not ruin the taste of the cheese? Answer: make the glue out of cheese!

The pedants out there will just counter argue that one should not grate the cheese, rather one should slice the cheese to avoid the cheese crumbs that litter the floor around my chair here at work. My retort to these folks would be quite reasonably point out that grated cheese is my preference and that they should keep their opinions to themselves. Maybe perhaps the spill factor is what keeps my lifelong affection of the post grated cheese? Perhaps I am a cheese sadist?

Is grated cheese more economical than the regular 'whole' cheese? Is this why sandwich outlets across the land choose to grate their cheese or does it make crap cheese taste better? There is a lot I don't know about cheese, but I do know what I like. My time working in the cheese factory taught me nothing except for the skill of cutting holes in the centre of a 'cheese wheel' and the coating of said cheese wheel in wax.

By 1o'clock in this bum hole of an office, you will always see the lost flakes of cheese scattered around my keyboard and feet. Life could be much better. I stood as a young man in the prime of my life surrounded by the holes from these cheese wheels and these were the size of pint glasses. These cut offs were then brought to the staff canteen whereupon we cheese factory workers dressed in white overalls, white hats and white steel toe capped wellies could help ourselves to this rejected cheddar. Some time in July 97 I ate the thickest slice of cheese in my life and knowing that I had succumbed to gluttony and that very soon i was going to either be sick or have a heart attack was very satisfying. So nearly ten years later it is particularly sad to look upon the pathetic little pieces of cheese that got away from my sandwich and remember a better time for cheese. It is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all I suppose.

With this cheese fear question swimming around in my head, I REALLY wanted a cheese sandwich and went to the shop as per usual, only they had no brown roll and could only offer me a meagre "white bap". I politely declined and thought that a trip to Greg's was in order. It will require the visiting of the Bootle Strand, a repulsive shopping centre catering for yesterday's people with the shops of tomorrow.
I mistakenly thought it would be good to feel the fresh air on my face and let the oxygen enter my system. I had also planned to acquire series 3 of 'Curb your Enthusiasm' so I was going that way anyway.

I bumped in to Kev whilst on route to Music Zone and we had a good chat about the TV we'd been watching. Funnily enough it was Kev who first brought my attentions to 'Curb...' a couple of years ago on route back from a gig in Nottingham. I also know for a fact Kev loves cheese.

After I purchased the DVD I went to Greg’s for my usual Steak Bake (my usual fortnightly cheese sandwich alternative), however I watch enchanted by their new creation the Cheese and Pepperoni pastie. Moreover, I was suitably impressed by the service they gave. I know this isn't going to sound like much, but when the young lady who was poised to serve me was asked by myself what this new concoction was she said "do you like cheese?" (spooky!). anyhow, she offered for me to try a piece; which I subsequently did and enjoyed. I simply couldn’t imagine this happening in Sayers.

On route back to the I decided that this pastie simply wouldn't keep me going until I got home and decided to get me a pack of crisps. Unfortunately I let myself down again.
I had decided previously never to purchase anymore crisps fro the local off licence, as every time i had got one there, it was out of date. In fact, my last visit -some 5 months ago- I pointed it out to the (fit) girl who worked there that they were several months out of date and she apologised accordingly- but like the soft schmuck that I am, I told her it didn't matter and took it anyway! So when I bought this packed I immediately checked out the sell by date which was friggin' Dec 05! Did I take it back?- no of course I bloody didn't, I just thanked her and went on my way.
I now feel disappointed with myself and nauscious, either because of the pasty or the mouldy crisps all because of my white bap snobbery.

I was a 'shit' martyr

Faecal Matters

As I may have often prattled on about in other equally unsanitary blog enteries, the toilet in this office is a constant source of contention with me. Not being particularly prudish or squirmish about using it, I happily will park my breakfast at work without any real concern. Of course-without covering old ground- I always employ the courtesy flush as the Office is extremely small and I consider myself extremely considerate to the needs of my male colleagues in this department. After all due to the size of the office we all know who's in. Moreover, the toilet has no windows and is about the size of a confessional box, only supplied with a 3 month supply of paper towels and toilet paper and a toilet of course. The need for discression is paramount.

Today, however I was met with a most unpleasant problem... I should warn you at this juncture- those with a weak disposition should not read on.

10am ish my regular morning constitutional was required. I was even more bored with the day so decided to bring my phone to play some poker as this, I felt, would be a useful way to spend some time. As per most mornings here, the fellow worker before me had left the place thick with their own warm, rich, aroma. I did my usual wiping of the seat (which was tres warm may I add) and took up my throne and proceeded to play on my phone for about 10 minutes before I was about to 'drop'. As I was poised to incorporate the courtesy flush (flushing whilst you go to eradicate and smells/sounds) I noticed a blob of faeces on the floor. It was the diameter of a 50 pence piece and was located directly in front of toilet, inches from where my feet where.

Shit.


I was presented with a very awkward situation.

Do I ignore it?
Do I storm out of the toilet demanding to know who it was?
Or did I clean it up?

Of course hating confrontations and paranoid that someone would believe in error, that it belonged to me, especially as at this time in the morning their is a usually someone waiting to use the facilities when you vacate it; I proceeded to scrape it off the floor with a piece of cheap office tissue paper.

I have tried to deduce whom this crass hole was, but in all honesty I probably don't really want to know that answer, as forever more I should only be able to image them stood over the toilet, suit jacket hoisted above their mid drift, wiping their arse after a particularly bad dose of the squits - being in so much is pain and relief that they don't notice a little has gone astray.
Shit Shrapnel.

It brought to mind, remarkably, a long forgotten memory whilst at Primary school. We were kept from going to our lunch as some dirty twat had laid a large poo on the toilet seat and it had totally traumatised several girls in the class. The teacher in her infinite wisdom took us all to the toilet to inspect it and proclaimed that we weren't going to go on lunch until it had been cleaned.
After about a minute of tears and 9 year old hysteria, I thought "what the hell" and after wrapping a large amount of paper towels (the evil tracing paper bog roll would not have been adequate for this job) around my hand, I broke forth from the ranks and picked the brown log up and dropped it in the toilet. A job well done. Alas, this act of extreme bravery was considered an admission of guilt, and I was duly castigated by my fellow classmates and the bitch we had teaching us. Ah, I still remember trying to dry my hands and protest my innocence, as I was frog marched to the Headmaster's office via the school hall.I was a 'shit' martyr then, imprisoned wrongly for trying to help the masses during the tyrannical dictatorship of Miss Bradley the "hippie teacher". Now after nearly 20 years I have become a shit saint, working for the greater good for one an all. Amen…”..I smell a TV series”

I am a dead whale too.

Okay so I’m still smarting that I only received 102 emails. I know I shouldn’t be as there’s more pressing issues that require my concern, but it just re-enforces my lowly status which, although I don’t wish to run the corporate treadmill, still makes me despondent and depressed. I did, however find something lurking in the bowels of my drawers (office furniture not my pants) which can give me a temporary reprise of the blues. Yes, today I shouted Huzzzar without irony for the first time in my life upon my discovery that I had a new 2006 calendar to use. Not just any calendar, but an insightful daily calendar which not only provides the reader with historical information but also makes one reflect inwards with its distinctive thought/advice for the day. Example- today in 1554- The city of Sao Paulo was formed, and the thought: “A grandmother is a babysitter who watches the kids instead of the television”.

Great. So everyday I can have a small memento of fascination to accompany my decent to the abyss.

I do remember ordering it in May, and it promptly arrived in June and with its vast quantity of pearls of wisdom lay dormant in amongst my spare envelopes and uncompleted job application forms. Granted I may have a job with absolutely no power or interest but at least I got them to spend £4.00 on it he he.

Since my return to the working environment, I have already slipped back into old ways. Firstly, I’m back on the tea in a bad way. I know this may not seem like a terrible thing, but when you’re drinking 11 cups of tea just whilst you’re at work, then you need to rely on your friends and colleagues to form an intervention (step away from the kettle Matt) . As I’m the only member of the team who is office bound permanently, I’m always happy to accept a brew if offered, unfortunately this entails being offered more that one an hour and for the most part I duly oblige and accept happily. Whilst away from work, I was starting to develop a taste for Green Tea as a healthier substitute and would only have two, maybe three in the whole day and I certainly felt more like a human being.
I’ve also started to consume sandwiches from the near by outlet after promising myself a healthier diet which I had strictly adhered to until yesterday. I’ve also driven to work for the last two days, and it’s incredibly lonely. It is so hard to mentally undress other commuters whilst you’re driving, where as the train (which as I am fully aware is far from the perfect mode of transport) I was adept at the subtle, seedy glace and using my mental photoshop to cut and paste members of the fairer sex’s clothing on and off accordingly. Also it’s very hard to listen in on other peoples’ conversations whilst they are in a different car, and making up what I think they’re talking about just isn’t that much fun.

So I'm getting fatter, lazier, and giving up the will to live. I'm more precious than that bleedin' whale though, c'mon someone haul me back to freedom on a barge.
Have Primary School children draw me pictures and write me poems.
Have krusty old celebs speak out on my behalf.
Feed me raw fish and applaud my stupidity.
Give those bosos at ITV new the opportunity to further speculate what might happen with there flash animation.

Carwash HUNT

Nearly seven full weeks without so much of a sniff at the internet, I have returned, alas, to work today only to find it dull and the same. Was it always like this? Why have I of late, dedicated far too much of my time to the trawling through its depths hoping to find a cure for paperclips or an antidote to snooker repellent or a decent MP3 recording of "Ooops I did it again" by Richard Thompson. During my blog hiatus, in which time I had paced the corridors of the intensive care unit, Freeman Hospital, Newcastle, and tried keep my mum's spirits' up, it appears; that not a lot has happened.

Only 102 unread messages on my work's email were awaiting me this morning. Most of my colleagues get more than that in a week.

Of the 102 unread emails, none (as i had imagined) were Xmo or New Year's best wishes from friends who hail from further a field and who would have been unaware on my recent woes. Neither was there any messages from disgruntled associates and confidants wishing to show their contempt towards me as they did not receive their annual Mestiv Fexmo message from yours truly, a veritable Yule Tide Treat for one and all.

On a plus note however, I must give a great big fat greasy thanks to the kind folks at 100 T Shits, especially Miss Bob Blackwell, as despite working fairly hard-ish to design some T Shirts for their aforementioned T Shirt contest, I was unable to send off my final designs. However, despite them not getting any replies from their numerous emails they submitted my designs anyway, and converted the designs into the correct format for me from the erroneous ones I had previous emailed over. Thanks to their fortitude and helpfulness two of my designs were selected...woot! Alas, this didn't come without its cost. For some reason they thought the 'fing design' looked better the wrong way around! Sigh.

(http://www.p-ornithology.com/) -

Okay, because of the family emergency and all that, there was little to be cheerful about, however, the following is a brief list of things that have been good, when everything else has been crapolla:

Arrested Development (season 1 Box Set)
Curb Your Enthusiasm (season 2)
My new webdomain (www.robotbytheriver.co.uk) -cheers bro.
Seeing a yellow car and having carte blanche to hit whomever you are sitting near.
'Spiderland'- by Slint
oh and friends/family/loveones etc.
Lucozade
'crazzzzeeeee' That Niles Barclay song (man I love that)
Money Pit (Tom Hanks we hardly knew ye)
Women -By Charles Buchowski

sympathy for the breville.

Well another week ‘flies’ past. It’s friggin’ Friday at last. My head hurts, my throat is killing me and I’m bleedin’ hungry. Not good. No point in going on about it as I never get any sympathy from Lisa, I could have my head severed and she would still say that men exaggerate their illness. This, I believe, is one of the biggest fallacies in our society, I mean do you ever hear me moan when I’m on my period?

Been três busy finishing off the Tshirt three designs as the deadline was yesterday (see new design to the left). I thought my whole god damned head was going to explode. I did it though, however I received an email this morning saying that the deadline had been extended until 31st December! Bugger.

This weekend is mostly going to be spend doing nothing, except organising the above advertised party, although I still haven’t bought a single Christmas pressie and it is getting nigh that I started to at the very least contemplate wait I’m actually going to get people.
I’m going home now to have my regular and blissful kip on the train. Twice this week some do-gooders have woken me up, worried that I may have slept past my stop. In these circumstances I refrained from my usual self defence mechanism of sarcasm and spite as their intentions were good- just it better not happen again tonight!

Pizza Lust

At last a little bit of quiet time here at work to update this rather ill kempt blog.
Once again, many things of worth occurred at the weekend, most significantly it was Eve-e-o’s birthday celebration on the Friday night. We ventured forth into the realms of the unknown by attending an ‘indie night’ and Liverpool’s Masque. It was good, and at £1.30 a pint and £1 shots it was pretty darned inexpensive too. Not having attended this form of night out in a while, I was a little surprised that the usual indie classics weren’t played….what? no Nivana? Of course music has changed. It seems that the Strokes have a lot to answer for a the current crop of downstroke-Newyork-esque-punk-disco bands that seem to be enchanting the NME crowd; and the amount of bands donning that image is getting ludicrous too and no doubt something will change this-I hope.

Also another oddity was having a total stranger talk to me about life and music. His opener was “do you like Rory Gallagher?” as he believed I looked like him?! As this was an utterly surreal experience, I wasn’t exactly my usual effervescent self but this young Irish buck continued unabated saying he liked my image (what?!) and asking what music I liked. Without wanting to engage him in conversation too much I struggled to answer just stating I liked Dino jr and Smog. His response was –and this is the God’s honest truth; “wow, Dinosaur Jr?- they’re ‘proper’ underground indie aren’t they” Unsurprisingly he said he was in a “cool band” and said they were playing soon. I feigned interest and said I had to go. Predictively; everyone said I was being chatted up, much to their amusement, and as flattering as this sounded, it wasn’t like that-but it was odd conversation and weirded me out for a bit. I also spat my dummy out on the way home ‘cause I wanted a Pizza and acted like a tit. (cringe)

I’ve also been quite busy trying to come up with a design of a Nationwide competition for a T Shirt design, working under the brief of “Birds in the City”. Having designed several T-shirts for Cranebuilders I figured I could have a stab at it. Thus far, it’s proving harder than I thought, but the designs above are work in progress. I have pinched some of these designs from my aborted ‘Lanterns’ poster- which although it is not cheating as it’s my design anyway, but has made me feel a little cheap (no pun intended).

Xmo update: Lisa and I have also put up the Xmo Deco’s, and it is as gloriously tacky as I had wished for!
Anyway, as I’ve promised myself to keeps these blogs short, so I won’t mention the last two episodes of Arrested Development on Sunday, Medium and Ghost Squad last night, the fact that I spent nearly half an hour reading out ridiculous names from the Liverpool Echo’s Beautiful Baby contest (2,000 pictures of kids from 6 moths to 36 months old)- I’ll reel of a list for tomorrow- hilarious and worrying at the same time!

why not Malcolm or Doris?

"I'm a monster!!!!!!!"

Ah Thursday- my favourite week day. The penultimate day of my working week, I can sit behind this desk shaped prison pondering upon last nights episode of ‘Lost’. Despite it being a great episode, and finally an insight into Hurley’s past a few things bothered me;

Firstly- there was a terrible conversation between Hurley and his mother when he was on route to surprise her with a new house. He said that she deserved something good to happen, then proceeded to list the terrible mishaps that befound (is that a word?) his nearest and dearest, clearly a lousy way of explaining to the audience just how many bizarre things that have occured without the producers being forced to film it. It annoyed me as it cheapened his ‘flashback’ sequence. These are usually the best bits for me as I like a good story, hence why The Godfather II is better than Godfather I, and why I love Quentin Tarrantino and Robert Rodrigez’s work. Also for second to none flashbacks check out ‘The Adventures of Baron Munchousen” which is a fine, fine film.

Secondly, and more infuriatingly we were forced to endure the world’s worst Australian accent when Hurley flies out to Australia in an attempt to find out the meaning of that spooky number sequence. It was closer to Dick Van Dyke’s Cockney accent in Mary Poppins than to an Australian accent.

I still think the show is bloomin’ great none the less. I do like to point out the many failures in the show’s continuity but I feel that I should stop being a pedant and let it go, however these two errors annoyed me/made me laugh in contempt.

Speaking of contempt, I actually saw a guy on the train reading a Daily Mail, tutting and shaking his head as he read. I found it hard to stop myself from mocking him, but the usual fear of being a crass buffoon and not wanting to hurt his feelings stopped me.

Anyhow, I figured that after yesterday’s fun listing *sigh* the “soundtrack of our lives” (Damn you Whiley) I should really do a more honest listing of things that are getting on my tits, and perhaps I should update this yearly. So without further ado, please find below my top 20 vexes of 2005. (It was origionally aonly a top ten but I got carried away)

James Blunt- ‘nuff said

People who have E4 or Sky and think they are way superior to the likes of me by saying they watched ‘Lost’ last Sunday. So what? You still have a week to wait between each episode, it’s just that you watch it on a Sunday- so what would you have to look forward to on a Wednesday night?

Mersey Rail. Please check most of my other entries for a detailed description of why they must be destroyed.

Harry Bleedin’ Potter. Okay, if you’ve got kids or are a kid, then great read and watch away (sorry Mum) but if you’re an adult, what are you buying the friggin’ book for? An why oh why do you have to read it on the train? I saw this in the summer when the newest book came out and proving my point a woman (sorry to say it usually is the ladies) sat opposite was moving her lips whilst she read, and used a train ticket to show what line she was one….AGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!! People are always responding that “at least people are reading now” – this is not true. It’s like a Drug addict drinking excessive quantities of neat vodka and people saying “at least he’s not taking drugs” . Nonsense. Get a life and read/watch a proper book/film.



Despite the latest edition of the Starwars films being really good (except the “nooooooooo!” part at the end) why are oober geeks continuing to rant and rave about how poor the newer-pre-equals were. Simple answer- you’re none 8 anymore- get over it…I did (eventually)

Crap Graphitti. For the love of God which can’t these little asbo brats getting some imagination? A rude drawing, or even just a drawing of anything would be better than the current crop of ‘hayley luvs Jason’ type markings that haunt my local bus stops. I don’t actually mind graphitti, I just wish it was a little more original.

The continuation of kids being given crap-made up names by their’ “I wanted to call my child something different” parents. The problem is that they’re not original. I don’t want to provide any examples in case I insult any of my friends and dare I say it family- but if you want to call them something different why not Malcolm or Doris? I don’t hear of any kinds being called that anymore.

Ah the old faithful- people who don’t say please or thank you when you hold a door open for them, let their car pass etc.

People who wear sunglasses when it’s not sunny and/or people who wear scarves with T shirts, especially those who wear them indoors, cretins.

High Heeled shoes that make that awful clacking noise on the pavement.

Sven Goran Eriksson’s selection policy.

Disney’s Winnie the Pooh. What is the attraction is this sickly sweet drawings being plastered on everything? Have any of these people ever read the books or are even aware of E.H. Shepard’s original drawings? Whilst on the subject, why has Winnie the Pooh got an American accent? In this city is bad enough that girls go to the shops in their PJs, but 8 times out of ten it will be a Winnie the Pooh pyjamas


That Disneyland Paris Advert …”It’s Magical…” When the Dad whispers to his wife that hilariously he couldn’t sleep either due to the excitement , and their annoying spawn says “we heard that”, would you not be worried that your children could possibly hear everything that goes on in that room. Sod the holiday mate, pay for some soundproofing in your bedroom.

Houses that put up their Xmo decorations in September!!!!!

“at the end of the day” ….aggggg! Thankfully this annoying phrase was so overused during the last BB series I have noticed its use on the wain, but at the end of the day it’s just tomorrow.

16. My eternally crap hair.

Idiots who start a sentence “I’m not being racist but…” –Yes you are, just because you say that doesn’t disclaim you from the remarks you are about to utter.

The word “MOREISH” – my alternative for this word; “Addictish” has failed to set the world alight

Middle Lane Drivers. Wake up call – if your not over taking anything move into the inside lane. People who continue to drive on the outside lane are just as bad. Hang your heads in shame.

The killing of Jim Fenner in Badgirls…why?! Best TV Bastard ever.

The TV reception in our flat is appalling. The stress of sitting down to watch something and having to manoeuvre our Judderal Bank style antenna is getting too much for me.

festivus yes, bagels no!

So Xmo is looming around the corner and the 'Xmo fear' is taking hold of the Nation. Too many people seemed to have bought their pressies already, whilst I don't have a bleedin' clue what to get a anyone and I haven't even made any attempts to start this arduous process. I still don't really know what I'm going to be doing over the Xmo weekend, as both Lisa and I decided upon spending the festivities together for the first time in eight years and we're going to be driving around like loons from on family member to the next.

Without sounding like a sour puss; Xmo is really losing its appeal. I have often retorted that it should be like the Olympics or the World Cup, and only come around once ever four years. As they say, "its for kids". Being the old romantic I'm thinking of impregnating Lisa in order to make it more interesting.

Xmo does have its positive sides:

TV Specials
Alcohol indulgence
erm...

Mince pies?

By the way, incase you hadn’t worked it out Xmo is on part Xmas (sic) and one part Chrimbo. I am seriously considering starting my own day in honour of George’s dad in Seinfeld who invented/celebrated Festivus (see above photo). Any suggestions about this alt Christmas please lemme know. (thus far it ivolves saying “Abi Titmus, festive mexmo” to people and dressing as scuffily as possible in homage to its creator…moi.

Anyway, our office is already gearing itself up for Xmo, and pleasantly Gerry has sent everyone the following email:

“ FESTIVE FUN!


Now then, Now then, boys and girls, ladles and Jellyspoons (to be read in your best Jimmy Saville accent)
It’s that time of year again, when we celebrate the birth of Santa and all his little reindeers, Dancer and Prancer, Donner and Blitzen,….er…Rudloph and…er , well if you want to know the names of the others, go and read your Bible!!
Yes, it’s the season where beauty really is in the eye of Noddy Holder
IIITTTTSSSS CHRISSSSTMAAASSSSS!!!!!.
As we gird our loins to deck the halls, and especially in Bob Longs case, dream of a White Christmas, I thought it might be a bit of festive fun if we all submitted our all time top ten favourite singles to see if we can come up with a HMR Playlist.
If everybody submits their top ten to me by end of play on the 9th December I will download them and put them in a format of your choosing either MP3, WMA or on a C.D. for the luddites(Matt) Mr Cannon you may need to submit your list a little earlier as I will probably need to search for the sheet music!!
The only caveats are that the songs must have appeared in the singles charts in either this country or the U.S. of A.

Happy choosing nosepickers!!

Gerry”


Now this has proved far funnier than I had expected as my boss included Gary Glitter in his top 10!

Obviously, I wanted to make sure that I make my choices wisely. I plumed for the 'personal' approach- dare I say it a Soundtrack to my life (the most over used phrase ever thanks to Jo Whiley) so here she goes:

‘God only knows’ – The Beach Boys…The best song ever! Yeah!

‘Everything’s Ruined’- Faith No More…first gig aged 15 and my first pair of sideburns.

‘Cut Your Hair’ – Pavement…ahhh, the sweet summer of 94’-failing my A Levels and not giving a toss.

‘Dinosaur Act’ – Low…bedsit depression, hating my crappy- office- dog’s body job, my finacial situation and wishing the band would take me away from it all- thank God those days are over… wait a minute…d’oh!L

‘Spanish Dance Troupe’ – Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci…. Working on a building site full of the joys of life in the summer of 99’,cultivating my first beard, which I promptly burned off during a moment of carelessness involving diesel and a lit match.

‘Into my arms’ – Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds…. student halls depression living on cheese toasties and out of date seabrook ready salted crisps.

‘On a Rope’- Rocket from the Crypt…. Apparently if you had a Rocket from the Crypt logo tattoo you could get into any of their gigs across the world for free! A mate and I seriously contemplated getting one- however cowardice saved me!

‘My Baby Just Cares for me’ – Nina Simone…I used to wish I was a plastiscene cat too-I also very nearly crashed my car playing an imaginary piano whilst listening to this out in the Yorkshire Dales one more than one occasion.

‘Freak Scene’ – Dinosaur Jr …a song for parties and all occasions- well most occasions being a variety of salubrious dens of inequity in student land with spotty long hair kids sporting beanie hats and Doc Martin Boots.

‘Run to the Hills’ – Iron Maiden – I owe my Adonis type upper body physique and the various beer stains on the carpets of many a house to playing ‘air drums’ to this song’s chorus.


Please note: The two tracks missed off tres narrowly were The Proclaimers '10,000 miles' and 'The Freed Pig' by Sebadoh, the latter I'm sure was never actually released as a single.

Whilst doing this list at work we discovered that everyone has a ‘guilty pleasure’ song- a poor song, but you can’t help but love it anyway. Eg John peel loved Sheena Easton’s ‘9 to 5’ I think sometime in the new year I shall set a poll of the guilty pleasure songs

I shall of course be doing the obligatory Blog top ten albums/singles/films etc of the year a bit later in the month and of course Jimmy Carr will be presenting it.

One a different note; I once again proved myself to be of worth with yet another excellent home made chicken soup last night. Its the third one I've made in the last four weeks and they have steadily improved. Domestic bliss is once again aided by my culinary expertise.

HA HA! I'm the magician and he's the assistant!

It's funny really, that the last weekend was most enjoyable and yet I was in no particular rush to write down and share with the world my thoughts on it. Yet today, the red mist came back and I was once again stuck in Call Centre hell and I foind myself at the beginning of yet another Matt vs World style rant. From my post on the 15th November last- you could tell that I was impressed that someone at the Halifax had managed to resolve my “little problem”. I neglected to mention there, that I had also paid my late Credit Card bill and set up a standing order. Alas, despite apologising to me and making me feel so soothed that it almost felt as if K.T. Turnstall had popped around to the flat to sing a couple of her bittersweet ballads whilst enjoying those oaty choc biscuits I discovered last week (don’t ask- a long story- “find a happy song”), she had failed to process this payment. Aggg.

So I suffered the humiliation of the Credit Card Company calling me at work to say that I was in arrears, taking a sardonic and smarmy tone that I resented with immediate effect. Of course I protested my innocence and explained that the funds should have arrived and upon calling my bank to rectify this, I was told that no such payment had been made- I was apologised to in a nice way-but it wasn’t the same.

Anyway, I had to call the credit card company back to pay, only to be put through to Capital One new Deli Branch where upon I was told that I couldn’t pay as I didn’t have my Capital One card to hand “But I’m returning your call! Damn it!” I did, I’m afraid to say, lose my rag with the poor chap who was unlucky enough to answer my call.

Anyway, the weekend was cool and Mr. Scruff was much more enjoyable than I thought. Granted I would have rather gone to see Wolf Parade with Dead meadow in Manchester on the Saturday instead, however a severe lack of funds prevented this.

Sadly though, (well I don’t think it’s sad) but my soon-to-be-axed favourite TV show; Arrested Development returned after a week’s absence on Sunday night with a double helping to provide the weekend’s highlight. I hadn’t genuinely laughed out loud with such verousity for an age. The mere memory of Tobias rendering himself unconscious whilst attempting a Mary Poppins umbrella parachute manoeuvre/Gob’s (pronounced Jobe much to my embarrassment when I spotted the correct spelling in a TV guide and excitedly told Lisa I had spotted a typo) offensive-Jive talking puppet is still making me chuckle as I write this.

Even now it has soothed my woes.

He he.


“Suddenly I see…”

we love Norway too!

Long time no see.

A whole God damned week since this ramshackle and ill kempt Blog was updated, but what a week it was:

I’ll start with last Thursday night, where Lisa and I popped along to see The Chalets at the Barfly here in Liverpool. It was a particularly odd occasion as neither of us had heard anything by them and would normally have no interest of watching, however Lisa received a mysterious voicemail message on the Tuesday, informing here that she had won tickets to go and see them courtesy of the Liverpool Echo. Woot! Alas Lisa had not entered this competition. Upon investigation it was discovered that it was some mistake however the prize still was there should she want it.

Being the miserable git that I am I had little to no interest in attending this, especially after looking up the details of the show via the internet and learning that there was two local support band also. Despite claims that I love undiscovered music and having being put in the position of a generic local support band on many, many occasions, I have, in all honesty; seen way too many. Especially when I read upon one of the two band’s -We See Foxes’s website http://www.weseefoxes.com/ that they’re influenced by The Doors and the Verve. This is usually a clear indication that I won’t like them, as you seriously wouldn’t believe how many bands of poor caliber also claim these bands to be influences. Anyhow, to cut this tediously long winded reportage down; we went, much to my discontent.

When we arrived my headache from that night’s rehearsal was still thumping and the rather large black cloud which had loomed over my head for most of the evening, was very much still there. I was ‘effing freezing too. After getting a drink the second of the two support bands took the stage; Mustard Club, and within a few sweet minutes my mood had drastically improved and I my face muscles hurt as I couldn’t prevent myself from smiling like a goon. At that specific time and at that exact place it was exactly what I needed and their sweet harmonies washed over me like a cool shower on a hot day. I tried to evaluate what exactly it was that appealed to me, as on the surface they wouldn’t look or even sound like someone I would enjoy. They looked a little daft, the bass player resembled Mick Ronson, the drummer had the worst paisley shirt ever and had a Madonna-like headpiece/microphone, the lyrics weren’t great and the singer kinda’ resembled Ian Curtis. They also tried to get the lack luster crowd to clap as if they were playing Wembley, and they did a cover of ‘Go Your Own Way’ by Fleetwood Mac, played with zero irony. But it was really good. The melodies were great, the songs were good, the singer’s vocals were really beautiful and they all looked like they were having the time of their life. Imagine a Teengae Fanclub type vibe whereupon you can’t help yourself swaying from side to side with a sloppy grin. http://www.mustardclub.com/
I have since checked out their qwebsite only to unsure of my mental state at the time-but I shall endeavour to keep my ear to the ground as when they did play the aforementioned Lyndsey Buckingham song, I genuinely had a lump in my throat (“you can go your own way-e-ay”). Chuffin’ marvelous!!!!! (Spod note: there is also a punk version of the song played on ‘Clerks’ which I shall now spend the rest of the day trying to find via the internet) Anyway, the Chalets were okay, a little too cutesy-poo for me, somewhere between Bucks Fizz and the B52s and plus that had to follow Mustard Club! Highlight of their set was an member of the crowd shouting “I love Norway” and one of the two vocalists replying with such sincerity with her lovely Southern Irish accent “ahhhh, we love Norway too!”. We then went home satisfied and watched the disappointing first episode of the new Russ Abbott, sorry the Little Britain series. A much better review can be found (with pics) here http://www.p3dro.co.uk/

Friday, not a great deal of excitement except 8pm Channel 4 “Ray the next time someone asks you if you’re a God you say YES!” …yes bleedin’ Ghostbusters was on! Yeah!


Saturday, I continue the posting of Council letters I started on Friday night (see above photo I took with my phone-who'd of thought Bootle on a Fri night would look so serene? ) and managed to get them done in time to get home, get showered and charged, suited and booted to frequent Jocasta’s gaff for her 30th. Yes sir, I wore my best suit and only shoes having since recovered them from the clutches of Arnold Clarke. T’was a grand night though. A quick drink and present exchange and we shot off to The Monro http://www.themonro.com/
in town for our evening of seclusion and posh fodder. There was I think , about eighteen of us and I’d say that pretty much everyone there left there satisfied with their quail/pheasant/steak/tuna/ etc. Worth noting though if you have the fear of mayo as I do, don’t go for the quail starter ( I had to ask for a separate plate to fish off the meat which wasn’t touching the dressing-what a coward). Everyone, or nearly everyone was dressed to impress. Steve wore a suite and a tie! A shiny white tie that drew everyone’s eye away from his un-ironed shirt. Anyway, a rather splendid night was had by all, after the Tea Factory and the customary drink back at someone’s gaff it was home and bed for about 3am.

Sunday was bloody cold and I watched TV all day nearly lost the tip of one of my fingers trying to clean a CD- long a silly story I shan’t bother you with.

Monday- crappola! Work-dull Rehearsal –okay.

Tues- Drive to Leeds to play in front of 500 people (or maybe more) at the Leeds University supporting the rather excellent and thoroughly nice guys Elbow. It was proper good. The nicest crew ever, great crowd, played well, and Elbow rocked the joint,. Ahhhh all that hard work finally paid off for us. Met Mr. Vollar (and his mum who was going to see Elbow anyway) too which is always a joy (please check his band’s- the excellent The Lanterns site: http://www.myspace.com/lanterns I snuck him backstage so we could watch the gig from a bird’s eye prime position. In my opinion all gigs should be viewed like this!

Wed- After getting to bed at 2.30am I wasn’t exactly full of the joys of Spring. Eventually tore myself away from the bed and drove the van back , then off to work. I was over an hour late and I left a 3pm too as I felt like death. It was also Jk and JK’s birthday (Kane and Jelly) and Lisa, rather foolishly entrusted me to acquire their card as she had chosen their presents. Put it this way, I don’t think she will again. Mistakenly thinking they would find it funny now, I got two similar cards, both with picture of snarling dogs on the front and similar quotes on each both making reference to the dogs biting someone. Unfortunately, Jk and JK had a dog recently- a staff terrier they saved from the RSPCA who after nursing it back to health over several month devoured another dog whilst they took it for its first trip to the park –whilst they had it on its lead!. They no longer have this pooch. So the cards were in poor taste and despite Lisa trying to disclaim it saying I’m just stoopid (which of course I must be) they tried very hard to see the funny side- but inevitably they didn’t and their looks was a mix of embarrassment and upset. Yes, I am an insensitive jerk.
Today- well life couldn’t be better. The office resemble s the Marie Celeste and I have time to write this. Tomorrow Mr. Scruff and the continuing CPO debacle at work!

On Echo Beach….

Being someone who takes particular umbrage with people whom are short or snappy with me for no reason, my mood today is nose-diving drastically.

This is a real shame especially if you consider that I arrived at the office in a fine mood., mostly due the improv comedy routine provided by the Mersey Rail conductor over the tannoy system on route to work this morning. Yet now I sit once again, stooped over this damned computer with a sharp pain in my head caused directly from the frequent rolling of my eyes.

It does appear that amongst all the other lowly and menial jobs I reluctantly do, I am now, much to my displeasure; the photocopier Tsar. Despite nearly everyone in the office having a Masters or at the very least a degree of some sort, no one can understand how it works, and the moment anything puzzles them with it I am summoned forthwith.

Anyway, the mere thought of describing yet another crappy day is making me feel worse.

I didn’t always used to be like this you know.