Thursday 24 December 2009

Xmas Intermission


I'm going to go away for Christmas and probably won't be updating this blog over this period.

Now, I know my Three readers will be very disappointed not to be getting their regular weekday updates as normal.

However, fear not- normal service will resume on Jan 4th (if not before) and you can rest assured I will be using the festive period to position myself in ever more hilarious and kinda nutty situations to recount as magnificent anecdotes in the new year.

I'm sure you all can't wait.

Take care, y'all!

Wednesday 23 December 2009

You Can't Say That You Cunt!


Yesterday's post has caused some controversy it seems. I was literally bombarded with tut tuts and sucking of breath through teeth by those who saw it.

Apparently, child abuse IS still a taboo subject for comedy. Who'd have thought it?

Obviously, part of the comedy value of such things (if any at all) is that it is controversial and it feels a little naughty laughing at it. But people can be very hypocritical with their misplaced sense of what is acceptable 'fair game' and what is not.

A great example for me was something that happened at an unusual pub quiz I was at in Brixton last Sunday. There was a creative round where the teams had to each create a 'bad taste' Christmas Card.

One team sent one which said "Happy Christmas Mummy, I miss you! Love Madeleine ".

Another team made one that had a pop-up fist that came at you when you opened the card, reading "Have a Smashing Christmas Baby P, from Mum & Dad".

(Ours merely had Santa wanking on it, as an aside).

No-one in the pub was really offended - they were a young & liberal hip crowd, after all. The compere however deemed the Madeleine one worthy of finishing in the Top 3, but deemed the Baby P one as 'too bad taste' as it was still fresh. What a pile of old cock, frankly.

Both instances are terrible tragedies and it may be worth judging an audience before making a joke about either, but does the different passing of time between the two events make them less tragic? Does this mean we can free up more hoots about the holocaust than we can the Srebrenica massacre?

No, of course not.

A fair point is that victims of child abuse are never likely to be rolling in the aisles when they hear a joke about paedophilia. But neither would a joke on any subject be appealing to someone who has harrowing associations with it. You will struggle to find an Auschwitz survivor who enjoyed Freddie Starr's Nazi routine. Mind you, you would also struggle to find anyone who enjoyed it.

But does this mean everyone should tip-toe around all subjects for fear of upsetting someone? Perhaps to some degree. It certainly wouldn't be good form to suggest a game of Hide and Seek at the McCann Christmas party.

So judging your audience is important to some degree. Yet as long as you don't go out of your way to find a Woman's shelter to tell jokes about beating your wife up, I think comedy should be free to touch on any area, as long as it's done for the right reasons.

As such there is something to be said for awakening of the mainstream to why some things are taboo and not acceptable. 30 years ago, you couldn't really say a rude word on TV but you could have racist sit-coms like "My Neighbour is a Darkie" or whatever it was called. Nowadays, fire away with your fucks and cunts but racism is acceptable only as a cringing parody of how ridiculous racists really are. Which is as it should be.

But it seems the propensity of current society to be offended and wound-up over anything and everything is never-ending. The way media hypes up the paedophilia epidemic (so wonderfully parodied by Brass Eye) you would think that Gary Glitter, glam-cock in hand, was hanging around outside every school gate.

This is why jokes about paedophilia offend so many - not because they have necessarily been affected by it, but because many perceive it is everywhere and we shouldn't joke about something so pervasive.

But it's not everywhere. So people who think it is are GAY!

Tuesday 22 December 2009

The Origin of Party Political Names: Part 1 - Sinn Féin


I ought to mention I am not trying to make a political statement on the situation in Ireland.

I'm just making a play on words with what could be construed as a slight referencing to recent child abuse revelations.

(Which is a lot worse but less likely to see me murdered).

Monday 21 December 2009

Take The Power Back

My good woman & I had a high-five moment last night when we heard the announcement on the Radio 1 Chart Show that Rage Against The Machine had made the Christmas No.1 spot.

We thought it was great.
Yes, I know that RATM are signed to Sony, as are Simon Cowell's acts.
Yes, I know that Cowell will be a winner anyway with the extra column inches in the media and subsequent extra sales.
Yes, I appreciate that the sheep that go out and buy X Factor saccharine shite are probably no worse than the sheep who downloaded Killing in the Name just to protest.

But it's still brilliant that Rage Against The Machine are Christmas No.1, isn't it?

I noticed from the front cover of The Sun this morning that they had typically taken an 'on the fence' stance on the RATM v. X Factor debate.
Look at the sneer on Zack de la Rocha's face there. He's clearly an evil piece of shit and deserves those photoshopped devil horns (if they are not in fact real). Why, he's mocking our very way of life, isn't he? Plus he's clearly not from round here, with a name like that. Yes, RATM are clearly Satan's reconnaissance corps, and we should be wary that this devil-music is corrupting our youth and poor angelic Joe McElderry has been treated absolutely appallingly in all this.

Shame The Sun didn't find this lovely, smiley, sweet pic of Zack to use instead.

Or this one of X Factor's Joe 'ASBO' McElderry- Hoody up and looking moody, ready to rape your grandmother.

Friday 18 December 2009

Tartaglia Arrabiattered


I know it's a few days ago now, but I just can't stop laughing at the footage of Berlusconi being smashed in the gob with a model of Milan cathedral.

It's the first time I've ever smiled at seeing a 73 year old being physically assaulted, I must get across.

The man is in the opinion of most people that I know a total shit of a human being.

But nonetheless he is still a 73 year old man. So here is me, laughing my head off at the sight of a clearly dazed and bewildered 73 year old man with blood streaming down his broken nosed, alabaster-smashed face.

It just doesn't seem right does it? So I set out to find out more about the man before allowing myself a further laugh at a pensioner falling to the ground.

I'll be honest and slightly ashamed to say, despite being an old student of politics and always trying to keep abreast of current affairs, I've never really known that much about Berlusconi and his politics.

I know he's a hated figure, but other than his oft-recounted dalliances with young ladies, his media empire and the fact that he's obviously unpopular with the left for his centre-right political ideology - I've never known much more.

I had known there were certain corruption allegations against him... but on reading his Wikipedia entry, I was startled by the 'legal problems' section listing the trials and allegations he's faced, including close association with the mafia, police bribery, tax evasion and fraud amongst others. All of which were eventually dropped "because of laws passed by Berlusconi's parliamentary majority shortening the time limit for prosecution of various offences and making false accounting illegal only if there is a specific damaged party reporting the fact to the authorities".

His conflicts of interest in many areas and supposed 90% control over all Italian media also don't paint the guy in a good light. Couple that with some of his racist and sexist outbursts* and I can certainly now understand why he is indeed such a divisive figure.

All of this though is really just me trying to justify why I'm still laughing at watching a confused 73 year old sat in a car wondering where his teeth went.

HA HA, you fucking old twat!



*for some reason I'd find these funny if it were Prince Phillip saying them though.

Thursday 17 December 2009

Road Death Map STATS


Saw this today on the BBC Website - the UK Road Death Map.

A number of things.

Firstly - I was pleased to see only 2,538 road deaths in 2008. That's a pretty good percentage of the total population - not even 0.0043% of our resident 60m.

I'm no mathematician, but by my reckoning that equates to a 1 in 14 Billion* chance of dying in a car crash in the UK.

That's pretty good odds. There aren't even half that many people in the world.

So statistically speaking, in order to die in a car accident, I would have to wait for every single person of the current 6 Billion in the world to die in a car crash first. Then I could wait for the world to re-populate again to the same levels and the further 6 Billion to also all die in a car crash. Even then, I'd still be able to wait for the world to re-populate yet again to nearly 2 Billion, wait for them to all die in a car crash and only then would it (As I say, statistically speaking) be my turn to die in a car crash.

I also noticed a further stat that said in the Metropolitan area of London that I live in, 203 of the 2,538 deaths in 2008 occurred here. Based on the fact that 5.5 million people live in London, plus a further 2.5 million commute to work here every day(source), this means I have 203 chances in 8 Million of dying in London. Using the same cod-maths as before that's a 0.0026% chance so my odds are getting better still - That's a 1 in 23 Billion chance!

This all means my chances of actually dying in a car crash are pretty minimal. That makes it a pretty happy statistic. I will probably now lessen the attention I pay at pedestrian crossings and no longer bother with my seat belt.

HOWEVER - I then noticed that of those 203 London deaths - 143 were males - That's 71%! Which meant I had to reduce my odds accordingly - I can't tell you how I did this as I don't know myself, but the end result is that I am now a 100% certainly to die on the streets of London under a bus within the next 2months.

What a shitter!!!

*How did I work this out? Well - 0.0043% x 233 = 1%. So if we do 60m x 233 = 13,980m. Does that work? I don't know, as I said I'm no mathematician but I like the sound of it so let's pretend it does as it makes the post more interesting.

Wednesday 16 December 2009

..To Be Continued

Damn it, missed an entry.

Not a good start after only a week. Worried now this blog will disappear into the Internet ether (is that what an Ethernet is?), never to be heard from again, or to stand alone like a tumbleweed-strewn ghost town - never again a flicker to emerge from within.

I am busy though, you know. I don't get paid for this, you know. Only three people are reading this, you know.

So I won't panic just yet. I am disappointed in myself though - but seems I was setting too high a target to update every week day. Maybe I should aim lower. This has otherwise always been my standpoint since the time I pissed on that guy's epaulets in the urinal.

As it was, spent most of yesterday travelling to visit a customer so didn't have chance to reach an Internet communications device and tell you all (Three of you) about the exciting trip to Andover.

I've also been rather busy of late moving my Fiancée's hoarded junk into my flat (or 'our' flat, as I should now be calling it). Not only does she want me to marry her, now I have to live with her as well - for crying out loud, where will it end? She'll be wanting to sleep in the same bedroom before too long!

Monday 14 December 2009

Roads? Where we're going, we don't need roads...

Today was the first day of the High Speed 1 service ex-St Pancras.

After a leisurely 25min stroll through Bloomsbury, I arrived at St Pancras to be greeted by throngs of press, police and sniffer dogs. Good lord, it's only a bloody train I thought.

But no, I was wrong.

After purchasing my ticket I sauntered over to the gaggle of press and picked up what was obviously promotional material for the new service.

Before I'd even managed to open up the glossy cover I was descended upon by a zealous spinster (I'm assuming this status for her based on her manner - can't imagine anything other than a gaggle of mangy cats would wish to reside in the same house as this lady).

Spinster "Can I help you?"
FMO "No that's fine, was just going to take this to have a read."
Spinster "Sorry, are you just a normal member of the public?"
FMO "I beg your pardon Madam?!"
Spinster "I said are you just a normal member of the public? If so you can't have this."
With which she snatched it out of my hands! What a dreadful sort! I rised above this sour treatment of course, walking off with my dignity fully intact by only shouting out "You fucking bitch!!" from a good distance.

As I boarded the train though, I soon realised why she didn't want me to see this information - it clearly must have been top secret specifications for this super-machine, not meant for public consumption - for the details could quite literally blow the average person's mind. She of course had no idea I was not an average person, so I will not pursue a vendetta on this occasion.

This, ladies and gentlemen - was the fastest train on earth. Reaching top speeds of 299,792,459 metres per second, this train actually bent around time.

It happened somewhere in North Kent just after the stop at Ebbsfleet International - the adjacent picture shows clearly the portal of space and time itself opening up in front of the behemoth I was travelling in.

Ladies and gentlemen - this morning I travelled through time.

You would think this would have been a cause for excitement for everyone I met today, but my boss simply wanted to know why I was 45 minutes late.

I tried to explain that my escapades on the time-train meant that for me it was still 8.30, not 9.15 - but I'll be honest I don't think he believed me.

I'll have to stay late tonight now. Time travel isn't as glamorous as you might think.

Friday 11 December 2009

Train, Train, Go Away...

...come again a FASTER way.

Last day today of 10½ months of the sheer hell that has been a 3hr+ daily commute to work.

No, I'm not moving jobs sadly, as I will still have to travel to Feral Ashford in Kent (Yes, I do live in central London, yet work in deepest, darkest Kent. Don't ask me why).

From Monday though, the new High Speed 1 starts a a full domestic service between St Pancras & Feral Ashford down the Eurostar tracks.

This means no longer a turgid, arse-numbing, soul-destroying 90min train journey that trundles through the quaintly-named Kent countryside. No more High Brooms, no more Pluckley, no more Westenhanger. No more fucking noisy bastard schoolkids getting on at Sevenoaks, leaving shredded Metros and banana-skins strewn in their hormonal, ready-brek fuelled wake when they alight at Headcorn.

No more eccentric, slightly disturbing old fella who wheels the snacks trolley up and down the carriages in the afternoon. A man who refers to his trolley as "my little metal friend" and enters each carriage, every day, with a blustering "Hi honeys, I'm home!" (It sounds cute, but after hearing it 5 times a week for 10 months, it loses most of it's* charm and just becomes grating).

No, none of this for Fantastic Mr Ox any longer. I will instead from Monday have but a 40min journey on a Hitachi pyow-pyow bullet train touching speeds of 500mph (or around that figure). I will be stopping only twice on the way, rather than 10 stops. I will surely be surrounded purely by be-suited international businessmen, rather than snotty, skid-mark panted kids.

The 20min walk to St Pancras will mean it's still 2hrs of communting a day, but that's pretty standard for most who live and work in London so I can't complain too much at that.

I can't describe how much of a change it's going to be to my quality of life, getting an extra 45min in bed in the morning and being home by 6.15 rather than 7pm of an eve.


[Charing Cross at 6.55am this morning. Never again.]

I'll still have to spend most of the day in Feral Ashford of course. Brrrr.





*Yes, I know.

Thursday 10 December 2009

Where's my F*^$ing Pay Rise?

Had a chat with my boss yesterday about my performance this year, my 'personal review'.

These annual reviews are such a load of old cock though, aren't they? Most people (me included) are only really interested in the review to know what pay rise or bonus they might be getting, yet you have to go through the rigmarole of going through a checklist along these lines:

"How would you rate your performance this year in terms of communication on a scale of 1-4, 1 being excellence, 4 being poor?"

I mean really. I couldn't communicate enough how fucking annoying this form of 'review' was to me. So I put '4' down.

"How would you rate your performance this year in terms of coaching and training of staff around you?"

Well I don't actually have anyone to coach or train, it's a 3 man office. So I put '1' on the basis I'd achieved all that was put in front of me in this regard. In his counter, my manager put '4'. I took great exception to this!

FMO "How can you put 4? How can you rate my coaching & training as poor when you haven't had chance to see it put into action? That now looks as though I tried to train someone and ended up trying to molest them or something. Strike that from the record please!"

Manager "Well I've already put it down now and submitted to head office - So I've just put a note next to it to say you never did any training."

FMO "But that might look like I refused to or wasn't trusted with doing any training! You need to make that clear."

Manager "Oh don't worry, all of this conversation will be in my report."

Hmmm.

"How would you rate your performance this year in terms of team work & personal interaction with your colleagues on a scale of 1-4, 1 being excellence, 4 being poor?"

My Manager didn't tick a number for this one. He just wrote something down he wouldn't show me. Not a very good example of team work and personal interaction on his part, I noted to him.

He didn't have a response to that, but instead just wrote something else. Probably a recommendation to improve the review process next year, I'd imagine.

Wednesday 9 December 2009

On the Blog

Yesterday, Mjohnson gave me some more advice on blogging.

The man is a blogging guru and it will pay to heed his (albeit contradictory) advice.

He gave me a choice of Four styles I should go for in honing my blog-foetus:

1.Popularity.
Mjohnson writes: "go for a niche, one idea/joke blog. You can do it on a subject you're interested in such as Oxford F.C. you boring sod. This means you can quickly get a readership, but it constrains what you can write about and in the case of a joke, it will eventually wear thin."

FMO Retorts: Hmm, yes good idea. I am concerned with your caveat that it will indeed limit what I can write. Plus, the only things I know well enough to write about regularly are the Third Reich and Oxford United; one of which is a depressing, ghastly subject that will offend some readers' sensibilities and the other of which is the Third Reich. (Ho Ho Ho, I bet you didn't see that one coming!).

Having a separate blog for OUFC means I can free my options all round whilst not putting off people like Mjohnson who don't want to read about shit football.

2. Diary.
Mjohnson writes: "You can write down your innermost thoughts for the Internet to review. These people are losers. I use my own life only for inspiration and I'm quite happy to lie if it makes the story more interesting ."

FMO Retorts: Well I'm no loser. No sir-ee. No losers here!
That said, I did initially start this with the intent of it being an open journal of thoughts. Yet I wasn't going to make it about inner-most thoughts as this might get me into trouble with the Austrian authorities should I ever want to visit.
Like the idea of using own life as inspiration for ramblings - kind of like a Michael McIntyre/Peter Kay style observational. Can't wait for the post about Garlic Bread, Mjohnson!


3. Art Form.
Mjohnson writes: "hardly ever post, write and then re-write every post until it is perfect. There are many well written, well thought out posts that are brilliant. You'll need to decide if you really care."

FMO Retorts: Nah.

So, my conclusions were to:
a.) Start a separate blog about Oxford United.
b.) Use events in my life as a starting point for random musings. Try not to make it anything like a Peter Kay routine.
c.) Not worry about it being perfect and well writtan.
d.) Probably ignore Mjohnson's advice completely and do none of the above.

Let this be an end to Blog-chat.


It will start to get interesting now, I promise.

Tuesday 8 December 2009

Waiting for Blogot


It's all very exciting and new at the moment, this blogging business. It always seemed a little beyond me, the art of blogging. Yet three posts down and all of a sudden, I'm a blogger, I blog, I partake in mindless bloggery.

But what do I do with it?

Yesterday I asked experienced blogger Mjohnson for advice on where I should take my blog. His sage counsel was "the best advice I can give you is work out why you are doing it then you will know what style you should go for."

That wasn't very bloody helpful, I thought. I have no idea why I'm doing it and I can't be expected to come up with something on my own, I'm new to this blogging business, you know.

But then I thought again, as I noticed that he'd actually said more a bit later on in the email: "The best advice is to just get going. You'll know after a little while whether you enjoy doing it or not.."

Ahh, very interesting I now thought - So I should just get going, excellent.

But hang on... which is the best advice then, Mjohnson? 'just get going' or 'work out why you are doing it first'?

You've just contradicted your earlier best advice with some new best advice! In the same email! So I thus retracted the re-thought, as actually that was just fucking useless advice. Clearly this particular blogging dinosaur was doing all he could to scupper my blog in it's foetal phase. What a fucker!

But with yet more hindsight I realised I had done Mjohnson a disservice and was perhaps missing the point he was making; namely that anyone can do a blog and it doesn't matter how or why you do it, or how shit it is, or even whether people like it or not. Actually I don't think that was the point he was making. But I liked it anyway.

And lo, I realised that thanks to Mjohnson's words I had found the reason why I was doing it after all!

Then I also realised I'd already decided why I was doing it two days ago. So really this whole escapade, including this post, was a total of a waste of every body's time. I have achieved nothing writing it and you have achieved even less reading it. Sorry about that.

So what is this blog all about then?

Well, Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes...it's awful.

Monday 7 December 2009

Blogger me, my foot hurts.



I wonder how many low-grade puns on the word 'Blog' I can think of over the coming weeks?

Today I thought I would talk about my gout. Now, many people who know what gout is are astounded that a man of my age can have it (and indeed have had it for about 5 years).

"Isn't that just something old men get?" they will cry. Well, no it isn't. It's mainly something you'll be genetically predisposed to and gout can develop at any point in your life. My maternal grandfather suffered with it, as does my father - so I'm basically screwed there then, both sides of the family coming together in a genetic gout-stew.

It has to be the most excruciating pain I've ever been through when I have a particularly bad attack of it.

I'm in the middle of a mild attack at the moment - mild enough that it hasn't stopped me hobbling around for the most part, yet still at times the pain has been intense and I've had no choice but to rest up my foot. It's now about 5 days into the attack and all being well it should be on the way out - they tend to last about a week.

I've had it in both feet, although it seems to normally manifest in the right foot's big toe joint, which means apart from the seriously inflamed moments, I can normally roll on the heel of my foot and scoot around slowly, although obviously it's still very limiting to how much I can do. A couple of times though I've had an attack in the middle of the foot beneath the toes - Christ alive that was awful - and I could put not the slightest bit of pressure on the foot.

The adjacent picture is not my foot (It's this fellow's), but is a fair reflection of what normally happens when I have a mild attack - you can see the inflammation if you compare the feet quite clearly. My right foot is similar to that now.

Last time I had a major attack was about Feb this year, which started in one foot and as that got better 7 days later, I had a further attack in the other foot so was laid up immobile for pretty much two weeks. I managed to get a bulk-load of NSAIDs from the GP at that point, so although i have a twinge every couple of months or so, if I take a few Diclofenacs or Ibuprofens, I can normally avert a full-blown attack. Like an active volcano though, I think there is always a great big bastard of an attack just around the corner, so it plays on my mind quite a lot.

I've had to cancel evenings out, weekends away and all sorts because of gout these past few years - what really, really worries me is I'm getting married next October. If I can't walk on the day it'll be a bit of a downer.

Am worried it's going to be crippling me for the rest of my life to be honest. The pain is bad enough now, but at least after a week it's gone so it's just a matter of 'riding it out' at the moment. I have seen some pictures online of the permanent damage gout can do to the joints however and its actually quite a worry. I was going to post a pic here but you might be eating as you read this. Just go to google images and type gout. Oh my god.

Sadly there is not really a cure - only preventative measures. Which means I need to cut down on alcohol, lose weight and limit certain foods.

Oddly enough, it's the food part which always perplexes me as there seems to be some disagreement on the list of items to avoid within the medical community.

I grew up with a father who swore blind that cheese gave him his gout, and this does appear to be the first thing most people assume is really bad for it. Yet everything I've read since I started my attacks says all dairy, cheese included, is fine for gout.

Foods high in 'purines' have been long-cited as the cause of the uric acid build up.

So this would be the obvious rich foods such as red meats, shellfish, offal - but also includes items you may not expect to see there - like asparagus, cauliflower, mushrooms, spinach & Whole-grain breads/cereals.

So what CAN i eat during an attack? A nice plain cheese sandwich (being careful to make sure it's not whole-grain bread, too)? Options do appear limited, and as such I spent my last attack eating macaroni cheese for 2 weeks and little else.

Yet I read something else this week that suggested more recent study found no direct link between some purine-rich foods and the production of uric acid in the body.

Also, some foodstuffs seem to cause a reaction in certain people but not in others, with no real medical basis for this. I'm certain that turkey, tomatoes & citrus fruits bring it on with me, and a friend's father at the weekend said red peppers were the worst thing for him.

One thing I do know is cherries help lessen the inflammation for me. I was told this by someone a few years back and it does seem to work. It may be psychosomatic to some degree but if it gives me comfort that I may be helping lesson the inflammation I'm all for it.

When the gouty foot is fully inflamed (and my right foot has actually looked like an opaque, oblong pink balloon before), dropping a bed sheet on the foot feels like someone has dropped a lead weight on it.

Sometimes during an attack, the pain comes from nowhere as well. I was stood in the queue at Sainsbury's yesterday with my purine-free foodstuffs, having hobbled there reasonably easy enough. Then all of a sudden a shooting, pulsating pain went running up and down my gouty foot that i couldn't get away from even though i was putting no pressure on the joint. I nearly dropped a block of cheese on my foot. That would have hurt.

All in all, it's a real fecking pain and I think sometimes non-sufferers may not realise quite how much it can affect a gout sufferer's life. It's often treated as a bit of a joke as some may think it's just like a sprained ankle or something - but truth is there are times when the pain is so excruciating that if someone offered to cut off your foot you'd take it.

As it is, I still have both my feet as no-one has actually offered yet. If you do happen to be passing my flat with a hacksaw in the future though and hear the wails of a gout-riddled urchin from above, do feel free to pop up.

Over & Gout.

Sunday 6 December 2009

No Good (Re-start the Blog)

Well, it's a bit rich to stake a claim to a be re-starting a blog that to date only has a single, one sentence entry which itself was almost 4 years ago - but that's what I'm doing.

Doing this on a whim really, but sub-consciously it may be due to having spent some of the afternoon flicking through some old diaries from 1999-2000, which i came across as i was clearing the flat out a bit.

All a bit cringey really.

I remember being around 22 (my age at the time of these diaries) and looking back at my 1997 diary and being absolutely appalled at my 18 year old self. There was a splattering of mildly racist comments (posing with a thinly-covered veil as patriotism), preoccupation with the self and misogynistic comments about a girl who worked for my parents at the time i quite fancied. My 22 year-old self guffawed in shame and snorted the McDonald's I was probably eating through my nose as I read how the 18 year old me wondered if this attractive, articulate 25 year old would be interested in having sex with me? As it turns out, i can reveal with hindsight she wasn't. I don't think she really missed out on anything at the time.

So, how strange it was today as a 31 year-old to be reading the 22 year old me and my turgid commentary on the world around me (mostly very closely around me, as well - not much talk of politics or current affairs in these babies - it's hardly worthy of a time capsule entry) and to be similarly appalled at the same self me. The only thing different today is that the 31 year-old me snorted red pepper humus through my nose in disgust this time round.

The 22 year-old me that i stumbled upon was in an angsty dilemma over girls, unsurprisingly. I even noted I'd put something along the lines of "oh my god my life is so shit, i really cant live without X*, but on a plus note, Y** texted me today and may be interested, and Z*** is coming round for sex on Friday, that'll be good." It wasn't exactly that, but it was pretty bloody close.

So reading those moribund, self-obsessed entries may have been the spark for this bloggery, but I have been meaning to re-start a diary for a while anyway - if only so the 43 year-old me can snort organic lima-bean salad from his nostrils as he reads back at how pathetic my 31 year-old self was.

Hopefully I'll keep this one up. Not really bothered if people end up reading it or not, I'm doing this very much for my own benefit. Although saying that it would probably be quite interesting to hear people's opinions on my ramblings so hello if anyone is out there, feel free to comment. But really, it's just easier to keep it all stored up here online and it feels that bit more exciting - so hopefully i will keep it up.

Just have to find something to talk about.

Ummm, X Factor is on at the moment - Lady Gaga has just said she is a "Free Bitch, Baby". Fair enough my dear.

I'll try and find something more interesting to talk about next time.


*that wasn't actually her name.
**neither was that.
***that was her name actually. Old Z was a right old sort.