eyepatch, youpatch

super lex's photos More of super lex's photos


A Cut Out & Keep Guide to Making your Own BBC 6Music Radio Station.

Hello! Have you ever thought about making your own digital radio station? Well now you can with this charming and useful guide to broadcasting in the 21st century.

1. Hiring the DJ talent.

Can't think of anybody to host your radio programmes? No worries mate! All you need to do is think of some average (shit) bands from the nineties (Kenickie, Catatonia, Fun Lovin' Criminals, Montrose Avenue), contact the lead singers, and BINGO! you have yourself a knowledgeable and experienced line-up of readymade DJs! Simples! (Nb. I definitely do not include Jarvis Cocker and Pulp in this because I really think he/they are great. Also I really like Mark Radcliffe).

2. Creating your own 6Music style trail/advert.

6Music trails are important because they let people know what sort of stuff the station plays, even though they only get played on 6Music and therefore to hear to them you must ALREADY BE LISTENING TO 6MUSIC.

Nevertheless, without them your audience (which already exists and has a pretty good idea of why they are listening anyway), will likely start to wander across the air waves as they forget entirely what and why it is that they tuned into your station in the first place. Who knows, they might even switch off all together! This is because you think they are total morons that would happily listen to Jack Johnson unless you point out that Savages or whoever exist. To this end, it appears to be crucial that you the station, constantly remind them of your merits.

Start by getting the DJ (you/your mum) that you want to remind people about, to say a list of three things that they might play on their radio show. These can be anything as long as you remember to make them as diverse as possible, eg. 'I'll play "everything" from Public Enemy to Incredible String Band, right through to Joy Division.' Always try to start the list of three with Public Enemy, this will make you seem not racist, into politics, and excitingly anti-establishment because most Public Enemy songs are exciting and anti-establishment.

While all of this is going on, try to emphasise that you are taking the listener on a 'musical journey'. It doesn't matter that nobody will really understand what this means, or that despite your claims, you will mostly play Carter USM and The Wonder Stuff (give it up Steve Lamacq. It doesn't matter how much you play it, there will NEVER be a Grebo revival).

Upon hearing this the listener will think, or even audibly exclaim, 'WOW! I'D ALMOST FORGOTTEN ABOUT THOSE THREE VERY DIFFERENT THINGS (but not really as I listen to BBC 6Music all the time and also have my own mind that can summon up this type of information whenever I want, also I have an iPOD) AND I COULD NEVER HAVE POSSIBLY IMAGINED HOW THEY MIGHT SOUND WHEN PLAYED QUITE CLOSE TO EACH OTHER! (again, not really)'.

When the trail is finished, the DJ (you/your mum) whose show it interrupted must play a song that they feel not only lives up to this brash promise of seemingly unfathomable eclecticism, but also tops it. The most common songs for this purpose seem to be Superstition by Stevie Wonder or a new Hot Chip single.

3. Playlist trouble shooting.

Sometimes, via the diktat of the powers that be (your mum), you will have to compromise your passionate championing of true musical eclecticism in order to play new music by bands or artists that you don't much enjoy. This is not as big a problem as it might appear. In fact, play your cards right and you can turn this to your advantage, it all depends on your response. Here's what you do: If you have to play a boring singer-songwriter, instead of saying 'what a load of whiny, introspective shit that was!', try saying (in a hushed and reverent tone) 'Wow, that was just beautiful'. This will make your listeners think that it is an amazing glimpse into a troubled soul and not boring at all. This will work because you are a DJ, and DJs know loads more about what great music is than the thickos that listen to the radio, especially BBC 6Music DJs, the word music is even makes up nearly the whole name of the station for fuck's sake! A similar tactic will work should you have to play Mumford & Sons or Coldplay (which 6Music actually does). Here all you have to do is play the song but instead of saying anything afterwards, act like it didn't happen. By not saying anything, you are simultaneously nailing your colours to the mast, while ensuring that the mast itself is hidden from view or at the least quite far away. Follow this mysterious noncommittal stance with a song by a punk band or an old rapper. People will hear the two together and start to re-evaluate their opinion of Mumford & Sons based on the musical company they keep. Congratulations! You have successfully validated a load of old shit for mums!

4. Festivals.

In the world of BBC 6music festivals are the cherry on the whole smug cake. What could be better and more culturally important than loads of bands that fit your musical requirements all playing pop concerts over the same three days? NOTHING IS WHAT COULD BE BETTER THAN THIS! Not the passing of a law that lets gay people marry, the Edward Snowden case, the shooting of Trayvon Martin, or the birth of the heir to the throne. Ignore all of those things, they are merely news detritus. The real news is all about what kind of jacket might Mick Jagger wear at Glastonbury, or how big Alt-J's yurt is. Bang on and on and on about the festivals during the build up, the festivals themselves, and then forever after. If you talk about the festivals in the terms of life changing events enough then you will assign them the cultural clout that they so clearly deserve! Every festival will come to be regarded with the same significance as the Isle of White Festival or Woodstock.

Person 1: 'Hey have you ever met anyone who was at Woodstock, arguably the apex of the sixties counter culture movement and a watershed moment for both music and young people?'

Person 2: 'Don't need to mate. I was at Latitude 2009. Saw Newton Faulkner and The xx.'

Person 1: 'Fair play.'

5. Facing down 'the man'.

If you have done everything listed above then you should by now have a working copy of BBC 6Music, good for you! Don't get too smug just yet though (getting too smug comes later). What's this? It's Mark Thompson, director general of the BBC circa 2010, and he's decided that all your hard work is to be flushed down the digital toilet because 'only one in five UK residents were aware the station existed, and that it lacked presenters with credibility as music experts'. What a fuddy duddy square! Grown ups just don't get it, man! What should you do?! Here's what. Remember that loyal and mentally pliable listenership you built up? Well you've done a lot for them, like telling them about festivals and telling reminding them about punk music, anyway now it's time for them to do something for you. Luckily there are few things more powerful than the righteous indignation of white, middle class music nerds with access to social media. After all they are the license payers, and so help them god they will let all and sundry know about it if they are pissed off about something, even if the existence of that thing is unknown to four fifths of the population. Thank god! Your listeners have reached into Mark Thompson's toilet and fished you out! Phew! Now all you need to do is move everything to Manchester and talk about the Stone Roses for the rest of time.





Bored? Why not try this cut out and keep guide to stealing girlfriends?

1. Identify a girlfriend you would like to steal.

2. Wait for her boyfriend to go and top up his phone. While he is away, tell the girlfriend about your massive contract and that you are WAP enabled. Wink.

3. If you see the couple shopping, and he picks up something that's Tesco blue-stripe, immediately pick up the Tesco's Finest equivalent. This will rattle the boyfriend's confidence and, simultaneously, make you look so affluent that she'll probably think that you shit iPads and own a car!

4. Oh hello! What's this in his gym bag? It's the butterfly knife you put there! Frown and shake your head in disappointment on discovery of the knife. Now she'll think her boyfriend is a stabby twat.

5. While you're planting stuff in the boyfriend's bag, how about putting a couple of Dan Brown books in there? That shit is for morons.

6. Ask her how many spunks her boyfriend can do in one day, then tell her you can do double whatever his tally is.

7. Give her a piece of expensive looking jewelery. If she asks where you got it, tell her you stole it from a museum. Crime doesn't necessarily pay, but it can make you look fucking sexy.

8. Congratulations! You've successfully made her boyfriend look like a feckless spendthrift, a knife carrying maniac, barely able to muster anything approaching a respectable amount of ejaculate from his drooping testes. You on the other hand, are now a cum-heavy, croissant chomping fuck-machine, who can talk on the phone for up to 500 minutes without incurring any extra charges. How can she possibly resist? You magnificent bastard.


Fig Newton.



John "The Toad" Torode: Lex, what you are cooking for us today?

Me: Hi John. Today I will be cooking a large onion poached in vodka and served with a brown sauce reduction. I will follow this with a Freddo the frog chocolate bar. Magic!

Gregg "The Egg" Wallace: That's a lot of big flavours Lex. Do you think you think you can pull it off?

Me: For sure, my kids love this shit!

John Torode: (away to camera) It sounds bloody yummo, but he has to be really careful not to open that Freddo too early. I think we could have a potential champion on our hands.


Gregg Wallace: Lex, can you tell us what it is you love about cooking?

Me: Well like I mentioned earlier, I've got three kids under the age of five, two of whom are morbidly obese/jolly. I would love to be able to take them out of nursery and have them run an upmarket bistro with me instead.

(Gregg starts to cry)

Me: Oh Greggy, don't cry!

Eggy Greggy: I'm sorry, I don't normally, it's just that this large onion has blown my fucking mind.

(John Torode looks at Gregg with a disappointed sneer wriggling up his face)

Me: Maybe you should look in the mirror before you judge Gregg, John.

(Torode looks in one of the polished work surfaces. As he gazes down, he realises that his face is covered in Freddo chocolate. He too begins to cry. We all embrace each other. John looks at his watch and then he looks around the Masterchef kitchen, everyone is gone.)

Toady Torodey: Hey, where has everyone gone?

Me: Oh silly John! We've been here for over nine hours!

(At this point they give me the trophy and we all go home.)


The In Sound From Way Out!

2009 was OK, but in terms of music it'll only be remembered as the year directly before 2010! These are the bands to watch over the next twelve months.

Jihad Afterparty: Electro-Spaz fuckholes from who knows where, making the best anal buff you've never heard. Only play in italics.

Quicken The Pace Soldier!: Absolutely THEE most post-rock thing ever. Seven bearded guys in plaid shirts, masturbating into a viola with increasing intensity until the whole thing erupts into a mournful, spunky crescendo. Orchestral Bukkake In The Dark, if you like.

Visceral Spasm: Hardcore, but without all the moping and not having sex. Still well fucking serious though. Best thing to come out of Kent since Dover.

Pi$$ Gibbon: Chlamydia-core. Expect to see them turn up on Eastenders E20 not giving a FUCK! Way too edgy for Skins, or even Hollyoaks Later.

Honeysuckle Cupcake: Twee-er than Stuart Murdoch and Calvin Johnson writing a fanzine about cardigans. But wait! There's a twist! They are MASSIVELY RACIST! Not even in a semi-funny ironic way either, just racist. Probably best to give this one a miss.


Youthmovies Break Up WORLD EXCLUSIVE!

Don't listen to any of the stuff you hear on forums or even from the band themselves, the real reason behind the Youthmovies split is that they are planning to join that big T-Mobile jug band from the adverts. What a bunch of sell outs! Anyway, Mears told me he don't give a shit what you think, and has already written a fuck load of lyrics about pay as you go tariffs that will TOTALLY change the way you think about connectivity. FOREVER.

My favorite Youthmovies memory is when they did a cover of "Stay" by East 17 (this actually happened. I'm not making it up like some of the stuff that slips from my chubby little mouth). I think it was near xmas some years back.

What will I miss most? The haircuts probably.

PS. I was absolutely freezing cold when I drew that picture so that's why it's even shitter than normal.


Part 68; In which I attempt to meld Hadley Freeman subject matter, with Charlie Brooker misanthropic ire, but come across as slightly misogynistic.

I never thought an item of footwear would make me angry, but I think I might contort into a retching fit of rage if I see another hot girl wearing Ugg boots!

I thought Oxford has the most Ugg boots per capita, but it seems Newcastle is the real Ugg hell. In Oxford at least they were restricted to the Summertown ra's, but up here they don't seem to discriminate by social or economic class and I estimate that three in five women are wearing them. It must be reaching saturation point, right?

I don't for a minute consider myself to be some kind of fashion meister (or even remotely fashionable), but the fact that even I know that Ugg boots are at least three years out of date should give you a fair idea of how baffling their popularity is.

They stink too. Not just figuratively, but literally. And they look shit, like slippers given out on an Eskimo mental ward. I would rather look down towards a hot girl's feet and discover a pair of hooves than see those rank, tan shit-clumps. At least if she had hooves I might be able to come up with some barely witty chat up line about riding her and me being a stallion. If she was wearing Ugg boots I'd probably end up saying "I hope you're planning on removing those passe bacteria traps and burning them before I hump you. Would you like a drink?". I'm pretty sure that would ruin my chances but it's a risk I'd be willing to take.


Newcastle Facts.

I moved to Newcastle in July. Here is what I have learnt about it so far:

1) Vegetarianism is illegal in Newcastle. It was outlawed in 1992 by Jimmy Nail who was serving as lord mayor at the time. The law is upheld by forcing people to lick a rasher of streaky bacon as they cross one of the forty bridges that link Newcastle to Scotland.

2) Popular entertainers, Ant & Dec, were given the freedom of Newcastle in 1987. They frequently abuse this honour by daubing Newcastle Town Hall with obscene graffiti. Mostly of their own cocks.

3) Newcastle was built atop of a pile of dreams.

4) The colloquialism "Way aye", is the only recognised phrase in Newcastle for responding to a question in the affirmative.

5) The world's first quilt was manufactured in Newcastle in 2002. It was designed to bring warmth and comfort to the Geordie people during football matches. It has since been destroyed and replaced with a giant snood.

6) Former Newcastle Utd football captain Alan Shearer, owns the largest collection of signed Alan Shearer memorabilia anywhere in the North East.

7) Mirrors are illegal in some parts of Newcastle. To get around this problem, residents in these areas will gather round a communal pond and gaze down at their reflections. These ponds are known locally as "Looking Pools" or "Stare Pits".

8) Newcastle is sponsored by Greggs the Bakers.




Vic Reeves!

I met that Vic Reeves off of the telly today! He did a book signing at HMV in Newcastle. I was a bit apprehensive that he might be a dick, but he was really nice and he even initiated a bit of small talk with me. I was so excited by the time I left the shop that I felt a tiny bit sick.
It certainly went much better than when I met Eddie Izzard a few years back. I was working at HMV in Oxford, and he came to sign something or other. We were allowed to get stuff signed before he went out, I asked him to sign one of his stupid dvds. He asked, "How do you spell "Lex"?". Nobody has ever asked me that before or since, even really stupid people.
I politely replied, "However you like." I think I must have been making an effort not to flummox his precious artistic temperament, and he was all like "WELL DO YOU SPELL IT WITH ONE X OR TWO?!". I don't know why he got so instantly shitty with me but it got my back up, "ONE FUCKING X YOU TWAT! I'M NOT A FUCKING ROBOT OR A COCK SHAPED SPACESHIP!". It certainly soured the experience for me. Luckily I was never that much of a fan in the first place. The fucking tool.


Celebrity Job Exchange

Imagine just how good it would be if all the people on TV had to swap jobs for at least one episode a year. Can't imagine it because modern life has rendered your imagination more barren than a female body builder? Let me help;

Kevin McCloud (Grand Designs) swaps with Paul Merson (Gillette Soccer Saturday)
Wouldn't it be amazing to see Kevin McCloud sat in the Sky Sports studio, confounding Phil Thompson and co. by talking about the Emirates Stadium "really working as a space"? And wouldn't it be equally amazing to see Paul Merson wandering round the sight of a half built eco-house, scratching his head and telling the viewers he "woodunt want a bog made from leafs in my manor!"? Yes it would.

Babara Windsor (Eastenders) swaps with Sgt. Bash (Robot Wars)
Babara Windsor fighting for survival against a robot armed with a circular saw and an axe? ACTIVATE!
A robot armed with a flame thrower playing the role of matriarchal land lady Peggy Mitchell? GERRR OUTTA MAH PUB!

Jeremy Paxman (Newsnight) swaps with Alan Carr & Justin Lee Collins (The Friday Night Project)
Paxman brings his incessant questioning and candor to the irreverent, lightweight "comedy" show.
Alan Carr and Justin Lee Collins use their funny voices to interview the Prime Minister regarding the release of the Lockerbie bomber.

Derren Brown (Trick of the Mind etc.) swaps with Noel Edmonds (Deal or No Deal, Noel's House Party)
Master of mind-fuckery, Derren Brown, makes two hundred audience members act like Mr.Blobby, then guesses their bank details. He also makes the contestants on Deal or No Deal pick all the boxes with high amounts in and says buoyantly, "Wow! I think this is one of the most exciting games we've ever had!" Everyone is depressed and nobody wins more than 10p.
King of smug, Noel Edmonds, fails to guess which chamber contains the bullet in a live game of Russian roulette.


Two Sugars

Having watched Axl's excellent videos, I have decided to have a go myself:


Sugar Lumps



Ground Force.

Our garden is really just a concrete cell without a roof. Not anymore though! Not since I built this attractive planter:

It's made from an old plank I found when I was tidying up. I also have enough plank left to make another one.

The plant on the left is called Launchpad McFuck, and the one on the right is called Rick Moranis (I can only take credit for Launchpad McFuck, my housemate, Sooz, came up with Rick Moranis).

Other things that I have been doing recently are:

  • Going on holiday to the Lake District

  • Getting hooked on black coffee

  • Getting hooked on Arctic Roll

  • Spending too much time watching America's Next Top Model, Maury, and Jerry Springer, and as a result becoming a bit like an antagonistic, bitchy, American woman, eg. saying stuff like this.

  • Enrolling at college only to find out that they cancelled two of the three subjects I was meant to be studying (Philosophy and Criminology). I'm now going to study English Literature, English Language and Film Studies.

I'd go as far as saying that I don't think I've ever been this relaxed! My hair even seems to be getting thicker, and I think my chest has a little bit more on it too! By the time I start college next month, I'll be like a fat, wired Sasquatch.



I bet the movie moguls behind Harry Potter are shitting themselves that they've almost run out of books to make into films. To this end, I have the following suggestions for sequels for them to use:

  • Harry Potter and the Tide of Impotence
  • Harry Potter and the Bosoms of Neglect
  • Harry Potter and the Fist of Indifference
  • Harry Potter and the Box of Mice
  • Harry Potter and the Catalogue of Feelings
  • Harry Potter and the Mule of Honesty
  • Harry Potter and the Big Book of Tits
  • Harry Potter: Snooker Loopy!
  • Harry Potter and the Phantom Pregnancy
  • Harry Potter and the Pile of Cats
  • Harry Potter and the Sense of Regret
  • Harry Potter and the Finger of Shame

That should keep them going for a bit.


Wedding Vows.

A few people I know have gotten or are getting married. I have offered to write their wedding vows for them but nobody has been particularly forthcoming. I have therefore decided to post them up here for anybody who wants to use them.

Groom's Vows:

"I promise to husband the shit out of you. By this I mean I'll take you to the pub on the weekend, occasionally let you touch my stuff, and keep my genitals in good order. If this isn't good enough for you then I reserve the right to withdraw emotionally from you into a world of questionably violent Internet porn and hard liquor. I may even hire a prostitute now and again, but to be honest I'll mostly just cry into her lap for an hour and offer to "take her away from all this". Alright?"

Bride's Vows:

"Hi! I promise to wife it up nice style. I will try my hardest not to make a cuckold of you, and even if I do, we'll probably be on the outs anyway. I promise to keep you well stocked in fags and supermarket own brand lager. I also promise to degrade myself sexually on your birthday but bear in mind this will drive an emotional wedge between us. I will corroborate any anecdotes you may tell socially, even though I find them crushingly dull and have already started cuckolding you as a result (soz).
With regards to kids, I'm pretty indifferent.
K thx."

(Shouting and slowly bringing hands together)



Moon Unit.

The bi-product of a half moon cake, is another half moon cake.

You can expect more pithy observations like this when I start my philosophy course in September. I might try and sell the above pithy observation to a fortune cookie manufacturer or that idiot, fake stand-up that sponsors something on channel 4 (you know the one that says stuff like "How do you know which comparison website is the best?").
I'm also going to be studying English Literature and Criminology, so expect me to start measuring the depth of your brow and then analysing your relationship with other characters.


I am Only 47% Man

That's what McCoy's crisps say anyway. I just took their "Man Quiz" and apparently, choosing to read a book over watching repeats of Only Fools & Horses, not wanting to spend time with John Terry, choosing to cook for myself (instead of getting a woman to do it, obviously), and washing properly, all mean I'm "not strong enough to open a bag of McCoy's".

I feel sorry for the poor fucker in the McCoy's advert. I only hope that the tube sucks him away to a much better pub, perhaps one with a higher tolerance for general knowledge and lower patron collesterol levels.

I would rather be only 47% man than 100% salty and thick.


Bonjour Newcastle!

I am considering reinventing myself when I move to Newcastle next month. I only know a few people up there, so as long as they keep their mouths shut I should be able to get away with presenting myself however I want. So far I have come up with the following options:

  • Big headed ladies man

  • In demand after dinner speaker

  • Britain's most belligerent boss

  • Britain's most belligerent psychic

  • Spanish guy

  • French guy

  • Psychic French guy

I'm leaning towards Psychic French guy because the double dose of mystery is a sure winner with chicks 'n' stuff, for example:

"Bonjour Mademoiselle, (all in a French accent whilst holding girls hand and smoking two Gauloises) I sense a lot of sadness in you. You are like a lonely giraffe, drifting on a orchid along a very sensual river towards a sea of sexy tears. Fuck?"

Hopefully I can keep up this charade long enough to banish any trace of my old (sicking up in the bath) personality.


Bad Decision Making

On Saturday I went out for my friend Tom's stag night. Predictably, I drank too much and acted a fool (I don't think I did anything too bad while I was actually out though, that came later). When I finally made it home after catching a night bus from town to a chip shop, and then getting a taxi to my house, I started to feel pretty sick. From what I remember I barfed in the bath and then decided to wash myself down in the bath with the shower attachment. This meant I was essentially in a bath full of barf, bathing in barf. Gross. Actually, to say it was full is a bit much, I had rinsed most of the vomit away by the time I got in, but I think some went on my shins. Debatable water to vomit ratios aside, it still has to rank up there with some of the worst decisions I've ever made whilst drunk. This, coupled with the fact that I'll be twenty seven in a few months, is why I have decided to reintroduce my three drink maximum for the next few weeks at least. This rule saw me through the first six months of the year without any sick stories so it should do the trick again.

50th Post / Big News / Politics

Hi. I have handed in my notice at work after just over four years. It felt pretty good, especially because I'm quitting to move up to Newcastle in about a month. I'm pretty excited about it as you can imagine! I have found a place to live and it's next door to Emma and Mark!

In other news, I have fucked up royally. I thought I was registered to vote at my mum's house but it turns out I'm not. Shit. This means if you weren't planning on voting on Thursday you now have to so my missing vote is replaced. We all know that the BNP are a bunch of total hate mongering CUNTS, but did you know only need as little as 8% of the vote in the European election to get a seat? I'm pretty sure that most of you will agree that these guys getting a ton of our money would be shitter than playing soggy biscuit with your close relatives, so make sure you vote against them. Thanks!

Sorry for getting so right on. You know I wouldn't normally get all political, but they make me so angry! Here is a fun game to redress the balance http://www.mediapill.com/thumbscan/index.html



Can a person die of jet lag? Maybe what kills you is jet lag related boredom. I rather cockily thought I had thwarted it on my first day back, but here I am, watching the sign language repeat of Country File at 2.30am. I can't even fall back on Channel Five sports (they used to show lots of American sports that helped me sleep) any more because they show late night quiz phone-ins now instead and these make me furious.
Country File isn't even helping. They seem to have replaced lovely, old, calming John Craven, with the chirpy young Geordie from Blue Peter. I do not need chirpy at this time of night.
As I type John has come to my rescue! It seems he has a section called "John Craven's Investigation"! But wait, put my pyjamas away, it's about bluetongue and features "images that some viewers may find disturbing". Dammit Craven! Are you taking the piss?! I needed you to investigate a decline in woolly jumper manufacturing or something similarly sleepy, not sheep with rotten mouths! And I bet you are fully aware of the irony in giving me sheep to count, but making them all zombie looking and nightmarish! Damn you John!
Chirpy Geordie is back now, he's talking to a naked hippy. For fuck's sake.


A Fistful of Puppies.

I've had a busy couple of days.
On Wednesday I was walking around Manhattan and I saw a guy standing on a busy street corner with a cat sitting on his head. This is all I can remember of Wednesday.

Yesterday I went to Uptown to see all the bright lights and stuff. We walked past a small crowd of people who were having their picture taken with a guy. He was behind a rope but had no minders or people organising things for him. It took us ages to work out who it was, such was the lack of fanfare surrounding this man. As we were walking away Rhyannon's brain clicked and we realised we had witnessed the further decline of MC Hammer. Poor Hammer, please don't hurt him.

After lunch we schlepped up towards the Metropolitan Museum of Art. On the way we went into a PUPPY SHOP! I'm used to English pet shops only having boring hamsters and rabbits, not excitable puppies! They were so funny! The best one was the bulldog who looked like he didn't give a shit about anything.

Being a tourist is really tiring, so we headed towards a bakery where Rhyannon's friend Sarah works for a coffee and a rest. They had incredible looking cakes on display and we got to try some back at Sarah's house after she made us dinner.

Today I'm going to walk along the Brooklyn Bridge and later buy some jeans. Tonight No Fun Fest starts! I'm really excited!


A Fistful of Beef.

"Hey buddy! Howya doin'?" This is New York speak for "Hello old chap, how have you been?", which is posh English for "Hi you fuck!".

Yesterday was pretty successful all told. Slept in until about 1pm because I'd been awake for about forty hours by Monday night. After that I made my way to Manhattan where I got lost for an hour.
Every time I see a sky scraper I point at it and shout "WOW THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING!". I figure eventually I'll get it right, so I don't mind looking stupid fifty or sixty times prior to that.

My bank card works now, so I've been going nuts in record shops. I've managed to get some pretty cool stuff so far.

For dinner we went to a burger place called Silver Spurs. They didn't make a big deal about the fact that their burgers are ten ounces, so I was totally ill prepared for the gastronomical challenge that was set before me! The meat itself was about two inches thick and three across (insert cock joke of choice here). I had also ordered chips and a chocolate milkshake. I was pretty full.

Tomorrow I am going to see all the famous buildings and that stuff, then on Friday No Fun Fest starts!

OK see you.


A Fistful of Maltesers.

I have been in New York for just over twenty four hours.
The flight here was OK. The guy next to me seemed to be a nervous flyer, so I kept getting into the emergency brace position and screaming whenever he started to relax. I also copied everything he did whenever the stewardess came round. It made the seven hours fly by for both of us.
The in flight entertainment was pretty good. The only film I watched all the way trough was Anvil!: The Story of Anvil. I liked it a lot.
Within five minutes of my first trip out of my friend's house in Brooklyn I saw:
- A real life New York road rage argument. They were shouting stuff like "YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" and "MUDDAFUCKER!".
- A guy getting put into a police car
- A crowd watching a fire engine put out a fire.
It was just like on TV.

Next, we went to a couple of really good record shops in Williamsburg. Williamsburg is hipster central, like the most hipster parts of London multiplied by a hundred. There's a cool looking shop or bar about every ten yards, and all kinds of art all over the place. Also EVERYONE looks like they're in band. I managed to find the number one noise record I was hoping to find on this trip, in the third shop we went in. Nice one hipsters!

One of the things I had been looking forward to the most was New York food. My first experience of this did not disappoint! We went to a place where you buy slow cooked pork and barbecued meat by the half pound! It was sooooooo delicious and even the baked beans had small chunks of meat in. MMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmm!

I'm just about to go out on my own for the afternoon. I'm going for a longer look around Williamsburg because my cash card should be working today (forgot to tell the bank I was going so they blocked it) and I can buy a ton of stuff. I will try and update this again in the next day or so. BYE!


New Yoik

I'm going to New York on Monday morning! I'm really excited!

I think this trip will be the apex of my Seinfeld obsession. I'm going to spend the whole week singing the theme from Seinfeld wherever I go. The New Yorkers will probably find it endearing if anything. If they get tired of it then I'll just start singing another song to do with New York.

If I go in a New York taxi, I'll make small talk with the driver by saying "How 'bout them Knicks?" and he'll fucking LOVE it. I'm pretty good at making small talk with taxi drivers, I once made one laugh in Newcastle. In fact, I'm confident I'll slot right in to the hustle and bustle of New York. Either that or get mugged or conned.

I've been trying to remember all the most British sounding phrases and swear words I know, in order to impress the New York women folk by sounding classy. I think I'll go for a tougher version of Hugh Grant, charming, but less ponce and more bastard. I'll take them to an English themed pub, and tell them that a fry up and ten pints of Carling is an upper class delicacy in my country. That ought to do the trick.


List of Chat Up Lines.

Here is a list of chat up lines for all the fellas to try out on the lllllaaaadies.

  • "What time shall we arrange to ORGASM?!" Make sure you lean in and shout the word ORGASM. This line works because it suggests confidence on the man's part in his ability to produce the goods. It would probably work best on a busy, city type at an Eighties coke party.

  • "How about I shag you into next week?" If for some reason this line actually works (like she is horny and thick), don't worry if you have problems with premature ejaculation that might undermine your lewd claim. Simply make sure you express your feelings physically starting at as close to midnight on a Sunday as possible. That way you will start on the old week, and end on the new one, technically fulfilling your promise.

  • "I haven't felt this hot since I had a fever from eating spoiled meat!"

  • "Would you like to come back to my place for some spoiled meat, ie. my cock?"

  • "How about we skip the courtship and move straight on to the perfunctory marital sex? I am solvent and have a company car."

This technically qualifies me as a tabloid "sexspert".


Eye Contact.

I had just gotten into a taxi in the posh bit of town with two friends on Saturday, when an attractive woman walked past. I had accidentally become drunk* in the course of the afternoon so I decided to attempt eye contact. This seemed to go pretty well as we kept the eye contact up for as long as it took her to walk by the car, "I am a TOTAL STUD!" I thought to myself.

Then I asked Rob (who was next to me) if he had seen what had just happened between me and the woman,

"I'm fairly certain she was looking at me" he replied.

"No chance! Not with my drunken sex eye lasers!" I scoffed back.
At this point the taxi driver told us he too thought the street side strumpet was giving him the nice-eye.

At this juncture we collectively realised what had really happened. What really had REALLY happened was a car full of men (two of whom were drunk and far too scruffy to be in the posh part of town), had stared/leered at an attractive woman from within a stationary yet running car and scared the shit out of her. She was most definitely not making eye contact, she was keeping her eye on the us in anticipation of a kidnap attempt.

I hope I don't make any similar mistakes when I go to New York in a week**. I may well get maced or shot!

*It really was an accident. I haven't been drunk since January 1st and was lead a stray.

**This whole post wasn't just so I could shoe horn in a boast about going to New York.



I am now a bona fide pop star! Now you can make me feel validated by pretending to like this unfocused noodling that I made in my bedroom instead of going out! I recorded it on a dictaphone. Why not have a dance about to it, or maybe just stroke your chin a bit and look well serious. I reckon I'll be on CD:UK by the end of the month if my 100+ profile views on myspace is anything to go by, yeah 100+ sounds like loads. I also think it's only a matter of time before I'm gracing the front covers of such music press stalwarts as Select, Vox and Smash Hits.

I will try not to let fame and fortune change me, but it won't be easy. I will be getting a ruby inset into my tooth just like Mick Hucknall pretty soon, and JK from Jamiroqui has challenged me to a race in our sports cars.

Ps. Three posts in a week! WTF?


I'm glad I'm not really stoned right now.

I keep thinking about something I wrote in the previous post. I wrote "actually, I'm about as wild, free form and creative as this simile". I don't know if this makes sense. It is either:
A) A brilliantly self referential simile that has blown my own mind, and that's why I can't stop thinking about it.
B) A poorly constructed simile that might not even be a simile, and is therefore rubbish.

I think it's probably the latter, but even if it is, it still might be successful in getting my point across about not being very creative because I am even incapable of writing a fucking simile properly. That means that I might be "wildly creative and free form" after all, OR it could mean that this is a huge load of self indulgent shit.


Old Notebook / Twat Archive

A couple of years ago I briefly carried a notebook around to try and capture some of my wild, free form creativity (actually, I'm about as wild, free form and creative as this simile) for future reference. The contents of this notebook give a valuable snapshot into how much of a twat I was just two short years ago.

It appears that I had a big(ger) anti-Bono thing going on back then. The notebook is littered with reminders to "write about how much I hate Bono". I had also written some shit rumours about him not being able to tell the time properly.

There's also an idea to annoy a colleague by loudly interrupting him whenever he read aloud from his newspaper. What sort of person writes a note on how to annoy someone? Jesus, I was quite a prick back then, I'm still fairly prickish now only in a much more spontaneous way (free jazz style whistling in the office anyone?).

The only thing from thing from the notes that ever made it on to this blog was my "re-write" of Jurassic Park 2. I found this drawing on the next page from the draft, clearly a career storyboarding beckons:

I'm pretty glad I've stopped carrying a notebook. For one thing, I always felt I looked a bit like an informant in a Eastern Bloc country during the Cold War, taking down names of people to shop to the local officials (especially as there is a page with a tally against some friends names in the book!). Stasi stool pigeon is not an image I really want to cultivate.


I Hope They Die Before They Reform.

Hi! Long time no see, fuckwads. I have been busy watching telly and drinking sugary milk.

I hate how many bands reform these days so I have come up with a proposal to reign it in a bit. I don't know about you but I'm getting pig sick of all these OLD FUCKS cashing in and going on reunion tours. I reckon that people would be better off boycotting them in favour of watching something new and original. That is not my proposal though because I cannot trust that all the simpering morons who make up the general public will follow this through.

I propose the formation of a special committee who would be in charge of issuing permits for bands to reform. I would obviously be head of the committee because it's my idea and I'm the most furious about it. The other members would be picked based on their integrity and hatred of sell outs. I can only think of Steve Albini and Bill Hicks* at the moment but I'm sure I'll find some others.

Bands wanting to reform would have to submit a written request to the committee. In the request they would have to state their case for their reunion. The committee would then consider the request based on a number of criteria. These would be:

1) Are ALL of the original members involved in the reunion? If the answer is no then the request will be denied right away. This would also include bands where any of the band members had died. Nobody wants to see some dead guy's kid filling in and nobody wants to see 3/4 of a band. This definitely applies to missing singers. That's right Queen and Paul Rodgers, you bunch of smug dicks, you wouldn't have even got past round one.

2) If the band manage to meet the first requirement they will be called in for a face to face meeting with the committee. The date and venue of the meeting will not be told to the band until the very last minute. All band members MUST be present at the meeting. Not telling them when the meeting is or where will have a two pronged effect;
a) They will be forced to spend time together while they wait for the meeting to be announced. This will help weed out anybody who would be suspected of quitting the tour midway through because they FUCKING HATE each other and can't even be in the same room, eg. The Spice Girls. I'll admit that some residual animosity can be good for the audience. The hatred between a lead guitarist and a lead singer is often a major factor in a bands original greatness. BUT woe betide anyone who promises the world on a plate only to cry off after two weeks because "Scary poked my tit."
b) The meeting could be anywhere in the world, so it will test the band's commitment to the proposed reunion if they have to travel an unknown distance to a mystery location at the drop of a hat.

3) Will the reunion be detrimental to the bands legacy? Many bands were good because they were young and dangerous when they came to prominance. They made exciting records that only a young band ripped to the tits on speed and acid could have made. What could be worse then, than paying £25+ to see a middle aged man singing about "his generation" and casually sipping expensive mineral water in between songs? Surely he's now talking about your parents generation? He didn't hope he died before he got old, what he really meant was that he hoped he could build up a diverse investment portfolio and knock out a few shitty solo albums. Worse are some of the punks. Many have become the very thing that they were waging war against when they were young. People who claim they're just trying to get some of the money and acclaim they were due the first time round can fuck off too. Some times a band will be under appreciated in thir lifetime, SUCK IT UP! Going on stage 30 years too late and two stone too heavy is only going to make people wish that they could go back in time and kill you so they don't have to see you waddling, sweating and wheezing all over what made you special in the first place. If you were in it for the big bucks then why didn't you write pop songs in the first place? You dickheads.

4) The band has to write and record a new album before they can tour. The album will have to stand up to the scrutiny of the committee AND average 75% positive reviews. The tour set list must contain at least 50% new material. This will prevent bands trading on past glories and force them to compete with new and upcoming bands.

That's pretty much it. I know it sounds slightly extreme, but trust me. You're better off taking a chance on watching a new band than what is essentially one up from a tribute band. That way maybe in twenty or thirty years you'll be able to tell some youngster that you saw your lifetime's equivalent of The Velvet Underground (circa 1966) at some shitty dive when it mattered. They will think it's much cooler than if you saw the 1993 version that supported U2!

*I know that getting Bill Hicks on the committee would mean reanimating him, which obviously would be subject to the rules stipulated above, however, I am fairly confident he would pass.

Ps. I would also have never allowed Jimmy Page to come out the top of that London bus at the Olympics.


I Would Do Anything For Love (but i DEFINITELY won't do that, or that)

If anyone ever wants to tie me up in the bedroom, then I will say "NO WAY!". This is because at least fifty percent of all voluntary bedroom captivity ends in murder or theft (and I'm not just talking about the theft/death of your innocence). Every time this kinky practice is shown in film or TV, the person tied up almost always has something bad happen to them. I've never seen one of these situations end well. It can range from having your clothes stolen, to being stabbed in the shoulder with an ice pick, just like in Basic Instinct.
What I would suggest if someone wanted to tie me up, is that I would promise to hold on to the head board really tight. I might, after careful consideration, allow the use of a single layer of toilet roll to be used in the place of rope or handcuffs. This way should the other person try to rob, maim, or kill me, I would be able to free my hands straight away to defend myself and my belongings.
I told this to a friend the other day, and they asked if I would even let my wife (if I had one) tie me up. I'm afraid the answer would still be no. She may have grown disillusioned with the marriage and want to kill me to cash in on the lucrative life insurance policy she recently insisted I took out. This is obviously the worst case scenario, to lose both my life and my belongings in one fell swoop to my duplicitous spouse!
I suggest you heed my warning. Don't let yourself become a willing lamb to a very sexy slaughter!


How I will become Oxford's strongest man.

I am in a contest with some friends to see who can get the closest to the physique of Christian Bale in Batman Begins. The time limit is nine months. It will be me, Andrew (Mears) and Seb with Matty Lewis as the control specimen. The other competitors seem to think the contest is called "Batmanathon" but it is a shitty name so I refuse to recognise it. The REAL name of the contest is "Muscle Pregnancy". I reckon someone should get pregnant right now so we can have a good way of comparing our muscles to a pregnancy. I doubt this will happen so I may try and find a famous person who has recently declared herself pregnant and follow them via the saturation coverage in the tabloid press. I think I saw that most of the Spice Girls are expected to declare pregnancy soon.
On Friday we took the first measurements and contested the first feats of strength. I have the biggest calves. This puts me in a very strong position and I fully expect my amazing calves to fire me to victory.

If I win Andrew has to hand over control of his girlfriend, V, to me. She probably won't mind, I'll be incredibly strong and muscle bound and Andrew will be weak and puny. Plus I'll be able to use my new strength to open jars for her and ward of any potential suitors. I will also go to a beach where Andrew is and kick sand in his face to further humiliate him.


Dead Tasty.

All those women in the Philadelphia adverts are DEAD! All cut down seemingly in the prime of their lives. They probably died from eating exclusively low fat soft cheese, crackers and celery (maybe it's a bit like rabbit starvation http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rabbit_starvation). Philadelphia should make an alternate advert showing the grieving families of these unfortunate women, only showing them eating a rival low fat soft cheese at their loved one's wake. The alternate advert would have a two pronged effect:
1. Consumers would rush out and buy Philadelphia believing it to be a surefire ticket to heaven.
2. Any rival soft cheese would be forever associated with the loss of a loved one.

Grief + Promise of Eternal Happiness x Low Fat Soft Cheese = BIG BUCKS!


You Have 10 New Massages

This has to be the most inappropriate name for ANY business, let alone a seedy massage parlour! If you're unfamiliar with the film then this is what it's about (WARNING! CONTAINS SPOILERS) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0084707/ .What was Sophie thinking(the masseuse, not Meryl Streep)? The other two adverts are pretty awful/good too. All three were in the Oxford Times a few weeks ago.



I was looking up c dificil because my friend Tim mentioned it would be a good band name, when I came across this ABSOLUTE PEARLER in the comments of a Mail On Sunday story about the same thing:
"My mother caught C Dificil and was told to "sit in it" when they were too lazy to give her a bedpan or commode - just think of all the bugs that left flying around the ward!".
FLYING BUGS! "SIT IN IT"! This really has all the things I love most about the Mail On Sunday readership and their zero tolerance approach to facts.


Two year anniversary (sort of).

Hello! Well who would've thought that two years on I'd still be writing in this blog every week? A lot of things have changed in the last two years. I have loved and lost (see posts about Mr Fingers, but don't ask me about it because it's still pretty raw) and developed several bad habits/phobias (see posts about scotch/driving). There's other stuff too but I just deleted it because it read back pretty dull.
What next? At the moment I've decided to get fit. I've been trying to eat well for about a year but I hardly ever exercise. Now I'm starting to exercise so pretty soon I'll be so ripped that my default greeting won't be a handshake, it'll be a bench press. That's right, I'm going to bench you.
The picture above sums up everything pretty succinctly.



FUCK YEAH! It's a super scary Halloween special.

  1. How to tell if stuff and buildings are haunted or unhaunted.

I have a few fail safe rules on how to work out if stuff and buildings are haunted. It's the main reason I've never seen a ghost even though I'm nearly 25.

  • If someone is giving away something that is old but looks like it might be worth money, you can bet your own sanity that it's haunted to fuck! I was in London a couple of months ago and someone offered me an old school desk. "No thanks you bastard!" I said, "I got enough of my own problems without having to worry about the ghost of some victorian school boy telling me he's "So cold", I'll just lean on a book if I need to write anything!"

  • If you ever get the chance to go into outer space you better not be scared of ghosts. Outer space is full to the TITS with space ghosts! Everyone knows about aliens or whatever, but what about all the animals they sent up before they could send people? They all died in outer space! If you think going up there will be all floaty and brilliant, think about this: how do you fancy getting bit off a outer space ghost dog? Fuck that!

  • If you live in a old converted school house you better look at the first point I made. THEN MULTIPLY IT BY AT LEAST A MILLION!!!!!

  • If you live above a butchers' shop, you need to do this simple equation: POINT 2 + POINT 3 X DEAD ANIMAL GHOSTS = HEARD OF ANGRY MURDERED COWS, PIGS ETC!!! GET THE FUCK OUTTA THERE BEFORE YOU GET GHOST GRAZED INTO GHOST CUD!!!

  • 2. There is no 2. It died and became a ghost. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

Nb. Hey actual small kids, don't worry if any of these points apply to you. Ghosts aren't real they're just for laughs! Except outer space animal ghosts.

Now go and buy me a Nintendo Wii.


It IS nice up North!

You know when you visit somewhere and you have some preconceptions about what its going to be like, but you tell yourself "It won't really be like that!"? And most of the time it isn't. This weekend I paid my first visit to Manchester to visit my friend Laura. I spent some of the train journey thinking about how accurate my view of Manchester would be. Surely they won't just play music by The Smiths, Happy Mondays and Stone Roses will they? And they DEFINITELY won't flail around, stomping they're feet on the spot in a fit of ecstasy fuelled bad dance moves circa 1990 while they listen to it will they? "Of course they won't!" I thought to myself, "What a silly Southern sausage I am!". But hang on a minute, because that's exactly what I saw quite a lot of people doing at various stages of my visit. Don't get me wrong, I'm not down on Manchester at all, in fact I loved it there, I was just a bit surprised that's all. It was actually pretty nice to see a place where everybody was really proud of they're town, especially coming from snobby Oxford. It was a really friendly place full of interesting buildings and shops, and I quickly felt pretty relaxed walking about the different places Laura showed me. I got a really nice Melvins poster and on Sunday we went to Urbis which is a big glass building full of pictures and projects about making cities more interesting places to be eg. there were some pictures of a massive pillow fight they had in San Francisco (I think). AND THE WEATHER WAS NICE AND SUNNY!


Have you seen my (two faced) cat? Or "How I Learned how i learned to stop worrying and HATE cats (again).

A couple of weeks ago I told you all about my lovely cat, Mr Fingers, well I'm afraid to say that he is gone.

I have not seen him for ages. Not since the people next door moved away in fact. I'm beginning to think that he may have gone with them! I really thought that me and he, had a quite magical bond with each other but it turns out that he is a two faced little sneak!

I feel such a fool. People warned me about how cats often like to have two or more families because they are naturally treacherous, but i was so insistent that Mr Fingers was different.

Before anybody says about him maybe getting run over, let me assure you that it is a total impossibility, such was Mr Fingers' level of street savvy and all round hip to the beat attitude.

I will never trust another cat as long as I live. So help me God.


Telly Savalas.

Here are some good ideas for telly.

  1. Neigh-Sayer: King of 70's disco soul, Leo Sayer, rides around on a Shire horse casting aspersions on things.
  2. Best of Both Worlds: Dead drunk, dead footballer, George Best returns to host a light hearted look at the best bits of both the mortal realm, and the afterlife.
  3. Bennett Likes Beckham: Old, gay, northern playwright, Alan Bennett, speaks for the first time about his unrequited love for David Beckham.
  4. I'll Be The Judge of That!: Beavis and Butthead/King of The Hill creator, Mike Judge, travels the English countryside in search of country fetes. On finding a fete, Mike makes a beeline for the vegetable competition. Biding his time, Mike waits until the prize for best in show is announced, then he causes mass consternation with his trademark cry of, "I'LL BE THE JUDGE OF THAT!".
  5. Madsen's Square Garden: Hollywood tough guy, Michael Madsen (Reservoir Dogs, Free Willy 2), shows us around his beautiful square roof garden. In part two, Michael tells us how we can achieve such a garden for ourselves.
  6. Dust In Hoffman: Oscar Winner, Philip Seymour Hoffman (Capote), suffers from an severe allergic reaction to household dust. In this programme we'll be taking an in depth look at what happens when there's dust in Hoffman.


me and mr fingers down by the school yard.

i got a cat recently. his name is mr fingers and i love him very much. we built a snowman together a few weeks ago. we called him snowy because he looked a bit like the dog from tin tin. we mostly go everywhere together, and i have just taught mr fingers to walk on his two hind legs, which he seems to like. let me tell you, we certainly get a few funny looks whilst we're trotting along down the street!
the other day we were doing a spot of weeding in the garden, and i spotted a mole hill. mr fingers, ever the more adventurous, tried to talk me into going into the mole tunnel to see what it was like.
after about an hour of negotiating, i agreed and we set off.
fuck me it was dark.


part ii

i thought of a much better version for jurassic park 2.
jeff goldblum and that blonde chick go back in time after they escaped from the park in the first film. except that she dumped sam neill to go out with goldblum.
sam neill, hell bent on revenge, also goes back in time but he has also found a way to control dinosaurs and use them to his own means.
goldblum: oi sammmmmm neillll!don't bovva! just because i had a bit of a flirt with your missus the otherday, there's no need to get a load of dinos on me is there?
nnnneeeeiiiiillll: well shows what you know gold-BUM! everyone who knows anything about dinos, knows that most of them thrive on a gang mentality or put more simply, the group dynamic.
old-bum: yeah well she's with me now, ain't she? so you better get used to it because we're pretty uninhibitted and will try anything twice. even pissing.
neeeeeeeeeeeeeil: DINOS ATTAAAAAAAAACK!!!!!!!!
following his final commands, all the dinosaurs hover above cold bum and blondie like a swarm of killer bees, and then they start pecking them like chickens. (at this point it must be made clear that dinosaurs are really similar to birds, just like in the first film.


shit-ish rail.

"i recently went to newcastle on the train with my friend paul." that's what i should be starting this post with, but no, a million times no.
you see, because the railways seem to be run by twats dressed like dicks acting like wankers, we had to abandon that beautifully constructed yet deceptively simple plan.you know, getting on a train in oxford, and 4 hours later getting off in newcastle. instead, because we had booked "value saver tickets" online and had got the times a little bit wrong, we had to get a fucking bus to fucking london so we could get another fucking bus all the fucking way to fucking newcastle.
the reason for my earlier outburst against the people who run the railways really only applies to a small group of men, who on realizing that we had indeed missed our train, proceeded to rub it in as much as they could.
Train man: "No mate these tickets aren't valid anymore."
Me: "What?"
TM: "Well you see here on the ticket where it says VAL SV 328723762?"
Me: "Yep."
TM: "Well that means that you can only travel with this ticket at the stated time. Dave, come and explain to these lads why they can't travel with these tickets."(at this point another train man joins in and proceeds to tell us the exact same thing.)
Me: "Oh that's right i remember, we're meant to use the skills that are taught in schools from an early age, you know the ones paul, where they teach you to decipher British rail abbreviations and codes."
TM (becoming ever more smug and condescending): "If you want to get the next train it'll cost you £78 each."
Me: "Can't you make any exceptions?"
TM: "No, that'll be £78 each."

In Newcastle.
when we finally got to newcastle it was really good!
they have this thing in one of their big department stores where in the build up to xmas you can queue up and meet jimmy nail! it was ace! i went on it twice.
also we went in this place for lunch and it was so lavish that i was all like "what is this place? some great lost palace of a long forgotten time, where kings longed for nothing and queens' faces were made of only the finest porcelain?" Then emma pointed out that it was a weatherspoons, so i had the "burger and a pint for £3.99 deal."



hello fan!(i put fan incase there's only one person who reads this it'll make you feel special and if there's more than one of you it makes me sound modest.)
today is my first anniversary of having my blog.
my latest idea is that on tv all programmes should have a question mark after its title.that way when people are watching telly and can't decide what they want to watch,every time they suggest something it'll sound like they're asking someone if that's what they want to watch.worlds strongest man?richard and judy?working lunch?


image change

i am thinking about becoming a goth.


yee haw!!!!

whilst watching television,as is my want,i saw an advert for a credit card where to men go to america and doss about a bit.one of the men was cocky and reckoned he would be good at rodeo riding.it turns out that he was rubbish and crushed his teste,but it got me thinking about whether or not i would be really good at rodeo riding.i am happy to report that i think I WOULD BE REALLY REALLY EXCELLENT AT RODEO RIDING.it can't be that difficult,all it really involves is hanging on tight.its not like the horse/cow goes upside down or underwater.its legs can't reach you whilst you're on its back(have you ever seen an animal with hooves scratch its own back?).i really fail to see what all the fuss is about.the only thing that worries me slightly is that episode of neighbours a few years ago where drew was really really good at rodeo riding,but then one day he fell off and died.i reckon i'd be ok though.if a horse did manage to throw me,and thats a pretty big if,i would just get up straight away and grab it,put it on my back and run about like mad until it fell off and died like drew off NEEEEEIIIIGHbours,then i'd just jump over one of the fences into the crowd,run about like mad again for a bit,then i'd run off straight down a motorway like that horse that ran on a motorway and the police couldn't even catch it so they had to stop all the traffic!
the other day when i was out wearing my gold shoes,someone came up to me and asked me if i was a pharaoh.


hay hay, wye wye!

in july i went on a canoe trip on the river wye with 8 of my friends.its fair to say that it was probably the best holiday i've ever been on!even after i built it up in my excitable little brain for what seemed like years,the seemingley inevitable anti-climax never actually happened.the first campsite we stayed in was my least favorite because it had a weird hillbilly community living there so it felt a bit too much like deliverence.luckily it seems my fears were unfounded as no bumming actually happened,although we did see a middle aged man stood with his hands on a young boys shoulders outside a caravan,when we walked past he said hello and proceeded to explain that he was simply using the boy to help himself balance as he was too drunk too stand alone.


childrens names

some of the time when i'm bored i like to think of names for children.for the purposes of this blog lets say that my surname is sneijder.
what about if i called one of my kids domestos sneijder (boy) or solero sneijder (girl).but then i thought about middle names.what about if you called a kid the same middle name as their first name?like tony tony sniejder or ian ian ian ian sneijder.it would be awesome!nintendo nintendo nintendo sega commadore sneijder.


world cup dream

a couple of months ago i had the most amazing dream.i thought i'd better record it fo' posterity.
in the dream i'm playing football for holland in the world cup final.this may not seem that exciting to those of you who don't follow football,but let me asure you that what follows will thrill you to your very marrow.
as far as i can remember, i've already scored a couple of goals for holland(this may come as a suprise to some of you as i don't have any dutch blood).after that all i can remember is running down the right wing pushing argentine starlet lionel messi along in a wheel chair with the ball in his lap,he had a broken leg.with one defender to beat i do a 360 degree spin around him.i should mention that the goal is actually a massive wheelchair ramp, complete with rail.to score the winning goal i throw poor lionel over an 8 foot rail into the goal.thus i become a dutch national hero and bask forever in my amazing cripple flinging abilities.

I have semi-deleted this because listening to people tell you about their dreams is really boring. I didn't realise that when I wrote this. It's why Inception is so crushingly dull.


why do you hate me,dvla?!!!!!

i failed my 4th driving test today.i'm so pissed off!the reason i'm pissed off is that i can drive like a god at all other times,but as soon as there is someone in a yellow safety jacket sat next to me,scrutinisysing my beautiful carmanship,i turn in to the worlds biggest retard.when i found out that i'd failed today,i wept.i wept bitter,salty,shame filled little resevoirs of shame,and salt.i'm still weeping right now.my fingers keep slipping off the keys because of all the tears.boo hooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.



this summer me and some of my friends are going on a canoooooooing holiday.i can't wait for life on the high seas (river wye)!if i don't automatically become admiral of the fleet when we start,i'll fight whoever is for control.i'm not sure if its going to be like deliverence or the river wild.i don't know which i would prefer,banjo duelling or the excitement of being held at gun point by armed fugitives.one things for sure nobody will fuck with my boat once they see my potato cannon that i'm going to build!if i get a bit tired i'm going to tie my canoe to some swans/otters so they can pull me along.actually i reckon it might be more like waterworld,except for the drinking your own piss,and having gils,and i don't think dennis hopper can come,and i can't be bothered to take a little orange tree,but apart from that i think it'll be pretty close.



early on saturday morning i was stopped by the police for being a suspected animal rights activist.may i remind you that i HATE cats!



i am right handed and right footed,but today i noticed that my penis points slightly to the left.how ironic is that?



HA!thats right it was a massive trick to make all of you put pets in little boats!now i can initiate my real plan which is,UNWANTED PET BATTLE SHIPS!!!!they don't stand a chance,not when i'm stood on the bank of a canal with an air rifle,a catapult,and a load of illegal fireworks!kittens schmittens!



I haven't written in my blog for so long because I've been spending all my time coming up with this idea. Here it is.
You often hear sad stories about people tying up a load of unwanted kittens in a sack or bin liner and throwing them in to a canal. My idea is this,why not build them a little boat instead and fill it with a bit of food, then float it out on a river. That way the kittens might get found and taken in by a kindly fisherman or child playing pooh sticks. I call this idea "Furry Little Moses."
This idea could also work for other unwanted pets too. Imagine a parrot or cockatoo tied to the shoulder of a model pirate floating down a river, you could put bird seed in the brim of the pirates hat. At least they would be in their natural habitat for once.

(thanks to matt for the picture)


thats rubbin',and rubbin's racing!

i failed my first driving test today.guess what for,driving too cautiously!i cannot believe you can fail for this.surely its better to be extra careful than to be a reckless prick!fucking dvla.next time i do the test i'm going to drive like a total badass like mr T or tj hooker or knight rider or tom cruise in days of thunder.also i got told that my eyes and mouth remind someone i know of a young elvis.not costello,the other one.


stupid new year head cold bull-shit.

i almost didn't go out on new year because i started to feel really ill.i reckon that eating 36 tesco value chicken nuggets may have weakened my usually invinsible immune system.i only ate that many because i was in a contest.
by the way those shirts i got,have collars that iwould normally deem too big,so my war with the fashion industry rages on!


fucking stupid clothes

i been shopping for clothes today.i fucking hate clothes shopping.every time i see a shirt i think i like,as soon as i go and look closely, it has some ridiculous detail on it.for instance a studid emdroidery of a dragon,or seams that aren't finished,or some twat has been at it with a stanley knife, or its been flicked with paint or bleach!in the end i managed to find 2 shirts that i actually liked!i couldn't believe it!2!shove it up you're arse fashion industry!anyway,my xmas was pretty much what you'd expect.i followed the brightest star in the sky until it lead me to the birthplace of the messiah,then i watched the network premier of the 1st harry potter film.


list of enemies

i had the idea of writing a list of all my enemies.i started thinking about who would be on it,i even bought a brand new pen to write my hate filled register of hate.then something struck me,what if said list should get into the hands of said enemies!those more powerful than me(of which there are few) might be moved to take action against me to thwart my rise and rise.those weaker than me (of which there are many) might decide to form an alliance against me,a bit like a fucked up UN!this can not happen.if it did i think natural disasters would at least triple and most of the worlds major economies would go into recession.for these reasons i am taking my new pen back to the shop and keeping my list to myself.


the midas touch

i just wore my gold shoes out for the first time!when i walked in to the pub,a deathly silence crept through the whole room.i didn't know what was going on at first,but then i realised it was the shoes.the awe-struck throng awaited my words,"DAT RIGHT,DEY GOL'!AIN'T YOU SUCKAS EVA SEEN NO GOL' SHOES BEFO'?!anyway this is the last time i'm going to talk about them,for a while at least.


scotch cramps

.i just pounded a ton of fucking scotch.also emma better fucking like her present because i had to go to the christmas shoppers paradise that is cornmarket street to get it.this involved a lot of counting to ten so as i didn't fuck up a load of shit.it also made me super tired so i had to pound that ton of scotch that i previously mentioned.scotch is like my version of popeye and cans of spinach.i can't decide if i should sleep in the cram hole or walk back home,i think the next 10 mins will make the decision for me.remember,soon you'll all bow to me when i have my gold trainers.also if anyone has an interesting suggestion for a variation on the fish finger sandwich i'd be grateful to hear it.


gold shoes on way!

i am getting a pair of the gold trainers that i mentioned previously!i cannot wait,i think they might be the thing that makes my life complete.i also think they might give me a strange,unearthly power over suckas who just have normal shoes.i might also change my name to goldy feet,golden claw,or talon of gold.



i just got back from atp.it was really good.i can't really be bothered to go on about it at the moment because i'm really tired from pounding the scotch for three nights in a row.i even got the dreaded scotch cramps.now i have to go home and learn how to pass the driving theory test before 5pm tomorrrow.people have told me its really easy but they probably didn't pound as much scotch as me.


wing dang doodle

i haven't been able to post anything for a while because the computer has a virus.tootsies was gooooood!my burger was so big that when i opened my mouth as wide as i could to take the first bite,i only managed to graze it!the waitress was very enthusiastic about her work and everyone told her my name when i was in the toilet.this as you can understand,freaked me out!i kept thinking how did she know that?then as we were eating pudding,the lights went dark.at first i just thought they were doing that thing that some bars do when the night gets later,but they kept getting darker and darker until they were practically off.i grew suspicious,iwas right so be.the waiting staff came out with a small icecream sunday with a fucking massive roman candle in the top!i was mortified.


tonight i'll eat a burger!(somewhere in this town!)

damn straight!going to fucking tootsie burger thats why!by the way the title is meant to be sung to the tune of jailbreak by thin lizzy.this is the final installment of my birthday week and i reckon its gonna be awesome.
sorry about the end of my last post,i think the thought of being a pirate captain went to my head a bit.plus i'd just drank a load of rum.
still no new pictures i'm afraid.if i try to do it on my own,something will break.i just tried to change the colour of the dashboard and i got scared so i stopped.
i 've just been looking for places that sell these fucking excellent gold nike trainers i saw in town a few weeks ago.when i first saw them i thought they were rubbish.then by the time i'd gotten home and thought about them some more,i realised it would be fucking brilliant to have gold trainers!i imagined running past sunbathers really fast and them seeing only a gold flash,"what the fuck was that?"one of them would say,"i don't know,maybe it was a condor!"the other would reply,but i'd be gone!or imagine dancing with gold trainers on!I WANT THEM SO BADLY!i'll get a picture of them up as soon as i can.


i forgot how to work my blog.

thats right i forgot!you see,i'm not actually very good with computers,i find them a bit confusing.this means that until i've learnt and remembered how to put photos on here,you'll have to just keep looking at that kid crying.even though my birthday was on tuesday i still consider all of this week to be my birthday.this means i still expect people to be really nice to me and stuff.i haven't actually told anyone this so i'll probably be really shocked when someone is rude to me.if i get in an arguement i'll try and explain that its still my birthday,but i don't think it will wash,especially if i know the person.
my birthday drink was really good fun.emma got me a pirate hat,eyepatch and cutlass so i was looking pretty fucking macho as you can probably imagine!one guy in the pub tried to take a chair off our table even though i had a fucking cutlass!he must've been retarded or something,(if your reading this,retard,learn to pick your fucking battles).
i'm going now.


you smell nice!

hello,this is my first thing i wrote.its my birthday today,i'm 23 years old.i usually take a week off work to celebrate because i am extremely self centered and therefore enjoy the attention.for my birthday dinner i made myself a massive ommelette.it had 9 ingredients other than eggs if you include the 3 types of salami,it was delicious.my mum came round to see me but i was busy playing with an old synthesiser so i ignored her a bit.my favourite things are buying records,whistling and telling lies.i've never seen a ghost.this week the oxford mails front page headline news was about stupid cretins jumping off magdalen bridge on mayday and how the police want to stop it.i would like to take this opportunity to remind the oxford mail that it is now the middle of november, and that this story doesn't really seem relevant at the moment.november!