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