Angry man.

On Wednesday I went for a meeting with my accountant because I am a grown up. I've had an accountant for about 4 years now and this was the first time that I went for my annual chat with them without at least a little bit of shit in my pants. Previously, I was always fearful that they would tell me that I'd completely misunderstood the tax system and unless I could find 15 grand within the next 8 minutes I would be escorted from the premises and taken to an open prison. At this point I should tell you that if it wasn't for it being full of criminals I've always found the idea of prison quite appealing. I like to think that I'd get a lot done there. I'd read a lot, lift weights, play table tennis, write a brilliant best selling memoir and get a law degree to work on my appeal. I realise I'm being naive. It's the same part of my brain that thinks I'd enjoy being a taxi driver.

Back to my accountant - this year, amazingly, I've managed to save some money and pay quite a bit of tax ahead. I've also, in a move that goes against all my past behavioral patterns, kept a good record of my expenditure and shit. This all meant that in our 15 minute meeting I felt awfully mature and respectable. Once we'd sorted everything out, my accountant and I had a brief chat about football (because that's what men do apparently) and then said our goodbyes. Just before I headed out the door I asked if I could use his toilet. Don't worry - this story is going somewhere. I was told to head to the top floor and there I found the Men's. After locking the door I did my business (you know, pissing and the like) and then tried to get out. The lock was pretty tight and there were about 6 seconds in which I panicked that I would have to be 'rescued'. To my relief my extra human strength managed to turn the lock and I walked out...

'HEY!!'

I turn round to see a bearded man in his late 50s sat at a desk in an office beside the toilet. I'm not sure if he worked for my accountant or a different company that shares the same building.

'TURN THE LIGHT OFF AND SHUT THE DOOR!!'

'Sorry'.

I do so. He is angry. Weirdly angry.

'THERE ARE TWO SIGNS IN THERE! ARE YOU BLIND?!!!!!'

At this stage I start to feel that he is overreacting a little. I try to add some perspective but am a little thrown by the sheer near-foaming-at-the-mouth-mentalness of this stranger. I give a weak laugh and say the following...

'Look. I'm sorry, I don't think it's that big a deal. I didn't see the sign. I've closed the door now. I think you're overreacting'.

'YEAH WELL YOU DON'T HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE FUCKING SMELL!!'

I understand that, sat there all day with people leaving the door open could getting irritating. I still maintain that this guy was properly insane though. Also, for the record, my piss does not smell that bad. He now starts mumble-shouting. As far as I am aware no one else witnessed this...

'HONESTLY, THESE PEOPLE ARE DEAF, BLIND AND FUCKING STUPID!!'

Now, I really want him to know that he is the unreasonable nutcase in this scenario but am so astonished by what's going on all I can do is a 'you're crazy' smile and say...

'Wow!... Wow!'

'FUCKING IDIOT!! YOU'RE A FUCKING IDIOT!!'

'Wow!'

Then I ran down the stairs and left. I can think of two explanations for what happened. The first is that he's having a nervous breakdown in which case there is a genuine chance that (if it hasn't already) it will end in the blood of the innocent. The second is that he is a 'flawed genius' who cannot deal with people but is incredible with numbers. He makes the company lots of money but is impossible to live with - so like a modern day Caliban they keep him in a tiny office near the toilet and hope that he doesn't come into contact with the clients.

When people get angry over little things I find it really funny. Although, ultimately, I feel sorry for this kid I find this video very funny. He has plenty of other funny one's too...

January 4th

Shit bags. It's January 4th. Now that everyone is back to work I can no longer spend my days watching daytime TV without feeling guilty. That has not stopped me from doing exactly that for months on end in the past. But that was the old me. As Hannah Martin once said in Neighbours... "This is the new me, get used to it!". Speaking of Neighbours - I recently found out that Jesse Spencer who played Billy Kennedy (and is now in House) is the son of Australia's Nick (and Nicola) Griffin. His parents formed a far-right political party called Australians Against Further Immigration. It put's a whole new spin on Jesse's blonde, some might say Aryan looks. To be fair, Jesse may not have the same opinions as his parents but it's quite funny that he, having moved to the U.S, is now an immigrant himself.

Now, the moment you've all been waiting for... the results of my Babestation experiment. Perhaps unsurprisingly they were rather disappointing. For those of you who didn't read my last blog (why!? why!?) and are too lazy to scroll down I was curious as to what happens on Babestation at midnight on New Year's Eve. It turns out they simply went off air for about 10 minutes. I kind of wish I hadn't bothered checking now. I was hoping that by recording Babestation on New Year's Eve I would get some kind of insight into the human psyche and a damning record of where Britain is today. Instead I just got about 5 and a half hours of writhing women punctuated by 10 minutes of blank screen on the only bit I was interested in. That is not to say that I am not ever interested in writhing women. If you are a writhing woman - please don't take offence.

Changing the subject entirely, I went to the football twice in the last 3 days. First, I watched Millwall beat Palace 3-0 and then saw the mighty Leyton Orient beat Colchester United 4-2. At both games I noticed signs saying 'Say 'No' To Bad Language'. Firstly, it's ridiculous to imagine that a little sign would stop Millwall fans from swearing. Most of the Millwall fans were like the people who bullied me at school. No, wait - they were like the people who bullied the people who bullied me at school - except they were in their 50s and had their kids with them. Within the first 10 minutes I heard the word 'cunt' more times than I have ever heard it in one sitting - even at a New Act night!*

What I found funniest about the sign was it's phrasing. I liked the idea that bad language is something you are offered, like a drug...

EXT. LONDON. NIGHT. A DARK STREET CORNER.

"Hey, mate! Do you wanna say 'bollocks'?"

"No thank you"

THE END

*This is a reference to comedy nights in which about 16 brand new comedians try to impress the audience by talking about peodophiles and finishing every joke with the word 'cunt'.

Changing subject entirely again I'm going to leave you with a video of what is honestly one of my favourite ever songs. I have no idea what movie it's from or what he's singing about though I expect it's love or some shit like that...

New Year isn't it.

Hello darling. You may or may not be aware that this evening is New Year's Eve. Until the last couple of years I've not really been a fan of New Year's. Here's my issue(s) with it;

It's the sort of night in which people who don't normally 'go out' do so. They are well within their rights to 'go out' and 'have a laugh' but being out of practice as they are, I find that they tend to act like pricks. Cramming a year's jollity into an evening they feel they have to wear stupid hats, sing Grease medleys and cackle at passing traffic. I suspect that most of them are nice folk but unaccustomed to heavy public drinking as they are they become irritants.

These buffoons make traveling anywhere on New Year's a fucking nightmare. One New Year I was on a bus. Someone asked a couple of teenage lads where they were headed and they replied 'Anywhere where there's pussy, man!'. Nice. It transpired that they were going to Trafalgar Square. I'm sure they would find possessors of female genitalia in Trafalgar Square but there is no telling as to the quality or availability of said 'pussy'. Also, what with it being cold at that time of night in winter I'd imagine there's likely to be quite a few layers between those gentlemen and the 'pussy'. I reckon they ended up wishing they'd stayed at home and watched Babestation.

Now there's a question - what happens at midnight on New Year's Eve on Babestation? That is surely a seriously depressing moment for both the viewers and the 'performers'. Not only are they the type of person who is on/watching Babestation but they are also the type of person who is on/watching Babestation as the rest of the country celebrates the arrival of a New Year. To be fair at least the performer is getting paid - double time I imagine. The viewer however is so lonely and horny that they can think of no better way to spend Hogmanay than with their penis in hand watching a glistening Nuts reject do a poor imitation of sexiness.

Does Babestation even acknowledge that it's New Year's? Surely at 11.57pm they should say 'Listen. It's nearly midnight. Turn to Jools Holland on BBC2 for 5 minutes and pretend you're a normal person. Then come back to us and we'll get back to the misery disguised as erotica'. I'm so curious as to what happens at midnight on Babestation that I have set my Sky+ to record it tonight. I'm genuinely excited to see what happens. It is however important that I delete it before my girlfriend gets back from Florida. She would no doubt suspect that whilst she was gone, not only had I spent my evenings watching Babestation - I had also recorded it so that I could re-enjoy it during the day. By the way, I do realise that by going on such a long rant about Babestation I am admitting that I have watched it. Be honest, be you man or woman - so have you. Maybe not. Shit.

The last couple of New Year's have been fun because I've spent the night at a lovely pub a short walk from my house. This has kept 'dickhead encountering' down to a minimum and eradicated the obligatory 2 hour taxi wait. Tonight however due to the movements of 'friends' I am going to a house party in another neighbourhood. I look forward to people stealing MY BEERS from the fridge and talking to crying women on the stairs as I wait for a taxi that was supposed to be there an hour and a half previous. Happy New Year bellends!

Why I Will Never Appear On Question Time

I would like to make a pledge right now to never appear on Question Time. Although I take a 'keen interest in current affairs' (that line is straight from an old CV) and undoubtedly have the gift of the motherfucking gab I am absolutely certain that I would make a tit of myself. I am the prime example of someone who passionately regurgitates things I've read about politics seconds after I've read them. Then when someone challenges me on my shiny new opinions I scrabble around for my book mumbling 'I'm sure they addressed that point... they must have done!'.

I realise it is unlikely that I will ever be asked on Question Time unless there is a sudden demand for perpetually peripheral cast members in 'under the radar' TV shows to talk about EU fishing quotas etc. They did, however once invite Carol Vorderman on and it is a Vorderman like performance I live in fear of giving. Much in the same way that she spewed The Daily Mail letters page I worry that I would do the same with The Guardian. In all seriousness I reckon that would be just as bad. Well, maybe not but... you know.

Similarly Nick Clegg made a pledge a while ago that he never thought he'd never have to worry about breaking. What irritates me about his tuition fee reversal is not the reversal itself but his defense. He says that they didn't win the election, they came third, and therefore they can't do whatever they want. But their pledge was to 'vote against any rise in tuition fees'. The Lib Dems knew that they wouldn't win the election. They also knew that there was a possibility that they could be involved in a coalition in the event of a hung parliament. Now Cleggo says that they have to compromise within that coalition. He's right, they do. I fully understand that they can't implement all (hardly any) of their policies. With their share of the vote that wouldn't be right. But they pledged to 'vote AGAINST any rise in tuition fees'. People voted for the Lib Dems knowing they might be in a coalition and expected them to stick to that pledge. It's pretty simple really although the length of this paragraph suggests that I have failed to make it so.

And that ladies and gentlemen is why I will never appear on Question Time. My belly rumbles with opinion, I overestimate my IQ and I waffle. For the record, I concocted that opinion without the aid of reading materials. In addition I'd like to let it be known that I'm not sure what the right thing to do about tuition fees is. I've genuinely heard some bloody good arguments on both sides. Why can't we all just... you know... get along?

Here's a short list of books that have caused me to annoy people with my new found opinions. For what it's worth, I recommend them all very highly;

Nick Cohen - What's Left?: How Liberals Lost Their Way
This book, I think, is amazing. It convinced me for a while that the Iraq War was the right thing to do (back to being anti now but with less vigour) and that Chomsky (a previous hero) was a cunt. For 6 months I tried to steer every conversation towards this book.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Whats-Left-Liberals-Lost-Their/dp/0007229704/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1291914353&sr=8-1

Al Franken - Lies And The Lying Liars Who Tell Them
This taught me to hate and laugh at Fox News before I had seen it. It's kind of meaningless political point-scoring but it's fun nonetheless. I read it in two days. It's that kind of book.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Lies-Lying-Liars-Tell-Them/dp/0141017805/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1291914776&sr=1-1

David Aaronovitch - Voodoo Histories
This reaffirmed a still held opinion that pretty much all conspiracy theories are bullshit.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Voodoo-Histories-Conspiracy-History-Bestseller/dp/009947896X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1291914898&sr=1-1

Simon Kuper and Stefan Szymanski - Why England Lose: And Other Curious Football Phenomena Explained
Get's a little boring towards the end and has a shit title but is otherwise brilliant. Smashes lots of perceived football wisdom - eg. foreigners are bad for English footballers and managers make much difference.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Why-England-Lose-phenomena-explained/dp/0007301111/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1291915106&sr=1-2

Michael Lewis - The Big Short: Inside The Doomsday Machine
This man is my new favourite writer. He explains one side of the financial crisis through the eyes of some people who saw it coming. Very exciting, funny and makes you feel smart reading it. I would try and steer all conversations towards this but I seriously struggle to remember the detail. Still, I can't recommend it enough.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_27?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=michael+lewis+the+big+short&x=0&y=0&sprefix=michael+lewis+the+big+short

And that concludes today's lesson. If I have bothered you with 'read opinions' in the past I apologise. I look back on the three month period, after reading the God Delusion, in which I, like every other twat who read it became aggressively (almost evangelically) atheist with embarrassment. It was fun though.

Aerosmith, Bryan Adams, Wills and Kate.

This week I went to Seville (it's in Spain - numb nuts!) which was alright. I went on my own. I imagined myself strolling the streets, soaking up the Iberian breeze (is that a thing?) and looking cool as I read in cafes. I kind of did all those things but, of course, in actuality it's not all that romantic. At one stage I went into Seville Cathedral. That's the sort of thing your supposed to do isn't it? Walk around a cathedral. At one stage I sat down on what I believe is known as a pew. Not sure though - I'm not religious. As I tried to find meaning in the relative silence someone started to whistle... quite loudly. Instead of pondering the audacity and genius of the people who built what is the world's largest cathedral I found myself desperately, luckily internally, shouting 'what the fuck is that song?'. Thankfully the whistler, presumably another visitor, kept going for a full ten minutes. Perhaps this is a traditional Sevillian game. Or maybe the man was employed to entertain tourists. No matter how great a cathedral, let's face it, they can be a little dull. For me, the introduction of 'name that tune' added to my enjoyment.

Eventually I got it. The man was whistling 'Don't Want To Miss A Thing' by Aerosmith. I fucking hate that song. It reminds me of when I worked in the Co-Op in Essex and was literally forced to listen to Essex FM all day. What amazed me was the complete unawareness of the whistler. What made him think that it was appropriate to whistle that song at full volume in a place where everything suggested that it would be anything but? What put that song in his head? Maybe he, like me, was on a short trip and having looked at the plethora of things to do in his guide thought to himself 'I don't want to miss a thing'. I'm glad he did whistle it because I found it hilarious. It was genuinely one of the highlights of my trip. Similarly when a couple of years ago I spent less than 24 hours in the beautiful country of Jordan I heard the song 'Please Forgive Me' by Bryan Adams no less than FOUR TIMES. That became a hoot. It felt like every time we walked into a room or a taxi the locals said 'Quick! The westerners are coming! Put Bryan Adams on!!'.

So I was in Seville when I heard the GLORIOUS news that Wills and Kate are to be married. My heart was all a flutter and I took out my the Union Jack I always keep in my luggage wherever I go and waved it vigorously for a good two hours. I am, of course, being sarcastic. I watched the coverage for a full 90 minutes on Sky News and it depressed me to the core. I hate being told how happy the whole country is about it. It's like every now and again we Brits have to be reminded to be remedial, subservient, singing dickheads.

Just for clarity I have nothing against the royals as individuals. And for even further clarity I think that Kate Middleton is a boner-fied hottie. It's just that I despise the idea that we're supposed to be so joyous about the marriage of two undeservedly rich people that we don't even know. But Fergus, they're so NICE. Nice isn't good enough. As far as I can tell, Jamie Cullum is nice but that won't make me buy his music.

Right. I hate the institution of monarchy. I really do, but I worry I'm not going to do my hatred justice right now as my girlfriend is shouting at me to go and fetch us a take away Nando's. That's right, guys - we live next door to a Nando's. For nearly two years we boycotted it because our liberal middle class street opposed it's opening. Now, it turns out we'd be quite happy to be surrounded by Nando's. May I suggest that the whole nation pulls together behind the glory of Nando's rather than the marriage of two people it's quite possible you would have hated if they went to your university?

Things to do before I die.

1. Find out what a horse is.
2. Tell Margaret I love her.
3. Read an old poem, 'get it' and decide that it's shit.
4. Make a number 22 record - 21 or 23 is not good enough.
5. See the world (a globe/map would do).
6. Tell Ruth I love her.
7. Perform bypass surgery on myself and those closest to me.
8. Meet one of the Blairs' kids.
9. Shoot a wasp.
10. Piss off a butcher.
11. Tell Gabrielle I love her.
12. Pronounce a word wrong.
13. Capitalise on a tragic event in order to gain extraordinary wealth.
14. Outlive my kids.
15. Prove/disprove the existence of Gary Mabbutt.
16. Successfully translate Don Quixote into English (assuming this hasn't been done already).
17. Put my willy in between my legs so that it looks like I'm a lady - sustain this for a year.
18. Patch things up with Wesley Snipes.
19. Teach a crab to walk forwards.
20. Go on a stake out/stag night.
21. Push the limits of what it is possible for a man to do within the confines of a granary bap.
22. Square up to a Samoan.
23. Divorce a Nolan sister.
24. Convert a simpleton from a poor country to Christianity and then tell him it's all bollocks shouting - "Gutted! In your face loser!"
25. See a film.

Bus Drivers

I must start with an apology. It’s been an awful long time since I’ve written a blog and that is for two reasons. One – I don’t have internet at home at the frigging moment. Two – I’m incredibly busy. I mean, gosh… my diary! Guys, I don’t think you appreciate just how busy I am. Think about you at your busiest then multiply that by ten… you’re not even close. I am SICK AND TIRED of people hiring me to STAR in their TELEVISION SHOWS!

I’d like to title the second half of that paragraph ‘faux arrogance’ in the hope that you ‘get it’. Tone can be very difficult to get across in print which is why a writer with my skill level and bravery should not have a blog. Sooner or later this blog is going to cause someone’s death and I will hold you, the readers – the people who supported this madness – responsible. It’s only a matter of time.

The subject that has dragged me to write this bitch is bus drivers. I worry for them. I think it is fair to say that they are the most miserable group of people I’ve come ever across.  The question is – do miserable people become bus drivers or does the profession itself make them miserable?

Yesterday morning I ran for a bus. With any luck this rare show of physical effort bought me enough calories to have at least 2 guilt free Pringles. As I was only 10 feet away when the bus was about the pull away, the driver was kind enough to leave his doors open and wait for me. It wasn’t an exceptional deed but it was the decent thing to do and I salute him for it. Having watched in agony and wrath as many bus drivers simply drove off in identical circumstances I decided to thank the driver for his humanity with the following statement;

“Thanks very much. Cheers for that.”

Not bad for 8 in the morning, I think. Direct. Polite. Appreciative. Mainstream.

The driver wasn’t so sure. For some reason, my attempt at a ‘thank you’ produced nothing but disgust in him. His face suggested that a little bit of vomit might have come up. He scowled, rolled his eyes and then turned away from the prick who dared to speak to him. I laughed out loud. You may know it as an ‘lol’.

What was it that I had done so wrong? It’s not like the bus was supposed to arrive at a certain time and I had dared to be late for it. I had simply ran for a bus and then thanked a driver for waiting three seconds for me. This is my theory;

Oyster cards and the like (in London at least) have made it completely unnecessary for bus drivers to have any contact with the hundreds of people they drive around each day. This lack of human contact has led them to resent us. Locked in cages, dealing with shitty traffic and cumbersome vehicles for hours, they have turned into (with the greatest respect) abused animals. So when one of us offers out the hand of friendship they are angry, suspicious and afraid – and they bark. Heaven forbid one of them bites.

As a solution may I suggest the following? Look upon all bus drivers as a (again, with the greatest respect) dog you have just adopted from Battersea Dogs Home. No matter what they do to you, show them nothing but love. ALWAYS thank them when getting onto and off a bus and try to offer them as many smiles as possible. Gradually they will realise that we are nothing to fear.