Ploughing through the Gobi desert in your lovelife is never a good thing. We would all rather be simply ploughing, period.
The Gobi is arid, it's hot, dry and all together rude but the worst thing about being stuck in the middle of the desert is there is absolutely no way out for miles around. No train timetables to look at, no cabs just around the corner, nope you're stuck there until one day you keep on trucking and just over the ridge will be some type of civilization. In this analogy I am imagining an old Western cowboy town, where John Wayne would be walking through the streets awkwardly as if he had a pineapple tucked snuggly up his arse. Then as you come round the corner, hopefully you'll be saved by a massive sign with the words tattoed on it "You are now entering Fannybrough. Please drive carefully through our village".
How long until you re-virginise? You know, let's say someone hasn't had nothing more than a cheeky dick flick in the last coupla months, do they then suddenly revert back to the days before A-Levels or if you're from Glasgow, pre 11+. Sorry Glasgow, actually you all can hardly read and will be under about ten feet of snow so you've got bigger problems. Anyways, one digresses on the more trivial aspects of life. Who rights the book on how long is too long?
In the back of each and every one of our minds we all know what is just a purple patch and when it becomes a touch more than that. How do we all know this? Society tells us but not overtly, it's not publicised through the media and it isn't pushed at us all in schools or in textbooks. Then, how do we know what the optimum time is between relationships? Between shags? Between cheeky snogs?
"THEY" tell us. No-one has ever figured out who the these mysterious "THEY" are. Is it the same group who create these crazy urban myths that circulate like if you have sex with a girl ontop then the sperm can't swin upstream and therefore she can't get pregnant or that Prince Harry does coke with a dollar bill because he doesn't want the guilt of doing drugs off of his grand-mother's face. Probably.
With a final sentiment: how long is too long? If I could ask "They" I would. Actually whilst I'm there I might ask them why the Easter Bunny gives everyone oversize eggs from a finely made whicker basker. Surely it should be a chicken?! Where the fuck did the rabbit come from!
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Sunday, 27 December 2009
Comedy or Tragedy?
Ever wondered whether or not you are simply stuck in a Tragedy or Comedy?
Life is a play to be acted out on the world stage with everyone watching and criticsing. Wondering which way you are going to turn next, enter stage right, will he end up in the final act with the lead damsel in distress wrapped with her legs around his waist or instead lying there on the stage floor having been stabbed by his bestfriends around him? The curtain then draws down across the stage with it's ever resounding finality and the public so enthralled by what they had seen, wonder back off into the busy streets around them, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened and whether or not that has affected them in anyway shape or form. Often in the noughties or the teenies as we are about to enter, the answer is a resounding: NO. Perhaps that's a tragedy in itself.
Tragedy or Comedy: the older I get and the increasing amount of days that whizz past me I wonder.
So let's start with the comedy in this hypothetical, life-changing analogy that no-one will ever read but it would be rude not to contribute to the world just because I assume that no-one could care less. The irony of it all is that it could well be the case that due to pumping out words into the never-ending ethos of the internet, where words don't actually mean anything anymore - it almost renders anything said absolutely useless. Back to the first question: Ironic Comedy or Unequivocal tragedy?
Indeed, as we all walk through the streets and look at the dregs of society trotting through the high streets, listening to the drivel that is pumped out of the nearest HMV or Primark, is there anyone out there who has any idea what it's all about? We are all being fed the same rubbish from music marketing companies, PR film management firms and the worst of all the press releases that through spnsorship now dictate what our newspapers and tv channels produce.
Ergo, the tragedy is that no-one even realises that everyone from Tescos to Habitat, ITV to fucking Simon Cowell (the subject of another blog on the Twenty-first century Maccheavellian prick)are pushing at us what we would should say, think and buy.
The ultimate tragedy is that we will all march to our own inevitable lonely deaths, without ever having made a decision.
Thus, is it comedy that there is someone looking down or up, hell even across laughing at our own naivety or a tragedy that we don't even realise it.
Fuck it could be both. Tragic.
Life is a play to be acted out on the world stage with everyone watching and criticsing. Wondering which way you are going to turn next, enter stage right, will he end up in the final act with the lead damsel in distress wrapped with her legs around his waist or instead lying there on the stage floor having been stabbed by his bestfriends around him? The curtain then draws down across the stage with it's ever resounding finality and the public so enthralled by what they had seen, wonder back off into the busy streets around them, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened and whether or not that has affected them in anyway shape or form. Often in the noughties or the teenies as we are about to enter, the answer is a resounding: NO. Perhaps that's a tragedy in itself.
Tragedy or Comedy: the older I get and the increasing amount of days that whizz past me I wonder.
So let's start with the comedy in this hypothetical, life-changing analogy that no-one will ever read but it would be rude not to contribute to the world just because I assume that no-one could care less. The irony of it all is that it could well be the case that due to pumping out words into the never-ending ethos of the internet, where words don't actually mean anything anymore - it almost renders anything said absolutely useless. Back to the first question: Ironic Comedy or Unequivocal tragedy?
Indeed, as we all walk through the streets and look at the dregs of society trotting through the high streets, listening to the drivel that is pumped out of the nearest HMV or Primark, is there anyone out there who has any idea what it's all about? We are all being fed the same rubbish from music marketing companies, PR film management firms and the worst of all the press releases that through spnsorship now dictate what our newspapers and tv channels produce.
Ergo, the tragedy is that no-one even realises that everyone from Tescos to Habitat, ITV to fucking Simon Cowell (the subject of another blog on the Twenty-first century Maccheavellian prick)are pushing at us what we would should say, think and buy.
The ultimate tragedy is that we will all march to our own inevitable lonely deaths, without ever having made a decision.
Thus, is it comedy that there is someone looking down or up, hell even across laughing at our own naivety or a tragedy that we don't even realise it.
Fuck it could be both. Tragic.
Wednesday, 2 September 2009
Sunday Driving
As I walked through the front door the other day, I sat down next to my old man and as he asked how my journey in the car was back from my mum's house, I promptly expressed my frustration and rounded my rant off with an exclamation damning sunday drivers forever. My dad being infinitely wiser than me mainly due to a healthy build up of years under his belt, corrected me. It was a Thursday.
When did the Sunday driving phenomenon start to integrate and afflict our everyday lives? These geriatrics who used to venture out of their bungalows and bundle into their assortment of Nissan Micras, Skodas and Daihatsus are now starting to take the piss quite frankly. Sunday was a non-starter so society was perfectly happy to give them over this one day to indulge their craving to pass through our lives, do their weekly shop, go to church and generally faff about in the world. However, the roads are starting to get clogged up with the old and bold running these errands. Surely this is exactly what the internet was trying to stamp out. By young people creating a multi-functional, international interface that anyone could easily use, it was supposed to stop the older demographic from doing these errands during the week and allow them to do all their shopping online, e-mail their families rather than driving to see them, decrease the risks that they pose to other motorists who have driving licences with their photographs on that aren't in Black and White.
This isn't a tirade against the Werther's Original crowd but to all those motorists who decide to take to the roads and make it like a chase scene from 'The Fast and The Furious' or indeed it's aptly named sequel '2 Fast, 2 Furious' (I would just like to highlight that whoever named these films hopefully got some kind of reward for managing to persuade the producers that these names were viable). There has been substantial talk in governmental circles about making re-tests compulsory for the pensioners who still like to think that they are Jackie Stewart. It isn't ageist no matter what the Daily Mail says but instead common sense. If Ethel and Winston are still perfectly capable on the M6 then by all means take to our roads but if an examiner deems their skills more wacky races rather than F1 then they should be kept off the streets. Indefinitely unless proven otherwise.
My Great Aunt Betty doesn't drive because she knows that she has no use for it and at the same time realises that she may be more harm than use. Unfortunately, this thought process needs to seep through to every older member of society and put in place by politicians who aren't too busy with their duck houses to do their jobs.
Come on everyone make my journey to and from my house safer. If you are too young or too old to see over the steering wheel, just don't venture out into the roads in your Rover Metro or Robin Reliant.
I guess you can keep Sunday, just don't even think about touching any of the other 6, otherwise you'll be on your bike with Boris Johnson and Dave Cameron.
When did the Sunday driving phenomenon start to integrate and afflict our everyday lives? These geriatrics who used to venture out of their bungalows and bundle into their assortment of Nissan Micras, Skodas and Daihatsus are now starting to take the piss quite frankly. Sunday was a non-starter so society was perfectly happy to give them over this one day to indulge their craving to pass through our lives, do their weekly shop, go to church and generally faff about in the world. However, the roads are starting to get clogged up with the old and bold running these errands. Surely this is exactly what the internet was trying to stamp out. By young people creating a multi-functional, international interface that anyone could easily use, it was supposed to stop the older demographic from doing these errands during the week and allow them to do all their shopping online, e-mail their families rather than driving to see them, decrease the risks that they pose to other motorists who have driving licences with their photographs on that aren't in Black and White.
This isn't a tirade against the Werther's Original crowd but to all those motorists who decide to take to the roads and make it like a chase scene from 'The Fast and The Furious' or indeed it's aptly named sequel '2 Fast, 2 Furious' (I would just like to highlight that whoever named these films hopefully got some kind of reward for managing to persuade the producers that these names were viable). There has been substantial talk in governmental circles about making re-tests compulsory for the pensioners who still like to think that they are Jackie Stewart. It isn't ageist no matter what the Daily Mail says but instead common sense. If Ethel and Winston are still perfectly capable on the M6 then by all means take to our roads but if an examiner deems their skills more wacky races rather than F1 then they should be kept off the streets. Indefinitely unless proven otherwise.
My Great Aunt Betty doesn't drive because she knows that she has no use for it and at the same time realises that she may be more harm than use. Unfortunately, this thought process needs to seep through to every older member of society and put in place by politicians who aren't too busy with their duck houses to do their jobs.
Come on everyone make my journey to and from my house safer. If you are too young or too old to see over the steering wheel, just don't venture out into the roads in your Rover Metro or Robin Reliant.
I guess you can keep Sunday, just don't even think about touching any of the other 6, otherwise you'll be on your bike with Boris Johnson and Dave Cameron.
Tuesday, 25 August 2009
Let Bygones... Be Gone?
Re-engaging with one's past is altogther one of life's more interesting propositions.
Nobody is able to go through life and maintain contact with everyone that you encounter and have a friendship with. No matter how hard you try there is no way that you are going to remember every single kid who used to build camps with you at school when you were 12 or who your best friend was when you used to go to tennis coaching aged 8 and although you may remember some of the guys who you shared your first few shots with when you obviously didn't look old enough to get in but some girl you knew had promised some barman that they may one day give them head, then are we bad people for not staying in touch with everyone?
This isn't the question that infuriates me as instead there is a far worse scenario than this one. As old acquaintances slip away into memory without consequence or repurscussion and from time to time we ask the age old "I wonder what they are doing?" hypothetical, this isn't the worrying one.
As I walked out of a tube station the other day, I suddenly heard this clamour of "Alex!" (It was certainly a clamour, as I had Jimi blasting his heavenly guitar riffs between my ear drums), there it was in human form: the past. Not even the distant past but still far away enough to be what seemed like a lifetime ago. Suddenly like a rabbit stuck in the proverbial headlights, I didn't know where to look, where to go, what to say. My expression was hid in that slightly embarassing half surprise and half cringe. I agreed to everything that was posed to me: Drink? Yes. Dinner? Yes. Have you seen X, Y or Z recently? No, but I would love to!! (I'm fake, a hypocrite - a lot like Gordon Brown denying his Scottish roots in the Libya fiasco)
What do you do when slapped in the face with the past? Is it okay to go back to something that you let go years ago? Kevin Keegan went back to Newcastle for a second spell and that ended in tears. Is everything in life meant to be a one-hit wonder?
There is a reason that ex-girlfriends and ex-boyfriends are filed away into history and never spoken to again by many. There is nothing left to talk about, you have exhausted that relationship and except for maybe a quick catchup there is perhaps nothing you have left in common. I find that I have become a completely different person to who I was three years ago, I have seen more, done more. My priorities are now different and I'm sure the people I once called my best friends have separate ideas. Threfore, is it justified to accept the past and venture back into that arena and rekindle some type of relationship?
Every time that I go back down to Canterbury where I grew up and bump into people who I used to hang out with, I never know what to say. You may have been best friends with someone when you were seven but how on earth am I meant to share that same affinity that we once had? Unfortunately I don't think you are.
The old saying that we should live in the moment is very poignant. There is a reason that that your friends now have been your friends for as long as they have. Anyone who you bump into along the way, there is always a good reason that you lost touch.
Remember this. Indeed, it's the same as why certain clothes are still in sale and have been marked down over and over again. If no-one wanted it the first time around...
Nobody is able to go through life and maintain contact with everyone that you encounter and have a friendship with. No matter how hard you try there is no way that you are going to remember every single kid who used to build camps with you at school when you were 12 or who your best friend was when you used to go to tennis coaching aged 8 and although you may remember some of the guys who you shared your first few shots with when you obviously didn't look old enough to get in but some girl you knew had promised some barman that they may one day give them head, then are we bad people for not staying in touch with everyone?
This isn't the question that infuriates me as instead there is a far worse scenario than this one. As old acquaintances slip away into memory without consequence or repurscussion and from time to time we ask the age old "I wonder what they are doing?" hypothetical, this isn't the worrying one.
As I walked out of a tube station the other day, I suddenly heard this clamour of "Alex!" (It was certainly a clamour, as I had Jimi blasting his heavenly guitar riffs between my ear drums), there it was in human form: the past. Not even the distant past but still far away enough to be what seemed like a lifetime ago. Suddenly like a rabbit stuck in the proverbial headlights, I didn't know where to look, where to go, what to say. My expression was hid in that slightly embarassing half surprise and half cringe. I agreed to everything that was posed to me: Drink? Yes. Dinner? Yes. Have you seen X, Y or Z recently? No, but I would love to!! (I'm fake, a hypocrite - a lot like Gordon Brown denying his Scottish roots in the Libya fiasco)
What do you do when slapped in the face with the past? Is it okay to go back to something that you let go years ago? Kevin Keegan went back to Newcastle for a second spell and that ended in tears. Is everything in life meant to be a one-hit wonder?
There is a reason that ex-girlfriends and ex-boyfriends are filed away into history and never spoken to again by many. There is nothing left to talk about, you have exhausted that relationship and except for maybe a quick catchup there is perhaps nothing you have left in common. I find that I have become a completely different person to who I was three years ago, I have seen more, done more. My priorities are now different and I'm sure the people I once called my best friends have separate ideas. Threfore, is it justified to accept the past and venture back into that arena and rekindle some type of relationship?
Every time that I go back down to Canterbury where I grew up and bump into people who I used to hang out with, I never know what to say. You may have been best friends with someone when you were seven but how on earth am I meant to share that same affinity that we once had? Unfortunately I don't think you are.
The old saying that we should live in the moment is very poignant. There is a reason that that your friends now have been your friends for as long as they have. Anyone who you bump into along the way, there is always a good reason that you lost touch.
Remember this. Indeed, it's the same as why certain clothes are still in sale and have been marked down over and over again. If no-one wanted it the first time around...
Wednesday, 19 August 2009
Absolutely Unbelievable Jeff!
Yes Kammy...
It's back people and in full swing. The Premier League is barely a week into the new 2009/10 season but we have already seen the type of drama that some critics would have us believe makes it the best league in the world. I can certainly agree that the first week of Premiership football has been outstanding and even in the Sven Leagues, there has been just as much excitement and provocation for Jimmy Hill-esque debate.
Was is a goal, wasn't it a goal? Did he see it or was he blinded? Should it have been a red card or not? Is Paul Merson still a dreadful pundit? All the above questions are back and we are on for a great nine months of football, which I am so excited about that I can hardly contain myself.
This season we have already had some absolute gems from Brian Gunn being sacked after their incredible 7-1 drubbing by Colchester (What's that Delia? Let's be having yah P45) to Burnley's 1-0 upset at Turf Moor beating Fergie's lot finding life a touch more difficult post-Ronaldo, Arsene's rugrats running riot on the first day of the season to Harry '2nd hand' Redknapp with the biggest smile on his face since he won the FA Cup and subsequently bankrupted Pomepy in the process.
As August roles around each year, the majority of straight men in the country breath a sigh of relief as the big four get back onto our screens: Stelling; Tyler; Gray & over on the other one in the evenings "big-ears" Linekar. Good to have you boys back. Finally after months of guessing I can simply sit back and enjoy the amazing football waffle that we all enjoy. Even Soccer AM post-Lovejoy is back and although an inferior product, it now adheres to that age-old proverb that you don't know what you had until it's gone.
This year will ESPN prove that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence? Can Man Utd cope without Ronaldo and actually can Liverpool do without Xabi Alonso? Big questions but the one thing we do know for certain this season is that it will be fantastic as the first week or so has already proved.
That's right, it's going to be "Absolutely Unbelievable Jeff!"
We all hope so Kammy; We all hope so.
It's back people and in full swing. The Premier League is barely a week into the new 2009/10 season but we have already seen the type of drama that some critics would have us believe makes it the best league in the world. I can certainly agree that the first week of Premiership football has been outstanding and even in the Sven Leagues, there has been just as much excitement and provocation for Jimmy Hill-esque debate.
Was is a goal, wasn't it a goal? Did he see it or was he blinded? Should it have been a red card or not? Is Paul Merson still a dreadful pundit? All the above questions are back and we are on for a great nine months of football, which I am so excited about that I can hardly contain myself.
This season we have already had some absolute gems from Brian Gunn being sacked after their incredible 7-1 drubbing by Colchester (What's that Delia? Let's be having yah P45) to Burnley's 1-0 upset at Turf Moor beating Fergie's lot finding life a touch more difficult post-Ronaldo, Arsene's rugrats running riot on the first day of the season to Harry '2nd hand' Redknapp with the biggest smile on his face since he won the FA Cup and subsequently bankrupted Pomepy in the process.
As August roles around each year, the majority of straight men in the country breath a sigh of relief as the big four get back onto our screens: Stelling; Tyler; Gray & over on the other one in the evenings "big-ears" Linekar. Good to have you boys back. Finally after months of guessing I can simply sit back and enjoy the amazing football waffle that we all enjoy. Even Soccer AM post-Lovejoy is back and although an inferior product, it now adheres to that age-old proverb that you don't know what you had until it's gone.
This year will ESPN prove that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence? Can Man Utd cope without Ronaldo and actually can Liverpool do without Xabi Alonso? Big questions but the one thing we do know for certain this season is that it will be fantastic as the first week or so has already proved.
That's right, it's going to be "Absolutely Unbelievable Jeff!"
We all hope so Kammy; We all hope so.
Monday, 17 August 2009
We all hope that the juice is worth the squeeze...
To start off any article with a dictionary definition is just a horrendous cliche and in any serious writer or journalist's opinion should never be done. This is why I have decided to start with mine two sentences in. Timing is: "the choice, judgement, or control of when something should be done", unfortunately the problem with this definition is that it highlights that timing is subject to our own choices. This elephant in the room "should" shows us that fate may have us in a situation but we ultimately decide on whether or not to take action and force the hand and turn an oppurtunity into reality.
We can lay down our blueprints and plans for life but these can be derailed so very quickly by a chance meeting, an off the cuff discussion or whether or not we simply miss our train in the morning and then we're forced to take the 07:57 rather than the comfort of our usual 07:36.It may well be twenty minutes but it could be the most valuable minutes of your life. My Great Aunty Betty once told me that life is just a series of choices, one after another. She added that the key to a happy and successful life is simply if the good outweigh the bad. She has a point but then in my eyes she can do no wrong, I have always loved those Werther's Originals. Honestly, they are just mind control butterscotch. The CIA should stop waterboarding and simply crack open a packet of those. There you go Barack, a solution for what to do with the three hundred odd left in Guantanamo for no reason, nine months after you said they would be released...butterscotch goodness.
Anyways, terrorism and confectionary should be adressed in another blog altogether.
These decisions determine the course that our lives take, whether for better or for worse. Each crossroads rears it's ugly head and the way that we deal with these can have a devastating effect on the how we conduct our entire lives. Pretty daunting stuff. Although a scary and potentially damning decision is faced by all of us and no matter how much we agonise over it, I think that everyone knows deep down what the right decision is going to be. That voice deep down in the back of our head dictates what we do. I call mine Rupert.
In a way these decisions are influenced by whether or not we are willing to gamble and take that chance. Do you throw those dice, try and bluff your way out of a bad hand or support Spurs. All massive gambles in themselves and there is no way that when making the decision that you'll know whether or not it's the right one, even though there is that voice inside telling you what to do. All you can do is hope for the big payoff in the end.
We all hope that the juice is worth the squeeze because what if it isn't?
We can lay down our blueprints and plans for life but these can be derailed so very quickly by a chance meeting, an off the cuff discussion or whether or not we simply miss our train in the morning and then we're forced to take the 07:57 rather than the comfort of our usual 07:36.It may well be twenty minutes but it could be the most valuable minutes of your life. My Great Aunty Betty once told me that life is just a series of choices, one after another. She added that the key to a happy and successful life is simply if the good outweigh the bad. She has a point but then in my eyes she can do no wrong, I have always loved those Werther's Originals. Honestly, they are just mind control butterscotch. The CIA should stop waterboarding and simply crack open a packet of those. There you go Barack, a solution for what to do with the three hundred odd left in Guantanamo for no reason, nine months after you said they would be released...butterscotch goodness.
Anyways, terrorism and confectionary should be adressed in another blog altogether.
These decisions determine the course that our lives take, whether for better or for worse. Each crossroads rears it's ugly head and the way that we deal with these can have a devastating effect on the how we conduct our entire lives. Pretty daunting stuff. Although a scary and potentially damning decision is faced by all of us and no matter how much we agonise over it, I think that everyone knows deep down what the right decision is going to be. That voice deep down in the back of our head dictates what we do. I call mine Rupert.
In a way these decisions are influenced by whether or not we are willing to gamble and take that chance. Do you throw those dice, try and bluff your way out of a bad hand or support Spurs. All massive gambles in themselves and there is no way that when making the decision that you'll know whether or not it's the right one, even though there is that voice inside telling you what to do. All you can do is hope for the big payoff in the end.
We all hope that the juice is worth the squeeze because what if it isn't?
Monday, 10 August 2009
Fail to Prepare, Prepare to Fail?
As I sat there over the weekend watching the box, a very old interview with Geri 'Ginger Spice' Halliwell came on, it was a T4 episode. As she was being asked questions by Miquita Oliver, she suddenly blurts out this well-known saying. However, it wasn't just the fact that she used such a burden of a cliche in an interview but instead the manner in which she blurted out this sage-like advice. It went somewhat like this:
"You know what Miquita, my granddad used to say to me: (Emphatic pause for appropriate gasp and prospective awe) Fail to Prepare then Prepare to Fail". Thanks for that one Geri like none of us have ever heard that pearl of wisdom before. Why don't you crawl under a rock somewhere and listen to 'Mi Chico Latino' on repeat and stay there for eternity and do the world a service. For the love of christ. Anyways, although completely out of context and irrelevant to anything being asked, Ginger got me thinking.
What if all our assumptions, aspirations and hopes for life never come true?
Indeed, there is every possibility that all the happiness and wonderful things that Disney, Nursery Rhymnes and bloody Richard Curtis have promised us throughout our childhoods don't actually come true and instead life is really just excruciating disappointment and one hurdle after another until the day we die. This is by far the most pessimistic I have been in a while but perhaps all of us are simply going through education or starting out in our prospective careers and learning our trades but we are all simply preparing to fail? Allow me to play devil's advocate.
There is definitely an assumption amongst the majority of young people that we are all going to settle down and enjoy marital bliss with our true love, have 2.5 kids, enjoy a fulfilling career and a big house somewhere in a county ending in -shire. Oh and how could I forget the pair of spaniels called sniffles and snuffles (okay, indulge me on that last fantasy!). This is what the majority of us are all preparing ourselves for, we're trying to secure this Jane Austenesque happy ending which in reality is more likely to be fiction than fact.
It could be that you are doomed to be that tragic hero in the story that is your life. Even though we all think that we are the good guy, the protagonist and perhaps the Prince Charming or Cinderella, this cannot be true for everyone. If the world is supposed to be balanced then exactly half of us are going to end up the good guy and the other half the bad. It's fact not everyone is going to live happily ever after unfortunately. There has to be a ying and a yang and for one half of the entire population there will certainly be some people who don't turn up to your funeral because it's raining outside.
Yep, that's right. Sorry people but these are the cold, hard facts and all we can do is go away and wonder if that bad guy is actually you. That mirror in the morning has suddenly got a lot more interesting hasn't it.
Bloody Geri Halliwell, better than Plato, Rousseau and Voltaire put together. Neither of the latter were in one of the biggest selling girl groups of all time either - bitch.
"You know what Miquita, my granddad used to say to me: (Emphatic pause for appropriate gasp and prospective awe) Fail to Prepare then Prepare to Fail". Thanks for that one Geri like none of us have ever heard that pearl of wisdom before. Why don't you crawl under a rock somewhere and listen to 'Mi Chico Latino' on repeat and stay there for eternity and do the world a service. For the love of christ. Anyways, although completely out of context and irrelevant to anything being asked, Ginger got me thinking.
What if all our assumptions, aspirations and hopes for life never come true?
Indeed, there is every possibility that all the happiness and wonderful things that Disney, Nursery Rhymnes and bloody Richard Curtis have promised us throughout our childhoods don't actually come true and instead life is really just excruciating disappointment and one hurdle after another until the day we die. This is by far the most pessimistic I have been in a while but perhaps all of us are simply going through education or starting out in our prospective careers and learning our trades but we are all simply preparing to fail? Allow me to play devil's advocate.
There is definitely an assumption amongst the majority of young people that we are all going to settle down and enjoy marital bliss with our true love, have 2.5 kids, enjoy a fulfilling career and a big house somewhere in a county ending in -shire. Oh and how could I forget the pair of spaniels called sniffles and snuffles (okay, indulge me on that last fantasy!). This is what the majority of us are all preparing ourselves for, we're trying to secure this Jane Austenesque happy ending which in reality is more likely to be fiction than fact.
It could be that you are doomed to be that tragic hero in the story that is your life. Even though we all think that we are the good guy, the protagonist and perhaps the Prince Charming or Cinderella, this cannot be true for everyone. If the world is supposed to be balanced then exactly half of us are going to end up the good guy and the other half the bad. It's fact not everyone is going to live happily ever after unfortunately. There has to be a ying and a yang and for one half of the entire population there will certainly be some people who don't turn up to your funeral because it's raining outside.
Yep, that's right. Sorry people but these are the cold, hard facts and all we can do is go away and wonder if that bad guy is actually you. That mirror in the morning has suddenly got a lot more interesting hasn't it.
Bloody Geri Halliwell, better than Plato, Rousseau and Voltaire put together. Neither of the latter were in one of the biggest selling girl groups of all time either - bitch.
Saturday, 8 August 2009
I know I shouldn't...
...But I Just Can't Help Myself
If I had a pound for the amount of times that the phrase "Oh I know I shouldn't...but I just can't help myself" has been uttered in conversation around me, then I certainly would have a very heavy pocket. Temptation and curiosity is in our nature, although we all know that we shouldn't do a certain act then the idea that if we do, what is the absolute worse that can happen? Everyone in that garden wanted to taste the fruit from the tree even though they had been told that if they did everything would be different but secretly both Adam and Eve hoped that they wouldn't finally get caught. Don't have the last chocolate, don't lick the knife, don't pass go, don't collect £200. Actually, that last one is an excellent rule to a great game I take it back.
Society dictates that we should be grateful for what we have and settle for stability. Temptation, Curiosity and Envy are all emotions that the collective frowns upon. However, that daring grass is greener attitude must be justified in certain situations, but the likelihood is that they will get us all into trouble at the end of the day (I realise that I sound like a football manager). This is a good example of why if you play with fire you'll get burnt in the end...
In order to set the scene this was a few years ago when I was only the tender age of 18 and enthralled by the fast paced nature of London and all the pitfalls that goes with it. Unfortunately at the time it was all like a red rag to a bull. As I was introduced to a couple who were friend's of a friend I didn't realise that the situation would soon escalate like it did in the end. Indeed, I remember meeting them both in London. He was a young, brash and petulant little twat with about as much charisma as an earwig. The conversation never escalated beyond how great he thought that he was and indeed, how apparently others shared these sentiments. Whereas, in contrast, his girlfriend at the time was certainly very pretty and seemed to be devastatingly unhappy with the entire debacle that was their relationship. She had definitely caught my eye but when you look like that, you are going to catch everyone's attention male and female alike.
After several drinks altogether and a few nights out my opinion of the young buck didn't shift an inch. After one night out in particular, we all went back to her house perhaps about six of us to crash out after a big night painting the town red. As I slept soundly, I felt a featherlike stroke across my back that woke me up. There was Nat sitting on the side of the bed trying to get my attention:
"What the fuck are you doing?" I whispered.
She leant in and kissed me on the lips passionately. I remember it as clear as yesterday. The snow tumbling down onto the pavement outside through the half-closed curtains, my friend sighing as he slept next to me and my heart beating rapidly. As she sleaked back off to the room next door where her boyfriend lay in bed blissfully unaware I fell back asleep stunned by what had occurred.
This tryst carried on in secret over the following weeks with a couple of brief meetings around the city, as we desperately tried to keep it secret. There was no hope for this relationship as I was never really interested in her particuarly but the temptation of the entire situation captivated me and held my attention for a while at least. It was going to come to a head but I just didn't know when.
As the party carried on downstairs, I found myself locked in a spare room on the first floor of this house in Finchley with a loud banging on the locked door. My heart stopped.
Bang, Bang, Bang - Oh no.
Suddenly the most sober I have ever been, I realised the gravity of the situation. I was locked in this room with the lights off, Nat topless and the window locked so there was absolutely no route for escape. I knew exactly how Bill Clinton felt and unlike Silvio Berlusconi there was no way I could laugh off this one. As I faced the music and unlocked the door, he barged past me with a look of disbelief and anger across his face and grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the adjacent bathroom.
Cue loud shouting and unfortunately as I made my way out of the house down the stairs, I heard a full on thwack. It was that sound only made by hard skin on skin. Even thinking of it now makes my heart sink to the bottom of my stomach. As I walked out, a friend stopped me briefly and then came my turn as a fist came from the side straight into my face. The earwig had just hit me full on across the jaw. I remember being surprised that it didn't hurt more, I deserved it to hurt more.
That night ended with me taking a snooze in Waterloo waiting for the first train back home and I never did speak to either of them again. Temptation and the excitement of another person's girlfriend got the better of me completely and for about a month it excited us both. It didn't end well for either involved. However, how many times has a situation arisen where an affair turns into something more, a broken relationship brings to the fore one that is happier and lasts longer. Hell, Brad Pitt ran off with Angelina and they're still going strong although with a bizarre penchant for changing the world and starting their own Cambodian orhpanage.
Is cheating wrong if it ends happily in the end? Is wanting something or someone that isn't yours wrong? Yes, cheating is wrong but running off with someonlese and being happy isn't surely. If it all ends well in the end and you finally have a meaningful relationship and end up in love, how can you say that following your feelings for that person was wrong. Perhaps temptation, curiosity and envy are good? That'll shake the establishment. Just don't try and pursue these without a planned escape route.
If I had a pound for the amount of times that the phrase "Oh I know I shouldn't...but I just can't help myself" has been uttered in conversation around me, then I certainly would have a very heavy pocket. Temptation and curiosity is in our nature, although we all know that we shouldn't do a certain act then the idea that if we do, what is the absolute worse that can happen? Everyone in that garden wanted to taste the fruit from the tree even though they had been told that if they did everything would be different but secretly both Adam and Eve hoped that they wouldn't finally get caught. Don't have the last chocolate, don't lick the knife, don't pass go, don't collect £200. Actually, that last one is an excellent rule to a great game I take it back.
Society dictates that we should be grateful for what we have and settle for stability. Temptation, Curiosity and Envy are all emotions that the collective frowns upon. However, that daring grass is greener attitude must be justified in certain situations, but the likelihood is that they will get us all into trouble at the end of the day (I realise that I sound like a football manager). This is a good example of why if you play with fire you'll get burnt in the end...
In order to set the scene this was a few years ago when I was only the tender age of 18 and enthralled by the fast paced nature of London and all the pitfalls that goes with it. Unfortunately at the time it was all like a red rag to a bull. As I was introduced to a couple who were friend's of a friend I didn't realise that the situation would soon escalate like it did in the end. Indeed, I remember meeting them both in London. He was a young, brash and petulant little twat with about as much charisma as an earwig. The conversation never escalated beyond how great he thought that he was and indeed, how apparently others shared these sentiments. Whereas, in contrast, his girlfriend at the time was certainly very pretty and seemed to be devastatingly unhappy with the entire debacle that was their relationship. She had definitely caught my eye but when you look like that, you are going to catch everyone's attention male and female alike.
After several drinks altogether and a few nights out my opinion of the young buck didn't shift an inch. After one night out in particular, we all went back to her house perhaps about six of us to crash out after a big night painting the town red. As I slept soundly, I felt a featherlike stroke across my back that woke me up. There was Nat sitting on the side of the bed trying to get my attention:
"What the fuck are you doing?" I whispered.
She leant in and kissed me on the lips passionately. I remember it as clear as yesterday. The snow tumbling down onto the pavement outside through the half-closed curtains, my friend sighing as he slept next to me and my heart beating rapidly. As she sleaked back off to the room next door where her boyfriend lay in bed blissfully unaware I fell back asleep stunned by what had occurred.
This tryst carried on in secret over the following weeks with a couple of brief meetings around the city, as we desperately tried to keep it secret. There was no hope for this relationship as I was never really interested in her particuarly but the temptation of the entire situation captivated me and held my attention for a while at least. It was going to come to a head but I just didn't know when.
As the party carried on downstairs, I found myself locked in a spare room on the first floor of this house in Finchley with a loud banging on the locked door. My heart stopped.
Bang, Bang, Bang - Oh no.
Suddenly the most sober I have ever been, I realised the gravity of the situation. I was locked in this room with the lights off, Nat topless and the window locked so there was absolutely no route for escape. I knew exactly how Bill Clinton felt and unlike Silvio Berlusconi there was no way I could laugh off this one. As I faced the music and unlocked the door, he barged past me with a look of disbelief and anger across his face and grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the adjacent bathroom.
Cue loud shouting and unfortunately as I made my way out of the house down the stairs, I heard a full on thwack. It was that sound only made by hard skin on skin. Even thinking of it now makes my heart sink to the bottom of my stomach. As I walked out, a friend stopped me briefly and then came my turn as a fist came from the side straight into my face. The earwig had just hit me full on across the jaw. I remember being surprised that it didn't hurt more, I deserved it to hurt more.
That night ended with me taking a snooze in Waterloo waiting for the first train back home and I never did speak to either of them again. Temptation and the excitement of another person's girlfriend got the better of me completely and for about a month it excited us both. It didn't end well for either involved. However, how many times has a situation arisen where an affair turns into something more, a broken relationship brings to the fore one that is happier and lasts longer. Hell, Brad Pitt ran off with Angelina and they're still going strong although with a bizarre penchant for changing the world and starting their own Cambodian orhpanage.
Is cheating wrong if it ends happily in the end? Is wanting something or someone that isn't yours wrong? Yes, cheating is wrong but running off with someonlese and being happy isn't surely. If it all ends well in the end and you finally have a meaningful relationship and end up in love, how can you say that following your feelings for that person was wrong. Perhaps temptation, curiosity and envy are good? That'll shake the establishment. Just don't try and pursue these without a planned escape route.
Monday, 3 August 2009
Doormaniacs!
There you are outside a certain establishment on a nondescript road awaiting the inevitable to happen like I was this weekend. There is a bit of a queue but at the end of the day this doesn't matter. The only thing between you and perhaps the best night of your life is this little group of people shuffling in, a slight cover on the door of a few coins and some funny looking, large fella who will happily be paid peanuts to stand outside a club all night and make sure that no trouble kicks off. A type of St. Peter at the gates of heaven if you will. They go under several different names, in areas they are referred to as 'Bouncers', elsewehere 'Doormen' and unfortunately for this young buck who decided that I didn't have the appropriate footwear on this occasion, I may have eluded to his high vis jacket and general appearance and referred to him as, and I quote, "A Fucking Highlighter Pen!".
Out of context this seems as though I was being rowdy, drunken and although quite funny at the time some might deem abusive. No, untrue. I had forgotten the shoe thing in London espeicially Chelsea because of the "Who really cares?" attitude that clubs up in Newcastle and in many other locations adopt, which to be fair is probably the right idea. Well, as soon as I get into this club I don't want to be in hideously uncomfortable footwear. I am a man and I want to drink, get messy and dance like it's 1999. Trainers are the best option for this type of behaviour. You wouldn't wear a cashmere jumper to go sunbathing in - same basic principle, it's just impractical. Let us all ditch these silly rules - if Kanye and Diddy can get away with it, why can't we all?
Second point, if anyone reads this who may well be a gentleman who plies his trade in this profession, can I implore you to be a bit more polite and nicer to everyone getting inside. You don't need to get rude, all you have to do to said offender is explain that it's your job and the rules set by the owner and that there is nothing you can do about this. After all he pays your wages and if he says jump, you're inevitably going to scream "How high boss?". The general public understand this Mr. Doorman and no matter how drunk we may well be the majority are going to accept this fact. Don't try and infer that we can't afford nice shoes, Don't come at us all rude and unhelpful, No swearing or derogatory comments. Not only is it not needed but it is just unecessary to say the least.
Therefore, I implore all doormen out there to take this advice and move forward. Let's make the experience of clubbing and having a good time exactly that: A good time!
Unfortunately, hardly any of you can turn on a computer let alone fucking read so I'm not exactly preaching to the choir.
Out of context this seems as though I was being rowdy, drunken and although quite funny at the time some might deem abusive. No, untrue. I had forgotten the shoe thing in London espeicially Chelsea because of the "Who really cares?" attitude that clubs up in Newcastle and in many other locations adopt, which to be fair is probably the right idea. Well, as soon as I get into this club I don't want to be in hideously uncomfortable footwear. I am a man and I want to drink, get messy and dance like it's 1999. Trainers are the best option for this type of behaviour. You wouldn't wear a cashmere jumper to go sunbathing in - same basic principle, it's just impractical. Let us all ditch these silly rules - if Kanye and Diddy can get away with it, why can't we all?
Second point, if anyone reads this who may well be a gentleman who plies his trade in this profession, can I implore you to be a bit more polite and nicer to everyone getting inside. You don't need to get rude, all you have to do to said offender is explain that it's your job and the rules set by the owner and that there is nothing you can do about this. After all he pays your wages and if he says jump, you're inevitably going to scream "How high boss?". The general public understand this Mr. Doorman and no matter how drunk we may well be the majority are going to accept this fact. Don't try and infer that we can't afford nice shoes, Don't come at us all rude and unhelpful, No swearing or derogatory comments. Not only is it not needed but it is just unecessary to say the least.
Therefore, I implore all doormen out there to take this advice and move forward. Let's make the experience of clubbing and having a good time exactly that: A good time!
Unfortunately, hardly any of you can turn on a computer let alone fucking read so I'm not exactly preaching to the choir.
Saturday, 25 July 2009
A Sporting Chance
I would like to start off this blog with a sincere hope. If anybody saw the crash today at the Hungarian Grand Prix that involved Felipe Massa and was as shocked as I was, I would very quickly like to send out my hopes and best of wishes to the F1 driver and his family. Although every sport has it's successes and pitfalls, even though it is a spectacle for all of us, there are serious and life threatening risks that these men take when racing. This is why they get paid vast amounts of money... they put their lives on the line at immense speeds for our entertainment and unfortunately suffer the immense pressures and consequences of one slip up. Indeed, as was shown by the slow motion displays of Ricky Hatton getting knocked out by "The Pacman" Manny Pacquiao there is a ridiculous amount of money involved with these sports because the repurcussions aren't simply professional but instead to these sportsmen's lives and we should all remember that. Good luck Felipe.
These sportsmen take on these immense pressures and dangers everyday because they are trying to provide a decent standard of life for both themselves and their family. They train hard, have restrictions on both their physical and social lives as well as doing this all under the harsh scrutiny that society and espeicially the media imposes on their personal lives. Unfortunately, negative press sells newspapers and magazines and instigates more people to google the celebrity in question or buy a copy of heat magazine. We invest our own nationalistic aspirations and sporting hopes on each one of these sportsmen and we are all far too quick to judge each one of these men when either their personal or professional integrity are called into question. Could you bowl any faster than Freddie Flintoff, drive quicker than Fernando Alonso or hit a golf ball as far and straighter than Lee Westwood? I know that I couldn't.
Professional sports allow us all to relate to normal people who are simply very good at a game. This is why we can relate, they are like all the rest of us but for example really quick on a bicycle - well done Marck Cavendish & Bradley Wiggins.
These sportsmen take on these immense pressures and dangers everyday because they are trying to provide a decent standard of life for both themselves and their family. They train hard, have restrictions on both their physical and social lives as well as doing this all under the harsh scrutiny that society and espeicially the media imposes on their personal lives. Unfortunately, negative press sells newspapers and magazines and instigates more people to google the celebrity in question or buy a copy of heat magazine. We invest our own nationalistic aspirations and sporting hopes on each one of these sportsmen and we are all far too quick to judge each one of these men when either their personal or professional integrity are called into question. Could you bowl any faster than Freddie Flintoff, drive quicker than Fernando Alonso or hit a golf ball as far and straighter than Lee Westwood? I know that I couldn't.
Professional sports allow us all to relate to normal people who are simply very good at a game. This is why we can relate, they are like all the rest of us but for example really quick on a bicycle - well done Marck Cavendish & Bradley Wiggins.
Wednesday, 22 July 2009
A Bridge Too Far
As I sit here looking out across the Thames with the beautiful christmas tree of the Albert Bridge straddling each bank, it makes me think of the amount of people who join this rat race everyday. Everyone in London takes on average 4 weeks of holiday each year, as opposed to the French and Spanish who take 6 and figures published recently show that the Finnish are the chief exponents of the holiday with a massive 8 weeks off each year. This begs the question: has anyone ever met a Finnish person on a mini break or traveling? Bizarrely enough the only Finn I've ever bumped into was Jaws on DVD about a month ago. Indeed, this makes it even more strange thinking that Sami Hyypia and Jari Litmanen would trade this luxury time off for the kop.
Why do we all punish ourselves in this country into not taking more time off? I'm just as bad as anyone. I know that I am going to get paid for doing 8 hours in the day 9 until 6 with an hour for lunch but for some unknown reason I try to make sure that I'm sitting in my drab air conditioned office from 8.30 and still remain eating at my desk over lunch with a no-bread sandwich or a panini. Why? (Furthermore, what on earth is a no bread sandwich - what's that I hear you shout... yep - it's a fucking salad.)
This rat race is all started by the same pistol unfortunately - greed. It drives society, the majority of people want to "push the envelope", "go the extra mile", hell even give that ever elusive "110%" that we all hear so much about. This all due to the fact that I want to earn more than the guy sitting next to me, add another zero onto the paycheck and have a bigger house than the neighbour. It is clear that greed runs throughout society at a core and basic level. Do we think that Jane would've hopped onto Tarzan's vine if he didn't have such a big treehouse. Probably not.
That all seems a touch bleak but the key is to find a job that you desperately want to be skipping lunch for. Making money from something you really enjoy is the best holiday you can have.
Therefore, I will be walking over that christmas tree of a bridge tomorrow morning like everyonelse so that at the end of the month, I will be able to head into the Mayfair Hotel across from the my office and when the barman asks me what I want for a drink, I can safely declare loudly that I'll be having a gin and tonic at £7 a pop.
Actually, make that a double.
Peace
Monday, 20 July 2009
Watch the first step
To Blog or not To Blog?
What is a blog? How to blog? Is a blog the way out, is a blog the way in? If Hemingway or Shakespeare were writing in 2009, would they have a blog or is this piece of writing on the internet the complete antithesis of what they were aiming for? Indeed, if the characters of Hamlet, Macbeth and Shylock were first paraded in front of cyberspace to all the Kelly Slater "surfers"out there, would they have gone down in literary history as the most complex and renowned characters ever paraded in front of the general public? No, no they would not.
Fuck, questions aside this piece of writing will hopefully open up everyone's eyes to what the world is like from the opinion of someone who genuinely knows nothing about it. However, the cynic inside wants to open up the world, peel back the envelope just an inch and take a little glance inside. I hope that by doing so nothing will be uncovered or revealed to me that I can't take back. A lot like £32million on Andrei Shevchenko but that is going to be the subject of another one of these little posts.
Anyways, everything aside I have just got back from Salcombe in Devon and feel the need to put out some home truths. These need to be published somewhere and this is the easiest and best forum at the moment. Uncensored.
Uno : Jack Wills & Ugg Boots. Literally we all need to move on with our lives and get over it. Come on people in the vast chasm that is society, strive out and go for something different. It's not tricky just do what you think is going to be best. JW, A&F, D&G let's all try and move away and find something different. Seriously, let it die.
Dos: Service stations. How is it possible that we as a society have decided to focus so heavily on pirates in somalia, silvio berlusconi feeling up every young bambina that he sets his eyes on and oh, of course bloody swine flu but this blatent consumerism and social injustice passes unoticed throughout the ripples of life. £5 for a sandwich, £1.70 for a bottle of coke (also, on that note, if diet coke has less calories that why isn't it cheaper? If I'm the consumer and getting less for my money then why the hell am I paying the same amount? Riddle me this.) How dare they?!
Oh and Three: If you are one of those people on mass public transport, healthy man or woman who doesn't stand up for someone pregnant, then you deserve to be locked in a room and have Moby Dick read to you over and over again. Anyone who doesn't understand that analogy or has never even picked up Melville's "classic" - don't worry. As a public announcement don't try and read hat piece of shit....ever. 600 words of tuna aside, stand up for pregnant women on buses, trains or the tube, always there is no exception to that cause.
So, this blog has to come to an end. Rubbish but true. The truth doesn't have to hurt but unfortunately it really does. A lot like those 118 118 ads.
Peace x
What is a blog? How to blog? Is a blog the way out, is a blog the way in? If Hemingway or Shakespeare were writing in 2009, would they have a blog or is this piece of writing on the internet the complete antithesis of what they were aiming for? Indeed, if the characters of Hamlet, Macbeth and Shylock were first paraded in front of cyberspace to all the Kelly Slater "surfers"out there, would they have gone down in literary history as the most complex and renowned characters ever paraded in front of the general public? No, no they would not.
Fuck, questions aside this piece of writing will hopefully open up everyone's eyes to what the world is like from the opinion of someone who genuinely knows nothing about it. However, the cynic inside wants to open up the world, peel back the envelope just an inch and take a little glance inside. I hope that by doing so nothing will be uncovered or revealed to me that I can't take back. A lot like £32million on Andrei Shevchenko but that is going to be the subject of another one of these little posts.
Anyways, everything aside I have just got back from Salcombe in Devon and feel the need to put out some home truths. These need to be published somewhere and this is the easiest and best forum at the moment. Uncensored.
Uno : Jack Wills & Ugg Boots. Literally we all need to move on with our lives and get over it. Come on people in the vast chasm that is society, strive out and go for something different. It's not tricky just do what you think is going to be best. JW, A&F, D&G let's all try and move away and find something different. Seriously, let it die.
Dos: Service stations. How is it possible that we as a society have decided to focus so heavily on pirates in somalia, silvio berlusconi feeling up every young bambina that he sets his eyes on and oh, of course bloody swine flu but this blatent consumerism and social injustice passes unoticed throughout the ripples of life. £5 for a sandwich, £1.70 for a bottle of coke (also, on that note, if diet coke has less calories that why isn't it cheaper? If I'm the consumer and getting less for my money then why the hell am I paying the same amount? Riddle me this.) How dare they?!
Oh and Three: If you are one of those people on mass public transport, healthy man or woman who doesn't stand up for someone pregnant, then you deserve to be locked in a room and have Moby Dick read to you over and over again. Anyone who doesn't understand that analogy or has never even picked up Melville's "classic" - don't worry. As a public announcement don't try and read hat piece of shit....ever. 600 words of tuna aside, stand up for pregnant women on buses, trains or the tube, always there is no exception to that cause.
So, this blog has to come to an end. Rubbish but true. The truth doesn't have to hurt but unfortunately it really does. A lot like those 118 118 ads.
Peace x
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