Friday, 28 December 2012

The Year in Rhyme!

So in the final week of this the year Twenty Twelve
From January to December I shall plan to delve!
I am going to try and be a little bit more clever
I know you’re sat there thinking "You? Never"!
I will try and discuss events, points and the odd story
And relive my grumpiness and anger in all its techno glory!
Whilst trying to make this damn 2012 year review rhyme
Although my poetry skills could be seen by some as a crime!

So the beginning of the year started with dance and jive,
It continued each week in the Sub Bar and the odd dive!
Carly Rae Jepson was the track of choice for the trio,
Moving around the dance floor like The Matrix’s Neo!
The three amigos spread the dance fever with joy,
It also allowed us to take the piss out of a certain Jew Boy!

I learnt many things about Jew Boy and his lack of tact
He can fall asleep anywhere and that is matter of fact!
He likes to dance with women like he’s making out
And looks like a boiled egg with cress hair about to sprout!
He leaves his empty contact lenses all over my home,
And Ash thinks they’re pods left by a magical gnome!

Speaking of Ash, he is the housemate you know,
He’s been with me for 2012, but we pass and go.
He leaves crumbs and thinks everywhere is north
Travelling around Yorkshire, up, down, back and forth,
Spreading the love for his passion which is boring darts
And sits and eats Chinese whilst releasing vicious farts!

In the news I’ve had child hood TV stars been ousted as paedo’s
Sir Jimmy flashing his golden tracksuit and skimpy speedo’s!
There’s been the announcement of a royal baby on the way,
Column inches dedicated to keeping morning sickness at bay!
The USA also re-elected Obama as President of the Earth
If American I would have voted Obama for what it’s worth!

In the UK we had a year to celebrate with gusto and glee,
It was a year of parties for the Queen’s Diamond jubilee!
She had everything from street parties with plenty to scoff,
My only highlight, however, was the fact we got a day off!
She even had a gig arranged for her by X-Factor’s Gary Barlow.
And boy can that man certainly put on a very camp show!

There were plenty of other reasons for the UK to rejoice,
The entire country came together in one united voice.
The Olympics came to our shores and we wanted to shout,
Look at us, Britain is great, for that the world was in no doubt.
We had gold medals galore for Farah, Adams and Ennis,
And even a victory for the Brit, not a Scot, in the tennis!!

I continued to get angry at cars with lashes and stupid stickers,
People that do that kind of thing are just simple window lickers!
I had two teeth out even though only one was meant to be done,
That was a mistake, the dentist states, think of it as two for one!
But I have found out that I do get comfort from certain stuff,
Like startling babies, coffee lids and running around in the buff!

In 2012 Hollywood ran out of ideas making remakes galore,
Including a childhood fave, Total Recall, I fell to the floor!
The big movies of the year brought comic books to life,
Cutting up the box office records like a hot butter knife!
We even had Bond back on his 50th birthday all moody and mean,
Although Bond’s highlight surely was the sketch with the Queen!

The music scene continued to spit all sorts out to make you smile,
I love the one pound fish man and of course Psy’s Gangnam Style!
Emeli Sande seemed to jump on board everything this year,
And Adele just seemed to simply take over the entire Sphere!!
Personally I went to see Noel Gallagher and the High Flying Birds,
It was loud in Newcastle though and I couldn’t hear the words!

I have also had to put up with many a question asked by my kids,
I’ve had enough so I am willing to sell them so get in your bids!
I also have a Grandma that likes to have a bit of banter with me,
But once she starts, there’s no stopping and I have to just flee!
I have a brother that generally ignores me and parents that just tut,
A sister in a law who’s always right and I’m loved less than the mutt!

I have come to the conclusion I have no patience and a short fuse,
This could be the result of the copious amounts of consumed booze.
I think it is better to be in a drunken daze and happy as a result,
I want to cling on to my childhood; I no longer want to be an adult!
As a child nothing really ever bothered me or got me mad,
Now everything pisses me off and irritates me just a tad!

I am surrounded by moaners, prodders, tappers and nags,
There is no wonder that I go through so many packs of fags!
I know I am a little odd with my likes and dislikes and pet hates,
I know people drive me insane like friends, colleagues and housemates!
The lesson is that if you do not know all the above or even just a few
And you have no nuisances in your life then can only mean it’s you!

So that is it from me for 2012, that was the year that was,
And if you didn’t like my blogs or this rhyme review then soz!
I do have the blog bug however and intend to write more,
So do please continue to visit the site, you know the score!
Remember the blogs are intended to make you smile not frown,
So just go click on that shortcut for One by One They All Fall Down!

Wednesday, 12 December 2012

It's the little things that make me so happy...

A few weeks ago I posted a blog stating my current top 11 annoyances. I thought this week I would counter balance that by talking about the little things in life that leave a smile on my face or I have to do in order to feel at peace. These are like my little fetishes, not in the same way a guy would spread peanut butter on his nuts, just normal things that leave a warm glow.

As I was compiling my little list, which took a few days, I realised that more of the little things in life annoy me as oppose to please me, which is a worry as I seem to be on a one way road to hell as a grumpy old man!

The list also served the purpose to make me realise I am a little too OCD, more than I imagined!

Coffee Jars
This isn’t about the actual jar and I am not really a coffee fan, but I do have coffee in the house. The little thing here that gives me a skip in my jump is the foil lid. Or more specifically breaking the foil lid with a teaspoon. It’s the satisfaction of that first hit on the foil when you take the lid off, the pleasure I get from the little popping noise. In fact if I know there’s a new jar of coffee in the house and I am not the one breaking the foil it can really damage my day. Trust me on this, try it next time, just spend a moment with a light jab with the teaspoon onto the foil and just realise how satisfying that really is!

Shocking Babies
This isn’t a gushy Dad moment here; generally babies do my head in. Other people’s babies do my head in even more. The thing with babies that I used to get a kick out of, but is a little cruel, is blowing air, from my mouth, like you are cooling something down on top of their head. It makes their hair move, if they have any, but it also makes them gasp really loudly and look stunned! Their eyes widen and they stop wiggling for a second trying to contemplate what is going on. They would look stunned! This worked a trick when my two were younger and thoroughly entertained me! I do not know if it works on all babies though. I am not a weirdo going round blowing on random people’s children! Maybe I should have thought this one out before writing it!

Weird Comfort Foods
People have chocolate as a treat or spicy foods every now and again. Me too in fact, I have the Evans sweet tooth that prevents me from walking past a confectionary without dipping in. However, growing up I also liked three other treats that most people wouldn’t entertain. The first is banana sandwiches, I loved them! I know some others that also like them too, but not many. I used to sprinkle a bit of sugar on there also for good measure, then slap between two slices of bread and away I would chomp. The only problem is that it always made my teeth itch afterwards for some strange reason! The second food choice is raw potato. When my Mum was making tea as a youngster I used to nick a few of the chopped potato pieces to crunch on – my Granddad inspired me with this one! When people see this they always seem to mention the high starch content – meh! The third choice would be buttered Weetabix. There was no better way of watching Quantum Leap on an evening as a kid than with two buttered Weetabix!! My idea of heaven back then, putting right what once went wrong with a dry Weetbix for company! As a side note, how good was Quantum Leap?!?!

Volume OCD
Whether it is in the car, on my stereo, the TV or the surround sound I have to have the volume set on an even number. If a mate or family member comes in and plays with the TV or car stereo and turns it up or down and leaves it on an odd number and I can see this then it will play on my mind and I won’t truly relax until I can just knock it up or down a notch so that it’s on an even number. I do not know where this comes from or why I am like that, but it really gets to me. In fact it’s that bad that if I am in someone else’s car or house and notice their sound is on an odd number I have had to get up or lean across and change it! I imagine if people that know me read this now they will be knocking it onto an odd number on purpose – please don’t though, I could combust or go on a rampage like Michael Douglas in Falling Down!

Much like my OCD with the volume I am quite superstitious. For example if I see a single magpie I have to salute and spit - and this is awkward in polite company or close quarters like in a car. I just turn, salute and spit. It isn’t a huge gob of spit, it’s more the noise you make, but others don’t necessarily appreciate that you haven’t spat and think the worst of you. My other superstition is when getting ready for football – I have to put on my left shin guard before my right shin guard, my left boot before my right boot, then put my shirt on, then finish off the ensemble with a Chelsea wristband (sweat band type thing, like tennis players wear) and kiss the badge. Totally bizarre, but I have done it for ten years now and if I do not do it in that order, which rarely happens, I have to start again! I used to not "step on a crack and fall and break my back", but avoiding cracks in pavements nowadays is hazardous and can lead to bone breakage so I quit that one a long time ago!

Feet in Bed
I love a warm bed, but the issue with a warm bed is my feet get overly hot. My feet are strange as they are the first thing to get cold but also the first thing to over heat. So in a warm bed I have to find the cold spot with my feet. When they start getting warm again I have to move them to another cold spot or have them stick out the duvet. Then they get too cold and I bring them back under the duvet again, but then they warm up and I have to find a cold spot once again. This can go on for a while and I imagine I am a nightmare to sleep next to! And that’s if I decide to sleep under the covers as even in winter I get too warm and sleep on top of the covers, then wake up in the early hours shaking like a shiting dog because I am cold!

Labels in Underwear
This used to be a big thing for me, not so much now. All labels in underwear as a kid I used to get my Mum to cut out as it irritated the hell out of me – god help her if she put my name label in any of them! If the label was really well sewn in I used to wear my underpants inside out, all day, no matter if I had PE that day or not. It didn’t bother me that people saw the fact I had them inside out as long as I was comfortable. Luckily I have grown out of this or at least bought better quality underwear!

Senior Managers that make brews
There is something hugely satisfying about a senior manager who is making a brew and asks if you want one. For that instance, that tiny nano-second, they are your bitch for a change and loudly and proudly I always say yes. I never waste this opportunity for Senior Management to run around after me. Even if I have had ten cups of tea I will still fit in that extra one, even if I have one on the go I will risk 3rd degree burns and down it in order for a Senior Manager to make me one. It is one of those little things that on the inside I get great satisfaction from.

The Toilet Seat
My best thinking is reserved for the bathroom where I get to sit and ponder, occasionally writing things down or reading stuff online for inspiration. However, before I sit down to think I thoroughly wipe the toilet seat with reams of tissue. Now this isn’t anything unusual when using public toilets, but I have an en-suite bathroom that only I use and yet still do it. It has become a habit, a ritual almost, of my toilet behaviour. It serves several purposes though. Firstly it wipes away any spillages from the previous user. Secondly it takes that little bit of cold off the first time you sit down and finally the tissue can be put down the toilet and prevents any unwanted splash upon entry! You know what I mean. I will move swiftly on now…

Dwarves/Little People
Now I don’t want to offend anyone here and if I do I apologise greatly, but those that know me know that I have a massive soft spot for little people. Anything to do with midgets and dwarves I am in awe of. I am not one of those weird people that pick them up and hug them, in fact I keep a distance; everyone has a right to their own personal space. I am just fascinated and can’t help myself. I nudge mates or family members and subtly let them know that there’s a small person in my vicinity. I own films like Time Bandits, Willow and The Borrowers (not technically dwarves I know!). I was fascinated by the TV show Seven Dwarves all about 7 small people living together during panto season. I want to meet Warwick Davis!!!! I am unsure when this obsession started in my life and whether I will ever grow out of it, but small people just make me smile. There just seems something happy about them. I even became an Elf & Safety Officer at work because of my fascination!! Although there are no elves to look after, but we do have some small people at least!
So these are just a few of the little things that are no doubt a nuisance about me to others, but at the same time allow me to relax. There are no doubt more than what is on the list, but we all have our little idiosyncrasies. We all have our little comfort blankets.

Next week will be the last blog of 2012 and I think at this time of year many in the media do a little review of the year. I think I shall work over the next week on my own little review… but I may do it in a rhyme style…

I am now off to kidnap a dwarf and make them butter my Weetabix!!

Wednesday, 5 December 2012

A Shock in Store...

In the age old battle of the sexes there is one major difference, which for me, always stands out. That is the woman’s need, urge and desire to shop.

The word ‘shopping’ is one that is usually met with fear and dread for a man. It isn’t that men don’t like shopping; hell I don’t mind treating myself or others, it is the fact a man usually has a threshold of around 45 minutes of actual shopping pain.

For a man that is enough time to think about what it is you want, go in the direction of that item and pay for that item and be home in time for the afternoon football results. Bish, bash, bosh!

A woman on the other hand will not know what she wants, but know that she needs to go buy it. They set off to the shops, get lost, struggle to park, then spend hours, sometimes days, moving from store to store, trying on every item of clothing and still, occasionally (although rarely), come away having bought bugger all. Or gone for something specific, spent hours in the shops, not actually bought the item she was going for and come home with bags of other crap that wasn’t needed.

I try and do most of my shopping online now. It is simpler, easier and far less stressful. The whole experience of shopping just puts me right off. Especially at this time of year when Christmas is almost upon us and everyone is panic buying or descending all at the same time in the same place.

As you can imagine I have several bug bears when it comes to shopping. This ranges from the people who shop to the actual shop itself.

A few examples are Primark that looks like a jumble sale, everyman for him/her self… Marks and Spencer’s that is full of middle class old people with their food snobbery… Furniture shops that just employ nob head sales assistants who are constantly in your face all the time until you have bought a 3 piece suite that you didn’t need!

I don’t mind catalogue shops, like Argos and Littlewoods, for nostalgic reasons though. As a youngster I was impressed with these magical stores. They provided reams and reams of paper all containing a manner of things, things you didn’t even know existed or think you wanted, but you had to have it. Like an electronic office pitch and putt golf set.

I didn’t have an office, I didn’t play golf, but I had to have one as it returned the ball to you. The magic was there for all to see!

It was a unique experience thumbing through the catalogue as your Mum looked up the vacuum she was after. As a kid you found a catalogue on the counter, shoved your hand to the back and with every ounce of strength lifted the pages, the majority of the book, so that it landed on the back pages. Because as every kid knows the back pages are where the toys are!!

It was a good job the pages were laminated because as a kid you drooled over the latest He-Man figures or Ninja Turtle play sets! Must haves for any aspiring hero child growing up! Oh and just so you know when I played Ninja Turtles with my friends I was always Leonardo! He wore blue, had big fuck off swords and was the leader!

Stores like Argos entertained me as a kid as there was always something to look at, something to do and, in the case of the small pens, something to steal that really wouldn’t be missed!

Other stores do not hold that same love and affection for me though, especially as now I am all grown up… kind of, in actual years anyway, not mentally.

One particular store the very name strikes fear into me. The iconic logo that looks like it is shouting at you. The whole garish colour scheme… Welcome to Hell on Earth… Otherwise known as IKEA!

This is a store I imagine best represents purgatory. I mean any store that gives you a map when you first walk in has to be bad. And yet people flock to this Swedish house of horror for the day out. You walk through one set up after another from kitchens to living rooms to bedrooms and see something that takes your eye…

"I love that bedroom set…"
You muse as you note the numbers down and go see an assistant…

"You will find the bed in aisle 6, shelf 14, the mattress in aisle 56, shelf 12 and the springs in aisle 202,456,001 shelf 1… Please order here and then good luck with finding your way out as you are now doomed to spend eternity wandering from department to department… Muhahahahahaha!!!"

You are handed your print out and realise you were served by Ms. Lucy Fur… have a nice day now!

You wander for days and days, through doors that magically appear and take you to another part of this Narnia hell. These shops are like portals to another realm and exits and entrances disappear at will fucking with your fragile mind.

You see things that you would never be interested in before, but you are that delirious that suddenly it seems a good idea at that point. A knife rack that looks like a man is being stabbed – perfect for the kitchen you think… chocolate soup spoons… towels made out of donkey hair… plastic trays that attach to walls… lamps that look like a monkey’s arse along with the extra bulbs as normal UK bulbs do not work in Swedish house appliances. They all go in the trolley as you do not know if you will find your way back to it so it is best to collect it now…

You get to the warehouse and now have the pleasure of picking your own shit off the shelves – at least at Argos they get it for you! There’s a whole host of different colours and you have to make sure you match what is on your receipt. It is no good getting a brown wood chair and a black ash footstool… There is no turning back if you make this mistake, there is no returns policy as no one wants to go through that again once they get to the end so you make do with mismatched furniture.

By the time you get to the checkout, where you have to queue for a further two days, you have lost 3 stone, can barely stand and have more facial growth than your grandma…

That’s why the evil minds behind IKEA put a food outlet at the exit. They know you have been in the store for that many days and spent that much money on worthless crap that they can squeeze an additional fiver out of you for a hotdog. A hotdog that is full of bits that you wouldn’t feed a dog, but at that moment in time it looks like a gourmet meal!! Everyone comes out of the store thinking it is the best hotdog ever and will tell you so, but that is all part of the plan. The robbing Swedish bastards…

IKEA never leaves you, I mean when you get home you’ve got to build the stuff for a start, but the horrors are engrained in the mind. IKEA still haunts my dreams now and the last time I went was 2007!! I would rather go to Guantanamo Bay prison for a holiday with a t-shirt that says "I’ve shagged your Mum" and take my chances than go back to that store.

Some stores I do not mind at all like supermarkets for the food shop. However the problem with supermarkets is that other people exist. And it is other people that piss me off.

I think there should be some law that is introduced that specifies when people of certain age groups can go shopping – a kind of schedule.

My age group, we’ll call it the 25-35 range, know what they want, zip around the aisles and get the job done. And yes I still ride my trolley down the aisles and skid round corners. I love the wind in my hair and the reckless abandonment it gives me!

Then there’s families, who browse, not sure what they want and have their son/daughter slowly adding to the trolley as they go round to which the parental unit has to empty when he/she is not looking. And the vicious circle here continues and so the pace is much slower and god help you if you get caught behind them.

Finally there is the worst group of people. The OAP’s….

I do not have a problem with old people, but I do get slightly angry at old people in supermarkets. There are several reasons for this.

Firstly, there are tons of them, all shuffling around the planet at a pace slower than the evolution of man. They come out in their big thick coats no matter whether it is 100 degrees outside (I live in the UK, so it is never actually likely to reach that temperature!), their fabric shoes that look like slippers and a pull along shopping bag with a brolly attached (you never know when you may get hit by a sudden shower!).

They do not work during the day as they have served their time and are retired and so have a lot of time on their hands. So why, for the love of god, do they insist on going shopping on days when the actual working population have a day off??? Saturday’s usually, or Friday evenings… They have ALL week, during the day to shop and get whatever biscuits they happen to desire that particular week (Oh, there’s a sale on garibaldi’s).

This then moves into my second issue with OAP’s that shop… They stop! Dead! Right in front of you with no warning whatsoever!! They shuffle along and suddenly change direction and walk across you or stop to look at their watch or have a chat with someone with no consideration for anyone else. Before you know it you are up to your arse in Granny! They call the younger generation rude and inconsiderate, but they are the worst culprits!

I have very nearly clubbed grannies to death with my shopping bags because they have put the brakes on for no apparent reason. They usually stop in door ways too for some inexplicable reason!!


It drives me completely insane…

So, whichever government makes it illegal for OAP’s to shop on Saturdays and Friday evenings will get my vote and commitment for life.

And if they do not abide by these rules then they get to spend time in a place far worse than prison or an old people’s home… They are sent to IKEA!

Wednesday, 28 November 2012

Life's a Beach...

I do not really like beaches. Actually it’s more a dislike for the sand. I can’t relax on beaches and I tend to find bits of ‘beach’ up my arse crack for the next few weeks after a visit. I mean beaches are nice to look at, nice in pictures, fantasy places – but then the actual experience for me isn’t enjoyable and you can guarantee just under the surface of that silky sand is a turd that was buried by a family after their youngest was caught short. And you can guarantee that I will be the one that stands in it!
In that respect a beach is like a woman. Lovely to look at, can be a fantasy figure, but underneath the surface lies something unexpected!

Now I am not a misogynist by any stretch of the imagination, but I imagine a bloke can go through life never fully understanding a woman at all – even if you have lived with them all that time. Yes you get to know their likes, lilies instead of roses for example. You get to know their dislikes, the disdain some hold for Crocs footwear (although they have a point, not the shoe, the woman!). You also get to live with their bad habits like the fact they pick their fingers until they are sore and then complain about the state of them. However, you never get to actually understand them.

So that means the phrase that most haunts me is "You don’t understand me!"

No, sorry love, I don’t, you are dead right… Not even if there were some kind of Haynes instruction manual for women and I knew it off by heart would I still not understand what you mean or where you are coming from!

Now as a bloke I am quite simple – there is nothing too technical about me or any other normal bloke. If the toilet seat is down, I lift it up, not a problem, but for a woman putting the toilet seat down seems to be a trauma that leads to a sarcastic comment later!

And if a bloke lives by himself he can put his keys down in a safe place and they will still be there the next hour or morning in the exact same spot he left them in. Perfect.

Now imagine that same scenario when you live with a woman. You come in; put your keys down in the same spot you usually do and go about your business. Then, when you return to the spot where you left your keys, suddenly they’re not there, cue a frantic search.

"Have you seen my keys hun?" (Notice the nice tone to start with).
"They are wherever YOU left them…" (Notice the agitation in her tone already?!?)
"I left them right here on the side"
"You can’t have done, otherwise they would still be there!"
"Have you moved them?"
"I knew I would get the blame eventually!" (Even tough it is merely a question, they translate that as blame).

Eventually, after heated words and a shouting match, you find your keys in a side draw…

"Oh yes, I did put them there actually, they were making the side look untidy! You really should learn to be tidier!!" (Notice the lack of an apology?!?)

Now this would be fine if the woman in the relationship was as forgetful about all things like that. I mean she moved the keys only an hour beforehand but forgot. The issue with women though is that they remember what they want to remember and as a result never let you forget. Women are like an elephant when they want to be and a goldfish when it suits!

Say you have forgotten an anniversary for instance – which is a big thing if it’s a wedding anniversary, but women like to remember the anniversary of the first time you met, or kissed, or went for a meal. But whoa betide you if you’ve forgotten and it isn’t etched on your memory as it shows that you don’t care anymore!

Or they remember incidents that in their head are for worse than the actual reality.

"Remember that time you said I had put on weight??"
"Yes you do remember, it was around 5.15pm on Wednesday the 13th June 2007, you lying bastard!!"
"It’s November 2012 woman!!"

If I say something that can be interpreted two ways – one that makes you happy and one that makes you sad or pissed off – then please take what I said the first way, not the bad way!! Women always assume the worst, they are very rarely positive in that situation.

The main problem with women is that they are always right – or they would have you believe that they are. And no matter what, you have to accept that in the long term in order to have a harmonious life. It’s a case of their way or no way! My brother is a prime example of that, but I dare not bring my sister in law into this – I like the use of my legs!

For example it is ok for a woman to be sexist. If I say "women can’t drive" then I am a male chauvinist pig. However they can say whatever they want about the male population. I mean how many times have you heard a woman say "That’s because, unlike women, men cannot multi task!"?

They can slate a man because apparently he has an inability to do two things at once. Well ladies, I have news for you. There are two reasons why a bloke doesn’t do more than one task at any one time. The first reason is that if you’re going to do a job then do it properly, not half arsed because you are concentrating on something else. Secondly, if a bloke takes his time doing a number of tasks then the woman in his life will eventually get fed up and start doing the tasks herself anyway as she’s sick of waiting!

Why does everything have to be done right now, in this very moment, for a woman??

Men don’t rush, women do. That’s why the best chef’s are blokes. They take their time to make a masterpiece.

And yet for all a woman’s bluntness, they can be deceivingly deceptive, secretive, devious and far more hard faced. You see that from a young age in fact.

I’ve always had this issue with how kids of both sexes are perceived in the modern world. For instance, little boys growing up have it drilled into them that they are the naughty ones. They are bought t-shirts with ‘Cheeky Monkey’ on, or ‘Bad to the Bone’ and ‘Son of the Devil’ etc. Whereas little girls are brought up believing they are sweet and innocent with t-shirts that exclaim they are princesses or little angels…

Because of this, lads grow up and act like little monkeys etc. as they believe that and play up to it. And the girls grow up having to put on this act of being little angels. So this leads to the boys fighting in the open with other boys. And generally once the fight is over with they walk away and it’s done, but everyone has seen it and so they are labelled wrong ‘uns – as their t-shirts suggest.

A girl, however, plays the long game. There’s no fighting and having done with it. Generally it’s mental warfare and women are good at it at all ages, it is programmed into them from a young age. They are nice to your face, all smiles and curls, but then have an ace up their sleeves ready to use at any given point.

And these little, innocent girls grow up to be fully armed women that us unsuspecting blokes fall for. And when you least expect it, out of no where the tirade is launched and the WMDs (and not the nice ones either!!) are launched after months, maybe even years of stewing on things.

It’s no wonder they say marriage changes you. It isn’t the marriage as such, it’s the woman. At the church she sees the aisle she is about to walk down, she then see’s the altar at the front and then glances upon the husband to be. And that sticks in her mind all the way through the ceremony: AISLE ALTAR HIM!

You also have to remember that women are private people, apparently, they won’t discuss their weight with you for example, but then just go on Facebook, in fact do it after reading this, and just see how many women have put on Facebook about losing 2lbs at Slimming World that week, or that they need to diet or can’t fit into their size 10 dress… They are quite clearly only private when it suits!

And speaking of dress sizes, they can go shopping (for hours by the way and sometimes buy nothing or buy loads and hide it in the boot of the car or the back of a wardrobe!!) find a lovely dress in one shop that is beautiful and makes them look amazing and is under £50, but then go into another shop and see a dress that is no where near as nice, is twice as much but is a size 10 compared to the size 12 that was in the other shop! They will buy it because walking in between shops has meant they have dropped a dress size and so this means they are happy even if they do look like a bag of spanners.

Not that you can ever tell them that!! Jesus, it isn’t worth your life! Again it is one rule for them and another for you. If you tell them that they look hideous they do not talk to you for hours, sometimes days, but if you grow a moustache and she doesn’t like it then she will tell you!

"Please shave that hairy worm off your top lip as you look a complete twat!"

Don’t beat around the bush love; tell me what you really think eh!

I know a lass that has two sets of weighing scales. One is slightly out, reads lower than the other, so if she needs a pick-me-up she will get on the lower ones and be happy that she has lost 3lbs!! It is all psychological to women…

Everything is mental about a woman from the way they play mind games with you, to what they see in a mirror, to how they act irrationally without warning! In fact women should come with a warning sign on them!

WARNING: This woman could seriously damage your health!

I am going to have to now go into hiding as no doubt I will have offended one, some or all women and they will be blood thirsty, coming at me with pitch forks and burning effigies.

Women eh! You can’t live with them, you can’t kill them… And I should know, I have tried, they are invincible, granted some even have super human powers that also include the ability to read minds ("I know what you’re thinking!").

As the phrase goes life’s a beach… and then you go and marry one!

Disclaimer: No women were harmed in the making of this blog. Actually, I kind of like them as a general rule of thumb

Thursday, 22 November 2012

Top of the Nots!!

I wonder how people get off on hentai? For those not in the know hentai is Japanese style animation of a pornographic nature. So why would people jack off to cartoon porn I wonder? I don’t think about this too long of course, but it is a head scratcher. Who really wants to see Homer Simpson get it on with Marge?

All my blogs are usually about some random irritation of mine that I go on and on about. Y’know the things that seem so little and insignificant to others, but to me they make my fists clench, teeth grit and get my back up. So this week I’m going to list some of those little irritations of mine, my current top 11 (just to be different) in no particular order:

1 - People crossing the road
I do not mind people crossing the road, its how they get about. People have the right to walk; they were created with that ability in most cases. To aid this, in the UK and throughout the world, crossings have been created. Whether these crossings are pelican or zebra they are there to help people cross the road safely. So if this is the case why do people insist on trying to cross a busy road 10 yards from a crossing? They dive through traffic or quickly scamper at the sign of a gap, putting their lives and lives of others at risk. Why not just walk those extra few steps and cross where you’re meant to cross???

2 - Socks
I have two children who see fit to take all their clothes off when they come in the house. Why? I do not know. This isn’t a massive problem (unless Jimmy Saville is coming round for tea – is it too early for that joke??). They usually just pile their clothes up somewhere in the room, but what irritates me are the socks. They may take one off and leave it somewhere random in the house and leave the other one on. Or they take one sock off somewhere in the house and then the other off in a completely unrelated area! These socks then go in the wash and you have single socks in drawers for ages because the other one hasn’t been discovered yet!

3 - Glitter
Glitter is pretty, shiny, sparkly, but boy is it a nuisance. You pick a card up in the shop, one with a loving verse in and a teddy holding a balloon on the front. That balloon is filled in with glitter. You put the card back and look at others. However a bit of that first card always stays with you as glitter just gets everywhere and sticks to you! You find it in your boxers, in your hair, on your cheek, between your cheeks, everywhere. And it stays with you for days no matter how many times you shower!

4 - Reality TV
I am sick of reality TV now. I have had enough of it. It basically makes stupid people famous and wealthy and cocky – or in some cases cockier. People lap it up and endorse it! So much so that they use phrases made famous by these shows on a daily basis that become part of the English language. That is wrong! On so many levels… It is lazy TV for a start and people are giving these reality TV stars a voice and an opinion that they shouldn’t be allowed and they certainly shouldn’t be influencing the English language!

5 - Coffee
Again it isn’t coffee that actually bugs me; it is the pretentious coffee that pretentious people think is cool to drink! Take an espresso for instance, a single shot of strong coffee. What is the point? Why would people pay a couple of quid to sit there looking like a twat with a thimble of coffee, their legs crossed, in their sharp suits thinking they are the lords of the dance! What does this achieve apart from meaning Starbucks gets to open yet another coffee shop in your high street! I also have an issue with fruit teas which are becoming more common – what’s wrong with a normal cup of tea???

6 - Tapping
People who tap, whether it is to a rhythm or just random taps. People who do not realise they are doing it either, they just tap for the sake of it. They tap whatever is nearest to them, usually the desk or table, but it can be on their mobile or on a box with their foot. It increases until someone erupts – usually me! There is also the other kind of tapping, in order to get attention. I can be sat or stood next to my mate who is already talking to me, but if he changes subject or has a point he’ll tap me on the shoulder! He already has my attention!! Why on earth is he tapping me on the shoulder too!?!?! I have an example for both these kinds of tapping and if they read this they will know who they are!

7 - Vegetarians
Not all vegetarians though, but just those ones who despise meat and the taste and sometimes the smell but then will go buy vegetarian food that replicates the taste, texture and smell of real meat! If you do not like meat then stick to eating leaves! That is your choice in life, so do not then crave something that tastes like meat – what is the point of making that stance? Some will say that Quorn sausages do not murder animals, but those same animals will still be slaughtered for the rest of the masses regardless of whether you decide to eat a synthetic sausage or not!!

8 - Food snobs
What is wrong with a shepherd’s pie or a sausage casserole? I like my fish and chips and my curries. I am partial to a burger and even have a kebab on a regular basis. Some people think that is beneath them. "Oh you don’t know what they put in that stuff". I do not care; if it tastes good then I am eating it. "But kebabs look so disgusting". I want to eat it, not fuck it, so it doesn’t matter what it looks like as long as it tastes good! These same people eat goja berries, cous cous and humous with the in crowd, because it’s cool! These are usually the same people that order espressos in coffee shops!!

9 - Social Networking
I use social networking, but I use it for pictures, usually silly pictures, or jokey updates or for generally taking the piss out of someone. I even use it to find out the latest news and happenings in the world. Some people go too far though – they are addicted. Those people that fall over and break their ankle, instead of grabbing the phone and calling an ambulance, they use their phone to update their status first!! "Have just fallen over and broken my ankle in several places; I am currently bleeding out on the street, lol". The other strain of people is those that think I am interested in every waking minute of their lives and the lives of their children. "Young Timmy just smiled at me today". I don’t care, but please do tell me more… "Young Timmy is watching TV whilst I iron". Thank you for that information, can you do mine whilst you’re at it??? They then stick a picture of young Timmy smiling into the camera – and then a similar picture, just different outfit the next day and the next and the next. If I was that bothered about your children I would come round and visit them personally, but I’m not so I won’t!

10 - Sky+
Sky+, the recording service, is brilliant. I would now be lost without it. So this gripe isn’t about Sky+ as such, but just what people choose to record on it and how it makes me feel. For example we’ll use a housemate. A housemate who likes two sports, Formula 1 and darts. Two sports which go on for hours in a very repetitive manner. So when that person is out and they decide to Sky+ 4 day’s worth of darts that takes up so much of the planner space, it truly gripes. They then want to Sky+ the F1 qualifying – where they are not even racing each other on the track!!! It grates! But because I have become so reliant on Sky+ it causes great anxiety when the amount of space left is below 30%! This is designed to help me in everyday life catch up and watch TV that I may miss, but instead it causes palpitations and stress that I am running out of space!! This can’t be good for my health!

11 - 50 Shades of Grey
Surely this is porn for women? If a bloke watches porn they are disgusting animals, but if a woman reads porn then that’s fine! Apparently, and a woman once told me this, It’s all about your own personal imagination to a woman, whereas men need visuals to be stimulated. Not strictly true, physical works for me also! You also get women telling you that I shouldn’t have an opinion as I haven’t read it – I don’t need to though as that many people put excerpts online it was ridiculous and I felt like Id read the book 4 times! It went mental for a few months, best seller this, best seller that, everyone wanting their own copy (no one wants to thumb through a second hand copy now do they!!). Its like beer flavoured nipples to a man, everyone is looking/wanting their own Mr. Grey… I have news for you though, it was all fictional!!

All these little things are so insignificant in everyday lives and are generally pathetic, I agree, I shouldn’t get so wound up by these things. I mean there are many, many more I could add, but for now I think 11 is enough. Some you might agree with, some you may think I am being irrational about, but we all have little annoyances that get to us. I am sure I have bad habits; in fact I know I do, but I don’t care about my habits!

You should let me know what you think – I may agree with your annoyances or I may think you’re stupid. Anyway, gotta go, I have some darts to delete off my TV planner and a kebab that won’t fuck itself…

Thursday, 15 November 2012

Clawed Encounters of the Furred Kind...

As regular readers to this blog will know I have many pet hates. Little things that get to me and turn me into a miserable old man (bearing in mind I am only 31 years old, shocking but true!). The term pet hate must come from something to do with pets. And I’ve had a fair few of them over the years.

I don’t know why I have had so many pets, as to call me an animal lover is a bit far fetched. I don’t mind animals and wouldn’t want any cruelty towards them, but I’ve had it with animals to look after and have had my fix of them since I was a kid.

We, as a family, had a dog as we grew up. He was a Labrador cross. I am not sure what he was crossed with, but he was a lovely dog. His name was Rover. Now this doesn’t sound too original, but I can’t name anyone else that has ever had a dog called Rover? He was mainly my Dad’s dog. It was my Dad who would walk him etc. In fact once he went for a walk with Rover and only Rover returned home! I don’t mean anything happened to my Dad or he’d run off, he merely had a lay down in a field and fell asleep. Hours later he awoke and found his way home – my Dad, not the dog, Rover was home a long time before my Dad.

Rover had no hair on his nose where he had sniffed out a bee hive when a pup and got stung and he had a large lump, a build up of fat, on his side where he’d got knocked over by a JCB when my Dad used to take him to work with him. He wouldn’t win any beauty prizes put it that way.

Towards the back end of his life I had neglected him a little and even when he went to the vets to be finally laid to rest I didn’t bat an eyelid as I played on Sonic the Hedgehog. Although it did hit me a few days later and I got a little upset by it.

He was the first family pet I remember; although apparently we had a rabbit also that was imaginatively named ‘Bunny’. Kids do pick random names for pets. My eldest son has named one of his fish ‘Steve’ for instance.

Growing up we lived near a pet store and so after school we would go up to the store and pick a pet – this would continue every time a pet died.

My bro and I once got Russian Dwarf hamsters (it was a dwarf after all, and I love dwarves but that’s another story). They were vicious little buggers, so much so that we didn’t dare pick them up. I remember having to take them to the vet and the vet asking one of us to pick them out. Me, my bro and my Mum all looked at each other, wanting someone else to make the first move and anybody to put their hand in and risk having their hand being gnawed to the bone – I don’t exaggerate! Eventually the vet had to put on a rubber glove and pick the blighters out!!

I had plenty of hamsters and gerbils, some friendly, some not. Some quiet and others noisy. One hamster was so noisy on a night that I had to put it in the spare room and I forgot about it, it promptly died. Another hamster, a vicious one again, fell off the cupboards the first day I got it and 6 days later died in my hands – I thought I had tamed it as it lay in the palm of my hand, but it was yet another animal I had to bury.

I did used to love mice though. I bought a white and ginger mouse and named him Metro seeing as we had a dog called Rover (it’s a car thing!).

The mouse smelt and so meant a lot of cleaning out, but overall I loved that mouse. It was my fave small pet of all time. However one day, after living quite a fulfilled life he developed dust mites and as a result he lost a lot of fur and became quite scabby, but the most bizarre symptom of all was the fact he would expand every other day!

I could wake up one day and Metro would be normal and then the next day he was like a bald tennis ball with a tail. One day he would run on his wheel, the next he would be rolling round his cage trying to walk! Eventually he died due to this affliction and so was buried in the garden with the rest of the rodents, which had now become more of a pet cemetery than an actual garden!

After the hamsters and the mouse my brother and I tried gerbils. Again my bro and I got one each and my bro named his ‘Berbil the Gerbil’ – you see what he did there?

By now my bro had built an empire. A sprawling metropolis known as Rotastak! For those not in the know, Rotastak was a series of tubes and compartments in every direction so that the pet could have a games room, a larder, a bedroom, an en-suite, a gym, storage facilities, a guest room and a walk in wardrobe…

The problem with Rotastak though is that it’s a bugger to clean with all the various bits and bobs and attachments and was difficult for small hands to put back together and so often created gaps in the tubes or bits would fall off due to the padding of little paws scampering around.

This meant hours of fun trying to find Berbil the gerbil in and around the house once he’d made his daring escape!! We found him everywhere! This included my sock draw, where he had chewed through my school socks to make bedding!!

The strangest and scariest time though was when he went missing for a few days, presumed dead. I was in a deep sleep, but was slowly brought round by a dream that I was being attacked. I slowly opened my eyes to be greeted by this dark shadow on my bare chest, little claws digging in as the thing steadied itself. In the sheer panic and fear of seeing this upon being woken I swung my arm across my chest and greeted the shadow with a whack and watched as Berbil flew across the room and back into the shadows with a thud!

Meanwhile I went through my chewed underwear draw for some more boxers after I had shat myself!

We also had a chinchilla which was adorable and something I had never heard of before so it was quite exotic, but it was a pain to keep. They clean themselves in this fine sand, which you had to change every day – or at least sieve for the little shits it had done in the sand – I mean it is hygienic for him to bathe in this fine sand, yet he craps there?!?! It’s like me having a bath and a dump at the same time – which does happen, well only once, not every time I have a bath!!

The chinchilla had to go though as it chewed through everything – apparently they can be house trained, but this one wasn’t. It would chew the skirting, the couch, any wiring and even chewed my mates big toe as he slept when he accidently lent his toe up against the cage one night. That was an alarm call he’ll never forget that’s for sure!

I have also tried cats and I don’t like cats. I think they are devious, evil and somehow related to the devil. They bring you ‘presents’ that you don’t need, like birds and mice. They drop it in front of you as if to say "Here you are, look what I’ve brought for you, now smile and don’t be ungrateful!"

My cat, Frank, was quite cute as a kitten, but once he got older (about 3 weeks later if truth be told) he lost that charm and started ruling the roost. He would steal food off plates or tuck into my sandwiches in the morning before work, meaning I’d have to chase him round the house for my ham! He would piss and shit wherever he wanted, usually on a pile of clean clothes or the couch and yet the girlfriend at the time loved him, more so than me.

It was man vs. cat at every opportunity. We would often stare at each other, plotting against each other. He would chew my shin guards, so I would lace his food with slug pellets. He would piss on my pillow, so I would tie fireworks to his tail…

So eventually, one of us had to leave as it was getting out of hand… So I packed my bags! Apparently he still rules the roost, but I know my food is safe now and no ‘parcels’ are left lying around for me!

About 5 years ago another pet was introduced to me. This time my Mum and Dad had decided to get a family dog after years of being without Rover. The dog is a weimaraner and her name is Xena. Xena warrior dog apparently!

Now Xena is a lovely dog, don’t get me wrong, but boy she is annoying sometimes. Most times! In fact all times!

She barks at everything, including flies, cars and the rustle of leaves! She doesn’t like it when I beat my kids up and so attacks me, she sits wherever she wants to sit, sniffs whoevers groin she wants to sniff, eats whatever she wants to eat and I suspect even watches whatever she wants to on TV.

Now it isn’t her fault she’s like this, spoilt! No, that blame lies whole heartedly at the feet of my Dad. He feeds her from the table, buys her chicken breast, moves people on the couch to accommodate her and generally takes her everywhere with him. I mean any family holidays now have to be within the country so that Xena can travel with us as she doesn’t like boarding kennels. It’s a dog!

Xena is now central to the family and the moment I knew I’d gone down in the pecking order in this family was when I noticed a framed picture of family members, one of those frames that can hold lots of pictures, a collage almost, at my Mum and Dad’s.

There were pictures of the grandkids, my brothers wedding and then Xena! Several pictures in fact. One of them half covers the only picture of me in this frame! One of the pictures of the dog is her sat on the couch that the picture was above anyway!!! I mean whenever you see these pictures, Xena is stood next to you anyway, so what is the point of having pictures up of the animal that you are stood or sat next to anyway?!?!?

Don’t get me wrong, she is a lovely dog and my kids love her to bits and she is very protective of them. As I said earlier I think it’s just me. I think after years of trying to be an animal loving person I have realised I’m not. I mean I don’t like cleaning cages out, I don’t like walking, I don’t like early mornings and I definitely do not entertain the idea of scooping poop! (Although I imagine it keeps your hands warm in winter!)

I mean I can’t really look after myself all that well so it’s probably best I don’t have pets, plus my garden just isn’t big enough for the burials anyway!

Please note that no animals were harmed during the making of this blog. Apart from the dead ones, but that was natural causes, apart from the one that fell off the desk. I may have wished harm on some of them but I would never intentionally harm an animal… well, unless I was being attacked and had to use self defence. Then I would. But only in that moment. And only to get away!

Wednesday, 7 November 2012

Dancing Queen...

There are a few things in life I don’t get or understand. Well, there’s more than a few, but some really make me scratch my head.

Why would someone steal my bin cupboard keys? They’ve been there for months, and have become a bit of a joke between the lads ("You’ve left your keys in the door"), but ultimately are useless as the only thing they open is the bin cupboard, yet some bugger has nicked them!

I also found out recently that people in the Melbourne area of Australia get the day off for the Melbourne cup. This is a 3 mile horse race that last’s under 4 minutes yet they get the day off for it. Even I last longer than 4 minutes!! And trust me I get no reward for that!

Also, why is it that if a bloke can dance, or even just wants to dance, they are automatically assumed to be gay?

Speaking of which I called my mate a homosapien the other day for the way he acted and he reacted angrily stating he likes women!! He’s either insecure or just not that bright.

Anyway, I like to dance. I didn’t used to. I was embarrassed about dancing in fact. Because of this embarrassment I was very rigid, not robotic rigid as that would be quite cool, but more like proper old Dad dancing. Shoulders still, arms moving, feet planted to the floor. Everyone has seen their Dad or some older male relative dance!
I have grown out of this embarrassment though and thought so what if I make a fool out of myself. If people think I have rhythm then that works for me and if I make them laugh at my antics that equally works for me. Winner, winner chicken dinner!

Now I am known within my circle of friends as the Bingley dancer. The nightspot where we go as a group knows me for that also. It has produced many a top night where people either admire me for my moves, take the piss or think sod it I’m joining him and try to compete.

Usually the dance floor is empty upon arrival and the three amigos settle into the pocket in the corner near the DJ and we pester him for certain tracks. Then when I’ve had enough alcohol to no longer care, I enter the dance floor and start moving to the track that’s on. Silly dance moves, but always to the beat or the rhythm, designed to make people laugh or smile but also think he’s a good little mover.

I remember once going to a party and dancing to JLS with my girlfriend at the time – we had some moves going on – so much so people thought we were professional even though we were just being silly!

Over the last 12 months I have had some very strange encounters. I had a young couple film me without my knowledge then approach me afterwards telling me I had a talent and they were going to post the video on YouTube. I have no idea if it ever went online, it certainly didn’t go viral!

I have also participated in various dance offs as well. I used to have this kind of dance off with my bro. He is the mild mannered one of the two of us, but when he’s drunk his personality becomes very similar to mine and we try to out do each other. Many a time we have had a dance off, but usually he just ends up in his boxers on the dance floor – it’s the only way he can win!

I had a dance off with a bloke the other week. He was drunker than I was and wanted to out do me. He tried. Veni, Vidi, Vici!! The more effort he put in the more I ramped up the pace until he was on his knees and I claimed the victory – albeit a small personal one, but a victory none the less.

Although I’m now thinking if the dance off becomes a common occurrence I’m going to ask if we can have a day off, like the Melbourne Cup, to celebrate Bingley Dancing! It lasts around the same time, but we can have a big festival/party all day for that 3-4 minute event!

The one track that all three of the amigos dance to is ‘Call Me Maybe’ by Carly Rae Jepson. If that track comes on we are straight on the dance floor – and the DJ now knows this and so strategically plays it at a certain point in the night. This is usually when people have decided to join me on the dance floor and I am no longer centre of attention so I usually slope off for a cig.

"… I threw a wish in a well; don’t ask me I’ll never tell…"

Suddenly, whatever the amigos are doing is stopped and we rush to the dance floor! If you’re mid piss (one in, one out at time of night), then you have to break off and go dance! Sod the wet patch that is left, for that 3 and a half minutes you don’t have a care in the world!

The most bizarre moment was when a woman came up to me who was also a regular at the aforementioned night spot. Like some ACME cartoon character she suddenly appeared out of nowhere and stood to attention like the Road Runner…

"You are amazing, you are…"
"Errr, thanks…"
"You could win Britain’s Got Talent with your moves!"
"Haha, yeah ok."
"You could, I would vote for you!"
"Thanks again… I think"
"I need you to teach my friends to dance!"
"Yes, they can’t dance and I’ve told them about you and you can teach them. What songs do you like?"
"Anything, nothing, I don’t know… Katy Perry???"

And as quick as she was there she was gone! The lads had overheard the conversation and naturally, as I would have done, took the piss.

Then 10 minutes later, when it was all forgotten about …

"You just gotta ignite the light and let it shine, Just own the night like the 4th of July, ‘cos baby you’re a fiiiiiiiiiirework…."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw this mad woman urging me to dance, telling me I asked for the song and I should dance now! I asked her if I was some kind of trained chimp, but that fell on deaf ears! I looked sideways at my mates, who were in fits of laughter but urging me to dance at the same time.

I thought what the hell… So I danced my little heart out.

I then looked across the dance floor and two balding, middle aged men were moving to the beat, looking in my direction, copying everything I did! They weren’t too shabby to be honest, but I was shocked.

I did what anyone would do though and upon seeing them copying my moves I went into overdrive and gyrated, shimmied, shook and pulled out all my best moves to dazzle them… either that or give them a heart attack!

I had sweat pouring off me, a crowd had gathered, people were taking pictures and filming me, but I carried on. I looked over at the two portly gentlemen dying as they tried to keep up. They wanted a teacher of the fine arts, well they got one and they were thrown in the deep end just like Mr Miyagi did with Daniel!

The track finally stopped. A massive round of applause broke out as the two men slumped to the floor, defeated. The crowd surged forward patting me on the back, wanting a piece of me, they lifted me off my feet and carried me on their shoulders to the bar where I was bought drink after drink, and champagne flowed… For that moment I was a hero amongst my peers…

Ok, so that entire last paragraph was totally made up, but it should have happened like that!!

Instead I got one person come up to me after and say I was a good dancer, and because I was a good dancer and I was male I must therefore be gay! I get this almost weekly now and have stopped disagreeing. It’s easier then trying to convince people otherwise.

So, 2012 was the year that the Bingley Gay Dancer was born and he can dance, he can jive, having the time of his life… See that girl boy; watch that scene, diggin' the dancing queen!!!

Thursday, 25 October 2012

Sibling Rivalry?

Now I may offend some people with my views on life etc, but quite frankly I don’t care. There are many things that get under my skin and this blog would be pages and pages long if I listed them all, let alone spoke about them individually. However, a few things really do make me scratch my head or cause me some kind of anger issue.

As I drive round I see what people do to their cars. There was one car I pulled up by at some traffic lights that was covered in stickers. Not car transfers, like flames or go faster stripes, but actual sticker book stickers! Football stickers, Thomas the Tank Engine stickers, super hero stickers! I mean why? Why would you do that to your car? They weren’t even in the window, they were all over the body of the car! That would take a lot of white spirit to get off if you ever wanted to sell the damn thing. In fact I’m not sure a scrap merchant would want it in that state! Although they did have an Alan Shearer sticker that I need to complete my Euro ‘96 Panini sticker album – I should have peeled it off!

However, the one thing that really does do my head in is those people – and I’m afraid it’s women that do this – that put eye lashes on their car! It’s normally Ford Ka drivers that do it! Now the Ford Ka is a crap car anyway and always offends my eyes as it is. It looks like some geezer at Ford had a tight deadline to submit plans and went out the night before the presentation, had an all night bender on the booze, got into work the next morning still pissed up and panicked that the presentation was only 30 minutes away!

Granted it is a girl’s car, along with a Nissan Micra, but is there any need to put false eye lashes on the headlights? Do they think this is cool or cute? Do they have some massive mascara in the boot for the days when the car is looking a little run down? Do they get served quicker at McDonalds drive through if they flutter the car eye lashes at the server?? What is the point?

I also cannot do with those ‘funny’ car stickers that are usually on some clapped out Nissan Cherry that states ‘My other car is a Ferrari’. No it isn’t… if you had a Ferrari you would either be driving round in it or could afford a better second car. I know they are going for irony here, but it isn’t funny. It wasn’t funny 20 years ago, let alone now!

I bet my brother sees all kinds of monstrous work done to cars no doubt, professional and amateur efforts! He is a car technician (posh word for mechanic I believe) after all and will have seen all kinds of mayhem roll onto the forecourt. Although knowing my brother he won’t even bat an eyelid.

My brother has his career; he works damn hard at it, and a lovely 2.1 family thing going on. He is the Angel Child of the family and always has been ("why can’t you be more like your brother" comes the call), but he does have a dark side that comes out every so often and generally it’s in my direction.

Once Angel Child lost his temper with me because after drinking a load of cider together (classy I know!) I said his hair looked like a brillo pad and he should get it cut sooner rather than later. This struck some kind of nerve and Angel Child offered me out – he wanted to actually punch my lights out for suggesting his head could get through the family dishes quicker than the cloth that was used!

We had a bit of sibling rivalry when younger, no different to other brothers and sisters, it still exists now to a certain extent as I am generally the offspring that gets into trouble, into scrapes and am crap at relationships and money. Whereas Angel Child is the calm, career driven, family man who plays sports and is in a stable marriage. Everything a parent would want in a son.

He is generally the most placid one of the two of us, keeping his calm in a whole manner of circumstances, until something rubs him up the wrong way. I mean he wouldn’t get annoyed by eye lashes on cars or ‘funny’ bumper stickers like I would. He doesn’t generally get wound up by the small things in life. It is a slow build up of things or someone who presses the right buttons.

But when he does go, he goes!

I remember I used to, as the older brother naturally, beat him up. I used to pin him down and do the typewriter on his chest that sent him into a rage. He was smaller than me and so I had that power over him.

However, what he would do would be one of two things.

If there was a stick or something handy that he could whack me with then he would use it! We had one of those mini snooker tables in our bedroom and if he could get free of our tangle he would pick up a snooker cue and whack me with it! Usually aiming for the back of the head, but anywhere would do. I can tell you right now that it hurts! I am still surprised he didn’t arm himself with a snooker ball in the sock for such occasions!

If he couldn’t find a weapon he would naturally grass me up to the parents and later he would do something to me that would cause great emotional pain, if not physical pain.

He may destroy a Lego model that I had spent weeks on, smashing it to bits so that I had to start again. Or he would bide his time and kick me in the head, he’s done that you know. He’s waited until I have pounced, me thinking he hadn’t noticed me, then he would lash out – my own fault I guess there. He split my brow open once! Or he would smash a door in my face which once caused my tooth to snap in half. Or he would hide stuff of mine or use stuff of mine that he knew would get to me, to get a reaction.

I got bought a Sega Megadrive for my birthday when I was younger – all my mates had games machines and I was desperate for one as I’d never had one. The day I got it was also the day of my party and so had a few friends round. It was all shiny and new and I wanted to play on it first, but had to entertain friends.
Under no circumstances was my kid brother allowed to play on my Megadrive!! It was mine and I didn’t want him soiling it, I didn’t want to then play on a second hand Megadrive! He asked and he asked, but I wouldn’t let him, no way, he wouldn’t ever allow me to play with something of his so it was the same rule for him.

However, as I played out with friends he went on it!! I caught him out and was incensed by this – he knew the rules!! Sure enough a fight erupted out and no doubt he hit me with a weapon, possibly even the Megadrive itself!

He also liked to wind me up in other ways, by taking the mick whenever he could.

Once I was sat in my bedroom and had an itch on my eyebrow. There was some scissors to hand so I used them to tend to the itch. Sure enough, like the numpty I am, I ‘scratched’ away half of my eyebrow! So in a panic, because it looked stupid, I shaved the rest of it off. So now I had one normal eyebrow and one pale area of skin where an eyebrow once resided.

My brother at first did not take the mick, in fact he was quite helpful. He offered solutions; unbeknownst to me he was wanting to make the situation worse. He took out a brown felt tip pen and coloured in where my eyebrow once was. Now leaving me with one normal eyebrow and one thick, dark felt tip eyebrow! To say it didn’t look natural is an understatement. However, he still kept ‘helping’ without taking the mick

So he said it had to be evened up and in the blind panic I shaved the other one off.

What is it about eyebrows? They are there all the time, usually, and you do not pay any attention to them. If you pass someone in the street you generally do not look or even notice their eyebrows first, yet if you have no eyebrows it completely changes your face and everyone suddenly notices…

I played rugby at the time too and so when I went training I didn’t want the lads to see I had no eye brows and so my brother suggested I rubbed a bit of mud into where they should have been – that didn’t work either! Cue much hilarity aimed at me from the rugby lads.

Now, eventually, my brother was tickled – he had succeeded in his long term plan to make a fool out of his older brother. He had held it in for so long and now erupted with laughter and told everyone who was interested and more that weren’t. Yet call him brillo pad head once and he gets wound up!?!?! Go figure!

I am equally as bad of course, that’s what having a brother is about. That rivalry doesn’t end because you’re older.

A few years back when I split with the mother of my children I moved back into my Mum and Dad’s and started going to the nearest pub, becoming a regular. To cut a long story short the pub was run by a gay couple and me and my brother had a lock in with them one night – no funny business here folks, so don’t think it – and they were telling us all about their private lives. Me and my brother were very uncomfortable at this and made our excuses to leave – and I never like to leave a pint!

A few weeks later one of the landlords wrote on my Facebook wall about not being up to the pub much recently – 3 days later he was killed by his partner! That’s a story in itself right there.

I was then called by the police and asked about them as a couple…

"Finally Mr Evans, I have to ask, did you or your brother have a sexual relationship with either the victim or the accused?"

"Absolutely not Officer, although I cannot speak on behalf of my brother…"
came my reply!

My brother wasn’t happy that I had suggested anything other than him being a happily married heterosexual man!

That’s how it will always be between me and the Angel Child. One-up-man-ship between each other.

Trying to out do each other – I mean we don’t even play football on the games console together now as we end up kicking lumps out of each other as neither of us like to lose. The rivalry is less intense now mind you, because he hardly ever speaks to me. He very rarely gets in touch and generally it is me who has to organise to see him or get him out to the pub.

Plus he goes to the gym and is much bigger than me now and so I couldn’t even attempt to do the typewriter on him, I wouldn’t be able to pin him down for a start!

I don’t want you to get the impression that we’re arch enemies though as when we do get together we have a laugh and drink till the early hours of the morning. We usually drink right through in fact, much to the disgust of his wife, and get ourselves into scrapes together, not just against each other. We are kind of the best of enemies at times, just like any family. We’re ‘frenemies’ in fact.

However if he does ever read this then it would be nice for him to actually let me know that the baby him and his wife are expecting next February is a boy and not have me find out from someone else!! Someone who isn’t actually a blood member of the family!

He’s quick to tell me I am a knob, but not quick to let me know anything of importance!

Family eh, you can’t pick ‘em, you can’t kill ‘em, you can’t even call them brillo pad head without aggro!