Car Booty Call

In my downtime I love doing many things… the majority of those things involve a sofa and a TV but other things are a little more active, like going to the fridge for a beer – if my children are not around to get me one that is! Many of my hobbies involve watching though. Watching TV, movies, sport and also people!

Everyone does it - people watching. Watching the strange behaviours of others, how they interact with things, what they are wearing, what they say etc. The best place for this, to see every walk of life, is the humble car boot sale! So when I recently had a house full of crap and been a tight Yorkshireman not wanting to just bin it, the opportunity to car boot was a must!

Every little insignificant item was chucked into the car boot pile. An ever increasing pile containing branded clothes, kitchen items, costume jewellery, books (David Dickinson’s autobiography anyone???), DVD’s (why did I have three copies of Alien V Predator? Did I think it would get better with each version?), CD’s, toys and various other household items that I thought everyone would surely want in their household!

The car boot of choice was in Otley. The reason for this was the nearest one to me had closed its car boot for the final time and also the fact that Otley began from 10am onwards which meant not getting up in the dark, early hours. I am not a morning person!

Just as a side note, for any Americans reading, a car boot is the trunk! So we sell our old and unwanted items (selling your grandma is frowned upon apparently! Who knew?)  from the ‘trunk’ of our vehicles.

It has been a while since I did a car boot and had forgot how cut throat and insane it is upon arrival. I was still pulling into my allotted space when a man poked his head through my driver side window and asked if I had any computer parts for sale. The engine was not off before another man literally climbed in the passenger window to ask if I was going to be selling any mobile phone equipment.

“Noooo I do not have any Apple Mac spares - now fuck off and spend your money on soap please!!!”

It then becomes a battle to set up your table. Usually a paste table that hasn’t been used for wallpapering in a decade, you are fighting against the tide to set it up whilst answering “How much?” and dragging people out of your boot!

World records are set at car boots, they must be. I once read that a record set was getting 14 people in a mini… I easily beat that Sunday morning. There were at least 24 grubby little men rooting through my bags, looking for that golden purchase!

It all becomes a daze in that first 20 minutes. You have planned set prices but it all goes out the window and people end up getting things for far less than you planned!

Eventually, after the initial mass excitement over fresh meat entering the car boot arena, it settles down and you can finally make your stall look inviting. This is when the people watching can truly begin.

Watching a woman waddle towards your stall, having squeezed into some very thin, almost see through leggings, looking like she’s smuggling a bag of puppies and flashing her spotty Bridget Jones style knickers for all the world to see, is a sight that soon wakes you up let me tell ya.

I also have to say the Eastern Europeans, who can have a rep, were all thoroughly polite. At first they can be a little intimidating as they stride towards your stall; they breed them big over there! But they were a friendly bunch and knew what they liked. They were looking for bargains and didn’t really barter either. They seemed to accept the price and if they thought it reasonable they then purchased.

Others, however, wanted something for nothing! Even if an item was 2p they would still try haggle you down to a penny and if unsuccessful walk away!

Here we have a Ming dynasty vase in mint condition, priceless, but today only it is 50p… If you buy this it will guarantee to make you thousands!

But is that good enough? Nope. They offer 20p and tell you that you will not get more than 20p in their lifetime! And if you stick to your guns they walk away, shuffle off to the next stall and try their luck there!

Unless they have kids! Then they are fine buying the shit faux leather camel for their child for a quid! It’s all pretty amazing to watch.

(Oh by the way, I didn’t have a Ming vase for sale, in case you were wondering and rocked up to Otley expecting a priceless bargain!)

Speaking about those with kids they either constantly shout at them or think your stall is the kiddie crèche on site, especially if you have children’s toys for sale. They allow their child to play with the toys for a good ten minutes whilst they browse other areas. They then collect their kid, leaving behind grubby fingerprints and a trail of snot and do not buy anything!

Then there are those that stand at the stall after something catches their eye and tell you their life story… 

“I saw that scarf from over there and it looks gorgeous. It’s like the one I was given as a teenager by my parents who were from Newcastle (or somewhere equally glamorous). We came down to Yorkshire when I was just a nipper. Sadly they have passed away now and I often remember that scarf they got me and it fills me with tears, oh the memories… How much was that scarf you say? 50p? Nah, I'll leave it for now…”

The final type of punter is the worst – the comedian. They either want to make you laugh thinking you will be easier to barter with or are trying to impress someone, maybe the woman on the stall or their wife/girlfriend. They stand there, hovering over your wares, then suddenly a wasp will land on the table top… and you know what’s coming…

“How much for the wasp?”

Boooom! There it is, the one liner he uses over and over again (How much for the fly/dust/leaf etc etc). And you laugh. Not because you want to but because you have to. You play the game hoping they will buy something, you keep them on side when really you want to ask them if they read a lot of cracker jokes and tell them their jokes are very funny… if it was 1977!

It isn't just the punters who amused me as I watched though. The sellers also had their own unique way. One car, a pimped up Seat Leon, pulled up. Out jumped an Asian lad and his 3 white girlfriends and set up a stand with traditional clothing. They bought cans of pop and sweets and didn't look to sell anything even though their items were beautiful. They just showed no interest in interacting with people, only in taking selfies and updating their Facebook status. They then packed up and went!

What was the point? I can only assume his father said he needed to get out and help the business grow! The only thing that grew was the rubbish pile he left behind though!

You see plenty of unassuming quiet types who are happy to just sit there and read a book and you also get the ones that buy as much rubbish as they sell. They essentially replace what they are selling with a new pile of things to sell in the future! I think my Dad is an example of this.

The final sellers that you notice are the loud mouths who think they are East end barrow boys on the market. Offering two for ones or exclaiming everything must go or informing those that listen they won’t find a bargain like the one they are offering anywhere else… One such seller was American, in her Ray Ban shades, selling her old clothes. Her shitty, used, old clothes. Telling people they would grow into that jacket if they bought it or offering some Disney socks to go with the shiny leggings as they go perfectly and are only an additional pound!!

The day seems to last forever, but in reality is only around 4 hours long but it was just full of wonderfully weird people, some truly eccentric characters from all walks of life, all hoping to find that one treasure.

However…

They all want a fucking free carrier bag!!!

And when they cost 5p a time, getting one for free to carry something small enough to fit in your pocket, is the real bargain right there!! 

My Two Scents Worth

This week I treated myself to some new aftershave. I did this for two reasons. Firstly I had run out of everyday aftershave. Secondly (and more importantly) it was on a Groupon offer and only half price! And even though I had never smelled it, it was too good a bargain to turn down.

The scent in question was Vera Wang for Men – I know right! Vera Wang… for men!! Who knew! So this was a risk, but one worth taking. If it’s terrible then I can always use it for lighter fluid!

The fun part of this was the description: Vera Wang For Men is a sophisticated men's fragrance from the world renowned designer and is masculine, urbane and appealing. A distinguished modern fragrance created expressly for today's cosmopolitan man.

The Mrs asked why I had bought this as I was neither sophisticated, masculine, appealing, distinguished nor cosmopolitan (and fuck knows what urbane means)!! She had a point.

It got me thinking about other fragrances and the descriptions manufacturers use to appeal to a certain audience… versus the more honest descriptions.

Joop!

The ‘manly’ pink bottle for the post pubescent teenager! Smell like every other gawky kid in the pub full of underage drinkers and first time smokers. Be one of the cool kids, never stand out and make sure you splash enough on to intoxicate the ladies… literally drown them in your scent!! #virgin

CK One

Are you ripped? Six pack? Pectoral muscles? Do you look good in Y fronts? Then CK One is the aftershave for you… If you fancy yourself, but do not want to over indulge in truly expensive scents, then CK One is the one for you. If you can get its tiny screw cap off then splash this bad boy on… But in reality, over weight, vest wearing, skiddy white CK boxer loving dudes prefer it too! #budgiesmugglers

Beckham Original

Want an expensive looking bottle? But don’t want to pay over £10? Then the Beckham inspired scent is ideal for you. Take it to the footy, take into the changing rooms, take it anywhere… As soon as you spray you will be able to do 500 kick ups in flip flops… A scent for the wannabe footballer, who, even at 37, still thinks they have a shot at the big time! #pastit

See Also:  The James Bond aftershave (WTF!!)… aspiring secrets agents only!)

Hugo Boss Bottled

The 30 something’s version of Joop! The scent that is more grown up, but still common as muck. Smell like every bloke in his 30s in the same pub with the underage drinkers smelling of Joop. For the guy with a history of broken relationships and worn down by a lifetime of kids, find your youth again with Hugo Boss! It’s expensive too, so won’t make you seem cheap! #midlifecrisis

Christian Dior Fahrenheit

For the man in his late 40s/early 50s who is now settled and is told by the woman in his life that this is a great smell. In reality you’ll smell like a sports sock full of talcum powder, well used, worn in, but comfortable. A comfortable scent for the man who doesn’t need to impress anymore. You are a settled man, so smell like a settled man. #slippersandpipe

Diesel Only The Brave

For the guy who thinks he’s hard as fuck. The bottle is shaped like a fist so it looks hard. Diesel is hard, full stop, harder than petrol for sure. Would you mess with Vin Diesel? No. He’s hard! So smell hard, act hard and walk around with imaginary carpets under your arms. Wear tight Diesel shirts. ‘Cos it’s hard! Wear the ideal hard fragrance to go with the hard as nails scowl on your grizzled hard face. #rockhard

Viktor & Rolf Spice Bomb

For the man who is stupidly rich and can afford to buy a scent that only lasts ten minutes. Who cares though! Splash more of that £100 grenade shaped bottle of richness all over, several times an hour, bathe in it in fact because you can afford more. You are richer than him. So wear wealth!! #richerthanyou

Jean Paul Gaultier

Because it’s the first step to coming out of the closet… And the bottle is right fancy! #hellosailors

Paco Rabanne 1 Million

For the gangster in you. Hang on street corners, drink the strong stuff from a brown paper bag, smoke a joint. Wear the ultimate fragrance that says this is my ‘hood. Containing strong notes of gun residue, weed and cheap hookers. Feel one million dolla… mutha fucka’s! #gangSTAR

There’s so much choice out there…

What do I want to go for?

What do I want to project to people?

What is my budget???

Ah fuck it, I think I’ll just stick with my Lynx Africa actually…

Fifty Shades of the Grey Area

For those that have read my posts in the past, and they have been few and far between over the last 12 months, will know I generally say and do whatever pops into my head. A kind of Tourette’s in a way, there’s no editing or filter.

This can be good; this can be bad but is often classed as offensive.
 

Either way, I ignore the hysteria of the modern world gone PC crazy. Those people that are so uptight that they have to wrench open their arse hole just to take a dump! Those people that get offended at the very notion of been offended. These people are real pains in the world and create conflict because they tell you that you shouldn’t do or say certain things and people believe they are actually offended as a result when the same thing 10-20 years ago didn’t register as offensive.
 

I’ve always said it and will say it again, if people didn’t react, didn’t get offended in the first place I reckon conflict would decrease. They are words at the end of the day, nothing more than words in a world of free speech. Match words with words or choose to ignore. Don’t retaliate to words by picking up a stick!
 

But at least the above believe what they are saying and stick rigidly to it. They are consistent in what they say and do. The worst culprits, the ones that really grate, are the lower end of the PC brigade. The ones that only get offended if it suits their purpose or argument.
 

And in my experience, apart from people with religious beliefs, this is generally the females of the population. Yes, yes that sounds incredibly sexist, but hear me out…

Page 3 of The Sun newspaper has history. Campaigners, majority been women, for years have tried to stop one picture of a young woman with her boobs out being published on the 3^rd page of The Sun. Now I do not read this paper, it’s trashy, it’s awful and I generally feel dumber having read it. I find it lazy journalism, I do not get offended by things in it, but I choose not to read it. If you are upset by a pair of tits, then do not read that paper! Simple.
 

Although it does have a great sports section!

The point is the campaigners want it stopped because it objectifies women, it belittles them and makes them fantasy figures for the male population. Forget the fact this woman is doing it of her own free will and probably getting paid handsomely for it. Forget the fact she chose this line of work and is using her assets to make a living in the same way as any women would use her assets whether that be sporting assets, intellectual assets, business acumen or all the above!

As I say, I do not get the paper; I have no interest in page 3. Hell, if I wanted to get any kicks of a similar ilk there’s plenty on the internet! But if that woman is doing what she wants and she is aware of the ramifications, of what people will think, then good for her. Girl power eh!
 

These same women who campaign for the abolishment of page 3 and think it is objectifying women will then be the same women who clamber for mummy porn themselves. Specifically the phenomenon that is Fifty Shades of Grey…

Middle aged women wanting a bit more excitement in their lives…

A millionaire playboy who is used to getting what he wants, when he wants, makes a young virginal woman sign a contract for kinky sex??? Can you imagine an actual real life story like that hitting the papers? Maybe even getting a paragraph on page 3 of The Sun?!?! There would be uproar!! And the millionaire bloke certainly wouldn’t be adored by the female nation that’s for sure.

But its fine as this is fantasy! This is romance, modern day romance. Apparently it’s a modern day love story. I am told Christian Grey realises he does love Anastasia… it takes three books and a shit load of rubber and rope for him to realise, but hey who am I to judge!
 

I guess it would be a boring trilogy if he just took her out for a meal and the occasional cinema trip and then met her parents?!?!

Suddenly objectifying a woman is romantic and women are going bat shit crazy for this stuff.

And then as the book craze dies down the film hits cinemas and it all begins again. There are women saying the film is a wonderful piece of filmmaking because the books, which were amazing when they came out, are actually crap and badly written. The film shows this journey of love between a man and woman much better, much clearer… Bull shit!!
 

It means women now have a face, a body, for their fantasies in the form of Jamie Dornan. Who is now the sexiest man on the planet, even though no one had really heard of him less than 12 months ago… Suddenly a man is being objectified!

I just find the whole sorry tale hypocritical.

I can be judged as a bloke for ogling one picture on page 3, but women can create whole fantasies about bondage, S&M and sex contracts and it is ok??? The lower tier of the PC brigade strikes again...

So it seems there is a grey area after all, fifty shades of it in fact. Apparently not everything is black and white!

Who knew?

　

　

　

Take a Strip Down Memory Lane...

The whole world is turning into one big, depressing place. You turn on the news, open a newspaper, flick through the internet and its all war, pestilence and famine.

The biggest stories seem to involve this new threat, the IS (Islamic State militants). To most people they have popped up out of nowhere to ruin people’s lives and bring on the next global terror threat. However, it’s not new to me. The Islamic fundamentalists ruined my life some time ago…

Growing up there are key moments in a boy’s life that stand out, maybe made a difference, changed who you are or formed an opinion that has stayed with you for the rest of your life.

There are also moments that stand the test of time that you remember forever. This is especially true when it comes to sex, women and various other taboo subjects like finding your Dad’s porn collection (on VHS, all grainy from the 70s) and making sure you rewind to the exact spot you started it on!

The times as a teen where you are too old to play kiss catch, but too young to go sample the fruits of a local pub with real women is a time of much frustration. So sneaking into pubs at 15 was always an adventure. And it was easier and much more relaxed back then than it is now.

People with fake pub IDs ("You sure you’re called Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, born 22^nd May 1859?!?!") and landlords who would turn a blind eye as long as their quiet pub was taking in some cold, hard cash…

One such occasion when I was 15, on the cusp of 16, and I’d snuck to the pub as usual on a Friday night ("Mum, am sleeping at my mate’s house…. See ya tomorrow") with my mates, only to be greeted by my Dad and his mate! Busted…

Or maybe not…

As it turns out and am sure everyone has heard this, I was doing nothing he didn’t do when he was a young man. And as long as I was sensible about it and kept out of trouble where was the harm.

It was that same evening, feeling like a young adult, that my Dad and his mate took us to a small strip club in the town centre known as Belle Vue… It was like a rite of passage, father passing on the torch to his eldest.

So along with two mates I went along to this new experience. Excited and nervous, but trying to keep a cool persona about me…

I was about to see ladies take their clothes off, FOR REAL!!!

As I stood waiting to get in, bricking it in case they didn’t believe I was Arthur, I could hear cheers and music playing. Then it was our go to be ushered in after paying a whopping 70p! What can you get for 70p nowadays really? Back in the 90’s it got you naked women!!

We went to the bar ("Pint of ale please, good bartender…"), then took our seats stage side as the lights dimmed (They switched the big light off!)…

Obviously back then these young women were the stuff a teenage boy dreams of, but thinking back now I’m not sure all of them were even born women! (I jest, honest!).

The fantasy of it at the time was this gentleman’s club, a classy joint, the kind you see in gangster films. You know the type, sharp suits drinking posh cocktails and sultry looking women performing exotic dances in a romantic haze of cigar smoke… The truth of it though was you stuck to the floor (god I hope that’s just alcohol!), in a run down pub that served real ale for £1.20 a pint, pork pie and gravy for another £1.10 and you were surrounded by dirty old pervs in 3 day old clothes, dribbling from their toothless mouths at these women who just pitied their audience in order to make some money.

Regardless of the surroundings and the peeling 70’s décor, that night will be one of those that you always remember, a snapshot in your life. Although I don’t think that last blonde on stage that night was really christened Portia…

The group I was in kept going for the next few months, it became our Friday night ritual. People in school would hear of our adventures and for a brief time people seemed in awe (mainly the lads of course). Again, maybe that’s just the whole hazy fantasy of teenage-hood glossing over the actual look of scorn we got.

We became part of the furniture for a brief time, always sitting at the same table, getting to know the owner and the DJ very well, as well as a few of the locals. We even played pool in between dances, with the strippers and their boyfriends!

Then as quickly as this adventure started it came to an abrupt end…

The usual Friday night, local pub then taxi to Belle Vue, was on the cards. All dressed up and smelling good to hit the town… well, new Reebok jumper and the now sickening smell of Joop that is (a must for all 90’s teenage boys).

Then our small insignificant world came crashing down around us…

70p in hand I walked the steps all cock sure, a million miles away from that first time I entered the building. I strode in expecting to be greeted by the owner and the bar staff only to be faced by 20 Muslims praying together!!

Where was the DJ? Where was Portia?? Why didn’t I stick to the floor anymore?!?!?

We were ushered out quickly and brought to a sign on the door that stated our Belle Vue, our beloved venue of Friday night fodder, was now an Islamic Fundamental Centre!!!

That was the moment when I should have realised the threat now apparent in the present day, was a clear and present danger back then! First the Belle Vue… next stop… The World!!!

I feel that was the first time my little heart experienced anything like heart break. The relationship between young man and strip bar had come to a sudden and dramatic end. It was time to move on.

And as all teenage boys do, we did move on, we moved onto the next adventure, but nothing ever captured that initial wonder of those early Belle Vue days… Innocence was long gone.

Suddenly, watching the news these days, the cold realisation of what I saw all those years back, the early impending signs, the visions of desperation and horror going on… The great threat hanging over us, no in fact the promise that was very much real, was that I will never, ever get into a strip club again for only 70p!!

Oh and the threat of IS. Twats!

I put the 'I' in narcissist... Twice!!!

The blog has been put on hold for a few months. Not for any specific reason, but I just haven’t had the inclination, the ideas or the interesting topic.
 

Since the last post, back in January, I tried quitting cigarettes. But seeing as I am no quitter (well, I just couldn’t hack it ok!), I decided to just cut down instead. So I have become one of those awful people who smoke socially and tap cigarettes off others when and if the moment arises.
 

And people give up their cigarettes for me because they enjoy my company… surely.

I have this front about me, this side of me that is cock-sure and confident. People who do not know me see this extrovert side to me, they see this arrogance, this confidence, this showmanship and think either ‘check him out’ or ‘what a complete nob’. The fact of it is that those who do know me know that it is just bravado, it is part of the act and really I am sensitive soul who is looking for appreciation, endearment and adulation.

For this reason I do like to be the joker of the pack, I do like to make people laugh – not that everyone finds me funny mind – and I do like to act a certain way.
 

And as a result I get labelled. And this week I was called a narcissist!!
 

I was in a pub. Having a drink! Having a few drinks in fact whilst telling a story to a mate and I was called a narcissist as a result of the embellished, cocky story I was imparting on my captive audience (of one).
 

The definition of the word is…

nar·cis·sist

[nahr-suh-sist]

noun
1. a person who is overly self-involved, and often vain and selfish.
2. Psychoanalysis a person who suffers from narcissism, deriving erotic gratification from admiration of his or her own physical or mental attributes.

Some of you that know me will think spot on! But I think you are wrong… or maybe you’re right too!

And besides, who doesn’t derive erotic gratification?!?! Single guy people, single guy!

When I read into this more and found a breakdown of character traits, it struck me that I am indeed a narcissist, BUT so are countless other people, in fact so are all people! OR everyone has a bit of narcissism in them… and if they don’t would you like some???

How many narcissists does it take to change a light bulb?

(a) Just one -- but he has to wait for the whole world to revolve around him.
(b) None at all -- he hires menials for work that's beneath him.
 

What I did find interesting about that joke is the fact the person in question is male and it turns out that there are more male narcissists than women. I am not entirely sure why this is as I have met some very self obsessed, vain, selfish women in my time that have these traits more so than any bloke I’ve met.

So the traits of a narcissist are as follows – which I will score in a football style:

1. Believing that you're better than others

What is wrong with believing in your own capabilities? So yes, I have this trait. Some people are total idiots. I could write a book on the antics of some people and their stupid opinions, just not today. But I also have the opposite and often think I am not good enough! So I shall dismiss this one. One nil to me!

2. Fantasizing about power, success and attractiveness
I never really fantasize about anything other than shagging Kate Beckinsale to be honest, BUT in that fantasy she finds me the hottest guy on the planet and wants to involve Liz Hurley too. So I am successful and in control too… Oh, and Mila Kunis has now heard about me and wants to join!! Damn, an early equaliser there!!

3. Exaggerating your achievements or talents
Now I do embellish and I do exaggerate and I add to stories to make them funnier or more interesting, but doesn’t everyone? Generally I am terrible about ‘bigging’ myself up, especially when it comes to appraisal time at work, so I reckon this one is null and void because everyone has to exaggerate sometimes, even if in jest. There’s a joke about inches here too… So score is still tied at 1-1.

4. Expecting constant praise and admiration
Now I reckon the important word here is ‘expecting’. I never expect praise or admiration as I do not get it that often. However, I like to be praised and admired of course. All season I can think I have played football brilliantly, but every week I have the piss taken out of me, but then at the end of the season I am rewarded with Player of the Season, which means I was praised and admired after all. So I never expect it, but when it comes along I really milk it. So due to the wording, that’s 2-1 to me!

5. Believing that you're special and acting accordingly
I act like I am special, I have that bravado I mentioned earlier. I am a shocking flirt and act like the women are lucky I am entertaining them, but secretly I don’t believe that. In fact I am quite insecure about many things. So just for that insecurity alone it makes it 3-1 to me.

6. Failing to recognise other people's emotions and feelings
And without even going into this I am giving myself a 4^th point. I have a very caring side and can appreciate when someone needs something, a shoulder to cry on, cheering up or just someone to listen. Some of my closest friends come to me for advice. They don’t take that advice, they do the opposite, but I still recognise how they are feeling and adapt to that. 4-1 bitches! 

7. Expecting others to go along with your ideas and plans
I want to do what I want to do and so if I make plans or arrange then I expect them to come to fruition. I am a moody bastard if I have something planned and it doesn’t work out. Yeah, I am admitting a fault here for sure… 4-2 then, fine!

8. Taking advantage of others
I wouldn’t say I ever take advantage, in fact I would say I am often taken advantage of due to me being a nice guy. I often do favours or go above and beyond. Actually I think I know one person who would disagree with this, but their opinion doesn’t count, they should toughen up, bloody loser… So taking their pathetic reasoning out, which we shall never ask for as it’s worthless, I would say that’s 5-2 to me...

9. Expressing disdain for those you feel are inferior
Fuck!! 5-3….

10. Being jealous of others
The one trait that I do think I have above all others is this and boy do I wish I could drill it out of me. This especially comes into play with women who have very close male friends. It is something I cannot compute with me and do not understand all that well. IF a bloke is hanging round with a woman it’s surely because either something happened in the past or they want something to happen in the future. I admit defeat on this one. 5-4.

11. Trouble keeping healthy relationships
This one made me laugh… its those bloody women with close male friends that’s the issue, not me!! Ok, ok, ok… seeing as I am single then there’s the late equaliser with time running out…

12. Being easily hurt and rejected
Nah, no one hurts me, hard as nails me. I have a thick layer of skin that is impenetrable. I had my tear ducts taken out as crying is a sign of weakness. I have a heart of stone, a swinging brick and things slide off me like water off a ducks back. I am like the terminator, emotionless, uncaring, cold and calculated. No woman has ever rejected me… cough, couch, splutter!! So fuck you all, I don’t care, I make that 6-5 to me!

13. Appearing as tough-minded or unemotional
Oh man, this is playing tricks with me… I can’t breathe, am welling up! Maybe I am a narcissistic man! We’ll call it a draw and leave it there. I need some time alone…

So the final result seems to be a draw, which probably indicates I am not a narcissist as my friend suggested, but more that I have some narcissistic tendencies. Or some personal issues… Or I am just not the person I thought I was... Really I am a complete liar!! 
 

But I dare you to go through this list and not pick out any traits that could be considered narcissistic! Surely I am not the only one?? Please, I don’t want to be the only one…
 

You do still love me right?? You will still continue to love me yeah? Please don’t go… We can work it out… surely??? You will come back and read more won't you?
 

Bollocks to ya then, I don’t care, I don’t need you… I am amazing!! So deal with it!!

　

Going Cold Turkey

As I write this I have 5 cigarettes left… 5!!! Then I am going cold turkey. Enough is enough. This isn’t a New Year resolution either, it’s a financial choice.

I am not one of those people who make a promise at this time of year and then, a month later, are left with an expensive gym pass and a fridge full of good-for-you food that tastes of cardboard - neither of which will get used!

I am 33 in March and have smoked since being a teenager, bar the 6 months I stopped when my second son was born. That is a lot of cigs…

Packs of cigs have gone up and up with each passing year. Say an average pack costs £6 and I roughly buy 4 packs a week, which means I have spent somewhere in the region of £20,000…

£20,000 to effectively kill myself – rope would have been cheaper and quicker. So that’s £20,000 I could have spent on all sorts.

4 left now…

20k would have got me a decent, brand new car or even a top of the range second hand car!! Several in fact over the years. It would also be a substantial amount to have put a deposit down with many years ago, instead of getting a stupid 98% mortgage during the boom or bust years – am regretting that now I tell ya!

I could have travelled the world and visited all four corners, taking in the sights, meeting new people and having a different woman in each port!! Although with that comes its own unique pain!!

I could have bought a small zoo with only one dog in it and called it a Shiatsu!! (Old joke, sorry!)

Or invested in Google or Dyson in the early years; maybe created Facebook myself!

I could have visited the Antarctic and retraced the footsteps of famous explorers or thrown the biggest house parties ever at the Play Boy mansion!! If your name’s not down you’re not coming in!! 

Hell, 20k would have got me a training session for a few hours with Messi!!

I could have even designed, created, invented and built a female android that listens to what I say, pleasures me when I need, leaves stuff where I left it, have my tea ready for when I walk in, let me watch what I want to watch and never answer back or judge me…

Instead, I am staring at my last pack of cigs, with a tear in my eye, giving up this long relationship we’ve had…obviously not with this particular pack, but with my friends Marlboro, Lambert and Butler…

3 to go until D-Day…

We’ve had some good times like the time I was on a school trip, hanging out the window of a mountain side hotel in Milan having a crafty cig so the teachers wouldn’t see or smell, and the window giving way in my hands and totally coming off its hinges. Or the time I went to Blackpool to watch the footy as a teenager and it was baking hot, so I took my footy shirt off with the cig in my mouth and burnt a massive hole in it!!

Am not going to pretend this will be easy either. I mean I am known for been moody as it is and so without these little stress relievers can you imagine how much of a mardy arse I will be?!?! I have a feeling I will be very lonely as no one will want to knock about with me. I’ll also get huge too as I will comfort eat no doubt – but at least I’ll have money to spend on food!!

Every cloud eh…

I imagine it will be like that scene in Trainspotting where Ewan McGregor’s character goes cold turkey locked in his room and goes slightly mental as he just needs “one more fucking hit!”

Seems about right to have another… 2 left.

One thing I will not be doing is “smoking” one of those stupid electric cigs you see people using. They all look like they are chewing on the end of a BIC pen!!

Electronic cigs are the equivalent of Quorn – if you want the meat taste, eat fucking meat…

I have to say though that the outlook is not bright to be honest. I do not have the best track record of ending relationships and sticking to it. I imagine I will have lapses and, like other relationships, it will be frowned upon!!

My Dad did it though - not end it with my Mum - give up the cigs I mean. And he is now the worst ex smoker ever…

“Jesus that stinks!! You had a smoke? Filthy habit...”

And with that sentence I light my penultimate cigarette.

I have never had the inclination to quit before but January is a notoriously tight month in the wallet section and so something had to give. It was either that or alcohol, and I am not ready to end that relationship let me tell you now!

So, the plan is to quit smoking and be a slightly over weight happy person who looks younger than his current facial features suggest and who can run around with the kids in the back garden without breathing out my arse!

I may not be fitter, but at least I’ll be healthier…

And as I finish this piece I am now down to my last cig…shall I keep it as a reminder of a mistress I once dearly loved? A mistress that was always there when needed? The one relationship that has lasted well over a decade?

Fuck it, I’ll smoke it…

Wish me luck!!

Socially Dysfunctional

With social media being a big thing and CCTV on every corner, your whole life is under the microscope. You are constantly under the glare which means everyone, in some form or other, has their 15 minutes of fame. That might be something as innocuous as starting a trend on Twitter, but you’re out there, in the cosmos, that imaginary cloud in the sky that is carrying data from one country to the next.

And with this ‘life surveillance’ come the prima donnas, the attention seekers, those that want you to either feel for them or envy them. Suddenly the world is not so big and a billion voices are clambering to be heard. I mean even Darth Vader is taking ‘selfies’ now in a galaxy far, far away.

I’m no different with my blog and my Facebook statuses, trying to get a rise out of the masses. The difference is I do not look for that attention on purpose. I just put things up to make people laugh if they stumble across it.

Who am I kidding?!?! I am one attention seeking mother fucker…

Those that use social media purely to garner attention, they really grate.

Facebook statuses that say “Am at the doctor’s again…” or “Yet another visit to the hospital…” and then for the next hour continuously update everyone about their surroundings, are merely after one thing - sympathy! The attention that comes with the replies like “Thinking about you chick…” or “I hope everything is ok…” feeding the ego that they are popular, thought about, cared for by people they probably haven’t seen for 5 years!

Before social media, doctor’s appointments for your genital warts or hospital visits for your prolapsed womb were kept private, something for the local fishwives to gossip about. Not anymore! Everyone airs their laundry on the world wide interweb!! 

I personally do not care enough about the person who I haven’t seen since school, telling the whole world about their illness, their cough and their “up all night with a headache” issues. Take a paracetamol and shut the fuck up… You are that close to death’s door apparently, but still have time to turn on the computer or go on your phone and let the world know you are on your death bed.

If you’re that close to death and feel that crap, don’t waste time on Facebook, spend it with family, tick off your bucket list or write your will…

Can you imagine wills in ten years time? All the acronyms and text talk?

‘I am ded LOL, YOLO, u hav bn left mi hse n car, cba wrtin more, TTFN’

Then there are those that want you to envy them, want to show off. Now I have to be honest I have done this on occasion and I know people are proud of their kids, but some go too far…

“How clever is Geoff, my 2 month old son, who has just passed his GCSE’s and got all A*s”

Really it should read: “I amounted to fuck all at school and god knows where my kid got his brains from, but he is clearly far cleverer than your child and I want you all to know that”.

At least in reality when your child grows up and fails miserably and can’t get a job this status will act as a historical reminder to all that Geoffrey crashed and burned just like you did… The apple never falls far from the tree does it???

The child thing I guess I understand to a certain extent, but the whole world doesn’t need to know, surely? As I have said before, if I was interested in your kids and had any time for them, I would visit, stay in touch, at least send a birthday card every year… but I don’t, so I don’t care, I’m not interested and neither are 99% of your Facebook friends.

Then there are the “look how fit I am, envy me” people. The ones that change their profile picture every other day. Or show their new hair colour or latest nail design.

“Oh look at me and how beautiful I am…” Knowing that the replies will come thick and fast from people telling them “how gawjus” they are and that they are a “right fitty”.

Their statuses are usually about how they got chatted up or messaged by some guy or gal who is clearly beneath them. However, they still want you to know. They want you to know they get attention and want more attention as a result.

In reality they have little or no self confidence or are single because they are superficial. It really does make my teeth hurt.

However the worst type of “envy me” attention seekers are those that put pictures of their flash TV, latest gadget they’ve spent a fortune on or their flash new car – the type that is clearly saying -  much like that famous Harry Enfield character – “I am considerably richer than yow!!!”

Well I am glad you have told me about your 150 inch plasma 3D TV that is loaded onto your gold BMW that sucks you off as you hit 32mph and I am even more glad you have conveniently tagged yourself at your 54 bedroomed mansion because when you tag yourself in The Seychelles I am going to fucking rob you!!

Oh, for legal reasons I just want to point out that burglary is a crime; it is not condoned, so be careful and don’t get caught…

The whole social media thing has opened up the world, which on some levels is a good thing, but on other levels it’s bad…

I mean do I want to see a picture of an Asian man getting a BJ from a hooker in an alleyway? Do I want to watch this week’s street fight between two guys arguing over some skanky woman? Funny videos used to be the staple diet of Sunday afternoon television on You’ve Been Framed… Now they are common place, each one as tedious as the next and getting worse and worse in the taste stakes.

As I said, in a world now so watched by cameras and video phones, there are no secrets.

Facebook was a place for a catch up, to share pictures with friends and families, but now it is a nuisance to some degree.

The one thing I get annoyed about is the charity companies that post plastic bags through your door and ask you to fill it with clothes. I get about 2 a day now… I do not have enough clothes to last me, let alone dress the 3^rd world too. And I know they are doing it for a good cause before you start, but surely they could save money by not posting several hundred branded plastic bags through my door each month! A roll of bin liners, the cheap ones are only a pound – they could save loads!

Well the Facebook example of this is the ‘Like’ if you want to cure… ads. These are the electronic equivalent of those bin liners, being pushed through my letter box and into the electronic world we now all seem to be living in.

Doctors for years have been working on cures for cancer, spending millions and millions of pounds trying to eradicate this terrible disease. Who knew that all they had to do was ‘Like’ it on Facebook and all our prayers would be answered!!!

I find it ironic that we use the term social media when the likes of Facebook and Twitter have cut dead face to face conversation. Being social now seems so removed from everyday life…

Anyway, rant over, for now. Although I am sure it will be revisited. I best post this and share it around the world for everyone to see how clever or how small minded I am; you decide…

Be sure to add me as a friend on Facebook and follow me on Twitter though please…. Hehe!

A Tarnished Childhood

My blog is now over a year old – happy birthday Domino Effect – so I thought I had better write something to acknowledge this.

But every time I turn the laptop on to start writing I seem to draw a blank, writer’s block! I have struggled to make fun of anything recently. Well that isn’t strictly true, but nothing that can cover a blog piece. I mean little things have tickled me, like if vegetarians care so much for animals why do they steal all their food? I also wonder why you either meet a nice old person or a mean old person. There seems to be no in-between.

I also would like to know why people can’t just be blunt. Why do they have to go round the houses instead of saying what they mean or feel?? Everyone seems to do it nowadays. Just call a spade a spade and have done with it. This is a no secret zone!!

Then I switch on the news and realise my whole childhood was one big lie…

I grew up in the 80s and like most kids in the 80s was hooked on Saturday television. So in the mornings it was Going Live with Phillip Schofield and Sarah Green, followed by the likes of Teenage Mutant Hero (they couldn’t use Ninja back then!) Turtles, Inspector Gadget and Heathcliff – that crazy cat terrorising the neighbourhood (Whoooo oooo whooooooo yeah!).

But the one show I loved was Rolf’s Cartoon Club (did you know, you can join today!). And join I did!! I sent in drawings of cartoon characters I had created. I created all kinds of characters. I had a scrapbook of creations such as TV Tim. TV Tim was the hero of a comic I created with his trusty sidekick who was a telephone dog. The TV wasn’t plasma back in the 80s so Tim was based on the big brown, faux wood looking, family tube TV with actual buttons and dials! The telephone dog was a proper turn dial telephone (red in colour) and the bad guy of the piece was Rad Radio (original eh), who, you guessed it, was a radio complete with aerial and tuning nob! He was a DAB hand at being bad (Groan!).

Incidentally when older I created another comic strip called Super Sperm who lived in a big pink cock shaped mansion and when needed flew out of the “sky light” at the top of his mansion! His arch nemesis was Chlamydia!! I didn’t know how to represent that in cartoon form, so basically made it look feminine (after all it is women that pass on this kind of thing surely????).

Anyway, Rolf replied, although thinking back probably not in person, and I was a fully fledged member of Rolf’s Cartoon Club (you can join today! Honest).

Then Saturday evenings came and the whole family would watch Jim’ll Fix It…

One letter was only the start of, one letter and now you’re a part of it!! Jim’ll fix it, Jim’ll fix it for you and you and you and…

I loved that program although in hindsight it was shit. I mean, you can ask for anything in the world and stupid kids asked for crap things like meeting their local Mayor or opening a new supermarket!! Jim can fix it for you stupid!! Ask for something decent!!

Dear Jim,

I am James, I am 9 years old. Please can you fix it for me to visit Hugh Heffner at the Play Boy mansion…?

OR

Dear Jim,

My name is James and I am 10 years old. I am poorly in hospital at the moment and have no company due to only a small side room being available. Please can you fix it for me by coming to visit…?

Actually it’s that second part that is the problem… but more on that later…

After Jim had let some kids ride in a fire engine or the back of a police car (and looking at some of the kids on the show I’m sure it wasn’t going to be the last time they had that type of ride), we changed the channel (back then kids, we only had 4 to choose from!) looking for something to watch before stumbling across Jim Davidson’s Big Break!

Oh yes, Saturday evening prime time on the BBC at its best. People of the public paired up with a snooker star…

“And Geoff you have picked the green ball which means you have Jimmy White!!!

George, you have the pink ball and you will be partnered with Steve Davis…

Dave, you have the brown ball and have Joseph Bloggs…. “(Who the fuck is that???)

There was always that one person who got paired up with someone that no one had ever heard of…

Then Jim Davidson would crack a few jokes, say some one liners on the cusp of being a bit blue. The adults in the room would laugh at the innuendo and we kids just didn’t get it.

Unless you were a lad in my class at school called Stuart who knew what the word cunt meant from about 3 years old… Every time I said I “couldn’t do” something (but lazily said “I cunt” do something) he would grass me up to the teacher for swearing.  I didn’t have a clue what he meant!!

After the days TV the family would switch on the radio and we’d listen to the sounds of Dave Lee Travis, or DLT as he was known… (Ok, this bit is totally made up, we never listened to the radio as a family, but then this ending just wouldn’t work if I didn’t include it).

The children went to sleep happy after a wonderful day of watching their TV hero’s entertain them and make them laugh. Thinking happy thoughts, thinking about what to write to Jim about next time or what to draw Rolf in the hope he’d see your artwork and demand to meet you…

The innocence of my youth, the innocence of the 80s…

Fast forward to modern day and flicking on the news to see the Yew tree arrests (Yew tree being the code name for a sting operation involving paedophiles).

“Today it has emerged that Jimmy Saville of Jim’ll Fix it fame, who died last year, has been found out for his years of paedophile activity stretching across the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s…. Jimmy Saville would often prey on children at local hospitals… “

“As part of the Yew tree operation Rolf Harris has been arrested on suspicion of indecent assault….”

“Today Jim Davidson was questioned over allegations of child abuse at a London police station…”

“Dave Lee Travis, known to millions as DLT, was today arrested as part of the Yew tree investigation…”

And in the space of 12 months, 2012 – 2013, my entire childhood 20 odd years ago was destroyed! Everything I loved and talked about in the playground, tarnished. It seems they all were at it, and getting away with it because of their fame and fortune.

I remember when the news story first broke on Jimmy Saville. The reporter stood outside a hospital in Leeds “Jimmy Saville made his victims do things that, as a child, they didn’t understand…”

At first, before I knew the truth, I instantly thought “Sudoku? The evil bastard…”

My Dad would sit there at the time saying “I don’t trust that Saville… He looks like that bloke that sits out side the school gates…”

Suddenly it became evident that everyone thought it, everyone seemed to know it, but everyone turned a blind eye because they were famous, because they were popular, because they were rich.

Destroy a child’s innocence, sat vulnerable in a hospital, or keep the ratings up?? No brainer!

Everyone with a beard, who wore a tracksuit or who used an over abundance of sexual innuendo seemed to be a paedophile! Everyone seemed to think it. Everyone who matched that stereotype seemed guilty at the time and suddenly was guilty now (well, it’s all alleged let me point out… but where there’s smoke…).

My Dad would pipe up that they should have arrested the lot of them back then. But on what evidence if no one came forward? On the evidence that they look like paedophiles!!

So maybe we should introduce a new law where if you look like a paedophile, so have a beard, like sexual innuendo too much, have that creepy smile going on, wear brown slacks and a raincoat (even in summer) and carry a jotter and camera with you, then then you will be locked up (and we would have less train spotters standing on bridges too!).

You will be guilty even if you haven’t done anything because you will end up doing something!

You will destroy the innocence of youth, you will destroy someone’s life and you will tarnish the memories of a wonderful 80s to people like me.

Prevention is better than cure after all, so nip it in the bud before anything serious happens!!

We will have lynch mobs gathering in town centres ready to hang the likes of Arsene Wenger (raincoat wearing; creepy look), Mr Motivator (lycra and track suit), Brian Blessed (beard) and Keith Lemon (over use of sexual innuendo!).

Oh and in case you were wondering Jim did reply to my letter by the way. When I was very ill, lying in a hospital bed, he came to visit me… I was touched.

Offended? Well you can go fu** yourself!

Right, before I go any further I better just bring up the elephant in the room. The last blog about relationships was a hit for me and one of my most read posts. However, it certainly divided opinion. Some thought it was a brilliant, brash, tongue in cheek piece, whilst others thought it was an act of desperation and some even thought it pathetic enough to tell me so.

　

If when reading that last blog any of it sounded like I was talking about you, then all I can say is I probably was, you’re right, but tough shit! However, like all my blogs, you should remember I try having a laugh at things in life. I take the little bare element of truth, twist it, shake it, kick it around,　add plenty of embellishment and enough self deprecating humour to make it the furthest thing from serious.

　

And I will continue to do this with all blog posts I put on. So if any posts you read have a nod in your direction then it means you have either made me laugh or you’ve been a twat. Deal with it, brush yourself off and move on…

　

So, how can I follow the last post? As it got such a reaction it will be hard to top. I do have one in the locker about my sexploitations, but it maybe too soon for that one I reckon, but trust me it will be worth waiting for. The situations I have got myself into!!

　

I could do a work one maybe? But then again plenty of people from　work end up reading this and it isn’t the right time to be hunted down by a lynch mob, although I guess it doesn’t have to be that offensive… does it?

　

I could introduce you all to the 3^rd member of the three amigos. Obviously I have introduced you to Jew Boy – who I will make famous one day – but I've only mentioned　Phillipe in passing. Someone who has been my best bud for 29 years and only because I’m far too lazy to go out and find new friends.

　

The theme here is clearly my mouth though. I have been told that I have no filter, which is evident in this blog. Something pops into my head and I don’t think of the consequences, I just roll with it. Some may see that as refreshingly blunt, a change from our very over PC world. Some amongst us just get offended.

What these people need to realise though, is that it is a joke… body parts will not fall off if they are offended. You do not suddenly contract leprosy. If you don’t like something I say, don’t listen. Same goes for TV or films. If you are likely to be offended don’t go see it, don’t watch it.

　

Why do people who are easily offended watch certain things? It’s all a bit car crash effect to me…

　

I went to a stand up gig once, Tom　Stade in case you wanted to know (you must go see him!) and someone got up and walked out. They obviously didn’t know enough about him to know that he swears and can say offending things. However, the person that walked out missed the point of the joke. He was being ironic to make his point, but the person was just too thick to realise.

　

Speaking of swearing, I have to be honest, the inner child in me likes to swear, still finds it funny and I like to see what I can get away with.

Back to my mouth though, it can be quite vicious and I very rarely engage brain before tongue. It is only afterwards that I realise what I’ve said and how it may be misconstrued. In temper especially I say stuff to get a reaction. It’s like poking a hornet’s nest… all seems fun until you get stung.

And I have been stung a few times…

　

Once, whilst playing football, the opposition had a man mountain of a bloke on their team who decided it was fun to smash our smallest guy. Well I don’t like that and took it upon myself to gain retribution. I lined him up perfectly and flew in completely missing the ball, but hitting the target (him!) and he went down!

The problem, for me, was that he got back up and made a bee line straight for me! He was　effing and jeffing, telling me he would crush my bones to make his bread (or is that a children’s story?). I promptly turned my back and figured if he was going to lamp me let him do it cowardly and in the back of my head. He saw this and calmed down a little, said something along the lines of "Yeah, that’s right pussy, jog on to your Mum…" My brain said "thank fuck for that as he would have killed you…" but my mouth said "You silly fat stupid cu**!"

　

I was drinking through a straw for the next few days…

　

I'm also not very PC. I can’t stand all that modern crap, worrying whether you are going to offend someone or not. People are brainwashed into thinking that they should be offended if someone says a certain thing. It also depends on who is saying it too!

　

A black man, for instance, can call a fellow black man the ‘N’ word. Not a word I would use, but equally when my black friends say it I don’t bat an eye lid. However, if I was to call any of my black friends that in the same way, friendly mates banter, they tell me it isn’t the done thing. So they are ok using it, but I’m not, and I question this. I get told it’s because they’re black so its fine, I’m white so it’s not, even though we are all mates!

　

This is why I call my white mates arseholes, because I am an arsehole and so are they. However, if a non arsehole calls me an arsehole, they better watch their back!! Not that I am a violent person. That was just for the joke purpose of the conversation.

　

People from Pakistan, when called a shortened version of their country name, get upset and offended, does that mean if someone calls me a Brit I should be upset now? And before you start I know the first term is usually used in a derogatory way, but if you don’t let it offend you then it wouldn’t be used negatively.

People around me know of my lack of self editing though and they accept it. I like to think of it as some form of Tourette’s. I see it in my head and it comes out of my mouth before I can process and filter it.

　

There is a lass on my team – she’ll know who she is by the description – who is Indian. And yet I call her a Jew, for the laugh, and it’s stuck and she even joins in and we have built this whole faith up for her so much that people question if she is or isn’t actually Jewish.

　

I don’t follow a faith and am not racist; I’m merely just having a bit of banter. Some won’t find it funny, some won’t see the point, but in my little space it works and is accepted.

　

So I wonder why everyone can’t be like that. I have religious mates, female mates, ethnic minority (another PC term!) mates and gay mates and because they are mates I can get away with saying certain things. I once said to a gay mate that I have nothing against gay men, but they are all fucking arseholes. I thought it was a good line, he thought it was funny also. No one was offended and no one died…

　

If someone calls me a thick Northern monkey then I am fine with that. If someone calls me white trash then touché. If they call me a son of a bitch I occasionally agree and wonder if they have met me Mam. They are just words. Words that normally just make me laugh or deserve a clever retort. I guess I try to push the boundaries because I have no card to play and so I have nothing to be offended about…

　

I am not black or Asian… so can’t play the racist card.

I am not a woman… so can’t play the sexist card.

I am not religious… so can’t play the God card.

I am not gay… so can’t play the homophobe card.

I am not old… so can’t play the ageist card.

I am not even ginger… so can’t play the copper top card!

　

I am a 32 year old straight white man.

　

So yes, it might be different if I had a card to play but why get offended, angry or upset at words? Decades ago I guess things were different, new, so people spoke about the different in a derogatory way, singled them out, but nowadays the entire above are as common as each other. We should all break free of the political correctness bollocks that has driven the world mental.

　

Can I say mental nowadays?

　

If someone said to me that I am no longer to be accepting the term ‘white man’ I would tell them to piss off. If they told me the correct term from now on to describe white folk is Spanish Pink (this is an actual shade of pink apparently!) or Rosa I would tell them to stick it up their arse…

　

I mean I still get confused when I have to tick Cocky Asian on any forms that come my way!

　

The thing is, and this is what you have got to remember, is that you should take anything I write, say or do with a massive pinch of salt (use a shovel in fact!) and just try see the funny side of it. If you have read 24 out of the 25 blog posts here and laughed or smiled at them all but then got offended at post number 25 then just stop, shake your head, and move on. Don’t read any further posts if that’s the case, but just know that it isn’t meant to offend. I am not that type of bloke.

　

I don’t discriminate!

　

Doesn’t matter if you are black, white, gay, straight, male, female or from Mars, if you’re a twat then you’re a twat. And I will take the piss regardless.