This had to be the best Dear Deidre letter... EVER!
Better than the one from B with an inappropriate boyband fixation.
Although to be honest I've not actually read the letter, the headline
was enough to have me laughing. I'm sure there is a better way of
writing that headline though?!
Sorry for the long entry but once you get past me waffling some you grammar nazis may find it funny.
As most of you know I (and Scoobs and quite a few other people we know) have no life so play World of Warcraft. Now you non-believers can take the piss but if you ignore the people who think it's a way of life it can actually be quite a fun game with various shoot-em-up and puzzle solving strategy elements to it.
The game is that big that there are many different "realms" or servers to give them their real name. These realms are split into different categories. PVE = "Player versus environment" which means you do the quests and kill the bad guys but you don't fight other players. PVP = Player versus player" which means you kill everything but can also be killed. There is also RP which means "Role Playing" which means you have to talk as your character would, which can prove VERY fucking funny at times. There are also RPPVE and PRPVP realms as well. I used to play exclusively on a PVE realm but thought I'd see what a RP realm was like. I've played in it for a while and can often sit there giggling while people taking the game far too seriously.
Now I've bored you here's the actual point of the entry.
Last night I got a bit pissed off with the guy who controls the guild I was in so I left. He hasn't be around for two months and as second in charge is very difficult to do anything when even as second in charge you have very little commandl. So I joined another one. It's good to be in a guild as you often need help with some aspects.
Well today I asked a question and was told that it was all on the website. You can imagine the uproar when I suggested that a guild with a website wasn't really role playing but like a good little soldier I went and read that site.
I'd like to share parts of it with you now.
From the "About us" section
Who are the Ebon Blade Knights....
We are lost Death Knights who were send back into this world by Highlord Darion Morgrain.
With our free will restored we try to serve the alliance the best way we can.
Although there is no place in this world for our kind and most people still think of us as scourge we fight for it by doing good and show by showing them that we are no mindless killers.
We try to give lost Death Knights an home again, we fight as one when needed and never leave one behind, an Knight in need we will always help, ALWAYS!
We only recruit Death Knights as is written in the lore.
We are an Heavy Rp guild but we also help leveling and later maybe we will start raiding.
We have an tabard and 2 guild tabs available.
We are proud to announce that the Ebon Blade Knights is also an part of the guild senate, and therefor the Death Knights have an voice again within the alliance.The trust is still an thin line on both sides but we gain more respect in Azaroth everyday as an group of loyal knights.
From the "The Rules" section.
Rules
-Respect eighother.
-If an knight makes trouble find an officer and tell him or her about it, so there can be dealed with in a proper way.
- Dont start fights, and dont make the first move, we want peace not war, ofcourse you are alowed to defent yourself when nessacery.
- If a knight needs help, try to help him or her were you can.
- Never leave an knight behind!
- If an knight does not listen to an direct order from an officer of start fights over and over again, the knight will be diceplined in the form of an punish rank ((in this rank the knight can only read guild and officer chat but cannot write anymore)), the knight can only earn his old rank back by show loyalty again.
- ((we are an heavy rp guild, so lolling is no excuse and will be punished inmidiatly with an removel from the guild))
- Were your tabard with pride *smile*
From the "Leadership an Officers" section
lady Chellan.
Chellan is Born on Dreanor and as an Dreanei she believed in the true ligh,she became an great paladin with great powers.
When the orcs attacked her kind she fought for her homeland she fought as long as she could be she had to flee, they were with to many, thats how she got to Azaroth.
Soon she met new people and saw the great king Varian.
She decided to join the army of King Varian Wrynn and soon became an leader in it..
One day her group was send out over seas for an resque mission, but when she came there no one servived.
She and her men tried to get back to the ships to report their findings when they got surounded and atacked by ghouls and undead, the king thought everyone died and retreated the ships, so she and her men got trapped, there whas no escape possible.
The Ghouls and undead killed her men and herself and brought her body to Archerus were The Lich imidiatly decided to make her an Death Knight to fight for his aid.
Now with her free will restored she is determined to revange what the Lich has done to her and many others, but she also want peace and a place back into this world.
Her believe in the light has faded although she does think the light has a meaning for all this.
She believe in justice and hope, and that makes her strong and determined to resque all death knights and give them an home again under Highlord Darion's banner they will servive and will try to get back peace and revange!
I really don't think I'll be in this guild for long... in fact I think a certain blogger/player may sign in just to tell the glorious leader how evil I am and send her a link to this page. Oh well. At least I'll have had a giggle!
I think this is excellent! In full here but paraphrased below.
Not only can I think of bloggers that have some of these but I'm also fully aware that I have one of them... possibly two at the moment but I can't help the bad year can I?!
The only problem I have with actually posting this is that I can think of two bloggers (not on my friends list) who will read it and then start spouting about how it's obviously a real medical condition because this website said so!
So...
The Six New Personality Disorders Caused by the Internet
6. Online Intermittent Explosive Disorder (a.k.a. The Thin-Skinned Rage-o-holic)
Like serial killers, these people seem pretty normal at first. For hours or even days, they'll carry on funny, charming conversations in a forum or comment section. But then something, anything, sets him or her off and he or she devolves into a tantrum that would make Christian Bale say, "Dude, calm down! Jesus."
5. Low Forum Frustration Tolerance (a.k.a. The Frantic Browser Reloader)
This is the guy who makes a new thread, knowing he's just written the absolutely perfect post. A post that should be heralded across the Internet for its beauty, comedy and insight. It is such a good post that the guy is checking every five seconds to see if there is a new response. If he gets a response he quickly dashes out his own reply that will appear half a second later.
If there are no responses to his perfect post then he will wait an eternity of five minutes before replying to his own thread with, "What, nobody has a comment? Helloooo???"
4. Munchausen by Internet (a.k.a. The Sob Story Teller)
These are the people who lurk around innocently enough, and then, one day, tragedy strikes. Their dog, or parent, or maybe a close friend died. Maybe the poster themselves found out they have a terminal disease. And unless you're on 4chan, the group will generally rally around and shower them with sympathy. You send this person your prayers and well wishes, maybe a few dozen kitten pictures and you hope they will get through it.
Then, a few months later, another tragedy strikes them. Their best friend was raped, or paralyzed in an accident, or both. A few months after that, their father dies. Again.
3. Online Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder (a.k.a. The Grammar Nazi)
We all reserve the right to mock people who post 500-word blocks of misspelled nonsense. But then you have the situation where somebody posts a perfectly clear and clever message but within their well-articulated points they dare to confuse "your" with "you're." And then somebody will flip the fuck out.
Like a Mossad agent in rural America, you quickly discover that you've found a Nazi. Of the Grammar variety.
2. Low Cyber Self-Esteem (a.k.a. The Guy Who Everyone Hates but Who Never Leaves)
There's a place for everyone on the Internet to feel at home. When you can fill a message board with fans of The Wonder Years porn, there should be no such thing as an outcast.
Yet, each forum, chat room or other online community seems to have a person or people who just don't fit in. It's not that they are necessarily horrible people, they're just the square trying to fit into the triangle hole. They get ridiculed constantly.
Now you may figure this is no different than the picked-on nerd in high school, but unlike that kid always getting squished into a locker, these people are free to leave the website at any time.
But they never do.
1. Internet Asperger's Syndrome (a.k.a. The Troll)
We can't take credit for this one, blogger and Internet entrepreneur Jason Calacanis coined the term "Internet Asperger's Syndrome" to describe the utter loss of all social rules and empathy that seems to hit some people for no other reason than that they happen to be communicating via keyboard and monitor at the time.
We don't need to retell all of the horror stories. A kid commits suicide on webcam while the trolls cheer him on, Anonymous mocks a suicide victim, some kids fire a baby out of a giant slingshot for a YouTube video (we're not sure if that last one actually happened but it's really just a matter of time).
Normal kids, good grades, no criminal records... but get them in a chat room and suddenly it reads like the transcript to a Charles Manson parole hearing.
The day started out badly when I got to work and found his curtains missing and the last picture off the wall. I should have known then to turn around and go home.
"Come on, time to get..." I say.
"Uppa," he replies.
"And have a..."
"Shar."
"Then you can have some..."
"Brefa."
"And a cup of..."
"Tea-tea."
"Then we'll go out on the..."
"Baba."
"And have a..."
"War."
Translated its time to get up and have a shower, then some breakfast and a cup of tea, then we'll go out on the bus an have a walk.
This starts at 8.15am and it's 9.45am by the time he's up and in the shar shower.
His mood isn't great and when offered shower gel by another member of staff he lashes out and attacks successfully.
This confirms it's going to be a bad day.
He becomes obsessional with the towel, refusing to give it up, causing friction burns on his legs where he is desperately rubbing, so the towel is snatched off him. He doesn't seem too bothered. Is his mood improving?
He finished his breakfast and tea and is given clothes which he shreds.
After a small time out he's given more clothes which he keeps on and we head out on the bus.
He enjoys a walk along the coast, or appears to, and once back on the bus we head back. As he enters his apartment he tears his clothes again.
He has his lunch and is offered a trip to our expansive and calm garden. Before we get there he is virtually naked so it's a quick run back to the apartment with the hope that no one has seen him, even though everyone knows what he's like, but it's his dignity we're trying to save.
Another set of clothes and he's offered a walk around the town which he seems to want.
The walk goes well (apart from my feet hurting as it's been a while since I've done such a long walk) so we head to the canteen for some ice cream and drink. For him sadly, not for me.
Once done we head back to the apartment and before we even get out of the building he's ripped his shirt and then starts on his shorts. In full view of everyone he has his shorts round his ankles and shreds his boxers.
We decided it's time to intervene and we grab an arm each. Pulling up his shorts we escort him back to his apartment.
We are only a few metres away when he struggles and breaks free. The other member of staff gets attacked while I try and pull him off. Then he turns on me while the other staff try to pull him off.
It's too late. We're both stood there with ripped shirts and he is stood there naked. He calmly walks back to his apartment.
Once reports are done the other member of staff leaves as he's only on until 4pm anyway.
Pissed off I sit in the kitchen with a coffee. I can hear him in his lounge... trashing it.
It's my job to intervene and make sure he's safe and okay but I don't want to. I have to.
As I open the door he is at the end of the hallway.
"Are you okay?"
There is no reply.
Seconds later and before I even realise what's going on he's upon me again and going for my shirt. It's already torn so now he's pulling at me. After a bit of back and forth and being pushed down to the floor by my neck I managed to get away and lock myself in the kitchen.
He continues to trash his lounge and then gets in the shower. When I hear the shower turn off I throw him a towel.
"Go and dry off in your room!" I say and he does, at which point I tip-toe down the hall and lock him in. I shouldn't but I'm past caring.
After getting another member of staff to help me tidy his lounge I find out that my unit has an extra member of staff. Not anymore! He's is called in to cover me and I head home in a thoroughly pissed off mood.
I won't be working with him tomorrow as I'm a "target."
It'll be a welcome break. If it wasn't for that break I think I'd have called in tomorrow and told them I wasn't coming in.
I'm sick of the place.
I love my job, I really do, but I never thought I'd have to put up with this and I never thought I'd be willing to go back in and face it again and again and again.
No one ever said during my interview or my induction that this is what I'd have to put up with. I think I'd still have taken the job even if they had.
I ache. My back aches and my neck aches. I've lost a small fortune in clothing over the last eighteen months.
A drink is called for. A nice malt I think.
Cheers, Sláinte, Prost and sour fucking grapes. See ya later.
If you don't want to know the answer to this then don't read this yet.
So the three options I gave you were these:
1. I melted all my toe nails and burnt my feet while walking on hot coals incorrectly.
2. I was once in an episode of Gardeners World where I talked about seed trays and pumpkins.
3. Years ago I abseiled down the side of the Birmingham Hippodrome to raise money for charity.
The coals were laid out and before we walked across we had a lesson from the instructor. This involved walked the same distance as the length of coals and placing out feet down as we would on the coals, and also walking at the correct speed. We must have done this about thirty odd times before he told us the "secret" of the coals.
"Ash doesn't conduct heat which is why it doesn't burn," he said.
"Chuh, yeah right!" came various different replies.
"It gets warm and you'll feel the heat from the hot coals underneath but the ash will not burn you as long as you walk how you've been shown."
He talked some more and convinced us this was true and then finally the time came for us to do it and even worse I was only third in the line. The man in front of the lady in front of me walked across and at the other end he turned and smiled and we all applauded. I'd winced the entire time he was walking along the coals but he'd shown no signs of pain. The lady in front of me took her turn. She "oohed" and "ahhhed" a little but at the end she jumped up and down and screamed to her applause from us.
I took a step forward and could really feel the heat coming off the coals. My foot tentatively hung over my first step and down it went on to the coals.
"Keep moving!" he shouted.
But I just stood there wondering why it was actually getting hotter given that I was told the ash shouldn't burn.
"KEEP MOVING OR YOU'LL BURN!" he shouted again, "LIKE WE PRACTISED!"
And as he said that I started running. Well not so much running but walking faster than we were shown. Not only was I going faster that I was supposed to but I wasn't putting my feet down properly either and ended up jamming my toes into the coals. I carried on running, pressing into the coals with my feet until eventually I jumped off onto the sand and soil either side of the hot path. Two people cam rushing over, one with a bucket of water, and I could hear someone else calling an ambulance. The pain was intense and my feet were black. Suffice to say I ended up in A&E and had to spend two nights in the hospital during which time time they removed my melted toe nails and bandage up my feet.
My toe nails grew back but at funny angles. Most of them grown down into my toes but my little ones grow up towards the sky and it's only been these last four or five years that they're starting to sort themselves out. I have parts of my feet that have feeling and I'm not ticklish either.
So, that story tells you that number one is true.
At the age of thirteen when we had to choose our options at school I took Rural Studies. My only two reasons for doing this was that it meant you got to go to the Royal Show every year and that Mr. Salt was the schools best teacher! One day I got called to the headmasters office, along with a few other pupils, and while waiting outside we worked out that the only think we had in common is that we were all doing Rural Studies. Finally we got called into his office and told that our teacher, Mr. Salt, had written to Gardeners World to tell them how great our gardens and projects were and he'd picked our specific projects to go ahead and be filmed when they turned up the following month. I ending up talking about how I'd started off my pumpkins in seed trays and then planted them out in the garden with various protective devices to save it from flies and insects. Hopefully at the end of the year I'd be able to determine which was the best protection. As it was I had an accident and ended up on crutches for around twenty weeks and couldn't get down to the gardens to sort them out. No one else did anything as they were too busy with their own projects and Mr. Salt was sadly too late to sort it as he thought the others were looking after it. He was very apologetic and and he was the kind of teacher that would actually feel guilty over it. In the end I passed Rural Studies with a C and I've still no idea how as I hated the subject in reality.
If number two is true then is means number three is a lie.
Well it is a lie, but only part of it.
I did do a charity abseil but it was down the side of Sandwell Hospital and not the Birmingham Hippodrome. I've also done one down a cliff in Kidderminster. I think I'm too fat (and gay) to do one now.
I'm still trying to finalise the track listing. It's not as easy as it might sound.
There are so many tracks I want to put on that I've decided I'll be sending out more than one cd. I might do one a month. If you've emailed me at iwouldlikeacdplease@gmail.com then you don't need to do it again... although some of you forgot to include an address... I shall mention no names.
It'll be posted sometime next week so I do hope you're not sitting waiting for it.
If you'd like to suggest themes for the next few CD's feel free.
Stalking is a term used to describe unwanted attention by individuals (and sometimes groups of people) to others. Stalking behaviors are related to harassment and intimidation. The word "stalking" is used, with some differing meanings, in psychology and also in some legal jurisdictions as a term for a criminal offence. It may also be used to refer to criminal offences or civil wrongs that include conduct which some people consider to be stalking, such as those described in law as "harassment" or similar terms
In Internet slang, a troll is someone who posts controversial, inflammatory, irrelevant, or off-topic messages in an online community, such as an online discussion forum or chat room, with the primary intent of provoking other users into an emotional response or to generally disrupt normal on-topic discussion.
Attention is the cognitive process of selectively concentrating on one aspect of the environment while ignoring other things. Examples include listening carefully to what someone is saying while ignoring other conversations in a room (the cocktail party effect) or listening to a cell phone conversation while driving a car. Attention is one of the most intensely studied topics within psychology and cognitive neuroscience.
Bipolar disorder, also known as manic depression, manic depressive disorder or bipolar affective disorder, is a psychiatric diagnosis that describes a category of mood disorders defined by the presence of one or more episodes of abnormally elevated mood clinically referred to as mania or, if milder, hypomania. Individuals who experience manic episodes also commonly experience depressive episodes or symptoms, or mixed episodes in which features of both mania and depression are present at the same time. These episodes are usually separated by periods of "normal" mood, but in some individuals, depression and mania may rapidly alternate, known as rapid cycling.
English is a West Germanic language that originated in Anglo-Saxon England. As a result of the military, economic, scientific, political and cultural influence of the British Empire during the 18th, 19th and early 20th centuries and of the United States since the mid 20th century, it has become the lingua franca in many parts of the world. It is used extensively as a second language and as an official language in Commonwealth countries and many international organizations.
Even ignoring all four deaths there has been enough bad news to last a life time and it never seems to end, even today more bad news comes and even though she tries to put a brave face on things my mother really isn't coping. I can tell from the crack in her voice as she talks. Father has said he cannot go to the hospital anymore as coming out upsets him. This has been going on since January with a friend of theirs. Even though he says he can't go he still does. Every week. What is going to hurt them both even more is that when this friend dies, which could happen any moment, it'll be on the news and my mother will have to watch it. Not because the television is broke and stuck on and on one channel but because she'll feel as though she has to. She'll read any newspaper clipping and she'll cut them out and save them. She has a secret box which we all no one knows about with certain items in it. Clippings will end up in there and once the funeral is over she'll never look in it again until the next time something sad happens and even then it'll only be opened to put more things in, never to take things out and never to have anything read.
I can't grieve anymore as there is no part of me left that has anything left to give. I cannot go into mourning and to be honest the mood I'm getting in to over all this means I'd refuse to anyway.
Instead I'm being positive about things.
To this end I'm offering you all a gift. The gift of music. A while back Brad did a post where he asked people to send him cd's of music that they liked to try and introduce him to some new artistes and music and he got some wonderful replies. I'm offering you the exact opposite.
I'm going to create a CD of music I like and would like to send you out a copy. To do this you'll have to give me your name and address. Email me at iwouldlikeacdplease@gmail.com with your name and address and I'll post you a CD of music. Don't panic, it won't be angry stuff, it will be a myriad of various musical tastes.
After it's been done and sent out I'll be writing a post about it here so you can listen and read along and see why I've picked those songs. There will be a lovely cover design by me which I've no doubt will be reminiscent of when I used to host a radio show. You'll understand that when you see the CD.
Twas on the Blogship Lollipop that the captain set a challenge. Go here and look and then take part! Go on! You know you wanna!
"Come Dine With Me" - Captains Challenge
My Four Guests I'm not going to tell you why but I'd love to hear why you think why ;)
Immanuel Kant Freddie Hubbard Clara Twomlow Isabella Rossellini
My Menu I am assuming that my guests have already told me that they're not allergic to anything and have no major dislikes.
Aperitifs & Canapés upon entry and before dinner.
Starter Salmon Mousse served on a bed of lettuce and chopped peppers with an accompaniment of new potatoes wrapped in Palma ham and then slow roasted and served with a sweet chilli sauce.
Main Course Roast Chicken stuffed with an onion, sage and apple stuffing served with a selection seasonal vegetables and hassleback potatoes. Dessert Four individual "bite-sized" desserts comprising of a traditional sherry trifle, lemon meringue, orange cheesecake and a chocolate & beetroot brownie.
Chinese Tea to end the evening.
The Table Setting & Theme The table would be set with all appropriate cutlery and condiments along with a jug of iced water, a bottle of red wine and a bottle of white wine.
There would be no theme as such as I often think these things can go horribly wrong but the evening would be elegant but simple. A refined night with gentle conversation, a relaxed mood and stylish background music.
Why I'd Win I am and would be the perfect host. My guests all compliment each other and are all people who I know I'd be friends with given then opportunity.
A Michigan man has come forward claiming to be Stephen Damman, the 2-year-old boy who disappeared over 50 years ago after his mother left him and his sister alone outside a Long Island, NY bakery.
According to Lt. Kevin Smith of the Nassau County Police, in the 1950s, it was not uncommon for young mothers to leave their children outside when grocery shopping.
An 81-year-old woman who had young children during that time told the Associated Press, They [children] would all be lined up outside the supermarket. We never worried. We never thought about it.
On Halloween in 1955, Marilyn Damman entered a Long Island bakery leaving her 2-year-old son, Stephen and 7-month-old daughter, Pamela outside with a stroller. Ten minutes later, Marilyn came out of the bakery and could not find the stroller or her children. Around the corner she found the stroller with only her daughter inside.
Over 2,000 people assisted in the search for Stephen for 28 hours, after which the countys assistant chief inspector, Leslie W. Pearsall, called off the search. According to The New York Times, Pearsall decided the case should be left up to police detectives.
The Associated Press reported the family received a ransom note in Nov. A public plea was made to the kidnappers, which emphasized Stephen's anemia and his need for medication.
Authorities are awaiting DNA tests to determine if the man who claims to be the missing boy is actually Stephen.
According to an official inside the investigation, the man believes he never fit in with his family and began searching missing person cases around the country.
Stephens father, Jerry Damman, 78, said its very possible the Michigan man could be his son and believes the man paid him a visit last fall.
The man approached the Nassau County Police and federal authorities over the past few months. The mans name has not been released.
Copied, stolen and plagiarised from here and here.
Looking at him as a child and an adult there is a likeness. How would you approach your supposed parents with this? "Mommy did you kidnap me in the 50's?" It makes me wonder how many other adults are out there that are part of a family they don't really belong to. It also makes me think about the nature and nurture argument. Does this man have any personality traits of his real father or of the father that raised him? Or both? The nature ad nurture argument has always intrigued me.
So Saturday there I was sat at the top of the stairs playing with Eddie & Hille (our dogs).
I was gently rolling a ball off the top of the stairs and they were running after it. Sometimes I wasn't dropping it at all.
So one second I'm holding on to the ball and the next I spin my arm round to hurl it somewhere and bash my hand off our lovely wrought iron bannister. It's a feature of the house - or so the details say - personally I'd prefer solid oak like the Duggans but you can't have everything.
My finger swells up and I jump around the house, eyes weeping, sucking air through my teeth and generally making noises like a beach ball with an intermittent leak. Apparently these are the things that take pain away.
Ten minutes later I can't actually feel my finger, it's bigger than usual, and I can't bend it.
An hour or so later and it was still painful but not broken.
Come the next morning it was still a bit stiff... oooh err.. but not a problem.
Monday it was virtually pain free and this morning it felt a lot better.
Until today.
So at work, like a complete and utter twat, I trapped my finger in a heavy fire door. I felt and heard the crunch and know for a fact that this time it's broken.
Joy of fucking joys.
I shouted "cunt" rather loudly which made it feel a bit better.
I've taken the strapping off for now as it's a pain in the hole but I'm sure I'll put it back on at some point.
Every day since Mom rang and told me about Ashley I've cried. Sometimes it's been a little sniffle, a few tears then a big sniff and everything going back to normal very quickly, but then other times it's a big sob with my shoulders bobbing up and down. This morning it was the latter.
Now I'm not one of those people that believes in holding back my emotions. If I want to cry I'll cry and I don't care who sees it.
Usually when I'm faced with the death of someone close I'll have a big cry, then a couple of little ones, I'll go through the grieving process and then I start to rebuild. That is not happening this time.
I've tried to work out why and the only answer I can come up with is that this last six (possibly even twelve) have been filled with sadness and death. In the last six months I've lost four people I've either been close to or grown up with. One of which was both and also a year younger than me.
I am not coping well with any of this.
I know death is all a part of life and I know it happens to us all, but why is it happening so frequently around me. It's making it more and more difficult to deal with.
It's also making me nervous of answering the phone when my mother calls!
As a fluent German speaker, only discovered during our trip to Berlin, I have decided to do my first entry about the Berlin Blog Meet (Berliner Bloggen Metten) in German.
Here goes!
Oh... by the way... in the entry I'm ignoring the trip from Galway to Dublin and the flight to Berlin I wasn't in Germany and didn't know I could speak German at this point!
Da Thurstag Frau Soy, Herr Scoobs und I gotten metted at das Schonefeld Tubenwingedcomeundgo by Herr Ramps und Frau Mon. Quicked wheeledstoppenstarten trip den da Understoppenstarten groupen arrivenhoff Hotel Du Rampage.
Lateronenhoff du grouppen eated di besht dooner kebab mit cluck-cluck meaten und ovenhoff vegeatbles.
Un grossen drinken mit alcohoff in da platzbrewenbeer und munched goulash souppen den da beddenbyes und de sleepenhoffen.
Da sunnenuppen da Fritag, kaffee dranken de grouppen footstepped to metten Frau Mala da Tegel Tubenwingedcomeundgo. Frau Mala quicksteppened oot Tubenwingedcomeundgo und flingarmsround der grouppen mit slurp-lippen. Brekkeneated de Beatnik Bohemian Cafe das fruitten mit milkensolid mit meatten mit cluck-cluck baba mit salat ... verre happus!
Droppen Frau Mala baggagenhoff a Hotel Du Rampage der grouppen quickstepped Berliner du Bloggen Grossen Milkensolid Hoffice. Der de grouppen metted Frau und Herr Sula, Frau Murphymole, Frau La_Spice, Frau AntLady, Herr Notbob und staffenslaven a Bloggen Herr cYzzie und Herr Florian. Downensmile Frau Gilrean da invisble! Frau La_Spice und Herr Rampage pacen forthundback braining way to contactenhoff Frau Gilrean. Electrowhizzymail checked, biggen webben checken, bloggen webben checked - downensmile. Frau La_Spice readen electrowhizzymail getten callanywhere digitten! - Uppensmile! Zero personnenhoff talky-talken a callanywhere. - Grossen downensmile. Talky-talken mit grouppen, mit grossen groupen und downensmile. Choicen grossen grouppen biggen signage a bloggen hoffice. Grouppen downensmile. Grouppen quickensteppen da pizzahaus to metten Frau Grit. Alcohoff drunken der biggen groupen eatedmunchen der grossen pizza und pastas den quickensteppened du beerhaus mit more alcohoff!
Saturtag der grouppen metten da Alexanderplatz. Darkenhoffnight previousen der grouppen agreenodded der metten da fountainenhoff. Slappenforehead der ist triple fountainenhoff a Alexanderplatz! Muchen talken und Herr Rampage mit gooden sightensockets finded gonnen memberhoff! Groupen togehter a furst timen mit grossen grossen uppensmile! Quickensteppen circulator Berliner mit Herr Scoobs a tourenhoffenguide mit grossen information a Berliner!
Sunnendown grossen groupen metten eatenscoffplatz unter der surfacestoppenstarten. Grouppen waited longenhoff but der flannkuchen mit whitenhoffen vino vas der besht!
Un quickensteppen der strasse Frau La_Spice, Frau MurphyMole, Frau Soy, Frau Mala, Herr Scoobs, Frau Gil, Herr Notbob und Herr Me dranken cocktails und bierre den un quicken ridenhoff un der understoppenstarten und de sleepenhoff.
Suntag mit grouppen da Herr Notbob, Herr Scoobs, Frau Soy, Frau Mala und Herr Me seen der Berlin Wall den seen aquaunderanimals un der grossen tanks und aquarium in der grossenhausen mit sleepenhoffrooms. Den der trippen to der pointandcoo paintingenhoff buildingenstrasse. Mala und I slurpendrinken alcohoffen un taptapwatchen fer de udders.
Oh mine got! Der cloudden droppendrip de grossen aqua similerr de Saturtag! Mala un I hiddenn under der underoverclothmithandle. Herr NotBob, Frau Soy und Herr Scoobs arriven und der grouppen trippenhoffen. Waveybyebyenhoff de Herr NotBob und Herr Scoobs, Frau Soy, Frau Mala und I quickensteppen und understoppenstarten de Hotel De Rampage.
Grossen eatten niceynicen fooden munchen createdenhoff a Mala mit Ramps a Helpenhoff Cheffen. Much alcohoff und fooden munchen und der sleepenbyebyes.
Montag Mala proddenpoken wavenbyebyes a fuckearly o'clock. Groppen und slurpen-lippen und fiven minutenhoff plus sleepen.
Soonen Frau Soy, Herr Scoobs und I riden un tacsicabben de Schonefeld Tubenwingedcomeundgo.
Gutten timenn hadden by all!
Well there you go. I'm not going to translate but I will be doing some other entries but then again I might just do a photo entry. I don't know yet. Depends on my mood really doesn't it.
For no reason other than it changes my own personal blog home (My blog.co.uk) page, here are four pictures from my recent trip to Kilkenny with some of the lads from work.
I had a great time and it would good to see friends and make new ones. I'm very much looking forward to getting my Team Tag.
I'll do it soon but right now I have other things on my mind that I need to clear up before I can do that. Thursday, possibly even the end of today, could do that for me. I don't know yet.
We met by the old boat pond in Hill Hook as we had done so many times before. I was there on a worn-out old bike that needed a lot of work and he'd arrive on something new or looked new as the staff had probably cleaned it up for him.
I'd known him since I was six when I'd arrived at his school after having moved to the area and he was to be my "buddy." This meant for a week he was to stay with me and show me around the school and introduce me to people who I now call friends. Even though he was a year younger than me in our primary school two years had classes together. It was only a small village school and couldn't afford much in the way of teachers or an education for the matter so we did a lot of singing and putting on plays.
By the end of that first week I'd been invited to his house for tea and a play-date. I was amazed by his house, it was massive. I'd been told to bring swimming togs so did and before dinner he pushed me into a downstairs bedroom and said "go and get your trunks on an we'll go swimming!"
"I'll get changed at the pool," not being shy or one of those kids that had to have trunks under my clothes to save time or embarrassment.
"Really?" he said, "okay then, come on!"
We ran down a long hallway and through double doors which took us into a massive room with a bar at one end, the worlds biggest patio doors at the other and a snooker table in the middle. A full size snooker table that not only could we play under but also on top of! Through another set of doors and into what looked like a Hawaiian Cabańa. Through some pine saloon doors and there we were in the pool room. The swimming pool was bigger than our house and had a slide and massive floating chairs. I didn't realise he'd meant we were swimming at his house! Even though he was currently in his trunks I just assumed we were running to his room, the long way, so he could get dressed and we'd head off.
Swimming ended up playing a big part in our lives as we grew up. Both of us swam for the school and even though we weren't supposed to we would often end up swimming in either the pond behind the village hall or it the old boating pond we were sat at now.
We sat there in silence, smoking a cigarette each and look out on the pond.
"Do you remember the first time we went in there?" he asked.
"Yeah! You cut your foot on something and cried the whole way home!"
"Shut up! I didn't cry!" he said, totally on the defensive.
It fell silent again and we just stared out on to the pond.
"What do you want Ash?" I asked.
"Just to talk."
"About?"
There was another silence.
"Do you fancy a swim?" I asked.
"Nah, not really."
"Well I'm going in."
And so I did. I swam out to the little island in the middle where years earlier a mans body had been found and we'd told each other stories about how his ghost floats across the water at night.
"Can I talk to you?" he shouted across to me.
"If you come over here!" I shouted back.
"No. You come back here."
There was no point trying to argue with him. We he said it as directly as he had that meant he wasn't going to change his mind so I swam back and towelled off.
"What is it?"
"How did you tell your parents you were gay?" he asked.
"Well they knew, I didn't really have to tell them. Why?"
"Because I think I might be gay."
"Well just tell them. Your mom will be fine, I know it!"
"You don't seem shocked."
"Well you are a bit... obvious."
"Really?"
"Yes. Very much so in fact. Your parents will probably already know. I'll bet they've talked about it."
"No."
"Yes."
"They wouldn't have!"
"Well they probably have."
After another cigarette smoked in silence I asked him who else he'd told.
"No one," he replied.
"No one at all?"
"No. You're the first."
"Wow!"
I was only sixteen, he was fifteen, and I'd never had anyone come to me before. Actually Derek had but we'd come out to each other on that night so I don't count it.
"Look Ash, just go home and tell them. Your mom will be fine, your dad will accept it and Heidi will love it."
"Will you come with me?"
"No no no no! You need to do this on your own. It'll be worse if I'm there."
"S'pose."
We had yet another cigarette, hugged and then went our separate ways.
He rang me a few days later to tell me he'd told them and that everything was fine. I already knew this as his mother had rang my mother and my mother had told me.
"Did you know he was peculiar?" she asked.
"Yes. He told me at the pond the other day."
"He was always a very effeminate boy."
"Yes mother."
She wasn't being offensive when she'd called him peculiar. She told people that I was peculiar while talking through he nose and winking. Heaven forbid she should say the word 'gay' in front of my father! "Sandra, get the gun!" is the usual response.
Ash and I drifted apart but always stayed in touch via texts or phone calls or emails. He moved to London and did very well for himself.
My mother rang yesterday and told me Ashley was dead.
It was in this entry where I asked you the following questions:
No.1. How old does the picture look?
No.2. How old do the children look?
No.3. Could either of these kids be me?
Well the picture is from the 1930's. It's two children who went to the same primary school as me. I believe they are both dead. Believe it or not but the children are the same age, 11.
Given that I've already told you that the picture is from the 1930's I think it's obvious that neither of them are me!
The school "friend" would have seen this picture nearly every week day for nearly six years... while she was was with me!
I can kind of understand her confusion as there is a picture in circulation somewhere of me in a very similar frock stood next to a boy in the year below me. She thought, in the picture, that I was the taller of the two!
... we'll be about thirty minutes from home after collecting Miss Soy UnPerdedor from Shannon airport.
By this point I think Brad will be asleep and I'll be boring her shitless pointing our landmarks in the dark that she doesn't care about and cannot see.
OR... Brad will be pointing out the landmarks while I sleep. Given that I'll be driving I do hope that's not how it goes.
So excited! I do enjoy having friends here. Especially fun friends!
I just hope I'm not too late! God, don't let it be too late!
Here ya go, have a read. My reply is underneath it.
To: Rob Partridge (rob_the_sex_god@everyone.wants.to.sleep.with.me.com)
From: Mary Mark (mary_mark004@yahoo.co.th)
Subject: Hello Mary
Date: 10 May 2009 02:08:32 IST
Attached: 3 images.
Dear Beloved in Christ,
It is by the grace of God that I received Christ, having known the truth; I had no choice than to do what is lawful and just in the sight of God for eternal life and in the sight of man for witness of God & His Mercies and glory upon my life.
I am Mrs.Mary Davidson,the wife of Mr.Robert Davidson,both of us are citizens of the united state of America. my husband worked with the Chevron/Texaco in Hong Kong for twenty years before he died in the year 2003.We were married for ten years without a child. My Husband died after a brief illness that lasted for only four days. Before his death we both got born-again as dedicated Christians. Since his death I decided not to re-marry or get a child outside my matrimonial home which the Bible is strongly against.When my late husband was alive he deposited the sum of 7.5 Million Pounds (Seven Million Five Hundred Thousand Pounds) with a Bank in Europe.Presently,
this money is still with the Bank and the management just wrote me as the beneficiary that our account has been DORMANT and if I, as the beneficiary of the funds, do not re-activate the account; the funds will be CONFISCATED or I rather issue a letter of authorization to somebody to receive it on my behalf (note that you need to activate this account) as I can not come over. Presently, I'm in a hospital in Hong Kong where I have been undergoing treatment for throat cancer. I have since lost my ability to talk and my doctors have told me that I have only a few weeks to live. It is my last wish to see this money distributed to charity organizations and NGO anywhere in the World in helping human race.
Because relatives and friends have plundered so much of my wealth since my illness,
I cannot live with the agony of entrusting this huge responsibility to any of them. Please, I beg you in the name of God to help me Stand-in as the beneficiary and collect the Funds from the Bank.I want a person that is God-fearing who will use this money to fund churches,orphanages and widows propagating the word of God and to ensure that the house of God is maintained.The Bible made us to understand that blessed is the hand that giveth. I took this decision because I don't have any child that will inherit this money and my husband's relatives are not Christians and I don't want my husband's hard earned money to be misused by unbelievers.
I don't want a situation where this money will be used in an ungodly manner.Hence the reason for taking this bold decision. I am not afraid of death since I know where I am going to. I know that I am going to be in the bossom of the Lord. Exodus 14 VS 14: says that the Lord will fight my case and I shall hold my peace. I don't need any telephone communication in this regard because of my soundless voice and presence of my husband's relatives around me always. I don't want them to know about this development.
I await your quick response to this mail as this is my last wish to see this funds transferred before my Death.Please my beloved for further communication on how we are going to conclude this,
I have also attached my pictureS with this email. This is the last picture I took with my late husband, the other two picture was taken when I was admitted at the hospital
Remain Blessed.
Your Sister in Christ,
Mrs. Mary Davidson.
And my reply...
Hello Mary, ("Goodbye Heart" - sorry just had to sing that, and i know it was "Hello Mary-Lou," may I call you Mary Lou?)
Very sorry to read your heart-wrenching story.
As a fellow Christian, reborn only four years ago, I would obviously like to do all I can to help you in your plight.
I only hope I am not to late in replying and you haven't already left us to meet with our Lord and Master.
Tell me what i can do to help you Mary. If God, in his divine light and wisdom, has any power to see your wishes carried out he will indeed ensure there is a branch of this European Bank in Ireland, more specifically in Galway.
Yours with much Christian love and understanding and hope. You will be in my prayers tonight.
I've always been one those Mac-Fans that accepts there is still a place for PC's in the world of 'puters. Lets face it, if there were no PC's what would us Mac people have to complain about?*
Recently though I have noticed that Microsoft do seem to be on the attack a bit more rather than on the defensive what with the "I'm a PC and I wear shoes. I'm a PC and I go to the toilet. I'm a PC and I can sneeze" adverts, and then the series of "Laptop Hunter" ad's in America where they gave people a set amount of money and told them to go buy a computer and everyone came back with PC's mainly because they were cheaper than Macs or there was a lack of resellers.
Well as much as I'm for the equality of PC's and Macs (I have to say that Macs Rock and PC's are shit - as a Mac-Fan I'm legally obliged to say that) this advert is absolutely brilliant! Well done Apple and up-yours Microsoft!
If you were to start at the beginning of my blog or the original versions of dissertations I've written before various people got hold of them to edit and correct them for me you'd be forgiven for reading the following section of Ten Reasons Why and deciding that it's not possible, or you could come to the conclusion that I was very lucky and in the right place at the right time with the right collaboration of friends and colleagues.
It was the October of 1988 when a school teacher handed out our English assignment. We had to interview someone and make it sound interesting. I can hear him now telling us not to even think about interviewing either one of our parents or each other and I instantly decided I'd interview the teacher. My thought process was two fold. Firstly I could sit there telling him how fantastic he was and he might just give me a higher grade and secondly it would mean I wouldn't have to bother trying to work out who else to do. I'm sure that somewhere in the back of my head there was also the fact that he was gay, not openly but obviously, so there had to be a connection there between us somehow, something that would make this assignment easier.
I tentatively approached his desk while my peers turned heads to talk about who'd they interview. I could hear people saying they'd make it up or go to a parental workplace and interview someone there. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Steven Dawes, a fellow pupil, get up and begin making his way to the desk. He'd had the same idea as me, I just knew it. I had to get there first so I sped up my walking a little bit and won the race. Amazingly Steven slumped and walked off which meant, even more amazingly, I'd been right!
"Yes Partridge?" said Mr. Peters.
"Sir, I'd like to inter..." I started.
"No, you're not interviewing me. Now go away and find someone else!"
I walked away dejected and little pissed off that my English teacher of four years knew me too well.
At home I complained over dinner that I'd got no one to interview when father made the suggestion that I interview Brian Norris. Brian was a family friend who was journalist and also hosted his own TV show. My parents had been friends with him and his family for years and had holidayed together for as long as I could remember. Mother then suggested that I interview his wife instead, Deborah Norris. Deborah was a celebrity in her own right as a journalist and very successful author. In fact these days, since Brian's retirement, she far more well known in her circles than he is in his.
Later on that night I made the call and interviewed her. Although she'd watched me grow up and I wasn't shy around her I was finding it very difficult to ask her anything that would give me chance to write something that would get me a good grade. Finally the call was over and it was time to write it up properly. A week or so later I'd handed it in and awaited my marks.
I was stunned when I got an A for it. As I've said countless times in blogs and letters, my spelling is awful and my use of grammar is ridiculous but I get the point across. Anything I'm doing that is going to be used professionally is proof read over and over again by various different people before it goes out to anyone so to get an A for a piece of work I'd done was a big achievement for me, and I'm quite sure it was only for the subject matter and not the actual quality of the work!
Come the March of 1989 I was preparing for my GCSE's and getting confused over what I was going to do in the September. Should I stay on at school to do my A-levels or go to college and do a City & Guilds in something? What would get me a job and get me some money? While sat in a French lessons trying to explain to Jean-Claude that I'd lost my train ticket the North Station and needed another one before we could take the trip to the church, there was a knock at the door. A first year walked in, blushed, passed a note to the teacher and said, with a very croaky voice, "Mr. Peters sent this sir."
"Partridge, Mr. Peters wants to see you in his room at break time," he said.
The classroom burst into laughter and people starting wolf-whistling and making kissing sounds which make the French teacher blush. One look at our French teacher and you knew he was the sort to wear white y-fronts with a white vest tucked into them and the slightest hint of anything semi-erotic would make him cough and splutter, go bright red and try to change the subject. Making him blush was one of two ways we got out of doing anything that could be considered learning. The other was to ask him to tell us about life in France. We had things like this with all of the teachers and I'm sure they didn't realise what we were doing. If they had of done they'd not have carried on surely? With Mr. Davis, our history teacher, we just had to ask him what films he'd seen recently. With Mrs. Former, our Maths teacher it was a case of asking what life was like in the school when her father taught there. It always worked.
As requested I went to see Mr. Peters during the break. I hadn't got a clue what I'd done wrong but it would be something major and nothing new really. I was quite used to getting called into teachers officers as I wasn't the most obedient pupil.
"Ah, Partridge," he started, "I err... have some err... news."
"Oh?" I was quite sure I was about to be expelled.
"Yes, it's about that piece you wrote about Deborah Norris."
"Oh?" I said again, now thinking he'd decided I'd faked it so I was already getting my defence ready.
"Well you see, I was err... rather impressed with it."
"Oh right."
"Yes... and err... I... well you see I edited it a little and err... offered it to the local paper."
"Okay."
"And they printed it."
"Oh cool."
"And sent me a cheque for Ł15!"
"Fuck me!" I exclaimed. Fifteen quid was a lot of money in those days!
"Excuse me?" he said chuckling.
"I mean wow!"
He told me when it would be printed and apologised that it was under his name then he gave me the Ł15 in cash. Fag money!
A few months later, as I was just starting my GCSE's I was again called to see Mr. Peters. Once again sure I had done something that was worthy of an expulsion this time and not just the usual suspensions I'd suffered from day one at the damn school. Thankfully I was wrong.
Mr. Peters explained to me that the article about Deborah Norris had been sold to a Sunday magazine and he'd been sent a cheque for Ł200. Which he gave to me! Apparently he'd been contacted and asked if he was interested in writing some more freelance pieces and he'd confessed that it was a pupil of his that had written the piece. Apparently they'd been quite interested in this fact and wanted to know who my agent was. Mr. Peters had arranged for me to meet a man called George the next day at school who, if I agreed, would be my agent and/or manager and get me more freelance writing work.
I was amazed that this opportunity was falling into my lap given that I couldn't spell, so thankfully I wasn't amazed or let down when it got ripped away from me... sort of!
A few days after my meeting with George he rang me to say he'd been in touch with a newspaper and they wanted to know what I was going through as I approached my GCSE's. He'd also been in touch with a local newspaper and touted my services so they'd asked for something about the school. Neither article got published as both were utterly atrocious. George was interested to know how I'd done one article so well but the others so badly so I explained, although I'd thought Mr. Peters would already have done so, that he'd edited my basic article before he'd sent it to the paper. George was not happy as this was essentially proving that I couldn't write but he'd told people about me and how wonderful I was. All lies I'll have you know, and no I'm not trying to extract any kind of sympathy from that comment. Yes, I have a way with words but not when you ask me to write them down, I really am rather untalented when it comes to spelling and grammar.
George decided he was not going to give up on me. I would say this was because he was a teeny bit of a money grabber and could see I was too. He sent me a list of things to write about and asked for a thousand words on each. I did as I was told and it was from that task that the seeds of my future... or rather part of it... were born.
One of the things I had to write about was my favourite film. As some of you will know it's Rebecca. The original though with Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine and Judith Anderson as the marvellous Mrs Danvers! (can't really change those names can I?) George decided that the piece I'd written about the film would be great, once he'd edited it a little. So, with the intervention of Mr. Peters, a contract was drawn up where by George would get more than his usual cut as he edited my pieces before sending them off, and all I'd write about was films and the odd article about the actors in the latest blockbuster. An agreement was made with the local cinema and as well as receiving review copies of films on VHS I could go to the cinema and see the films before they were made public with the other hacks and freelancers.
Sadly George couldn't get many of my articles published as no one really cared about the opinion of a sixteen year old when it came to films. They didn't think I could be objective enough and would say things like "yeah so there was this big fight and this stuff happened and WOW THE SPACE SHIPS WERE REALLY COOL!" They couldn't have been more wrong.
I rang our family friend again and explained my dilemma. Given his line of work he should have been able to help and sure enough he did. He put me in touch with a few trade magazines, all of who were dying for honesty rather the usual tripe dished out by film reviewers who were obviously getting back handers from either the studio, an actor's agent or an editor (who was him(or her)self getting back handers from the same people) to talk about how wonderful the film was when it quite obviously wasn't. I'd happily tell anyone who'd read that I thought Ghost was rubbish (although Demi Moore did a good-ish job), and a few years later I was told off by one cinema goer for actually daring to say that Sharon Stone and Michael Douglas could really do with not being in anything ever again after the mess they'd made of Basic Instinct.
Films became my lovers, my bitches and my passion, and still are today. I don't just watch a movie and say whether it was good or bad, I watch for editing and continuity. I analyse the story and the acting. They have been the cause of many arguments, but have also led to more than the odd door opening up for me. In fact it was films that lead to me having my own radio show, a story that'll do for another entry.
I don't write anymore and there are many people grateful for that, and I really don't think it's something I want to (or could) get back into, but I enjoyed it while I did it. Occasionally Brian will comment to my parents that I should do something more but, and again I'm not looking for anyone to tell me otherwise or boost my ego, I'm really not that good. I was just honest and had a great passion for the subject.
To give you an idea of how crap a writer I actually am, I read this through four or five time before I made it a "friends only" entry for Brad's viewing. He found many more mistakes!
Without those people who helped me I'd never have done something wonderful and had a great time doing it. I got to meet and interview some fantastic people (and write about people I'd never met as though I had!) and write utter rubbish about total crap made by morons... and sometimes I'd actually enjoy a film.
"You spurn my natural emotions, you make me feel like dirt, and I'm hurt." sang the Buzzcocks, although when I sing it in my head I hear the Fine Young Cannibals and not Pete Shelley. Essentially though, whomever I heard, it still brings across the same question. Have you ever fallen in love with someone you shouldn't have fallen in love with? I have.
I've been in love three times but only once was with the wrong person. Everything else was just lust although at the time it was full blown movie love and one day we'd fly off somewhere and live the rest of our lives and millionaires, never having to work although we would but it would be in something we wanted. It wasn't actually all that long ago that I stopped having those kind of thoughts!
His name, the one I shouldn't have fallen in love with, was Luke. He was everything I looked for in a partner. Tall, six-pack, gorgeous, kind, considerate and treated me like a God!
There is a bar in Birmingham called Route 2 (it used to be Route 66) although people only ever refer to it as Route. Our nights out would usually start in Angels, a lovely quiet bar where we could meet chat and drink. We'd then move to Route as the drinks were cheap and they had a dance floor. Here we would really get in the mood for a club. I say a club like we had a massive choice. If you ignore the dives and hovels Birmingham's gay scene at the time only really had one night-club, The Nightingale.
Done with Angels one night we moved into Route. It hadn't long become Route 2 and the staff were behind the bar in crisp white shirts with the Route 2 blue and red logo on the left breast. They all looked stunning and Queenie (a name Andrew was given without choice!) and I were being our usual bitchy selves and rating each one out of ten for their ability to carry off the new uniform and then he came from the end of the bar strutting down towards us. He hadn't been there long but knew we were regulars as the other staff had pointed us out on his first night and thankfully the manager of Route was good to his regulars, especially us. Luke knew the three of us as Queenie, Sissy and Mandy although in reality we were Andrew, Duncan and Rob.
"Yes ladies?" he asked, "what can I get you?"
"Well are you on the menu?" asked Queenie.
"You couldn't afford me love!" he replied to which Queenie huffed and walked off to find us a table, shortly followed by Sissy and I with drinks. Two each as it was a two-for-one offer. This was Queenie's night to drive so we were all drinking! We would always take it in turns to drive but when it was Queenie's night he paid for a taxi for all of us to and from his apartment in town, and we all stayed at his, which made for interesting nights when one of us picked up some trade!*
The night went on with us eyeing up the twinks and trade that came in. We wanted to miss the act that was on at the Nightingale so had planned on staying in Route until we got a text from another friend saying the act was on stage, then we'd head over and grab a recently vacated table. The text came in but Queenie insisted we stayed in Route until closing and revealed he'd suddenly developed a bit of a "thing" for Luke. Convincing me to buy the next round from his money he asked if I'd talk to him and see if he was single and try and find out what his "type" was so Queenie could try and fit himself into that type and swoop in and grab him.
As any good sister should, I did as requested and found out he was single, working three jobs to get money for his business venture, had two brothers and lived with his mom. I found out his type and was quite shocked to hear how closely I matched it. Serendipity didn't visit me often and now it had it felt warm and fuzzy. I recounted our conversations to Queenie and he gave me more instructions. I was a little pissed off with this, as Queenie would have known should he have been paying more attention, so I stormed over to the bar and asked someone to fetch Luke.
"Yes Mandy?" he said.
"Look, it's Rob, not Mandy, and him over there," I said pointing to Queenie, who suddenly perked up and then went bright red "is Andrew and he's having hot flushes just thinking about you and is hoping if he can buy you a drink in the 'Gale later you'll go home with him so Sissy and I can sit in his lounge and listen to the two of you have sex. Now, what do I tell him?"
"Don't go to the 'gale. Stay here!" he said laughing.
"What? That's not a fucking answer!"
"Yes it is. Stay here. You'll see."
I returned to the others and passed the message on. Sissy and I agreed that staying here was acceptable so we did. At 2am a doorman started walking around the place asking people to finish up and leave. When he got to our table he asked us to move into the room at the back. The back room at Route was lovely and decked out like an gentleman's club with big leather seats and dark oak coffee tables but we rarely went in there as you couldn't see the potential trade walking in.
The manager came and sat with us and we chatted and he bought us drinks over and then one by one the staff joined us. We weren't the only customers still there and we'd been at a lock-in in Route before so nothing was surprising. Sissy and I actually knew Mark, the manager, quite well and I think Sissy had once dated him but it was a subject, like most of Sissy's ex's, that we didn't talk about.
Luke sat next to Queenie and they got chatting and sure enough a few hours later Sissy and I were sat in Queenies lounge listening to them having sex. Sissy and I had been meeting for nearly a year in Queenies lounge for MQCD's or Mid-Queenie-Coital-Drinks to give them the full title. I used to lie in bed trying to go to sleep and then one night I heard someone sneeze. I knew damn well it was coming from the lounge and the could still hear the sex so it had to be Sissy. I joined him and from that point on, anytime we heard the snap of a condom we'd knock on each others door and come into the lounge for a coffee or more alcohol. Eventually we'd hear one of them use Queenies en-suite and this would be the cue to go back to bed.
In the morning I was the first one up, as usual, and made myself a coffee. It wasn't long before Luke came out of the bedroom. He looked stunning with his messy hair, tired eyes and wearing only boxers. I think I actually stopped breathing for a short while as he walked over to breakfast bar and didn't start again until he smiled and said, in a rough low sexy voice "mornin' gorgeous!"
"Good morning," I replied and smiled, "coffee?"
"Please."
"So you had a good night last night then?"
"Well, I suppose!"
"Oh come on, Andy's not a bad shag. I've had him!"
"Yeah but when he's not the one you want it's just sex. I prefer to make love!"
I didn't know whether to get down on bended knee and propose there and then or if I should just vomit out of the window onto the passing public but I think my face was comment enough.
"Oh come on," he said, "don't look shocked. You know that was aimed at you!"
"What?!" I said, "I mean WHAT?!"
"Last night when I told you my type, you must have know it was you I was describing."
"Well, yes, I did think that but ... well ... !"
"I've seen you out, I know you're not shy! I've kinda had a crush on you since I started working in Route."
"Right. Okay. So you had a crush me and you fucked Andrew! Great!"
"Well you virtually ignored me when I came over to join you at the end of the night."
"I had to. He wanted you and you don't mess with a sisters mister!"
"Well I won't be seeing him again!"
"Does he know that?"
"Yes. I made it very clear last night, before I came back actually."
"Good!"
"So what are your plans for today?"
"I shall go home, do some washing, some work and then meet up with friends for drinks tonight."
"Fancy breakfast?"
"Yes of course. I'll make you something. What would you like?" I said trying to the good host in a friends house!
"No no, go get dressed, I'll take you for breakfast."
"Oh. Okay. Sounds... good."
"Leave a note for your friends. You won't be coming back here."
"Sound ominous!"
"No," he laughed, "well not unless you have a kinky side I'm not aware of!"
Breakfast was wonderful and it turned into lunch at his place then drinks out that night with him joining us. He was an utter gentleman and that night when he dropped me home he walked me to my door, kissed me on the cheek and left. In the car on the way back I'd already invited him in but he'd refused saying he knew it would lead to sex and he didn't want just a one night stand so would wait until we were both ready. I was ready but ended up waiting nearly two weeks!
Our relationship blossomed and although, co-incidently, he only lived a few streets away from me with his mother he spent most of his nights at mine. I met his brothers, all of whom were just as good looking as him. His mother was divorced from his father but I met both of them, on separate occasions, and both appeared lovely although his dad had a darker side I discovered months later.
We'd been together three months or so when he announced he was going to start his business up and would be off to see a bank manager that day. I was very pleased for him and wished him luck. That afternoon I got a text saying "Fucked off and annoyed! Going for a drink!" I replied asking where and that I join but never got a reply. When I rang his phone was off. I wasn't worried though. He was an adult and quite capable of looking after himself.
As midnight ticked by I tried his phone again but still it was switched off. One, then two o'clock and although I wasn't exactly worried I was concerned. He was my partner, I wanted to hold him and tell him there are other banks and that maybe I could sort funding out. I wasn't going to bed until I'd seen him or at least heard from him and that finally happened when he stumbled through the door, paralytic, at half past three.
"Where have you been?" I asked as I threw my arms around him.
"Out. I texted you and said I was going for a drink!" he snapped.
"Yeah but I didn't think you'd be so long,"
"If I want to go out I will!" he shouted as the back of his hand connected at high speed with the side of my face.
I stood there shocked, not knowing what to do. He slumped into the sofa and I went to bed telling him to fuck himself.
The next morning he was very apologetic and explained how he'd had a bad day. He'd got refused for a business loan and ended up smashing his car up on the way home, while sober I should add, but this lead to him going for the drink. He'd rang his dad who wasn't helpful, and never really was, and this lead to him getting very angry and drinking even more until he finally paid for a taxi back to mine. He got quite upset and assured me it would never happen again and I believed him. Why wouldn't I? Here was my perfect man, down on his luck, angry, pissed off and now crying and begging my forgiveness, which he got.
A few weeks later, after a similar disappointing day a similar beating took place only this time it was a punch not a slap. And I punched back. This lead to the two of us rolling around my lounge exchanging punches until he begged it to stop, and it did. Again tears, both of us apologetic and assurances we'd sort it and agreed not to tell anyone.
A week later I was on the phone to a friend telling them everything that had happened and I hadn't heard him walk in. I was slapped around the head a couple of times and actually took it, thinking I obviously deserved it as I betrayed his trust by telling someone else of our issues. I never fought back that time, or ever again.
For five, near six, months I was beaten, pushed, punched and pinched and every time it brought on tears for him with promises it'd never happen again, even thought I might have deserved it he'd always add.
When there was anyone else around he was the perfect partner which made it very difficult for any of my friends to believe me when I told them. One friend was so outraged at my lying that she took it upon herself to go and see Luke's mother one Sunday morning and tell her everything I said and advised her to encourage Luke to dump me.
His mother didn't take too kindly to this and promptly marched around to my house and began banging on the door. Letting her in she marched straight past me and into the lounge.
"Where is he?" she demanded.
"In bed!" I said although I could hear him up and scrambling for clothes, "what's wrong?"
"Stay here!" she said as she marched upstairs.
A few minutes later, with much complaining, she appeared in the lounge holding Luke by the ear and twisting it so he was in a lot of discomfort.
"He's leaving you. It's over!" she said.
"WHAT?!" I shouted.
"I know what's he's been doing and I'm ashamed to call him my son! He's just like his bloody father!" and with that she frog-marched him out the door in his boxers and walked him back to her house.
She rang about ten minutes later and through the sobbing I told her how I didn't mind the beatings and loved him and wanted him back and then she explained about his father and how he'd done the same to her. Thankfully, when my friend told her what I'd been saying she knew the truth and had decided to intervene.
Marcus, Luke's brother, turned up an hour or so later and over a coffee he told me how Luke had confessed everything to him and Doreen (his mother) and how sorry they were as a family. Marcus was actually there to collect Luke's stuff and the two us chatted some more while we packed. Damn shame he was straight as he'd have made a suitable replacement for Luke.
I only saw Luke again in passing although he did call me once to apologise. I called him a few choice names and hung up. I'd moved on by then! Obviously!
*I feel I should explain that trade can be anything from a rentboy looking for a client to a potential ex-partner.
I have found myself quite thoughtful recently and have decided to begin a set of reflective posts.
I have often started work on my autobiography and then done very little with it. The current edition stands at about one hundred and twenty pages and is filled with a lot of me babbling on about rubbish and why I've been inclined to write it. I think, by writing one event at a time, not only will it help me focus on that one thing it will also make me see which events should be in there and which are useless.
So, the reason for this post itself is not only to tell you my thoughts and plans for this blog, but to ask for your help.
As regular viewers will know I've been quite personal at times in this blog, sometimes in friends only entries and sometime blatantly out in the open about topics and subjects that some of you would rather I didn't talk about.
If you've read then you have some idea of the things I've been through, the things I've seen and experienced, the laughs and sadness I've had and you have some knowledge of the events of my life. Of the things I've talked about what do you think should go into my reflective pieces. You can leave a comment here or send me a PM, even email me if you wish but what do you think I should do a piece on. Which aspects of my life should I extend on. Essentially I'm leaving you in control! Now I think about it the idea of you lot being in charge of my blog is a little worrying!
Just so you're aware - should you wish to avoid them - the title of all the entries connected with my reflective pieces, or my memoirs, will begin with "Ten Reasons Why..." Why I'm using that as a title may come up at some point and some of you, at least one I'm sure, will have already seen something connected with it elsewhere on this site but that has since gone and been replaced.
You say to someone you're an ex Club Kid and you get one of three reactions.
Reaction number one sees them say "yeah I used to love clubs too!" and then you spend an hour trying to explain that you didn't mean that you used to love clubs, although that was part of it, but that you were, as far as you and your friends were concerned, an actual Club Kid! This will lead on to reaction number two., if they didn't go straight to that one anyway, which is when they look on blindly, not really having a clue what you're on about. So again, you spend time explaining who the Club Kids were and how, even though he was a cold-blooded killer, you worshipped Michael Alig but thought James St. James needed to shut the fuck up! This will lead on to reaction number three unless they already knew who the Club Kids were which means there was no need for them to go through reactions one and two. Reaction number three sees them say things like "yeah whatever!" or "you're too young!"*
Now, rewind the conversation and say to the person, when talking about your younger days, that you used to dress in outrageous clothes, dye your hair various shades of un-natural colour, wear more make-up than most drag queens and sit in clubs feeling far too euphoric over the fact you've not had a proper piss for four days because you've been dosed up on ecstasy for a week and not only do they believe you but they often have similar experiences, but maybe not all in one go.
Today I had all three reactions while chatting with a house-keeper at work. We began talking about our youth and the places we'd frequent and I mentioned that I was an ex-Club Kid who should have known better.
"Yeah, I used to love clubs!" she said. 'Here we go!' I thought and went on to explain what a Club Kid was which, as I knew would, lead to reaction number two, which lead to more blank looks and onto more explanation and reaction number three. Sadly for me it was disbelief that I could be a Club Kid and not that I was too young!
So I took each part of my youth and together we analysed it. I showed her pictures of Mandy and pictures of her/my friends and then we discussed clubs and other elements and eventually she could see how I was Club Kid.
I don't for one minute consider myself an original Michael Alig Club Kid but we knew who they were and what they did and we copied. Hence the name Mandy and her best friend Sissy. These names weren't chosen out of a hat, we were given them. Porche DePosh, Miss Tillie, Mandy, Sissy, Legs Wide and Danny B ruled the gay scene in our particular locality and were in the press on a weekly basis, either drug-fuelled and semi-naked, drapped over some poor unsuspecting twink desperate to be part of the clique or lounging like the predators we were, with champagne in one hand and a Sobranie in the other, discussing our next outfit or hair colour.
Click the images for the bigger picture
I wouldn't say I'm especially proud of those days but they happened and I wouldn't take them away. You could say it's part of what made who I am, but it could also be that they stopped me being who I should have been. I'm only in contact with one other person from those days and even now they is an unwritten about discussing certain elements of our past, both of us slightly aware that we are now different people, for the better, and not the evil drug-fucked bitches we once were.
It's my birthday in a few weeks, I'm not telling you the actual date, and it'll be twenty-two years since I first donned a back-combed hair style, bright red lip stick, eye-liner as lip-liner and yellow and black tights, and that was just to go to school. It'll be twenty-one years, to the day on my birthday, that I stepped into a night club with Sissy and Legs Wide and announced to the world that Mandy was here, queer and there was no stopping her! Soon the three became four, then five, then six until eventually our numbers grew and we were the Club Kids, or one set of them anyway, for the Midlands.
It's not wonder I have no hair and bad back these days!
*Not often I hear that one but it's nice when it's happens!
This is my tribute to a blog post done by someone today.
Personally I think it aptly describes the person and the post.
Pot calling the kettle black
Phrase "the pot calling the kettle black" is an idiom used to accuse another speaker of hypocrisy. This term was coined by Lauren Fleming in the exclusive village of Great Melton, Norfolk. Such terms are only used by the upper classes to demoralise their perception of the lower classes, in that the speaker disparages the subject for a fault or negative behavior that could equally be applied to him or her, though there is an alternative interpretation. In former times cast iron pots and kettles were quickly blackened from the soot of the fire. The pot would then be hypocritical to insult the kettle's colour, since both are black with soot.
Alternative interpretation
A subtler alternative interpretation, included by some, but not all, sources is that the pot is sooty (being placed on a fire), while the kettle is clean and shiny (being placed on coals only), and hence when the pot accuses the kettle of being black, it is the pots own sooty reflection that it sees: the pot accuses the kettle of a fault that only the pot has, rather than one that they share.
Poem found in "Maxwell's Elementary Grammar" school book copyright 1904.
"Oho!' said the pot to the kettle;
"You are dirty and ugly and black!
Sure no one would think you were metal,
Except when you're given a crack."
"Not so! not so! kettle said to the pot;
" 'Tis your own dirty image you see;
For I am so clean -without blemish or blot-
That your blackness is mirrored in me"
However, in order to keep cast iron from rusting it must be seasoned and the act of seasoning cast iron causes the metal to turn black.
Similar phrases
In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus is quoted as saying, during the discourse on judgmentalism in the Sermon on the Mount, "And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?" It should be noted, however, that many scholars have interpreted this as a proscription against personal attacks in general, not just ones that are explicitly hypocritical.
An aphorism sometimes attributed to George Herbert states, "People who live in glass houses should not throw stones".
I've often been amazed at the effect music has on me.
It can induce so many memories, thoughts and feelings. Today, while ironically trying to sort out my hearing aid, I was again amazed at the visions I was having just from hearing a piece of music.
They say that music can tame the savage beast and it was Shakespeare who said if music be the food of love and all that but to me music is so much more.
Music has a power behind it that when unleashed can have me seething and ready to kill, just like the aforementioned savage beast, but then have me crying like a five year old who has just fell off his bike, and all this by flashing memories of my life before my eyes. I imagine these are the same images I will see in those final seconds of my life, as well as any more memories I build up between now and then.
We were driving along when with No Doubt singing Stand and Deliver and the emotions I was going through were immense. I wasn't hearing Gwen Stefani singing I was hearing Adam and the Ants but this wasn't the end of it. In the space of one song my head went through a myriad of images, thoughts, smells and feelings all wrapped up in a bundle of memories.
You know that moment in a computer game when you make the wrong move and you know you're about to die but there is nothing you can do about it. You mash down on the keys or control pad, or throw the joystick from left to right even though you know nothing will work but in your head you rewind to a few seconds before you made the mistake, you see the error, correct it but still die. So you rewind again and this time you come up with the right moves. Sadly, all this happens in nanoseconds during the milliseconds your on-screen character is falling head first into a floor full of spikes while trying to shoot and reload at the same time.
I've digressed rather a lot here haven't. My point was that in the space of a three minute song I went through hundreds of memories from my childhood all the way up to memories from that day. I saw myself falling off a bus-shelter, my first cigarette, watching a bag of blood explode as a trolley wheel went over it, getting offered Ł50 to give oral to a minor(ish) celebrity, decorating a house, moving to Ireland, attending a work meeting... this list could go on as there were so many memories there, all this bought on by one song.
I have in my iTunes playlists one called "Memories" and it's full of songs that specifically generate one memory. Yes, eventually those memories will spawn into others but the initial memory the song gives birth to is the always the same.
With that in mind I've created this video. It's just a small selection of some of the songs in that playlist and some images to go with them. Below the video is a description of the memory that song produces.
I'm guessing everyone has a song or two that will do this. Here are some of mine. Oh and sorry for the quality not being great. Living in the sticks make uploading anything over thirty seconds long a pain!
Track Listing
Keep in mind that some of these memories might not seem much to you but it's my video, my songs and my memories, so there!
La Bomba - King Africa
This track reminds me of our family holiday to Bulgaria. A great time that will always bring thoughts of Brandy, wine, Ward End and Winston Turtle. When I say family I mean ALL of Brads family! There was sixteen of us. The Von Trapps.
Africa - Toto
A few years ago I was driving along with some friends in my car when this came on and I started singing. I say singing but what I actually mean was shouting. Shouting the lyrics loudly. It was a sunny day and the windows were open and all the drivers passing by heard everything. It doesn't sound it now but at the time it was very funny.
Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me - U2
I used to host my own radio show and this track always reminds me of a guy called Toby who, as well as having a show, would sit in on mine sometimes and try to make me fuck up on air. Very funny nights. Very funny.
Rhythm of the Night - Corona
This was the first track I ever played on my own radio show mentioned above.
iio - Rapture
I'm on the phone to my friend Sam while watching MTV when this song comes on. Sam screamed down the phone demanding to know who it was and what it was called.
Something Tells Me - Cilla Black
I can't actually tell you the memory associated with this as a certain person reads and I'll get in trouble.
Wham Bam - Candy Girls featuring Sweet Pussy Pauline
A girl who used to rent a room off me thought this was me.
Espiritu - Tin Tin Out
It's not so much the song but the name of the group that brings memories. There used to be a club in Birmingham called Tin Tins. An utterly excellent club where I basically grew up.
Dreaming - Ruff Driverz
I used to DJ in a bar/club and my brother sent me up a shedload of stuff on CD that he thought would go down well. This was the very last track I listened to and I loved it and just like me, it went down well that night.
Summer of Love - Steps
Route 66 (which became Route 2) in Birmingham. A pre-club bar. Excellent night on student night.
In The Garden of Eden - Iron Butterfly
One episode of the Simpsons. That's all really. Still, it's a memory!
Underneath It All - No Doubt
When I first met Brad this was just about to released and Brad wouldn't stop singing it. Sadly he wasn't actually singing it to me but I decided he was.
Crashed The Wedding - Busted
Helen paid for me and her to go see Busted for my birthday as I am, and not ashamed to admit it, a Busted fan. At her sisters wedding we danced around to this... on our own!
Hero - Charlotte Perrelli
Should have won!
No One - 2 Unlimited
In the aforementioned radio show when I'd do a "talky bit" the intro to this track would be playing in the background.
Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol
This will be the song Brad and I will have our first dance to at our wedding.
The memories of these last three (Cambodia - Kim Wilde, Abide With Me - Fron Male Voice Choir and Tears in Heaven - Eric Clapton) will be staying with me for the time being.
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
So yesterday we went off to Mr & Mrs Duggans for a night of fun and Wii.
It included lots of drink, meeting lovely little Chloe O'Reilly for the first time, seeing Fiona & Mark, looking round our hew house, more drinking, eating of pizza and some FlanKuker (or something like that!), more drinking then a car boot on Sunday.
Much fun was had by all and here are some piccies of it!
Me & Bert with the loveable Ruaidhrí.
Loveable Ruiadhrí
Mark and Helen having a Wii
Ruaidhrí and his future wife, Chloe, enjoying some alone time... with everyone watching and going "awww" or "ooooh"
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
So as you can see from my last few entries I've been here but not here. I know some of you don't like Twitter but every Twitter entry is given the same title so you can ignore those if you don't want to read.
I've been reading blogs via my feed reader and commenting here and there but very rarely. I just felt like I wanted to take a break to have a think about things and now things have been thinked (I will never ever say thunk) and everything is now right with the world... or getting there.
Actually it's not, far from it, but I'm happier about it now so it stops being a problem.
So here's a quick catch up since we last met.
Enjoyed a great visit from my sister and my best mate. We had a wonderful week together and I hope we can do it again soon. Although it might a little more difficult to organise as Dale got his new job which is miles away from Rach! (Congrats again by the way Dale - very proud of you!) A conversation with them one night has prompted me to do something I never thought I'd do and I'm now faced with two options. I'm not going to discuss them here just yet as I don't want to give a certain person the chance to say "I knew he wouldn't!" if I decide not to do neither. Suffice to say there are already some of you that know. Oh, and those of you that don't, don't get upset because you don't know, it's only because those people have been told face to face, no one has been told in a private blog entry... thought I'd say that because last time I blogged something semi-cryptic along the same lines I had someone message me and say "I thought we were friends then I find out Such-And-Such knows and I don't!" Bah! Up yours! Friends my arse! Stalker more like!
On the house front we'll hopefully be moving in a month or so. Either just before we go to Berlin (YEAH BABY!) or when we come back. Either way it'll be a very welcome move for many reasons.
Work has been fine. Haven't been beaten up for a while although the threat has been there. There was a time when I was under the impression that I might be losing my job, and some of us are still under that threat but two things have happened this week that have made me believe that I'm not under this threat. First off I've had my confirmation letter about a course that work are sending me on. It's a year long course and they have to pay for me to attend. If they were going to get rid of me they wouldn't be wasting money on a course I'm not going to attend. The second thing to happen was that I got my pay rise. Which will be back dated. Excellent. Bright new Mac here we come.
Mother and her friend Wendy arrive a week tomorrow. Mother rang me one night, pissed as usual, and said "You know when I come to visit, can I bring a friend?"
"Of course you can!" I replied
"Good because I've seen Wendy tonight and she's been asking all about you and saying how she misses you and would love to see you and Brad!"
"Well bring her over then."
"Do you have the room?"
"Of course we have room mother. She can have the Rowena Suite and you can the Laura Suite!" I do actually call them that.
She hung up and very excitedly booked an extra ticket for Wendy. For Wendy who misses me and Brad. Wendy who thinks I'm the worlds greatest son to my mother. Wendy who thinks the sun shines out my arse. I believe my mother when she says Wendy says all this as it's the kind of things Wendy would say. I know this because I've met her. Twice. It might be three times but it's sure as hell isn't enough for her to "miss" me! I'm actually having difficulty thinking who this woman is! I think Brad has met her once!
Oh well.
It's my dad's birthday tomorrow. Thinking about that caused me a few different emotions. Most of you know the issues I have with dearest daddy. He's had a card and some bottles of vino sent. I'm actually very proud of him at the moment and I hate that! I can't be bothered going into the full story as to why I'm proud but the short version is that this time last year he organised an event that raised Ł44'000 for charity and he's doing it again on Tuesday only bigger and better.
Right, I need to go and get ready to go to the Duggan for some shopping them a party. Soooo excited!
As my hearing is currently getting worse and I've lost my hearing aid I shall leave with this wonderful video. Straight men should ignore the fact that he's very cute and just concentrate on how clever he is. Shame is ASL. If it was BSL I might have kept up!
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
21:04 Watching "Stuart: A Life Backwards" the film of the book that made me REALLY think a few weeks ago. #
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
21:30 My car has no horn. It is unhorned... inhorned... dishorned... antihorned... silent. #
21:34 I got called Cartman today! I'd have called them betches if I'd have been able to stop laughing. #
22:37 When people follow you on Twitter do you think expect you to follow them back? #
23:14 BBC deny reports they're getting rid of Fat Bastard Moyles! Why would they want to keep him? He's fucking useless and talentless! #
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
16:33 Girls don't like boys, girls like cars and money. #
17:12 What an incredibly messy day. Picture hot chocolate through a high pressure hose... with extra sweetcorn. #
17:53 Preparing a nice cup of Cornflour. That should thicken it up a bit. Oooh and I'll add an egg. They're binding! #
18:38 Chat in Twitter about Heroes leads to chat at work about Heroes and I'm now being called Angela Petrelli. The bitch you can't help but love. #
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
15:38twitpic.com/302dz - Nom nom nom death by chocolate all gone nom nom nom. #
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
Dale, best mate who's here now, sent me this and I had to share as I think it's funny.
Dale is a scoutmaster so I'm wondering if he just changed some names as I've been on one of his scout camps and it's quite apt.
Dear Mum & Dad,
Our Scoutmaster told us to write to our parents in case you saw the flood on TV and are worried. We are okay. Only one of our tents and 2 sleeping bags got washed away. Luckily, none of us got drowned because we were all up on the mountain looking for Adam when it happened.
Oh yes, please call Adam's mother and tell her he is okay.. He can't write because of the cast. I got to ride in one of the search and rescue jeeps. It was neat. We never would have found Adam in the dark if it hadn't been for the lightning.
Scoutmaster Keith got mad at Adam for going on a hike alone without telling anyone. Adam said he did tell him, but it was during the fire so he probably didn't hear him. Did you know that if you put gas on a fire, the gas will blow up?
The wet wood didn't burn, but one of the tents did and also some of our clothes. Matthew is going to look weird until his hair grows back.
We will be home on Saturday if Scoutmaster Keith gets the bus fixed. It wasn't his fault about the wreck. The brakes worked okay when we left. Scoutmaster Keith said that with a bus that old you have to expect something to break down; that's probably why he can't get insurance.
We think it's a neat bus. He doesn't care if we get it dirty and if it's hot, sometimes he lets us ride on the bumpers. It gets pretty hot with 45 people in a bus made for 24. He let us take turns riding in the trailer until the police man stopped and talked to us.
Scoutmaster Keith is a neat guy. Don't worry, he is a good driver. In fact, he is teaching Jessie how to drive on the mountain roads where there isn't any cops. All we ever see up there are logging trucks.
This morning all of the guys were diving off the rocks and swimming out to the rapids. Scoutmaster Keith wouldn't let me because I can't swim, and Adam was afraid he would sink because of his cast, it's concrete because we didn't have any plaster, so he let us take the canoe out. It was great. You can still see some of the trees under the water from the flood.
Scoutmaster Keith isn't crabby like some scoutmasters. He didn't even get mad about the life jackets. He has to spend a lot of time working on the bus so we are trying not to cause him any trouble.
Guess what? We have all passed our first aid merit badges. When Ryan dived into the lake and cut his arm, we got to see how a tourniquet works.
Steven and I threw up, but Scoutmaster Keith said it probably was just food poisoning from the leftover chicken. He said they got sick that way with food they ate in prison. I'm so glad he got out and became our scoutmaster. He said he sure figured out how to get things done better while he was doing his time. By the way, what is a pedal-file?
I have to go now. We are going to town to mail our letters & buy some more beer and ammo. Don't worry about anything. We are fine and tonight it's my turn to sleep in the Scoutmaster's tent.
For as long as I've been with Brad, and probably aeons before that, he's been one of those people that talks in his sleep.
He does it at least twice a week and usually it's just mumbling that no one could understand but every now and then he comes out with a classic.
We hadn't been together long when I woke up in the middle of the night to find him lying there, looking awake, with a finger pointing to the ceiling shouting "it's my stick, it's my stick!" then with a more determined and angry tone he said it again. His arm came back down and he rolled over and went back to his slumber.
A few days after we'd moved house in Birmingham he rolled over, woke me up and said "thank you." Trying to question him was pointless as he was, quite obviously at the time, still asleep.
There have been many other examples, some of which include him calling out a girls name, shouting "no" and then calling for his mate James. I don't mean as in him shouting for James, but rather like you would when you were seven, knocking on the door of you mate and seeing if he'd come out to play. This one was quite scary because of the voice he used when he said "is James in?" Picture the dog, Mr. Beefy, sleeping in the awful Adam Sandler film "Little Nicky" and you'll have some idea of what I'm on about. In case you're not sure what I'm on about here's a clip... aren't I kind?
Horrific at five in the morning!
All of these, in my opinion, fade into insignificance with lasts nights new episode.
I'm lying in bed, in and out of sleep, when he rolls over and actually shakes me awake.
He doesn't say anything while waking me up but seconds later I'm wide awake and we're looking into each others eyes. I wondering if I should be getting the lube and harness ready in case he's one of those moods but as I'm just about to reach for the gimp mask and ball-gag he speaks.
"The sarcastic bastard says pass it on!"
I think I actually spat in his face as I started to giggle but I managed to calm down and reply "what?"
He looks at me as though I've not understood his secret code that I'm to pass on to the leader of 'La Resistancé" so that Captain Mainwaring and his Home Guard can overthrow Fritz before he takes Blighty and then he repeats "the sarcastic bastard says pass it on!" more sternly this time, obviously to ensure I've understood!
He rolls over and I'm sat there giggling away, trying not to wake up sis and best mate in the other room as my laughing gets louder.
I tap him on the shoulder and ask if he's awake but he just mumbles something incoherent and carries on sleeping.
I recounted his night-time conversation to him this morning and he just giggled and told me I was making it up and you know what, I wish I was, that way I might have got some sleep and not lay there giggling away only to fade off to sleep and wake up at 10.15am!
21:40 Enjoying a rum and coke with my sis and best mate! #
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
In the last twenty-four hours I've twittered all this!
09:51 Woke in a shitty mood. I hope Button wins and Lewis retires before the 1st lap is over. #
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
22:21 Right. Loggin' for a bit. Feel a tad.... well yes, a tad. #
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
22:17 MS Entourage for Mac is utter utter shite! #
22:26 Leigh Francis (Bo' Selecta, Keith Lemon, Celebrity Juice) is so utterly unfunny! #
23:51 I am never reading biographies, autobiographies and/or true life books again. Fucking emotions. Bastards. #
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
I love reading true-life books. I think it's the whole nosey side of me. I love watching films about true stories. Again, I think this is the nosey side of me that makes them so enjoyable for. Its the part of me that make me read blogs after all!
It's about a guy called Stuart Shorter who, after various ups and downs I don't want to go into, ended up homeless and on drugs.
He meets Alexander Masters, the author, and they discuss writing his life story. Masters gives Shorter the first draft and he hates it. He suggest that he writes it backwards. Start with his life now and work back to his childhood. "It's bollocks boring!" he tells Alexander. Stuart doesn't like the references to research and quotes from professionals. He'd rather it told his life in words he and his peers would understand. "Do it the other way round. Make it more like a murder mystery. What murdered the boy I was? See? Write it backwards."
So he does, and at the end of the third page I'm already in tears. Since then I've been on a roller coaster of emotions thanks to Stuart's dramatic and sometime harrowing life (how awful do I feel saying thanks for that?!) and also thanks to Alexander Masters and the way he describes what is going on. He's quite honest at times. Such as when Stuart is talking too much Alex comments that he wishes he'd shut up. There are other times he's blunt about his feelings towards Stuart and it's this honesty that makes the book utterly fantastic.
The problem arises when I put it down for a break. I start to think.
I start to think about my life and what I do with it. Would you like to know what I did yesterday? When I got out of bed I sat in the lounge with my computer on my lap and I only moved three times. Once to pee, once to cook dinner and then to go to bed. I didn't do anything particularly constructive.
But I could have.
I could do so much more than I actually do and I think it's about time I did. I don't know what yet. Stupidly I've toyed with the idea of trying to set up some kind of drop-in centre or soup kitchen but I think I'm setting my sights a little too high but it's something to work on I suppose. I imagine I'll end up volunteering for a worthy charity. I hope they're worthy anyway! I feel I am one of the privileged few to have a great relationship, live in a fantastic county in a nice house, have a job I enjoy (most of the time) and have a great circle of friends. I'm honoured that I'm a part of this peer group but I'm saddened that I don't do enough for those who aren't. So, as I've said, I'm going to do something about it.
21:56 Try as I might I cannot find Horne & Corden funny. Gavin & Stacey, yes, hysterical but the sketch show... nope. #
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
An infinite number of monkeys on an infinite number of typewriters typed this out for me then sent it to LoudTwitter who copied it out and posted it here!
They'd show pop videos and put random facts up about the artist or the video etc.
Well I've decided to start doing my own.
Here's episode one. Oh and I'd like to point out this is not the original video. I saw the one, then saw the other, and decided they'd go together well!
Vote for Earth? Okay but who are the other candidates?
Personally I find this entire thing ridiculous and I will not be supporting it.
Whoever thought of Earth Hour is either sat in a mansion laughing at everyone who joins in while he or she rakes in the cash or is a twelve year old who has been told off too many times for leaving lights on and thought it would make a great school project!
Yes, turning lights off may help but there are a million and one other things that need to be done at the same time for anything to effectively help the earth and turning them off for a one hour is not a vote for the damn earth it's a vote for all the anti-capitlaist who don't what you paying any more dosh to the company that controls your leccy!
And fair play to them! I'd love to see my electricity bill reduced but switching the lights off for one hour won't do a great deal. Why no turn the damn lights off all the time when they're not in use? I try to. Okay so I might forget now and then and leave a kitchen light on when I'm in the lounge but best as I can I try to remember.
Now what about painting your roof white? If everyone painted the roof of their house white, and when I say everyone I mean the entire world, it would reflect enough heat back out into space to reduce the temperature of the planet by 1˚c and virtually wipe out the damage done but the industrial age. Well Mr. Scientist first off is there enough what paint in the world to paint every roof white? Of course I'm ignoring the cost implications there. Also, what about cloud cover? Surely this will have an effect?
People are coming up with so many different ways to try and help the planet which is great but they need to be all done at once and sadly this included cessation of reproduction. Do it for fun people not for babies.
Picture an empty room. Now take the temperature of that room. Put one person in the room and the temperature will rise very slightly thanks to that persons body heat. Now put one hundred people in that room. The room temperature will sore thanks to the ninety-nine extra boosts from each persons body heat! The same thing is happening on the earth. The impact isn't as great as one hundred people in a small room but it's still there and take into account the population increase from the 17th and 18th century to now.
So Mr or Mrs Earth Hour Creator, it's great that you're promoting all the different ways people can help with global warming and you're not just about turning off lights but you need to do more. One hour on one day is not enough! Since the Earth Hour last year I've heard nothing from you and as a campaigner that is unacceptable. I imagine you've been sending out emails weekly telling people of your efforts and progress but unlike other campaigners there has been nothing on the television or radio, I've seen nothing the newspaper and I've seen no one on the streets telling me what you're doing for all the other hours the world still turns.
With that in mind I can assure you that my lights will be staying on. In fact, the mood the whole idea puts me in makes me want to turn every single light on in the entire house and then run around the garden with a big big torch!
I'm a little sick of listening to the constant drivel coming out mouths of film reviewers on Irelands premiere talk radio station Newstalk.
So I've emailed them and told them so! Brad jokingly suggested that I offer my services but I think he'd be better than me.
Dear Newstalk,
I have been listening to your station since September 2007 and, although I haven't always agreed with some of the changes you've made, I've enjoyed each show and the station as a whole.
Sadly there is one aspect of the programming that is a big let down and reflects on the entire station.
Every single film reviewer I have heard!
The way they can get information wrong and not know about other details is just disgusting! They shouldn't be allowed to call themselves film reviewers.
I can only give you three examples as these are the three that have stuck in mind so strongly, two of which really were unacceptable from any film reviewer, buff or fan anywhere! One of these examples was on the Moncrieff Show on Friday.
1. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. The reviewer announced Sean Connery would be appearing when the world and his mother knew he wasn't. They also didn't know if Karen Allen was reprising the role of Marion Ravenwood. This was a few days away from the nation-wide opening! How could they not know this?
2. Twilight Watch To not know that this is the third in the Nightwatch Trilogy or to have any details about it's preproduction is disgusting when there are so many websites that will give this information.
3. Tin Tin The reviewer knew nothing about this film when sent a question by text from a listener. To not know Jamie Bell was playing Tin Tin and joke about it being Jude Law was just pure ignorance. Did she even know that Simon Pegg and Nick Frost are in it? Does she know it's animated and not live action?
Answers to all these questions are available on many different websites and just a quick search would give any reviewer the answers they're looking for! It is unacceptable that these reviewers cannot take the time during advert breaks to take a quick look at a website and find the information for listeners who may not know about these sites or may be under the delusion that your reviewers know what they're talking about
Your film reviewers sound more like people you've picked up off the streets with no film knowledge than someone who can actually be called a film fan let alone a film buff.
I beg you to sort this out before your station becomes a joke amongst film fans everywhere.
