Tuesday, 30 December 2008

I've been on a full-on Peep Show binge since Sunday. I bought a box-set of all 5 series for £14.99. Five series of Peep Show on DVD for under fifteen pounds... What. The. Fuck?!!!

I got it in Zavvi. A bit like my little freakout in Woolies last week, I felt like a nasty little parasitic bastard just by being in there, poking their metaphorical corpse with my dazzling array of vintage metaphorical sticks, but I knew I'd be a buffoon not to buy it. The best thing is I only saw the first two series on telly and then just stopped watching. For no particular reason... I suppose I just couldn't face staying up late every week just to see Robert Webb's terrible face.

I've also had a bit of a relapse. It happens once every year over the festive period and it's something that makes me feel ashamed. It's chocolate. Sometimes it gets the better of me and I give in to the temptation. It's okay for the other 51 weeks of the year because there's not that much of it around in my daily life. Of course, I walk past it on a daily basis, but the Christmas holiday is the one time that I can't avoid it. I often find myself trapped in rooms where a box of Celebrations, Quality Street, After Eights or Roses block any and every exit. Easter is generally okay as people usually have a supply of chocolate in egg form, and I tend not to get involved in that. Anyway, as I was saying, I've been stuffing my fat face with chocolates. I'm ashamed. I have also been on the Fox's Glacier Fruits but there's no shame there.

Monday, 29 December 2008

My beautiful little car is covered in bird poo. It looks like I've driven through a shitstorm. But I can't really be bothered to clean it off as I'd just be fighting a losing battle. Birds will always win. You see, I park on the drive - which has a large fuck off tree overhanging it - and one night a couple of weeks ago the tree went all winter crazy and gave away all of its leaves. One day it was a solid & leafy tree and then the next day it was bare... and since that day it's just been a shit frenzy out there... a shit frenzy! But there's nothing I can do... the Mini craves the driveway. It's getting a bit embarrassing though. My windscreen wipers can barely cope with rain, let alone these huge dollops of white shite. I wasn't cut out for any of this.

Sunday, 28 December 2008

Today I was struck in the face by a pigeon. Some little kid was running about like a lunatic and frightening them, and I was unlucky enough to be in the way of a couple as they flew off. I managed to dodge the first one but the second caught me with a glancing blow. I got a wing in my eye.

Monday, 22 December 2008

Sunday, 21 December 2008

Driving home from Westcliff this morning I was stuck behind some twonk who insisted on driving between the speeds of 28 and 29 miles per hour. In fairness, he went with a variety of speeds going right down to zero as well, but I think it's quite important to stress that, although the speed limit is clearly 30, he didn't want to risk it. If only I didn't feel so embarrassed about overtaking people it wouldn't have bothered me and I wouldn't have to write this... but unfortunately I do, and I'd much rather drive 20 minutes feeling very annoyed than feel the 5 seconds of shame that comes with an overtake. I think it's because I always assume that other drivers are a bit like me, and that they see a certain type of car in their rearview mirror, decide what kind of person is driving it, and then slow down accordingly. If they're anything like me, they'll know that the aim is to gently speed up everytime that you see them shaping up for an overtake. When you don't have a radio you do these things. But, anyway, people like the guy I was stuck behind really get my goat. Actually they grab my goat. They're the ones who slow down almost to the point where they're reversing at every (!) roundabout - regardless of whether there's anything coming or not - and brake whenever a road bears gently to one side. It's so dangerous... you know, I'll be coasting along, eating a cake or reading my newspaper and I'll look up and there's this Nissan Micra parked in the middle of the road.

Oh, and one more thing while I'm having a rant... People who think they need at least two feet of clearance on either side of them if they're to go through a gap. For fuck sake!

Saturday, 20 December 2008

Tried to do a bit of Christmas shopping today. Tried to do it all in one big hit but it just didn't work out. There were too many people so I had to do the sensible thing and give up. I can't bear all that wandering aimlessly around crap... I hate it. In hindsight, it was a bad idea going in at all, because I haven't thought about what I'm going to buy people. Or made any preparations at all... and really I need to know all that stuff first so that I can just turn up and walk really fast to the first place, buy the gift and then walk really fast to the next place and so on. Because whenever I'm walking around town - especially over the festive period - I'm one of those cheery people who find themselves getting unbelievably angry with people who meander all over the place right in front of you, holding carrier bags with far too many rolls of wrapping paper poking out the top, and travelling at approximately the speed of dog poo. I realised pretty sharpish that this was exactly the kind of thing I was doing earlier, albeit without the bag stuffed full of wrapping paper. I knew I was burdening other people in the same way that I am usually burdened myself... and so, alas, I aborted the shopping trip. I was all too aware of the havoc that my being there was causing the rest of High Street, not to mention the chaos caused by my dad and his customary stop-every-five-seconds-to-read-a-text-message routine. Five days to go and I haven't done a fucking thing about anything. It makes me laugh as I always say that I'll start doing all this nonsense in, like, October or November next time in order to bypass all the panic... and I never do. But, hey ho, it's Christmas and we should all be thankful for that.

I received two bottles of wine at work yesterday, a personal record.

Sunday, 14 December 2008

I love the shops you go in which have those large mirrors around their escalators, so you can see yourself gradually sliding in or out of view... or both. The only thing that could make them any better is if they had one of those cameras like you see in theme parks where they shoot you when you're flailing your arms about like a scared little girl on one of the rides and then try to sell it to you when you get off. That'd be great. Everytime you left a shop you'd have the option of having a little photo or a little keyring capturing that magical moment where you were transported between floors without moving your legs.

We went into Woolworths too, but I had to leave straight away because I couldn't handle it. All I could think of as I looked around at all the people slowly inching their way through the store was what the poor staff must have been thinking. I know what I'd be thinking if I were in their shoes... probably something like: Where were you lot when we fucking needed you? or something similar. It felt like everybody was sniffing around a corpse or something. It felt morally wrong just to be standing in there. I had to get out.

I mentioned the word 'transported' earlier and it reminded me of something I was thinking about a couple of days ago when I was driving. It's nothing earth-shattering in the least but this feels like as good a time as any to release it into the wider world. Okay, so I was thinking about what exactly makes a car a good car, and after much thought I decided that a good car is... a car that gets you from A to B without ever leaving the comfort of A. It sounded quite cool at the time, and I think that it makes sense on some kind of level too, even if it does tell me that my car is rubbish. After all, at the present time I count myself extremely lucky if my car takes me anywhere from A, nevermind any of that comfort shit. Heh.

Got an emergency first aid course tomorrow. It'll probably be a horrible day all round... but at least I'll get to lock lips with a plastic doll, so that's something to look forward to.

Saturday, 13 December 2008

It's a Saturday night and I'm sitting here with a nice cup of tea and three rich tea's and typing this. It's not because I have something to say, mind. It's because I have no friends.

We had our xmas 'do' on Wednesday night. It was at an Indian restaurant in Benfleet called the Tandoori Parlour - because, you know, what says Christmas more than an authentic Indian curry? Heh. Anyway, it wasn't too bad at all... the food was alright and we had a good laugh towards the end when there were just a few of us left at the table watching this large guy/chef/waiter/karaoke master/sexmonger/dj demonstrate just how to go about clearing a dancefloor. He wasn't happy until he'd removed every last one of 'em. Earlier, after the meal, I'd had a strange moment when I returned from a visit to the toilets to find that a dancefloor had appeared right in the centre of the room, with the lights embedded in the tiles and everything. It was quite surreal, when I'd gone upstairs a couple of minutes earlier all the buffet carts were there... and then I came down to find what I can only describe as a disco going on. Things got a little stranger when the large guy/chef/waiter/karaoke master/sexmonger/dj appeared in the centre of the floor -with mic in hand - and launched into a blistering version of Peter Andre's Mysterious Girl. He returned later on, after he'd cleared the floor for the first time, to sing a duet with some girl. It was one of the creepiest things I've ever seen. I felt really sorry for her. It's things like this that make you realise what horrible little maggots we are.

Sunday, 7 December 2008

Ever gone to use Google and accidentally typed 'www.goggle.co.uk' into the address bar?

No, me neither.

However, I did do it intentionally.

Tuesday, 2 December 2008

Faculty meeting tonight.

What a thoroughly depressing thought.

Saturday, 29 November 2008

I did something utterly shameful a few days ago. It involved the inappropriate use of a jug and I'm not proud of it. Given the nature of this shameful act, and out of fear for possible repercussions, I feel it best not to reveal any more of the sordid details.

Glad I got that off my chest, (sort of.)

Nothing else to write about really. I suppose a few interesting things have happened since the jug incident - notably being stranded in the middle of a cross junction as the traffic lights turned red and cars began approaching from all sides - but that's another story, and I don't think I've got the energy to type it out. Of course as you'd expect, it wasn't the most enjoyable experience and, what with me being an idiot, I decided that the best way out of this particular pickle would be to think irrationally. And so I did.

Saturday, 22 November 2008

Driving past a red Volvo estate parked up by the kerb, I couldn’t help but notice that it appeared to have Roger Waters circa 1972 sitting behind the wheel. As you’d expect in a situation like this, I was a little freaked out. The face that I saw reflected in that old wing mirror was Roger Waters from the past, right down to the glum scowl passing over his features. Has a rift opened up somewhere in the locality? Come to think about it, even the car was of a certain vintage. How on earth the 1972 incarnation of Roger Waters ended up sitting in a stationary red Volvo estate and scowling at me, in Leigh on Sea, in the year 2008, is beyond me. Gotta admit, I’m puzzled. It’s either this or it was a very unfortunate lady. Oh the things I’ve seen…

I should really consider myself lucky to be here right now. To be here typing this. Last night could so easily have been the death of me. I took a risk. Risked it for a biscuit, as they say. Now, this part of the blog is the equivalent of that point in a TV show or a film where it slips into a dream sequence and the screen does that cloudy effect that I’m making a terrible job of describing. The bit where it kind of mists up and then fades into the next scene, sometimes accompanied by a suitable sound. Anyway, we’re now there, it’s yesterday morning and I’m driving to work. It’s a Friday, and last night, Thursday to you, I had glanced at the fuel gauge and made a mental note that I was running quite low on petrol. I would stop off on the way to work to fill up, to ensure that I’d arrive. All was well and good, I was at ease… I’d be surprised if I’ve ever driven somewhere before without looking at least thrice at the gauge. You know, sometimes I’ve found myself checking it every couple of minutes just to make sure that it still registered as three-quarters full, and that there hadn’t been a sudden & catastrophic fuel leak. And of course there never has been.

This is all important as, at about 3 o’clock, as the day was winding down, I realised that I had no memory of looking at the gauge. I forgot about it again and got back to sitting around. A couple of hours later and it was time to go home. I got into the car and started her up (heh, there’s another story there!) and looked to the gauge. Now, in my little car it always starts at empty and then rises to its correct level once you start the engine. Sometimes it’ll take 30 seconds or so while it warms up. But it didn’t budge. My little needle in my little car stayed firmly in the red. After a good 40 seconds I tried to encourage it by jovially saying stuff like “come on, you better fucking move” and following it with a little laugh. It wasn’t funny for long though and I decided that I’d better not sit around wasting what little fuel I had left whilst I shared a good old laugh and a joke with my machine. There are two petrol stations on the way home, one relatively close and the other about 10 minutes away on a good day. Would I last 10 minutes? I didn’t know when I went into the red… it could have been ages ago… why hadn’t I looked? I couldn’t even have blamed being freaked out by seeing Roger Waters as my excuse for not checking the fuel gauge, especially seeing as that was something that was approximately 20 hours in the future.

I was driving in a bit of a panic. I had a cake in my bag that I was given at work, but I couldn’t eat it. Not now. I couldn’t even think of eating it at a time like this. The only other time where I’d been in a situation similar to this was about two years ago, back when I was scared of using other petrol stations, and I drove home from Lance’s - a similar distance - right on the cusp of the red. That time I was fortunate and I knew it. I made it back to my home petrol station with needle in the red and vowed never to put myself through it again. Yet here I am now, two years later, two years older and, allegedly, two years wiser. I’m in a different car too, an older car with a smaller tank. Well, I assume it’s smaller, I don’t think mini’s were celebrated for their unbelievable tank capacity. So all this stuff was going through my head as I drove steadily to avoid any sudden fuel-sapping acceleration.

There it is. I’d made it. I was approaching the first station. My problems were solved.

Only they weren’t. As I got closer I just knew that I wasn’t going to refuel there. I knew that I should, and that it was the right & logical thing to do, but I sailed right on past. I really can’t explain why. I thought I was over the whole petrol station complex. But maybe I’m not. Maybe I’ve just added a couple more to my preferred list. Almost immediately I started to swear. The next 10 minutes of Friday rush hour probably rank up there with some of the worst minutes of my life. I had tunnel vision and, for some reason, I was starting to think that I could make it home without stopping.

I stopped at the Tesco station. I filled the car right up (£17... as I said - huge tank) and vowed never to put myself in such a situation again. Then, when I was sitting at traffic lights, heavy on fuel and high in spirit, I delved into my bag on the passenger seat. I pulled out my cake and I bloody loved it.

Thursday, 20 November 2008

Due to their increasingly bleak & pathetic nature, I decided to delete my previous 27 posts.