see red sea

Well I am off to the land of sand, pyramids, camels and more sand to start my campaign to make the Nile to the Cape British again or maybe just have a laugh and get a tan - I haven't decided yet.

So ma'assalama my dear friends and I'll see you in a week providing I don't get blown up or stabbed by a jealous husband (over an unfortunate misunderstanding)

My beautiful self

Being the kind of person who will stand up in a polite dinner party and say "Excuse me for a moment, I need a crap!" just as the cream and chocolate log is about to be served - then feels the shame as I walk away, the part of my brain that deals with social propriety is wired up all wrong.

So when it came to this blog I thought - excellent I can really let rip but after the clever posts of meta-introspection by ant and Sadia I did consider for a while whether there should be limits to the amount of vainly babbling on about myself I do. Hmm... nah! It is my blog and I'll do what I want and besides Stellastoria requested it on the super interactive saturday that she was the *only* person to vote in. Come on people show me the love!

So here goes - firstly all the stuff everyone can agree on. I am 32, 6 ft tall, wavy light brown hair that goes blond in the sun, big grey blue eyes, a body that I would describe as lithe - not an ounce of fat but maybe on the slimmer side of ideal. As for below the belt - lets not go *there* again.

I am good looking? Well even I can't decide. Sometimes I look in the mirror and think - hen, you are a handsome devil. Sometime I look in the mirror and think - oh my god what the hell is that?

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder - both relative and subjective. But I believe the aesthetic appeal of something is an intrinsic property of an object like say it's colour. Much the like the uncertainly principle the act of looking at something will actually change it from being just an object to a beautiful object.

This means there is not one universe but many all centred on each of our views, depending on how beautiful or ugly we find things.

The closer we are to someone spiritually (for the lack of a better world) the closer the world will appear to us as it does to them. It is the same for faces - the closer you are to someone the closer you will see them as they see themselves. That is why people smile in photographs and happy people are more attractive than sad people.

So for all those people out there who are alone and think they are ugly - don't and eventually you will find someone who agrees with you.

"Cut the fucking bullshit.." I here the homunculus cry "and tell us whether you are fit or not!"

My face has enough oddities (thin lips, slightly wonky teeth, pointy chin, couple of small scars) to mean it is not classically good looking in the sense that everybody would think it is but it also has many appealing qualities. It is an interesting face. It is generally the people that I have a similar world view that find me the most attractive because I generally have the impression of myself that I am quite gorgeous.

So the answer is yes and no. I could be devastatingly handsome, I could be repulsively ugly - it all depends on who you are and your point of view. And you know what? I prefer it like that.

Kylie

Everybody loves Kylie Minogue. She is everyone's favourite diminutive pop princess and a fine arse to boot (sorry). Growing up with neighbours she is like the big sister I never had. And she is getting better - Hooray! So here's to Kylie.

If you have any spare money why not give some to these people?

London ablaze with gold.

The long dry summer followed by the cold sharp spell being experienced at the moment has induced a chemical reaction in the leaves of the trees in the parks and gardens and streets of London turning them a plethora of reds and browns and yellows which sparkle in the cool pale November sun. The views from Primrose and Parliament Hills and walks though Hyde Park this weekend were breathtaking.

This weekend I may have failed to buy a toaster but I did remember just quite how stunningly beautiful this city can be which is easily forgotten living here through the day to day grind and which is more important?

A toaster, a toaster, my kingdom for a fucking toaster.

"Listen mate, I am not paying 200 fucking quid for a fire poker even if King George III did use it to scratch his arse once. Anyway you just made that up didn't you?"

"Heh yeah - sorry I thought you were American - what are you after?"

"I am looking for a toaster."

"This is an antiques market!"

"I am aware of that and an over priced one at that."*

"Hmm toaster eh? You'd be lucky. Old Dan down there might be able to help you out"

Well "Old Dan" wasn't there was he. Gone for lunch or a wank or something - I don't know. He had left a surly teenage urchin in guard with strict instructions not to sell anything or be helpful in anyway at all. Anyway "Old Dan" only had one toaster it was a clapped out circa 1950 beaten up plastic one. No doubt a classic in its time but in the state it is in now you could tell that as soon as you plugged it in it is clearly going to either a) not work, b) immediately burn your house down. I have a bit of a penchant old things* a few nicks and dents add character - I like the fact they have had a life before they have come into my temporary possession. But when it comes to electronics it has to be brand spanking new - in a box - with a guarantee.

I like the shops and market around where I live. But there are times in my life when I don't to want to buy an object de art lamp stand that is clearly going to fall apart as soon as I get it home. There are times I don't feel like buying some smelly cheese that has been brought from the South of France on the sweaty back of a purely organically fed donkey, really honestly there are times 1920 cocktail dresses don't interest me at all and I just want to buy something useful. Like then, I just wanted to buy a toaster, just a fucking toaster, you know to make toast - for like the morning to have with your tea, with marmalade on. By the looks I was getting you would think I asking if they knew somewhere I could buy anal lubricant.

So I started walking - I don't know how far or for how long but was a while. Nothing. As the frequency of burnt out cars, bullet holes in buildings and broken crack vials on the pavement increased I realised I was getting close to Hackney - there will be no toasters there**. I got the sinking sensation that this little venture was going to result in failure. Then it dawned on me - oh my god - I am going to have to go to oxford street *** - the crowds, the madness , the horror, the horror, the horror.

* Now I could say that I was an antiques dealer in France for a short period in my life so know over priced nonsense when I see it but I won't because that would be a lie. It wasn't antiques it was old junk and it wasn't dealing it was incompetently selling stuff for less than it was bought for and besides I didn't handle that side of things. I just drove the van. So before you get any exciting notions of me foiling complicated scams involving an alluring French aristocrat, a travelling circus and stolen Rembrandt - it really wasn't like that - the most exciting thing that happened was me shouting at a man who was trying to steal a kitchen sink.

** Hackney is that bad - I am sure they sell toasters there but I didn't have my bullet proof jacket with me so I wasn't going to risk it.

*** Oxford street is not that bad as long as you never, ever, ever go there.

Press the red button, now.

Wayhay it is interactive Saturday. That's right - it is eviction day here at the reality show Yadayada. So what will *you* vote for. Which blog topic will you choose to expunge from my brain, digitalise and throw out naked into the ether to cheering crowds, flashing cameras and a cringing interview with Davina fucking McCall.

1. Tragedy in Uganda.

2. My beautiful self. (go on - you know you want to hear about it)

3. Mega Global Bank Corp where I work story B (does involve outsourcing but don't be scared it is quite good)

4. My lovely flat.

5. Jamie "fat tongue" Oliver. (the chef's special)

6. A toaster, a toaster my kingdom for a toaster (also very good)

7. The part of London where I live.

Voting works by well voting. Bribes work and are happily accepted. Anyone who appends "PS hen, LOVE your blog. It is funny, clever and interesting. You know what - I think I want to bare your children" will have their votes counted very, *very* carefully if you know what I mean {wink}

Monkey humours and the inner burning dog mouth.

I have two brothers J and W.

J is well... somehow describing him in words would never do him justice. During his life he has been a poet, car valet, musician, sperm donor, novelist, bus driver, cabaret star, gas meter reader, philosopher.

He has taken on each and every role on with witty originality, vigorous gusto and much brilliant talent. Apart from the bus driver which he only did for a short while and him stopping has made the world a safer place.

His life has direction it is just the direction changes. He is a comedy genius - everybody loves him.

The masterful W, nobly handsome, fearsomely intelligent, very rich, very sophisticated. An inner confidence that boarders on arrogance. Women just melt under his perceptive and penetrative gaze. One charming mother fucker. He has lived through tragedy and come through, in my opinion, a better man. He also has two incredibly beautiful daughters who are already uncannily clever and funny. The oldest 8 is already a dab hand at html which is quite frankly terrifying.

Then there is little ol' me.

We all get on famously and see each other a lot. It is great - it like having two fantastic friends who you know will always be there, whatever, right to the end.

So anyway J came over last night with his feisty and beautiful, soon to be unnervingly successful girlfriend H who is really not that bad for northern lass. We go to the swanky, wanky but yeah! very cool and incredibly pretentious bars that seem to populate every corner around here. "Notting Hill"?!? It has nothing on this part of London.

H met J on a philosophy course or was it in a skip - I forget but the conversation turns to blogging.

"It is like the humonculous" pipes up H
"huh!" I say
"You know the fallacy of introspection"
"You what?"
"The fallacy has been broken. You have a validated internal dialogue"
"Eh?"
"Your audiance it is the humonculous!" she says as if it means anything to me.
"I have no audiance"
"That is not the point"
"Hmm... ok - want another drink?"

So if anyone can put any light on that then please do.

Blinkin Linkin Park

Seems I have been a bit stingy with my links so here {throws} links for everyone.

Well not *literally* everyone but you know what I mean.

What's in a name?

"That which we call a rose
By any other word would smell as sweet."

Well of course it would but if your name is say Lord Cuntingchops of Craparse the Third then clearly it's going to have consequences.

Now I am not going to berate Americans, everyone does that - it is practically a national past time. Anyway they are not such a bad lot - come on, at least half of them didn't vote for Bush.
It is just some Americans don't seem to do even the most precursory research into a country before they travel there.

For example say I was an American and my name was Matthew Wank* and I was thinking of travelling to England I would probably do enough investigation to realise that I was going to run into to some mirth and gleeful trouble when I got there. I think wouldn't actually move there without giving deed poll some careful consideration.

I would go as far as saying that on having undertaken such a hilarious escapade I certainly would *not* shorten my first name to Mat and then work for a company that uses Outlook so whenever I send an email it appears to come from a "Wank, Mat".

* For any non English readers.
Wank: (n/v) A pleasurable usually solitary activity involving ones own genitals.
Wanker: (n) Someone who partakes in said activity.
Also: "a pile of wank": Well, I am sure you can guess. "a wank mat": god only knows.

MegaGlobalBankCorp

Like other annual chronological indicators: the chilly nights closing in, the browned leaves gently falling from sparse trees and the swallows departing for sunnier climes - the Graduates have arrived. After their month or so of induction, indoctrination, being tattooed with the company logo and having the locater and id bio chip inserted they have been released in to the wild at MegaGlobalBankCorp (MGBC (tm)) towers where I work as a corporate drone oiling the cogs of Global Capitalism.

Seeing their young, fresh, eager, terrified faces always brings a little warmth to by cold dark stony heart.

Bless their cotton socks, their new suits and attempts at earnest and interested expressions failing to cover the look of absolute fear and horror as the realisation of what they have sighed up for finally dawns on them. The poor little fools! Why did they not suspect something when they were asked to sign in their own blood?

So they go about- sometimes in gangs, sometimes by themselves looking scared and lonely. They get under people's feet, they get cutely tangled up in a balls of wool in the corner and have to be rescued, they ask their funny questions - "What was that little one? Yes, that is a computer. You turn it on there. You sit in front of it and it slowly sucks out your will to live."

I feel like shouting at them - "Run, run while you still have a chance. Leave before you become a bitter, cynical, disillusioned veteran, battle weary from one too many office politics fights that have gone the wrong way, realising that nearly half your life is over and you have nothing to show for it. Run before the corporate machine slowly crushes your soul, before it grinds off any distinctive feature from your character." *

Hoping they see their chance and make a break for it. Hoping that I will be able hold off the security long enough for them to get to the door. But what is the point? They would never make it. GMBC owns them now. It owns us all.

* I jest it is not that bad. I love my job - it is interesting and it certainly pays well it is just... buzz... buzz... MUST NOT SAY BAD THINGS ABOUT MGBC IN PUBLIC... buzz...

TV

How can there be 852 million fucking channels and nothing good on? Sigh... click

While I am waiting for the cable guy... where the hell is he?

"Hello"
"Hello"
"What can we do for you?"
"Well have I got something I thought I should bring in."
The lady places a shoe box on the examination table in front of my Vet friend G.
G slowly takes the lid off and peers inside.
"They're canaries"
"Yes" says the lady.
He gives one a poke with his finger.
"They're dead."
"Yes"
"Hmm .. this a veterinary practice. We generally treat animals before they get to this stage. When they get like this there is not a lot we can do."
"Yes I know but, you know, with all this stuff about avian flu in the news I thought I better bring them in. They did all die on the same day which is unusual."
"Yes that is usual. Are they imported?"
"No, but they may have been in contact with imported birds."
"Right ok leave them with us and we'll check them out"
"Ok thanks"
"Bye"
"Bye"

Later G phones up DEFRA.

"Hello, I want to talk someone about avian flu."
"Yes you can talk to me."
"I've got 4 dead canaries that may have been in contact with imported birds. Do you want to test them?"
"No, we expect the first cases to come from migrating birds not imported ones. Imported birds are quarantined"
"What about that dead parrot in the news the other week?"
"Yeah well, that was a one off. Look if you are worried send them to us and we'll test them."
"What in the post?"
"Yes"
"You want me to send a potential bird flu case in the post where they will get in contact with lots of postal workers who have a lot of contact with general public?"
"Put them in a plastic bad or something. Look it is probably nothing - I suggest you just dispose of them in the usual way. We will have to charge for the tests anyway"
"Charge me! How much?"
"£150 each"
"£150!!! I don't think I'll bother then."


Well *that's* reassuring isn't it?

Moving swiftly on.

I haven't got TV in my flat yet and I actually don't miss it that much - lets face it, it is mostly crap reality shows or repeats these days. The cable man is coming on Monday - I tried to resist but the salesman was very persuasive. The 500 (or whatever) channel monstrosity does come free for the 1st 3 months with broadband internet and I do miss News Night. You can't beat Paxman ripping apart some poor hapless politician, especially American republican ones who are used to a far more placid and respectful news media - it is just the look of absolute shock and horror on their faces as he viciously starts laying in to them that gets me. It was actually a new one for me - "Free TV with your internet" - sign of the times I suppose. How could I say no?

Anyway because of the lack of TV I have been watching a lot more films than I would normally which is great. I was going to try keeping the reviews on the blog down to a minimum because everyone does that. But I have just watched the most astonishing film so I had to say something.

It was the "The Man Who Wasn't There" by the Coen brothers. First of all it is beautiful - shot with a soft elegant style that cleverly brings out the contrasts in everyday objects and the features of the characters, clearly taking influence from classics like The Third Man and Dr Strange Love. It has an intricate and cleverly twisted plot that is slowly drawn out with the subtle, underplayed, dark humour that the Coen brothers do so well. There are intelligent, indulgent and funny themes that run perfectly though it - popping up at expected places. Billy Bob Thornton brilliantly plays the quiet, moody, thoughtful barber and the Coen favourite Frances McDormand puts in a usual masterful performance. It's a fucking work of art man.

What is it about? Everything/nothing. Broken lives. How life can seem like an incomprehensible set of events that seem impossible to connect together or control.

The lawyer character puts it best. "Sometimes the closer you look at something the less you understand." Says it all really.

If anything it is a bit too good - a little over whelming, slightly frustrating because there is just too much to get in your head at the same time. I had to lie down for bit afterwards to recover then walked around flat in a bit of daze - my brain slightly over stimulated- too many thoughts about it. A nice cup of tea sorted me though.

Go on watch it. It is brilliant . It will give you headache but it will be worth it.

My Wonderful Cock

I love getting my cock out. I really do. I don't actively seek out situations to do this but if the occasion arises I will quite happily display my glorious tackle to any willing on lookers.

Now us Brits have a prudish reputation when it comes to stuff like this especially compared with our European cousins. So how have I ended up like this? Well probably over analysing it a bit with few friends the other night I came to conclusion the reasons are two fold.

Firstly I have a fantastic nob. It really is gorgeous. When God was giving out body parts he very generous when it came to me. I didn't realise this until I was in my mid twenties. Not being the kind of person who worries about things I can't change, honestly, I hadn't given it much thought.

I had always assumed that it was well... average. If you think about it as a straight male I am never going to get to see erect penises to compare myself to. Then when I was 25 I had a party and a gay friend of a ex girlfriend turned up. He came to greet me as I was getting myself a drink in the kitchen...

"Hi hen!! You have a big cock!"

"I beg your pardon."

"Your penis."

"Yes?"

"It's huge!"

"Listen A, it's great to see you and I am really happy you could make it but what the *hell* are you talking about?"

Turned out he had just got back from backpacking with my ex in Australia. When you are backpacking with someone, he explained, you get a lot of time to talk about err.. things. It seems my ex spent a considerable amount of time waxing lyrical about my old fella and how... well... great it is. Strangely she had never said anything to me during the time we were actually going out.

After the party was over and I was lying in bed I asked my then girlfriend.

"Hon?"

"Hmm?"

"My dick? It's size, is it well... large?"

"Babe, you have the most wonderful willie I have ever come across."

"Really?"

"Sometimes I feel selfish because I've got it all to myself!"

"Wow"

"You should really become a porn star."

"...."

"But don't though."

Then she kisses me on the cheek, snuggles up to me and falls asleep with a smile on her face.

So there you have it. It is not eye wateringly gigantic - it just has good healthy proportions.

Second reason stems from my parents who are of the liberal sort. When we were little we lived in Germany and on holidays they used to take us to nudist camps in Yugoslavia. So there I was - a cherubic 5 year old running around as nature intended behind the iron curtain. As a result I really don't have a problem with nudity.

Don't get me wrong - I am not a naturist and I never go on nudist holidays but if I am in a hotel in Scandinavia or Austria and I feel like a sauna it will be au natural. I just think everyone has nice body. Obviously some are more attractive than others but no one has one they should be ashamed of. I think it is a shame when people get complexes about them.

So there you go. As a result of all this I happily get my cock out.

Want to see?

Woo fucking hoo

It's Saturday - it's Satuuuuuurday!!!

Being a single man about London town I have a busy weekend ahead and only really have time for one post this weekend. Unfortunately I had such good night out with chums in the truly the fantastic bars around where I live the conversation resulted in so many quality blog topics I can't decide which one to do.

It is the 21st century so obviously interactivity is the answer - so, dear reader(s), it is up to you.... what should I talk about next?

1. Tragedy in Uganda

2. On the front line against bird flu.

3. Mega Global Bank Corp where I work story A

4. Mega Global Bank Corp where I work story B

5. My wonderful cock.

6. My lovely flat.

7. Jamie "fat tongue" Oliver.

Voting works by well... voting. On the event of tie break I will do both or either. In the likely event of no one saying sod all. I will do them in reverse alphabetical order in my own good time.

Jazz, Eva and a Mockney Monkey

I was going to write a piece about the Jazz club I was going to go to with a couple of friends last night. I was hoping I could tell you all about my pleasant bourgeois evening of witty conversation, interesting music, flowing bourbon and smelly foreign cigarettes but alas there was some unpredictable critical errors in the planning* so I ended up at home watching the highly enjoyable medieval romp Kingdom of Heaven.

Now it is probably worthy of review, elf boy does an acceptable job and the alluring Eva Green is teeth achingly hot (oh dear - I fear another crush coming on, sorry Keira, it is not me, it is you** ) but it is a tad predicable and cliché so I can't be bothered.

So instead (hopefully not sounding too much like a tired old comedian) - let's see what is in the news {rustles paper} .

Ah ... I see. Well it was inevitable really wasn't it? As sure as the well oiled cogs of causality make sun rise in the morning - it was waiting to happen.

If you start teaching monkeys to use money eventually you will teach an evil genius monkey who will start counterfeiting money with slices of cucumber!!! You fools!!

I know what you are going to say - and there are probably more important things for me to worry about like - global warming, the war on terror (how *do* you have a war with a noun?) and who Keira Knightly will go out with next now I've dumped her (it is never completely over) but just think of the consequences.

The evil genius monkey is clearly going to escape, take over the underworld of east end criminal gangs and start an over-whelming spree of vegetable based monkey crime. The next thing you know Guy Ritchie will only go and make a bleedin' film about it won't he? He will only go and fackin call it "Two smoking monkeys and barrel of cockney cants" or something! It will have lines in it like "You trying to make me look like some sort of fackin cant?! It's fackin cucamba!" for christs sake! {starts sobbing} He will give a part to Sting!! Sting!!!! Acting!! The horror!! {starts wailing} There could even be a bit part for Madonna!!! For the love of baby Jesus no!!! Was it really worth it? Was it? Won't anyone think of the children... etc etc.

* No one could make it and the place shut down 6 months ago.

** I have been having a fantasy relationship with Keira Knightly for the last two years. I like her a lot but recently the spark has gone out of our relationship. It is not that I don't fancy her - I do but we just don't have much in common or anything to talk about. She is well a bit .. well dull. Eva on the other hand - hubahuba.

Of mice and blunt

Whenever I see a pretty women on the underground I often feel like breaking into song but I am always too shy to do it. As my singing voice is roughly halfway between a chainsaw and farting donkey the world is a better place for this.

So consider my annoyance and rage when I find out that not only has the warbling ex-squady James "cunting" Blunt written a song about it but fucking mice have superior confidence to me and often break into song whenever they see a hot chick mouse. Damn you all to hell, mice and James Blunt! (shakes fist at skirting board and in James Blunt's direction)

Interesting however it turns out that mouse love songs are unique and not genetically based at all raising not only all sorts of interesting questions about mouse culture, creativity and art but also the possibility that somewhere, out there, in some small unassuming mouse hole there is a mouse James Blunt.

The scientists reckon the mouse songs are all about lady mice but pah! What do they know? Everyone knows the furry little scamps love cheese best above all things. So imagine if you can the mouse James Blunt in his hole, singing in that whiney, twatty way of his something probably a bit like this:


My life is brilliant.
My love is pure.
I saw some cheese.
Of that I'm sure.
I saw it on the subway.
It was in a trap.
But I won't lose no sleep on that,
'Cause I've got a plan.

It was beautiful. It was beautiful.
It was beautiful, it's true.
I saw some cheese in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never eat it, dobido.

Yeah, it caught my eye, As I walked on by.
You could see from my face that I was, F**king high,
And I don't think that I'll see it again,
But we shared a moment that will last till the end.

It was beautiful. It was beautiful.
It was beautiful, it's true.
I saw some cheese in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never eat it, dobido

It was beautiful. It was beautiful.
It was beautiful, it's true.
There must be an angel with a smile on her face,
When she thought up that I should eat it.
But it's time to face the truth,
I will never eat it.


ahh..

New flat

As lists seem to be de rigueur of blogworld I might as well start with one. I am aware of the lack of generality before you say anything.

Things to do when you move into a new flat.

1. Congratulate yourself on getting an incredibly cool flat in an incredibly funky part of town at an incredible bargain price.

2. Get all the bills tv internet sorted out asap. Hook up your stereo or pc if you've gone all modern and soft digital - play trashy but heart lifting songs. Jump around like a kid feeling good about everything (air guitar optional).

3. Put your stupid hippy of a landlady stupid hippy crap into a stupid hippy crap box. Store it away safely somewhere so it doesn't get damaged during your tenancy. Place your stupid hippy (but superior) crap around flat in an aesthetically pleasing manner.

4. Bump into a friend you haven't seen for ages who seems delighted you have moved to the area and immediately invites you out for drinks.

5. Call an acquaintance you've always wanted to be friends with who turns out to be equally delighted to hear from you and immediately invites you to a party.

6. Say something sexy and seductive to the incredibly fit German barmaid at your new local who has been eyeing you up resulting in you getting her number and a hot date.

Things not to do when you move into a new flat.

1. Look at your bank account and realise that even though your flat is a bargain it is still fuck off expensive and you can't really afford it.

2. Set up your stereo and start listening to miserable music inducing a crippling bout of depression which makes you incapable of doing anything else but drink strong liquor and think about the miserable set of events that led you to be a single 30 something sat in a flat by themselves listening to miserable music.

3. Put your stupid hippy of a landlady's stupid hippy crap into a stupid hippy crap box. Try to store in a high up cupboard but lose control dropping it smashing everything inside.

4. Bump into a friend you haven't seen for ages who seems delighted you have moved to the area and immediately invites you out for drinks but then lose his number a realise you never gave him yours.

5. Go to a party of an acquaintance who you would like to be friends with but then get completely drunk, make complete arse of yourself and lose the power of coherent speech.

6. Say something weird and scary to the incredibly fit German barmaid at your new local who has been eyeing you up resulting in her avoiding you the rest of the evening.

So close...