Sunday, 27 February 2011
These are my future pointers:
Firstly I would sit my younger and very much dumber self down and give some much needed advice on my upcoming fashion disasters. I would veto having long shoulder length hair during my indie days, as that was a faintly ridiculous look and made me look like a knobber.
I would also nix the shellsuits that I wore as a kid in the late 80’s (American chums, Google them. It’s not pretty).
And finally, during my hedonistic early clubbing days in the mid to late 90’s, pinstripe trousers combined with a waistcoat (a fucking waistcoat!) did not make me look like a sex god, it made me look like a waiter. I even had, at one point, a white suit that I used to wear on a funky night out. I mean, this suit was white. At some points, when the strobe lights hit me and created a white nimbus around my flailing body, it looked like Jesus Christ himself had decided to pop down to some dingy nightclub in Romford to dance very badly.
Now though I am very much a style guru. I don't just have my finger on the pulse of fashion, but I'm checking its temperature, eyesight, and got it bent over for an extensive rectal examination.
Its not easy looking this good.
It’s almost cliché to say to someone younger that you have to make the most of your education, but it’s definitely true. The standard response to this is a muttered, “Yeah, all right granddad”, but it’s incredibly powerful advice. I would sit myself down, and then explain how I really needed to knuckle down and actually try and do well at all my subjects.
Seeing as I was a massive know it all tit at that age, I would probably just agree with my future self and then just completely ignore what was being said, as my want during those teenage years.
The annoying thing is that at the time, no subject interested me at school, but now I am fascinated by history, English, science, and basically everything else. Be much better if you could do all your education at an age where the subjects might spellbind you, such as your late 20’s, so when you are younger you could just run around playing war games and snapping girls bras.
3) Combine your career with your passions.
Everyone hates their jobs, so wouldn’t it make much better sense to actually combine the things that fascinate you most in the world with an actual paid role? Too often we end up slogging our guts out in a role that, in fairness, most of us would never have foreseen us doing when asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
My normal response to that question, at the tender age of ten, was a marine biologist, because that was what Matt Hooper was in the film Jaws and Matt Hooper quite clearly rocks.
Couple of major issues with this role as a career though. Allow me to run through them.
Can’t swim, can’t get water in ears, scared of the water.
Other than that, ideal role, dontcha thunk?
So what would I advise my younger self to do?
i) Writing- I would advise my younger self to sit down every day and write something, anything, so over time I would get used to writing every day and it wouldn’t be the chore that it is now, plus the practice would turn me into a multi-skilled author over the years, so by the time I reach this age, I would be a bestselling writer with numerous classic titles to my name, and film offers flying through my letterbox, plus chicks hanging off every limb of my body. Because there is nothing more that gets the ladies going than a writer. Forget film stars and football players, we all know that every girl’s ambition is to bag themselves a writer. Writers are cool.
ii) Animals- I love animals, so why not combine a career with them? I could become a circus performer? Or a lion tamers? Or even a vet? I know that to become a vet you need to study for years and years, but the end result is that you get to see a lot of dogs every day, and that’s a happy thought, no? Only downside I can see is that as a vet, I would be required to put animals down, and I can’t really be doing that. It wouldn’t make a very good impression on the owners if I was striking their pets on the chest whilst doing CPR and screaming, “You’ve never given up on anything in your life! Now live!” Especially if they had only just brought their tortoise in for a check up.
4) Let people in more.
People aren’t the annoying, self centred arse monkeys that I probably take them for. In fact I’d hazard a guess that some of them may be very nice. Trouble is that, if I like you, then I have all the time in the world for you. If I don’t like you, then you’re dead to me. Do you hear me? DEAD.
This probably isn’t right and I would advise myself to love all people, no matter what idiotic things they say, or how stupid their haircuts are. In fact, I would tell myself that every time I met someone new, don’t just shake their hands, but hug them and hold them tight, then whisper in their ears about how much you love them.
I’m sure there is nothing wrong with this suggestion, and it may even lead to some new and interesting friends.
Either way, could be fun?
These are just a few ideas as to how I could go back in time and improve my life, I have hundreds more. But the main problem is that my younger self probably wouldn’t listen to any of them. Even more so when he takes one look at the bloke sitting in front of him and then runs away screaming, “I turn into that!!!!!”
Precocious, know it all little fucker.
Sunday, 6 February 2011
So, this lump thing I have on the base of my spine. After my last post railing against the injustice of getting old, turns out that I didn’t in fact have a bad back, but instead had a lovely abscess making itself at home.
Early Thursday morning the pain was just too unbearable. I woke up about one after rolling over on my lump and getting woken up by a short, sharp jab of pain. Walking into my bathroom, I tried to look in my mirror at my back to try and see my lump. After getting myself into positions that a contortionist would be proud of, I still couldn’t get a good look at it. I then came up with the wonderful idea of using the video camera on my mobile to film it.
I have to say the footage was great, it was almost like a film as the camera swooped slowly over my lower back, Spielberg would have been proud. I almost considered posting it on YouTube with the 2001 soundtrack playing and a Morgan Freeman voice over. But I still couldn't get a good look at my lump to see how bad it was.
Sod this, I thought. I need to get to a hospital. So at around three in the morning I booked a cab to take me to Romford A&E. When I arrived I knew I was in Romford because there was a drunk guy wandering around mumbling bollocks into his beer can, which he kept clutched tight to his chest with a Kung Fu grip, while a trail of blood splattered the floor leading up to the reception desk.
“Hello,” I said to the tired looking receptionist. “I have a large lump at the base of spine which is really hurting, I think I need to get it looked at.”
She motioned me to sit down and I waited to see a Doctor, all the while hoping that the Doctor wouldn’t be female, hot, or Brazilian. The chances of there being a hot Brazilian Doctor working in Romford A&E were slim, but knowing my luck this would be the time when one would be working on a secondment, traveling to the poorest countries to see how Third World Healthcare operates, and I would have to drop my trousers in front of her.
Lucky for me my Doctor was male. For some strange reason this made me feel better about dropping my trousers in front of him. I somehow seem to have got my priorities all wrong on this, haven't I?
Upon seeing my lump the Doctor made a kind of “Hmmmmmmmmn” noise.
“What is it?” I asked him.
“You have an abscess I’m afraid, and its quite a nasty one. I’d like you to see the surgeon today if possible.”
“Yes, we have to drain it and then remove it.”
Now I’m not a great lover of operations. Due to my hearing problems, my whole life has been a session of operations and procedures to keep my hearing at a good level. So I try and avoid them whenever I can. But this Doctor was adamant that i would have to have this done.
Eventually I was led up to a hospital ward where I was given my own bed. After waiting around for a few hours I eventually saw a surgeon. After examining me he told me that I probably wouldn’t be able to have the operation today and would have to stay over night. Now this really wasn’t an option for me as I had no overnight stuff, hadn’t showered, and there was no one there to feed my cat (all poor excuses, but they are the only ones I have), so I asked him if it was possible to come early tomorrow to have it done as the operation would only take about half an hour.
The surgeon agreed to this and then suggested that he drain the abscess to make my night a little bit more comfortable. After lying me on my front, he then pierced my lump with a needle, causing a small jet of fluid to arch prettily from it like a delicate water feature. It wasn’t very nice.
The best thing about being able to go home was that I was given Codeine to take home with me. I like Codeine, it makes everything better. I could have had small pixies emerging from my lump, playing fiddles and dancing merry jigs, and I was so high that I probably wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. Codeine rules.
When I got to the hospital early next morning I checked in at reception like I was told to. And brilliantly for me, the guy behind the desk failed to tell anyone that I was there. So for four hours I was sat in a hard plastic chair, my lump leaking and hurting, and my mood getting steadily worse. When they finally realised that i was there for a reason, a young intern took me aside and began to question me as to why I was there, not having a clue who I was, why I was there, and what was wrong with me. Now she was obviously new and didn’t really have a clue what she was doing, and therefore scared the shit out of me. She unsuccessfully tried to take blood from me about five times, missing veins, spilling the blood over me, and jabbing me more times than a pincushion. She then tried to put a tube in my hand for a drip, fucking this up about three times as well. In the end I snapped, stood up and told her not to worry about it, and walked out the hospital, aiming to get the treatment done privately through my work.
So now I have to wait until tomorrow to find out what hospital I am going to. Luckily the lump seems to have gone down quite a bit and isn’t as painful as it was, but I still need to get it opened up and cleaned out otherwise it will just come back again.
I don’t like abscesses very much. I have given it a name though. My abscess is called Colin, and with luck, by tomorrow Colin will sod off and leave me alone.
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
I’m bloody annoyed at the moment.
In fact I’m so annoyed right now that I’m not in fact typing this with my hands, but instead I’m headbutting each key and saying slanderous things about each of their mothers with each slam of my forehead (which means its taken me ages to write these last few sentences, and has given me an awful headache as well).
Why am I annoyed, you’re not asking?
Well, I’m off work today.
Why are you off work today, you’re also not asking?
Well, I’m off work because……oh this is so hard to say…….I’m off work because…… I’ve done my back in.
Quick, somebody throw a blanket round me and stick me in an old peoples home.
I don’t know what's wrong with it. I woke up on Sunday and it was tight. Come Monday it was on fire, and when I woke up this morning I couldn’t move. After doing some medical exploring with my fingers (mmmmmmmn, filthy) it seems as if I have a small lump at the base of my spine that hurts to touch.
Now this could mean either one of three things.
1) I have pulled something and its really swollen.
2) I have a real deep spot and its in the most awkward of places.
3) I’m starting to grow a tail.
Now naturally out of those three things, its the tail one I’m hoping for. How cool would that be? I could use it to fan myself if hot. If I’m ever giving directions I could use my tail to point the way instead of my finger. And it would be a brilliant aid to gauge what mood I’m in ( Swishing around: Angry. Hanging between my legs: Scared. Pointing up in the air while the end makes a “Come here” motion: Horny), the possibilities are endless. Tails are cool.
But nevertheless, my back is in tatters and its resulted in me hobbling round like a geriatric who has just soiled himself. This isn’t right. I’m 32. not 82. The fact that I have just rung in sick due to a bad back was something I was hoping to avoid for, say, oh I don’t know, another 15 years?
Is this it? Does this mean that I’ve reached the summit and the only way to go now is down? I mean, I’m half deaf as it is, and I’m borderline incontinent anyway, so what other delights are coming my way? Will I start to grow hair from my ears? Will II start to buy jeans with elasticated waistbands? Will I take up line dancing? I’m nothing more than the rotting carcass of the man I used to be.
Growing older never really used to bother me. OK, I’ll admit that the passing of another 12 months and a move up on my age bracket did sometimes play on my mind a little. But in my head I’m still the same idiotic bell end I’ve always been, but now as I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I find that its been transported into the body of a slightly stupid looking adult, one who constantly wears the bemused expression of someone who is desperately trying to remember where he has left his keys.
When did this happen? And more importantly, how can I stop it?
How will I feel when I start getting my first grey hairs? What if its in my pubic hair? My only option will be to shave them all off. So then I’ll be a man in his 30’s with the genitalia of a toddler. That can’t be right? (though I would imagine it to be very bracing). Can you dye your pubic hair? What if I try and dye it and it goes wrong and I end up with green pubic hair? I’ll look like I’ve gone mouldy. This is a pubic nightmare. I need to do more research.
Maybe worrying about your age happens at all stages of your life? When I was in my teens, thinking of being 25 seemed ancient to me. Now that I’m in my 30’s, the thought of hitting 40 is terrifying. Most likely when I’m in my 40’s, I’ll look back at my young and care free 30’s with a wry smile. I’m never happy, me.
The only plus point I can see about getting older is that I will now have an excuse for being rude and not caring what I say, where as now I have none.
I know they say that you should enjoy your life, no matter what your age is. But how can I enjoy it with a bad back, non-functioning ears, and the future onset of pubic Armageddon?