Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tock……………

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?

I’m Your Whore……….

*Warning: This blog post does contain some aspects of self psychological prognosis. Its pretty stirring stuff so I would advise sitting down and strapping yourself in whilst reading. Things could get bumpy*

During my brief hiatus from blogging (if you can call a month brief, it was more like a weekend city break away really), I was idly reading through some previous posts trying desperately to come up with something vaguely interesting to write about that didn’t involve some form of warm, wet bodily function, when I suddenly had a rather disturbing notion fly from the screen and hit me straight in my mindscape, whirl around for a bit, and then settle in my stomach like a big fat worry baby. You see it suddenly occurred to me that for the last year I have been laying out my bare psyche over the internet for literally anyone to come along and have a good old rummage round.

Now for most people this probably would really amount to much. Maybe a pair of raised eyebrows and a shrug and then nothing more would be thought of it.  But for a normally intensely private person such as myself, it really does seem like a strange activity to have been involved with. In person I can be guaranteed to give nothing away,  something that has been commented on frequently as I am often referred to as a closed book, and yet on here I have been offering up massive slices of my experiences and thoughts with almost blatant disregard for any kind of self censorship. I have even written about when I pooed myself in the middle of London, miles away from home and with an almost uncontrollable urge to suddenly commit suicide, which is a strange thing to offer up to a complete stranger and isn’t normally something I bring to the table when I first meet someone. I at least normally wait a day or two before giving that one up.

So something's not quite right here.

When I first started this blog my main intention was to just write about things that were happening in the world in a wry and insightful manner, just to get me into the habit of writing on a weekly basis. I wasn’t going to be someone who would regularly write about themselves, as in my opinion that would be about as interesting as listening to someone go into minute detail about a really wacky dream they had the other night and how they soooooo had to tell me about it. But I soon realised that my attempts at commenting on the big wide world were as insightful as a blind man who was required to do something that involved…..er….sight, so I found myself writing things that were a little closer to home. I began writing about me, like the big self obsessed freak that I am.

And yet you came, didn’t you? You came, and you commented, and you joined up, and I became drunk with the power of it all. I wasn’t just writing blog posts anymore, I was standing on top of a mountain, arms stretch wide as you, my children, my flock, came from miles around, from different lands and cultures, to gaze in wonder at me, to swim in my words, my rapture. You had come to see me, what I was doing, what I was feeling and thinking, it was all about me, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

Regardless of what it was, you’re here and it rocks, take my hand and everything will be okay, we can do this, you and I, we can do this together. But as a rather unfortunate side effect, in order to fill these pages I have had to plumb my very depths and offer up stuff that I may not normally do in person. Some of it may be obvious if you knew me, other bits you may not have known about even if you had gone into my subconscious armed with a map, a torch, and all-over protective clothing. And yet I’ve just given it all to you on a plate, haven’t I? I’ve whored myself out to you with no form of self-regard whatsoever. I feel so cheap.

And yet for myself, rereading over the things that I have written, it paints a pretty disturbing picture. I’m not right up there, am I?

Lets break it down, just for old times sake.

1) People Person.

I don’t like people. Obviously I like you, you’re great. We’ve always gotten along, me and you, ever since we first met really. I think it was your smile that did it. But its all the others, those with their haircuts and skinny jeans and stupid opinions and inability to navigate anywhere without getting in my way, its them that do my nut in.

2) Sentimental.

Despite the cynical outlook there also seems to be a sentimental streak in the things that I have written that is a mile wide, which therefore must be in me. Most people think that the pained expression on my face is when my Irritable Bowel Syndrome is really bad, its not, its just these two conflicting emotions battling themselves out in me to finally claim my body. I’ll either end up alone in a gutter, drinking myself to death with whisky in a brown paper bag, or end up a pipe smoking hippy who just wants to hug everyone and talk about “feelings”. I am unsure if I like either to be honest.

3) Whore.

I just want to be loved. I just want to you come along and smile at something I have written, tell me that you like me, and then never leave my side. That's all I want. Is that to much to ask?

4) Over Analytical.

This blog post is a prime example.

5) Self Indulgent.

See above.

6) Odd.

I have some odd hang ups, don’t I? Ranging from OCD through to odd phobias. Its amazing that I can actually leave my home without crumbling into a massive pile of quivering jelly, shitting myself and mumbling about germs.

 

So I’ve just literally splashed all of the above over the internet like an elephant with explosive diarrhea. Well, not anymore. I’m keeping all this crazy stuff in from now on. This blog is now going to undergo a transformation into a political one where we can all debate political philosophies and how they relate to society and each class as a whole.

There will still be poo jokes though.

So, to start us off, a question for us to discuss:

Should ties among individuals composing a group form a bond that takes precedence over the needs and wishes of the individual members of the group?

Please feel free to leave your thoughts and opinions on the above question.

I look forward to the cut and thrust of intelligent discussion that the new direction of this blog will no doubt bring to us, rather than the puerile and infantile stuff I was writing before. I look forward to taking your hands as we all head out into a bright new dawn. It may seem scary at first, but you will like it, I promise you that you will.

And you will always have me there to stroke your hair.

Wearing gloves, obviously.

Germs.

Germs everywhere.

So, That Was Christmas Then?…………….

I always get a little down just after Christmas. Nothing to serious mind, its not like I’m going to suddenly hang myself with sparkly tinsel or anything. I think its more a combination of having a solid two months of literally everything screaming at you “Its Christmas!” and then the day being over quicker than the space between two heartbeats. Its bound to leave you a bit blue, and all those decorations and lights always serve to remind you that its all over and there are no more presents to unwrap. Which sucks.

Have to say though, I have just had the best Christmas I have had in many a year, and I have also got some great gifts as well.

Here is my list:

A range of Dermalogica products (which also includes hand cream)

A funky new scarf

A funky new man bag

Pants

The Thick of It book

Inception Blu Ray

Expensive hot chocolate and a mug

Scented candles for my flat (this list is not showing me in the best of lights)

Aftershave- Hugo Boss Energise

Chocolates

Shower gel

Socks (Partially eaten)

£20 HMV voucher

Now from that list you can probably get a fairly good assumption of who I am. By the looks of it I am a metrosexual male who loves scented candles, man bags, Leonardo Dicaprio, jaunty scarves, hot chocolate and who really, really smells. Oh, and I need lots of pants as well. And socks.

Yeah, I can live with all that. In my defence though, a lot of that stuff I really need, especially the hand cream as I have been getting really dry hands and have had to suffer the indignity of borrowing hand cream off the girls at work. But with this new stuff my hands are now silky smooth and feel divine! They are all going to love me when I return and start letting them use it occasionally. I will finally be one of them. 

My Christmas started on Christmas Eve where I do my normal tradition of going round to Kates mums for dinner. This year was to be different though as normally I would go home alone for Christmas Day, but this year Kates, and her dad and brother, were going to come back with me to spend the day round mine, me being the genial host and everything. Check me out, I’m well adult now.

When I arrived at Kates I was greeted by the sight of her dog Peggy, a lovely staff, running round dressed in a Santa outfit. I couldn’t tell if she was pleased about this. She looked happy, but to be honest, she always looks happy, but she was dressed in a Santa outfit and did look pretty stupid. She also looked a little shifty as well and I soon found out why.

“There's been a bit of an accident with your stocking,” Kates mum told me as I took my coat off.

“Accident?” I replied.

“Yeah, Peggy had been down it and eaten all your chocolates and some of your socks.”

I looked down at Peggy who was by my feet, tail wagging and a lopsided grin plastered all over her face.

“You’ve eaten my Christmas socks?”

Now anyone who knows me knows how I always need new socks. Christmas was my one time of year that I get to restock. And now this little garbage can on legs had just eaten them.

“Its only one pair,” Kates mum said after seeing the crestfallen expression on my face.

“Its okay, honestly. These things happen,” I said with a fixed grin plastered all over my facehole, mentally plotting on how I was going to get my revenge on the little furry shitbag.

When everyone was out of earshot, I leant down to Peggy and whispered in her ear, “You look absolutely ridiculous in that outfit,” and then got a big wet lick up the side of my cheek for my troubles. It was hard to stay mad at her.

Once we were settled then the feasting began. Kates mum is a fantastic cook and this year decided that we weren't going to have a sit down meal, but lots and lots of nibbles. And believe me, there were a lot. Plate after plate came out, a never ending parade of delights that all looked delicious. The next few hours were lost in a sea of Brie and Cranberry parcels, honey and mustard glazed sausages, tiny Indian and Chinese bites, and many, many more. By the end of it I was half slumped  on the sofa, tears of defeat running freely down my cheeks and the meat shakes hitting my body from overindulgence.

“Who wants homemade Chocolate and Peanut Butter Cheesecake?” Kates mum said breezily, not noticing that I had slipped into a food coma. “Dan, I know you’ll have a big slice,wont you?”

I could only smile weakly and make a buh noise that was supposed to resemble, “Yes please, I’d love a huge slice, and also a stomach pump as well if you have one handy?”

Still ate it though. I’m hardcore me.

Eventually it was time for bed and to wait for Santa. The feast did leave me with terrible wind though, I’d like to say it was very Christmassy and sounded like Jingle Bells when it came out, but it didn’t. It sounded evil, and that's because it was. But as I was sharing a bed with Kates AND Peggy (who always sleeps under the blanket with us), I got my revenge on the sock eating little shit by farting on her head all night.

After present opening in the morning, me, Kates and Peggy went to pick up her dad and brother so we could head on back to mine. I was a little nervous as I would be hosting and cooking all at the same time. I had never done this before and was conscious that I could screw up everyone's Christmas if it went wrong. When we got to mine, I opened the door and was greeting by my cat Dotty running up to greet us as she always did. When she saw that her favourite dog had come round to visit once more, she quickly did a mid-air somersault and ran off to spend all of Christmas asleep on top of my fridge.

I got everyone settled, poured out the drinks and passed the nibbles, and then went into the kitchen to start the cooking. I looked at the huge turkey sitting there and it looked back at me. I will tame you bitch I thought to myself, and then began to cook. We had enough to feed a small army and I only had a small oven, so it became a hot game of Jenga trying to figure out ways to fit all of the trays and whatnot into it. I had a momentary panic when I thought that my stuffing balls weren’t cooking, but that passed in time. I’m pretty sure it was me whispering, “ Cook you tiny bastards” at them. I felt like a safecracker as I was hunched over the temperature dial, just teasing another little extra bit of heat and watching for things that might be burning.

“Is everything going okay?” Kates asked me as she popped her head into my kitchen.

“YES! EVERYTHING IS FINE! GO HAVE FUN IN THE LIVING ROOM! FUN! GO NOW!”

“Whoa, okay kitchen Nazi,” she said, backing out slowly with her hands raised.

Eventually everything looked as if it was cooked. To be honest I was so stressed out by then that I couldn’t care less if I poisoned everyone and I was mentally planning on where I could bury the bodies in my communal gardens if it all went wrong. I dished up, served up, and sat down to eat, nervously watching as people took their first bites.

“This is delicious.” Kates.

“This turkey is really good.” Kates dad.

“Pass the cranberry sauce.” Kates brother.

And I looked round in amazement. It was a Christmas dinner. A proper Christmas dinner that I had prepared and that everyone was enjoying.

I felt like a God.

And on the 12th day Dan said, “Let there be food!” And the food was good.

After we ate and nobody died (which is the hallmarks of a successful meal), we sat in the living room to play Goldeneye on the Wii. After a stressful 25 minutes trying to figure out how to set the bloody thing up, we were all ready to play the multiplayer, which basically involved running round shooting each other, something every family wants to secretly do at Christmas. Me being the ubergeek that I am, I immediately got the hang of it and was stalking the others through the level. Others weren't so quick to adapt.

“Which one am I and why can’t I move?” asked Kates dad. I quickly spotted him as the one facing the wall, trying to run through it, and put a bullet in his head.

Oh, someone's dead,” Kates dad said.

“That's you Gary,” I replied.

“Oh.”

Kates was also struggling to work out the controls and I found her in a corner, jumping up and down relentlessly, so I thought it best to put her out of her misery.

“I don’t like this game,“ she cried.

“You just can’t handle my mad skills,” I said.

“I can’t handle you being a massive geek who knows how to play these games, loser.”

To be fair, she was right.

After another ten minutes playing this we all realised that it was actually a bit poo and called it a day. By now everyone was feeling the effects of all the drink and food and was getting sleepy. I stuck on the film Avatar for everyone to watch and we slowly slipped into that post dinner semi slumber.

About halfway through the film, Kates dad woke up sleepily from his doze, looked at the screen and said, “Blue people on the telly,” and then slipped back into sleep again. A pretty fair summing up of the film I think you’ll agree?

Once it was over it was finally time for everyone to go home. After saying goodbye, I found myself alone in my flat to take stock of the day. Now normally, for reasons I won’t go into, Christmas is a hard time of year for me and something that I don’t really get into that much. But this year was different, this year I had the best Christmas that I’ve had in a long time. And I think it was because I was with people that I cared for, and that cared for me back. Which if you think about, beneath all the presents and the sense of occasion, is all what Christmas really boils down to.

Plus I didn’t kill anyone, which is always a massive bonus.

So now the final part of the holiday to get through is New Year. I am lucky in the sense that Kates hates New Year just as much as I do. All the pressure to go out and have fun, screw that. I’m not paying the best part of £40 to go somewhere that would normally cost me nothing on any other day. We always have an anti New Years Eve by having a nice meal in a restaurant in the early evening, take a stroll around London, and then go home to glare at people out of our window.

I know whose the winner in that scenario.

Happy New Year to you all!