It’s all in the voice

Posted on Sep 17, 2013 by headinablender

The woman on the table across the aisle from me has done nothing but whine on the phone about the delayed train we’re sat on.

I can’t see her because of the rather ‘stinking of booze’ mountain of a man sat directly next to me chugging wine from a selection of mini bottles in his satchel, but she’s really getting on my tits.

I imagine from her chavvy voice that she’s a bit grubby with lank greasy hair scraped back from her fat, spotty, fuck ugly face.

I look over.

It’s a little skinny man in a suit.

Game changing

Posted on Sep 17, 2013 by headinablender

For gamers, like me, today is a landmark day in gaming. Today is the launch of Grand Theft Auto V.

It’s been described as one of the biggest game releases of the decade and cost something ridiculous like £170m to develop! I read today that it’s ‘as much a cultural event as it is a videogame’ with shops opening at midnight to sell it to the queuing masses, and people up and down the country taking the day off or calling in sick to play it.

I am excited to the point of wetting myself. I can’t lie. Luckily I have the joy of working all day and having to wait until late this evening to play it.

Yay! (sarcasm).

A couple of days ago I was having a discussion with one of the guys at work about this game and he asked if I was taking the day off. I told him that I usually do when a GTA game is released (because who is productive on a day like this?) but unfortunately I don’t have enough holiday entitlement left this year to allow myself this luxury.

It was at this point that one of the women we work with meerkated (yes, I’ve made it a verb) her head over her computer screen and proceeded to snort derisively, calling me a “saddo”. She then proceeded to tell me that when I have kids (which I don’t) I won’t have time (which I do) to play videogames.

But I’m assuming I WILL have time to change nappies, lose sleep, stink of baby sick, haemorrhage money and overdose on patronisingly painful children’s TV?

This got me thinking about the attitudes I’ve had from non gamers throughout my life.

Non gamers are quite narrow minded in my experience. Oh, and they’re usually women.

In fact, this morning I was having a conversation on Facebook about GTAV and one of my female friends piped in with “relax boys, it’s just a game”. I swear they still think we sit in a dark room playing PacMan and Space Invaders. Just because their only exposure to ‘gaming’ is Candy Crush or some generic bubble shooting shit, they believe that all games are pretty much the same; simple and easy to pick up and play with.

Just like women.

Oh sorry, was that rude? Am I stereotyping or belittling? Am I making massive uninformed and ignorant assumptions?

No; I’m making a point. I’ve taken the time to understand that there are many different types of ‘game’ out there.

Some are dull, some are colourful but boring, some are interesting, some are scary, some are exciting, some are more difficult than others, some are too easy and not challenging enough, some are unpredictable and some are just downright amazing. Those are the ones you keep hold of and NEVER trade in.

This all depends on how the ‘game’ was developed; who had input and influence in the programming, and sometimes how long it actually took to develop. I don’t just assume that all games are the same simply based on the shit I’ve been exposed to. That would be unbelievably short sighted and retarded.

The thing is, gaming has been around for decades and over that time it has just gotten better and better and better. I remember my first Binatone back in the early 80’s with games like Pong and, well…Pong. This was followed by my Atari 2600, ZX Spectrum+2, Commodore Amiga 500, Amiga 1500, Super Nintendo Entertainment System (SNES), Sony Playstation, Playstation 2 and now my Xbox360 and Playstation 3 (although I mostly use the PS3 for BluRays to be honest).

Over that time I have witnessed an evolution in games the likes of which these judgemental jockstraps haven’t seen.

The gaming industry is now bigger than Hollywood with budgets to match. You’re not considered a ‘saddo’ for watching a film, but you are if you indulge in an interactive experience that can now rival the biggest celluloid blockbusters.

At least with gaming your brain cells and reflexes are kept sharp with puzzles and challenges. In fact, the very first time I skidded my car in the rain I instinctively knew to turn INTO the skid. This actually stopped me spinning out and may have saved my life.

More recently I had the opportunity to fly a £10m flight simulator and the controls weren’t that dissimilar, which made it a lot easier and impressed our instructor.

I learnt all that through gaming.

Whereas watching a movie involves just staring at a screen….and eating.

Now, considering Pong came out in the early 70’s it’s safe to say that gamers have grown up alongside the technology, growing and developing alongside some of the most amazing innovations in entertainment. I once read that the average gamer now is approximately 34yrs old which would explain the 18 certificate games that now exist. Think about it.

So it seems I am considered a ‘saddo’ for wanting to take a day off to play a monumental game that has taken over 5 years to develop, has a budget of £170m, creates an immersive experience with a deeply thought out plot culminating in different outcomes depending on how I interact with it and creates a sense of wellbeing and joy through sheer and undiluted entertainment.

And yet if I take the day off to sit on a sofa and watch 22 men run around a field kicking a small leather ball whilst wearing the same colour as my friends, just to see if these overpaid pansies (who I’ll probably never meet and who couldn’t give a squishy shit about me) manage to win a cup that has nothing to do with me, then I’m considered ‘a proper man’.

Gaming is social, entertaining, educational, thought provoking and interactive. It can invoke emotions like fear, excitement, anger and happiness. It can create real moments of adrenaline pumping tension one minute and have you laughing out loud the next, but most of all gaming is fun.

Can the same be said for some of the dumb ‘reality TV’ shit on television nowadays?

Game Over.

Stupid trucking idiot

Posted on Sep 16, 2013 by headinablender

As I walked to my garage this morning I was greeted by this.

What an unbelievably considerate place to park. How am I supposed to get my car through there?

Looks like I’m going to be late for work this fine Monday morning, which is always a great start to the week.

He eventually turned up and I said, “is this you mate?”, to which he didn’t apologise and simply said “one minute mate”.

Being politely British I resisted the urge to call him a cock tugging chimp and instead opened my garage.

I got into my vehicle and started the engine; an action not shared by this festering arse rag who had started unloading his cargo.

Are you fucking kidding?

Words escaped me.

Well…. actually they didn’t.

And ‘better by miles’ weren’t among them.

A sign of irony

Posted on Sep 12, 2013 by headinablender

There’s a pub on a street corner between the office and the station that always has people spilling out onto the pavement.

Often literally.

Today as I walked by there was a large freestanding sign outside the pub with the words:

‘Can all customers outside the pub please avoid obstructing the pavement’

The sign was chained to a lamp post on the corner of both streets, right in the middle of both pavements.

I had to walk into the road to get around it.

Obviously.

Hypocritical?

Posted on Sep 12, 2013 by headinablender

Well done Dan, you successfully chose the only seat on this empty train opposite the only penis who has now decided to talk at length on his phone.

I was going to blog about him but decided against it. I didn’t want to point out that he looks like Harley from Rizzle Kicks but with geeky glasses (which I assume are intentional), cute little pink sparkly cross earrings and a high top fade in his head like Kid missing Play.

I’m also not going to ridicule the fact he’s wearing a colourful plaid shirt with the top button done up and his beanpole arms sticking out from rolled up sleeves.

And I am certainly not going to comment that he has the campest, most feminine voice I’ve ever heard and is talking to his ‘mummy’ about not returning to college or university (or some establishment of learning) because of the drama and stress.

No, I’m not going to do any of that.

And do you know why?

Because I realised, as I pulled my headphones out of my bag to drown him out, that my headphones are bright pink.

Knot annoying at all!

Posted on Sep 11, 2013 by headinablender

Today I did the imaginable and wore a tie to work.

Oh the scandal!

It seems that wearing a tie results in the following tediously repetitive remarks…

“Are you feeling ok?”
“I bet you’ve got an interview today”.
“Oh you look nice/smart today”.

Allow me to comment on each of these in turn…

“Yes I’m feeling ok”.

If I’m wearing a plaster cast on one or more of my limbs, or a pink ballerina dress complete with snorkel and top hat whilst dribbling the Benny Hill theme then yes, please ask if I’m feeling ok. Otherwise S.T.F.U.

Wearing a tie with my usual trouser/shirt combo at our office in central London isn’t actually a cause for concern. This plastic sheeting you’re standing on however…is.

“No, I haven’t got an interview today”.

Do you honestly think I would wear my tie into work if I DID have an interview? Surely I would get changed before I came back into the office? Honestly, how stupid do you think I am, despite the fact I’m rapidly losing brain cells talking to you?

I also don’t wear Speedos into the office if I’m swimming that day or a rubber gimp costume if I’m visiting your mum.

“Oh, thanks for saying I look nice/smart today”.

It’s always lovely to know that I usually don’t.

So do I take off the tie? Or do I sit here fantasising about choking the living shit out of everyone who asks?

(Adjusts tie and smiles)

P’ass’

Posted on Sep 9, 2013 by headinablender

Tonight at Victoria train station there was the usual rush to be the first at the platform 100 metres away despite the trains not actually leaving for another 8-10 minutes.

As usual there were all sorts of ‘people’ (I use the term loosely) moving at different speeds and, oddly, in different directions towards the same platforms.

I’m 6ft tall and have a pretty hefty pace going on, but I could feel the presence of someone desperately trying to overtake me. I say I could ‘feel’ the presence but in actual fact I could blatantly see her from the corner of my eye as she took up more room in my peripheral vision than was necessary.

This woman was big. I mean BIG.

I’m not racist and therefore I’m going to be sensitive in describing her without causing offence. In an attempt to be ambiguous and vague I’m going to refer to her as Shaniqua.

She was puffing along on my left and, not wanting to be a hypocrite by becoming one of these people…

https://headinablender.wordpress.com/2012/10/31/to-pass-or-not-to-pass/

…I moved slightly to the right allowing her to pass.

She bumped into me, possibly to indicate she was in a hurry and I was in her way, but probably because I could’ve moved 8 metres to my right and she still would’ve collided with me due to lack of space.

She was a big girl.

Once she’d barged me she muttered something like, “fucking come on!” and starting jogging slightly.

Well, I SAY jogging….

Picture this, she was a BIG girl and was wearing a very SMALL tight white dress with a VERY visible white thong underneath.

I know that thongs visible above jeans are sometimes affectionately referred to as a ‘whale tail’, but this one was to scale.

1:1

And it was screaming for help.

So when I say jog, take a moment to think about that.

Got it?

Ok… I’ll carry on.

Her ‘jog’ lasted about 2.5 seconds (which coincidentally was about the same distance in metres) before she went back to a walking pace; a pace that was 95% slower than mine.

I passed her again in about 4 seconds. I had to walk an extra 12 metres around her to do it, but in no time I was ahead of her again.

Bummer.

I love driving in my ca…AAAAaaaaargh!!!!

Posted on Sep 9, 2013 by headinablender

Yesterday afternoon I had the pleasure of driving home from Kent with a hangover, which was nice.

When your eyes feel like they’re being dry humped by deranged badgers, the last thing you want is a bright light shining in them relentlessly. Does the sun come under the category of ‘bright light’? Hmm, yes I think it does.

It had been raining earlier in the day and the lovely English weather had meant there wasn’t enough heat to evaporate the wet sheen that was glazing the M20 motorway. In fact there was less heat than a nice beefy fart from a tired gnat in a snowstorm.

This reflective coating of rainwater coupled with the ‘bright light’ low in the sky had created a mirror effect that had essentially lit up the entire motorway with the full intensity of the sun. This was causing the badgers to freak out and thrust wildly and erratically. I basically couldn’t see the road, the cars or even my dashboard. I didn’t know where I was going or how fast!

I soon discovered I was able to remedy the intensive glare by closing my eyes, which made driving at 70mph (ahem) a little more ‘challenging’ and ‘exciting’. I say the following not to racially offend or to upset the saladly challenged, but I had to squint my eyes until I resembled a really fat Chinese kid.

Eventually the sun moved a little lower in the sky and the angle of reflection shifted. Fortunately we could all see the road and cars again. Unfortunately it was now shining a direct beam into our faces, which was nice.

The badgers were nearing climax.

I smugly reached up and lowered my sun visor only to find it wasn’t quite low enough.

That’s annoying.

I then had to sit bolt upright in order to block the piercing rays burning into my skull. This worked to block the sun and allowed me to see about 3 metres of the road in front of me which, at 70mph (ahem), wasn’t worrying at all.

Soon enough the motorway would have a slight bend and the sun would reposition itself, attempting to attack from another angle. I lowered the passenger sun visor but it wasn’t enough. I was now sat bolt upright and leaning to the left. I looked like I was checking my lipstick in the mirror.

Again, another bend and the sun went in for attack vector delta and the badgers were fast approaching their vinegar strokes.

This time I grinned because I knew I was going to be defended by my faithful rear view mirror. With a lowered sun visor either side of it, it was unlikely the sun would penetrate that tiny gap between the mirror and the visors in order to hit me right in the eye…..oh wait, no, I was wrong. It found the 2 inch chink in my armour and was exploiting it to sear my retinas and send the badgers into full lock on.

What were the chances? No matter which direction the motorway turned, the sun would avoid every single piece of shielding my car could provide.

Somewhere in my head I could sense the faint smell of a post coital cigarette and the flush of a toilet.

Grab a seat

Posted on Sep 6, 2013 by headinablender

I was sat on the train next to the window. There was a woman sat to my left reading a book on her Kindle. The train was packed and there were people stood all the way down the aisles.

At one point the train started to leave Clapham Junction station and then abruptly stopped. The law of Inertia did its thing and threw a man onto the lap of the woman sat next to me.

She instinctively put her hands up to catch him and she succeeded, resulting in her holding his arse perfectly with a buttock lovingly held in each hand.

Is there anything more funny than a perfect and accidental full on arse grab? I don’t think so.

Without removing her hands she pushed him back to his feet and he said, “I’m so sorry!”

She said, “That’s ok”, but it clearly wasn’t.

Her Kindle wasn’t the only thing that was re(a)d.

A massive fumble

Posted on Sep 4, 2013 by headinablender

The train guard entered the carriage this morning with the usual, “tickets please!”

Today’s guard was a woman. Well I’m sure she still IS a woman, but this tale is being told in past tense…so shut up.

She started walking down the carriage acknowledging the various cards and plastic ticket wallets being thrust towards her with a nod, a smile and a “thank you”.

Nod, smile, “thank you”

The businessman in front of me was stood up and fumbling desperately through his backpack that was stuffed into the overhead luggage shelf.

She was getting closer.

Nod, smile, “thank you”

He was really going to town now; elbow deep in a bag that would’ve been easier to search if he’d actually had the sense to take it down first.

Nod, smile, “thank you”

The guard eventually arrived at him, stopped and said, “Tickets please”.

The man ignored her, continuing to rummage around in a bag that had started to resemble the TARDIS; he was unnaturally shoulder deep.

She waited about 20 seconds before saying, “it’s ok, I’ll come back to you” and continuing on to me.

“I’m trying to get it out but it’s too big”, he replied.

I’m sorry, what? Did he just say what I thought he just said? (snigger)

The guard grinned, turned and without missing a beat said, “What is?”

I chuckled. The man didn’t.

Realising this rucksack ransacker hadn’t got the innuendo, she backpedalled with, “oh you mean the ticket?”

“Ah, here it is”, said the humourless bell-end.

Nod, smile, “thank you”

She then looked at me, exchanged a knowing smirk and continued up the carriage.

Nod, smile, “thank you”

He sat back down and carried on playing Candy Crush or talking bollocks….whichever is more annoying.

Inspect this!

Posted on Aug 30, 2013 by headinablender

Every day I keep my train ticket close at hand in my pocket, just in case the ticket inspector on the train comes asking.

Every day there’s no sign of him.

Today I put my train ticket in the deep and hard to find recesses of my bag.

“Tickets please!”

Wanker.

It’s not all work, work, work

Posted on Aug 30, 2013 by headinablender

A woman gets on the train with her friend. They natter for a bit and then the conversation stops as the woman gets out her laptop and starts typing furiously.

A lot of people do work on the train; I see it every day. Excel, PowerPoint, Word, emails…. it’s never ending.

I wonder what she’s working on. I can’t see properly because of the sunshine glaring on her screen. Whatever it is it must be important; she has a serious look on her face and her fingers are a blur on the keyboard.

Suddenly we enter a tunnel and the glare is taken away.

Facebook.

iSplat

Posted on Aug 28, 2013 by headinablender

I’m stuck on a packed train just outside East Croydon with a 3G signal going up and down like a local girl’s knickers.

Luckily I’ve been here about 45mins because apparently someone got hit by a train earlier today.

I’ve got another hour of this at least. Joy joy joy!! (claps hands excitedly until blood is drawn)

I can understand getting hit by a car or a boat because they could come from any direction, but a train is pretty much on rails if I’m not mistaken, and therefore it’s easy to predict where they might be coming from; left, or right.

I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead or the seriously injured, but….

Twat.

In addition to all this, the woman next to me is talking VERY LOUDLY TO HER CHILDREN ON THE PHONE AND SAYING THAT “MUMMY WILL BE HOME SOON” AND THEY NEED TO “STOP BEING SAD”. She’s actually said this about 37 times.

She’s just asked her child where her monkey is, and if they’ve warmed it up.

Strange…when I do that it’s frowned upon.

Now she’s trying to connect to them via facetime on her iPad. That will be amazing; to hear her whiny kids first hand. I mean, she’s talking to them on the phone… so why do it on the iPad for all of us to experience?

Oh, 38 times.

She’s also just told her fucking offspring that she’s going to the dentist to get her gold tooth replaced.

Classy.

The woman opposite me is reading her book, resting her head on her very, very clenched fist.

Oh look, facetime has connected.

Now she’s talking to them on her phone AND waving at them on her iPad. What is the purpose of that?

39 times. Right that’s it.

Today there will be more than one train fatality.

Pram sham

Posted on Aug 28, 2013 by headinablender

This morning at Victoria tube station there seemed to be a bottleneck forming at the top of the escalator. This is usually due to some penis who either has a massive suitcase with no understanding of how to steer it, or an inability to successfully step onto a moving staircase without counting in their head.

One, two, (step forward)

(Falls over)

But not this morning. No, this morning it was a woman with a pushchair.

I won’t lie, my initial thoughts were…

“Get the fuck out of the way you twat! We’re all trying to get to work! I mean who the fuck brings a child onto the underground at rush hour you massive wanker!?”

…but I soon realised that might be a little insensitive, so I didn’t say anything.

This poor struggling mother clearly had to travel at rush hour, otherwise why would she? And it couldn’t have been easy pushing a small child around; navigating the escalators and trains with hoards of busy and ‘incredibly tolerant’ commuters rushing past her like a torrid river around a stupid fat rock.

She finally managed to count to three and merged with the moving staircase; shuffling to the right (and quite rightly so), to allow other commuters to walk past her on the left. As I approached her I could see she was hunched over uncomfortably; desperately holding the pushchair and two massive bags in position as the escalator took us deeper into the bowels of London.

I felt for her, I really did. Poor cow.

I suddenly felt a wave of guilt come over me as I got closer to her. Who was I to judge her for holding us all up? Who the fuck was I to get impatient because she had a pushchair with a small child in it?

Hang on…hold the fucking phone…

As I got level with her I noticed the ‘small child’ was in fact a boy of at least four years old! He was certainly too old and too tall to be pushed around by his mother. I mean this literally of course; a lot of men are mentally pushed around by their mothers all their lives, or until the cyanide takes effect.

What the fuck is she doing pushing him around? Lazy little shit. I did wonder for a second if he was disabled, but he was using his perfectly healthy legs to turn around and talk to mummy; presumably to feed her a lump of sugar or whatever it is you give to a good horse.

Who’s a good horse? Who’s a good horse?

It pisses me off that this little prick was being shuttled around when he had two perfectly good legs, just like the little two year old girl STOOD on the escalator with her dad a few feet in front.

It makes me so angry that some parents pander to their children a little too much at times. We spend the first year or so encouraging them to walk, so let the fuckers walk.

In India, as soon as children have competent motor skills they start making trainers, presumably for English kids who don’t walk in them.

I can’t brielieve it

Posted on Aug 12, 2013 by headinablender

During my visit to America I was introduced to a food that I didn’t realise existed.

Just when I thought the United States couldn’t produce anything more ridiculously calorific I was introduced to…..

‘Cheese On A Stick’

I’m serious. Cheese….on a stick.

Cheese….on a fucking STICK!

There are lots of foods that work well on a stick such as kebabs, ice lollies, marshmallows etc., but not cheese; unless it’s accompanied by a chunk of pineapple and poking out of a potato covered in foil at a 1980s buffet.

But did it stop there? No. The Americans decided that ‘cheese on a stick’ should be dipped in batter and deep fried.

Are you shitting me?

Someone should warn these people before they get fat.

Interestingly, as we walked out of the food court (and I use the word ‘food’ loosely), I saw a very overweight couple stood at ‘The Cajun Grill’ ordering, well, everything it seemed.

The young guy behind the counter should’ve refused them service and said “No! Baaaad fatties!” and sprayed them with water.

That would’ve confused them because no-one in the U.S. food industry uses the word “No” and fatties don’t recognise water.

Phuk Mi

Posted on Aug 11, 2013 by headinablender

Today I got to experience my first Thai massage during a short stay in sunny Los Angeles, and the word ‘experience’ is definitely a word to describe it.

My Fiancée and I walked into the massage parlour and the smell of incense, coupled with the generic plinky plonky music playing in the background went some way towards relaxing us and making us feel welcome.

This is going to be great!

The friendly little old Thai guy behind the counter asked us if we wanted a Swedish massage in addition to our deep tissue massage.

Nah. We were just looking forward to our relaxing massage that had come with the hotel package we’d booked.

He smiled and showed us to our individual dimly lit rooms which were side by side. I say ‘rooms’, but they were more like huge cubicles without a ceiling and a curtain where the door should be. I was asked to strip down to my boxers and lie on the big comfy massage bed, face down.

No problem. This is going to be great!

I promptly stripped down and laid on my front, with my face resting in the hole designed for faces to rest in. It resembled a paper vagina. I’m not lying.

It was at this point I heard the friendly Thai gentleman say to my Fiancée in the next ‘room’ that I was a “big man” and asked if I was strong too. She said I was very strong. I must admit I felt a little smug and butch hearing this.

After a couple of minutes I heard the curtains swoosh open and a soft voice greet me. It was my masseuse; a small little Thai girl no older than about 23. She told me to relax as she turned up the volume of the plinky plonky music, swooshed the curtains closed and placed her small delicate hands on my right calf.

This is going to be….ow! What the fuck?? OW!!

Holy shit!!
What is happening?
Why is she hurting me??
HOW is she hurting me???
She’s tiny!!!!

It was a pain I can’t convey in words alone, but let me say it was like having my muscles put through a pasta machine on the thinnest setting whilst being stamped on by an elephant wearing stiletto heels. At least I think that’s what it felt like; I may have passed out.

But I didn’t dare whimper or complain because this was a birthday gift from my American beloved and I didn’t want to be the soft Brit who couldn’t handle a simple Thai massage. This was clearly something that was common place in California, like dentistry without anaesthetic or being shot in the head.

So I laid there whilst this young girl gave me a deep tissue massage that actually bordered on domestic abuse, holding my breath and dribbling. At least I now know why the flooring was laminate.

After about 10 minutes of abuse on my calves and back muscles (that I didn’t know I had), my killer, er, I mean my masseuse told me to “rerax”.

Relax? Are you shitting me? That’s like telling an angry woman to calm down. Not happening.

She asked me if I was ok, to which I replied through dribble and tears, “My god you are freakishly strong!”

She giggled like a small child. There’s no way this petite little thing was responsible for the pain and suffering my legs and back had taken. I swear that when she moved out of my line of sight she traded places with a massive Thai wrestler with massive Thai wrestler hands. It was the only explanation.

It was at this point I heard laughter from my fiancée’s room and the room the other side of me. It seemed my comment had hit a chord with the other torture victims.

After a few seconds of ‘reraxing’ she started again, only this time she stood on me. I’d seen this in movies and thought it would feel nice; I was wrong. I thought her hands were strong but they were nothing compared to her feet. Oh how soothing her heels felt with her entire weight behind them.

Wait; is that blood on the floor? I thought I was simply weeping tears. Clearly I was wrong.

Why does this girl hate me so much?

I was desperately trying not to make any noises that would indicate my suffering, like crying or asking for my mum, when I heard a faint whimpering and the occasional “ow!” from the next ‘room’. It seemed my fiancée was suffering too.

Good.

Honestly, it has to be one of the most slowly painful experiences of my life, and I’ve endured hours under the tattoo needle! She prodded, poked and stretched me to within an inch of my life, using her hands, feet, elbows and knees. The worst moments were when I realised, after having completely destroyed an arm or leg, that she was about to do the same to its counterpart.

She made me wish I had fewer limbs.

At the end of the hour long ordeal she sat me up and asked how I was feeling. I looked her in the eye and said “I feel like I’ve been beaten up in slow motion”.

She laughed and left.

My fiancée and I walked out of there in utter disbelief, laughing at the fact we just allowed ourselves to have the shit gently kicked out of us.

Well, I say ‘walked’….

Chin up…

Posted on Aug 6, 2013 by headinablender

The man opposite me on the train has the smallest chin in the world.

It must take him, like, seconds to shave.

Amusingly he just went to scratch it and nearly missed.

Holy shit

Posted on Jul 31, 2013 by headinablender

I tend to avoid certain subjects in my blog because amongst all the talk of mindless idiots, insufferable twats, shit, piss and vomit; I wouldn’t want to offend anyone now would I?

One of these ‘off limit’ subjects has been religion.

If you’re particularly religious or easily offended, I suggest not reading any further. There are some opinions in here that may upset you and it’s probably best to just go about your day and maybe pray for me if that makes you feel better.

However, If you’re reading this sentence you’re either not a religious person or you’re lying about it, in which case you’ve broken the 9th commandment and you’re going to hell.

As you can probably tell, I’m not religious man.

Although I do actually respect others’ rights to believe whatever they want; God, Allah, Buddha, The Wizard of Oz, Aslan the lion etc, but what really pisses me off are those narrow minded types who impose their beliefs onto those who aren’t in their club, er I mean their gang, no, their cult….damn it; religion! I mean their religion!

Sorry, I always get those mixed up.

There are those out there who take their faith to unnecessary levels. These are the deluded fools who stand outside abortion clinics with rosary beads, pictures of sad children and babies, handing out cards to any women walking in, walking by or simply owning a vagina.

I actually see these misguided morons with vacant faced smiles every day between the tube station and the office and every day I’m tempted to say something especially when I see them attempt to ‘help’ a woman walking into the clinic, or some young girl with her mother. Is this right? Is this holy and just?

Is it fuck.

There are a lot of reasons why a woman would choose to terminate a pregnancy; maybe the condom broke, maybe the baby isn’t growing properly and won’t survive full term, maybe she’s too young or not ready. And what if she’s a rape victim? Sorry to be so blunt, but what if?

One thing is for certain, it’s not an easy decision to make and it takes a lot of courage to walk into a clinic like that. It’s likely to be a very emotional time, so the last thing they need is judgement from a wool wearing twat who smells of mothballs and biscuits.

It’s simply not fair.

I’m not a cruel person, but I’d love to walk up to one of these woollen wankers whilst holding an open box full of knitting needles and ask, “Where do you want these medical supplies?”

This is just to see their reaction. I want to see if they lose their (holy) shit!

In fact, thinking about it, let’s look at it from another angle. We don’t see fashionably dressed people stood outside maternity clinics with pictures of happy and childfree couples, complimentary cigarettes and beer and handing out free coat hangers to every pregnant woman going in. So why is this somehow ok?

Although I will say they are stood out there every day. In the morning when I walk to the office, there they are. When I walk to the station in the evening, there they are. They’re doing what they feel is right. They believe they are fighting the good fight and they will never back down or give up.

Except today.

Today was raining.

Crumbs!

Posted on Jul 29, 2013 by headinablender

Opening a tub of butter to find it full of toast crumbs is great isn’t it? I mean, I can’t wait to smear those day(s) old stale crumbs onto my warm toast.

There’s nothing more satisfying than using that blob of crumb ridden butter mindlessly scraped onto the side of the tub because someone had ‘a little left over’. I guess they thought someone else may want to use it.

Oh, how right they were! I love it even more when there are bits of jam or Marmite smeared in with it.

Mmmm….yay, fucking delicious!

Luckily I cook with butter from time to time as well, so adding this sodden mess to my cooking just goes some way towards improving the flavour and texture of every meal I prepare. And I don’t have to tell you the joy I feel when my buttered potatoes have that gritty feel with a distinct suggestion of marmalade and pickle.

So i’ve started leaving smeared shit on unused toilet paper….you know, just in case someone else wants to use it.

I had a little left over.

Hot to trots

Posted on Jul 26, 2013 by headinablender

Summer is great in London, mostly because the female of the species tend to wear a lot less. I realise how typically male that last sentence is, but it’s true. I love the female form.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a girlfriend and there isn’t a woman who compares, but it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a transparent dress or hotpants here and there. Well, unless it’s on a 300lb munter…..or a man.

I always think it’s a shame that our nation’s weather causes the fairer sex to cover themselves up, usually in multiple layers for a large part of the year.

But in summer it’s a different story and it’s interesting to see the assortment of clothing that emerges from the underused summer wardrobes of England.

As I walked from the station to the office this morning I noticed a girl coming the other way. She was in heels, had toned legs, a short skirt that wasn’t slutty but still drew stares, a very fitted shirt with enough open buttons for ample cleavage, flawless make-up, sumptuous long brown hair and sunglasses…all wrapped up in a little wiggle that made it impossible not to watch her, whether you’re male or female.

In short, she was really quite cute.

I could see she was talking on her phone as she had her head cocked sideways; wedging it between her ear and her shoulder. She was fumbling with something in her hands.

As she got closer I saw that it was a packet of Imodium.

Fail