Jamaican me too hot

During a recent work trip to Jamaica, I was faced with an issue I’ve struggled with in the USA, but in reverse.

Allow me to explain….

In the US, temperature is measured in Fahrenheit, whereas in the UK (and the rest of the known world) it’s measured in Celsius. This has been a pain in the arse [ass] over the last 4 years trying to manually figure out the temperature by removing 30 and then halving it.

No, really!

For example, if the temperature is 100 degrees Fahrenheit, I deduct 30 (making it 70 degrees), then I halve it, leaving me with 35(ish) degrees Celsius.

It’s not an exact science, but it gives me something to reference quickly so i’m not a clueless twat almost every day; I leave that to everyone else around me.

So what does this have to do with my trip to Jamaica?

Well, in my hotel room the air conditioning unit was in Celsius. You’d think this would be easy for a Brit, but I have only ever used A/C in the USA and therefore only ever adjusted temperatures in Fahrenheit because England is cold enough to adequately retract a scrotum. As a result, there has never been a need to have air conditioning in the UK. If you want to cool down your gaff [house], you simply open a window, or a door, or turn off the heating.

So with this in mind, you can imagine the irony of having to reverse engineer the mathematics so I could figure out the temperature in Fahrenheit so I knew which temperature to select in Celsius to cool the room down.

Seriously, I couldn’t make this up.

Being a Brit in America can still be a ballsache at times, retracted or otherwise.

Literally figurative

One of the girls at work is feeling a little under the weather today.  She has come out with some choice comments [1].

Firstly we had:

“What is sneezing, exactly?”

This was later followed up with:

“D’you know what?  After this cold is gone, I’m really going to appreciate my nose”

Then we got:

“D’you know what I can’t wait to do tonight?  Have a shower and blow my nose in my hands”

But the worst had to be:

“Oh my god, I feel like shit.  I am literally dying”

Bad use of grammar always grits my shit.

She wasn’t literally dying.  Not unless you count the fact that, technically, we’re all dying from the moment we’re born.

But, let’s be honest, she didn’t mean it like that

No, she was saying that her grim demise was fast approaching solely because of her cold.

This misuse of the word ‘literally’ really bothered me because it simply wasn’t true.

So I stabbed her.


[1] Bollocks

Fuck ‘n’ Awesome

Arrived at London Victoria station to see my train had been cancelled.


But I was earlier than usual so I could jump on a slightly earlier train and still make my connection near home.


The train was packed solid with commuters having the same idea as me.


And yet I found a seat!


But due to the train not taking the exact same route as my usual service, I forgot to get off at Three Bridges station which resulted in me having to go all the way to Haywards Heath.


Yet thankfully there was a train back to Three Bridges in about 6 minutes.


I jumped on and the train took us 98% of the way before stopping at a red signal just outside Three Bridges for about 12 minutes.


When we finally pulled into the station I could see that a train going my way was on the other platform and was delayed. If I ran I could make it!


This run involved going down a slope, under the railway track and back up some stairs. I was wearing shoes that ‘clip clopped’ quite loudly to alert people that I was fast approaching. Most didn’t move aside; including a short fat butch dyke looking bitch who tutted me as I raced by.  Eat a dick.

I missed the train by about 3 seconds.


Its freezing cold, dark and I now have a 20 minute wait ahead of me.

Whine and complain?



Buzz off!!

This cold frosty morning I left the house, locked up as usual and walked the length of my garden towards the locked gate at the end.

Whilst unlocking I noticed a massive fly sitting on the side of the gate, a mere inches from my face.

I hate flies.

I don’t have a genuine fear of them like I do spiders, or sharks, or commitment; I just hate their lack of respect for other people’s property, or people on general.

I’ve never really liked them as a child either. I remember family trips to Sicily as a child and swatting away fly after fly after fly because I was eating something like a peach, only to realise it was the same fucking fly every time. Honestly they’re more tenacious than those clipboarded twats in the high street with the dreadlocks and a smile that suggests they had a little more than sugar sprinkled on their cornflakes.

I recall one fly who was adamant he was going to land on my leg. I could feel him taking a stroll through my leg hair under the table so I jiggled my leg and the hair tickling stopped, only to start again a second later. I jiggled again; same result. I looked down and saw him rubbing his hands together like an evil scientist concocting a diabolical plan.  I now waved him away with my hand and watched him fly off about 8 inches and then fly straight back and land back in the same spot. This went on at least another 3 or 4 times.

“Bruv, look at this”

My brother came over and I showed him what was happening. At first he shrugged and seemed unimpressed, but soon enough he started to see the funny side of this boomeranging bastard who just wouldn’t leave me alone.

I, on the other hand, had stopped seeing the funny side.

“Shoo` (waves fly away)
Lands back on my leg.
‘Get off” (waves fly away)
Lands back on my leg.
“Seriously, bugger off!” (waves fly away)
Lands back on my leg.
“What the? Sod off you little shit!” (waves fly away more violently)
Lands back on my leg.
“FUCK OFF!! ” (starts attempting to slap the fly, and misses)
Lands back on my leg.
‘GET THE FUCK OFF MY LEG YOU LITTLE BASTARD!” (I start slapping the shit out of my leg despite the fact that the fly had departed the moment I’d raised my hand)

Lands back on my leg.


It was at this point I got up and ran out of the room with a sore leg and a brother rolling around on the floor with laughter.

I realise I’m not alone in this as I often see animals in documentaries getting swarmed by the little gits, and don’t get me started on those images of children in third world countries with flies in their eyes. Their eyes!

But my disdain of these winged wankers was sealed the day I found one sleeping in my bowl of spaghetti. My dad said it was dead, but whatever. Of all the places to shuffle off the mortal coil, why choose my lunch? There was no way I was eating it now, despite my dad insisting it wouldn’t kill me.  I know that flies like to eat poo and I’m not eating anything that has been in contact with something that’s been in contact with poo.

They’re unpredictable, unhygienic, shit eating bastards and I hate them.

So, whilst I was unlocking my gate this morning, I watched this fly intently.  I was expecting him to suddenly fly at my face or land on my leg.


The gate was unlocked and the fly was still sitting there. Interesting. This one was brave.

I opened the gate which I knew would make him fly off (a rare predictability), but no. He didn’t fly off. He fell off.

Yes, that’s right. He fell off.

He was frozen solid.

I grinned all the way to the car.