A thought that’s been buzzing around a while. 

I want to know why, after millions of years of evolution, natural selection and the survival of the fittest, do flies still not ‘get’ glass and twat themselves repeatedly against it in a vain bid for freedom; even when you’ve opened the bloody window!? 

No wonder they land on shit.

It’s all they’re good for.

Buzzy little bastards.

A toilet observation, on the fly

Well, it’s been a while since I’ve written anything. As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, this is mainly due to nothing happening in the jobless lead up to emigrating to America.

Have I  mentioned that I’m moving to Las Vegas?

No, I probably haven’t….over and over and over again.

Anyway, last night my wife and I were at a restaurant rubbing our joy in people’s faces when I decided to visit the restroom (yes, I said ‘restroom’; I’m getting into practice because I know Americans will have difficulty with ‘bog’, ‘carsey’, ‘gents’ and probably even ‘lavatory’ and ‘toilet’).

I walked into the bathroom (still practicing) and walked to the urinals.

Ladies, there is an unwritten rule that you never stand next to another man having a piss unless you have no choice; you should always leave a space of at least one urinal between you.

Well, I had no choice on this visit as there were three urinals and the middle one was occupied. There’s nothing more comfortable and lacking in awkwardness than standing shoulder to shoulder with another man holding his penis.

Thankfully as I started taking care of business, he concluded his and began to zip up his fly.

I wasn’t watching him by the way, but I was so close to him I would’ve been able to tell you how much change he had in his pocket.


However, this guy was taking forever to do such a simple task. This was mostly because he’d undone every fucking button on his jeans, including his belt, so he was now painstakingly taking forever to sort himself out.

Come on man, learn how to use your fly. You only need to undo a few buttons to unleash the beast.

To drink juice from a carton, you open up a flap at the top to get at the contents; you don’t open the entire thing at the seams!

What next?


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.