There’s been a crash. Accidental or incidental I don’t know. The once open road is now crammed with HGV’s, promiscuously moving along. The blame must go to a woman. It’s not just a cliché about the way women drive; it’s a FACT. Life experiences, the past, present and guaranteed in the future.
My mum crashed my dad’s van in to a ditch. My Sister failed her driving test 8 times. My cousin failed her theory test 10 times. My girlfriend doesn’t drive and her sister and mum are not best drivers out there.
I find myself involuntary added to a game of snake, I’m not in control, I’m a very small part of the snake, somewhere trapped in the middle. The person tapping away has smashed the record. The queue goes further then my eyes can see; I look behind, seems like the front; some wicked illusion or acid trip.
My bladder becomes cramped, narrow; I need to pee. As a rule, men pull over without hesitation and empty with ease; no stage, no audience, like Pauls loo.
I move forward, a couple of inches, a cough.
Jealously is in the air, the opposite side is clear, empty, tarmac waiting to be touched.
Bladder tightens, I’m almost dribbling.
After an hour or so, I finally creep past the problem, a woman, crying, shrivelled, being comforted by a MAN; policeman. Her car, crushed, retired, forced into a brick wall on the side of the A1. Clever Cunt.
This is just one of many things in life that makes me seriously want to leave the country to seek a stress free environment. Where? I’m not sure yet but only time, experience and mistakes will tell.
Tomorrow I’ll be testing out Venice. No cars, no traffic jams, no fucking women drivers! Sounds delightful. I’ll be back over the weekend, but for now arrivederci.
It’s time to dig deep, push through to the unknown and donate those small, non shiny coins that are synonymous with tramps, hookers and students to me. Yep. DONATE your loose change to me. I’m flashing my Tache for Movember and need your help. This is the first charitable thing I’ve done this year, so give a tache a hand and DONATE what you can. Here is what it looks like so far.
I’m well against anything Christmas until its December. Not October or November! Each year its being publicly aired and displayed way too early! Fuck off DFS! FUCK OFF Carnaby Street and the rest of you imbeciles out there. You know who you are; the ones who have their decorations up, flashing lights, fake snow and not to mention fucking SANTA CLAUS. Give the guy a break. He’s deserves it (that’s my good boy act sorted for this year.) It’s a fucking disgrace if you ask me. Call me Scrooge and I’ll retort with Cuntbag.
But here I go, breaking my rant with a Christmas post, with these fictitious, dark, satirical set of images by Rob Sheridan. Undoubtedly this is my favorite.
Today I found myself gravitating towards the dark and mundane aspect of life. The practical side. Lucky enough it’s no bigger, yet. Fashion; size 10 trainers to be more precise. A little more precise, the colour. The once easy decision now becomes a massive task.
I’m no WKW or WTDW but I’m reasonably poised somewhere in between those fashion icons.
My dilemma takes place at Size, Carnaby Street. I stand before the mahoosive mirror, posture like supermodel, high heels replaced by Puma Steppers; black on the right foot, electric blue on the left. What colour to choose?
After a good 10 minutes of executing every possible trainer position, I experience a judder; the ones that make you shake uncontrollably for 10 seconds; epileptic fit style. I randomly ask myself which of the two colours were more practical. Yep, Dad alert.
Winter is here, I say to myself. I carry on talking in my mind…the pavements will soon become drenched with dirt. Currently leaves are congregating on paths up and down the country, causing people to slip thus resulting in scuffed footwear; happened to me the other day. Then we have the rain. When the two mix, all types of shit appear.
Not the best of environments for the whitest of white plimsoll cretins you find drinking ale in the grottiest pubs in Shoreditch and Dalston.
Black does not emit or reflect light and I feel it will have the same effect, but with dirt through the winter pain. The colour blue will buckle and become tired and confused after the first couple of outings.
Another reason I had to think old, wise and practical is that I want a pair of dunks that I can wear with smart clobber; shirt and tie. Blue would just look a little too ‘try hard.’
With this knowledge, I take one more look down then look up to see the chic who served me waiting impatiently, all this time. If I was white, I’d be blushing. I point towards the black pair. I’m greeted with a pissed off presumption look in her eyes, like she knew I was always going be ‘practical’ and go for the black pair.
What did she know? She looked like a confused EMO crossed with a Spaniard. Several metal hoops, studs peculiarly dotted around her face; a beautiful face, destroyed by a fad and potentially neglected by her parents. The kind of girl who gets her clit pierced.
I’m looking forward to testing the dunks out with some outfits. We’ll see if I change my mind and go for the blue, mmmmm.
Grantham is my hood and this is where I be for the rest of the week, as I attempt to write my first mini, factual, insightful adventure. First I need to get into the mood so I whip off my socks to unleash those size 10 surfboards and lay them to rest on the spongy cream carpet. There is a cup of Tetley Tea to my right, and a couple of ‘Nice’ biscuits to my left. I’m ready.
The adventure will be called, ‘London to Edinburgh via York, Pickering, Grosmont, Whitby, Middlesbrough, Newcastle.’
It’s time to put all those letters, words and fragmented sentences to use. Good use. I’ve never written an adventure before so I’m not sure how long it will take. I’m hoping to get this done within a couple of weeks. Want to get it right.In the mean time, feast your eyes on some photography that I captured during my trek up north.
O yeah, I almost forgot again. We won gold at the Campaign Big Awards for our Barclaycard Waterslide online work, including the i-Phone game. You can see the moment captured on CCTV below.
October’s here and has almost flown past like the brown autumn leave that hit my face last night. 15 days holiday still registered in the green old school hardback folder that has a smell of the 90s.
What to do, where to go and who to see with my days of pleasure?
Budget ‘was’ tight so I thought I’d do my bit for the planet and wallet by travelling local’ish’. After weeks of booking, then cancelling my plans are finally saved.
Tomorrow morning I make my way up towards Whitby, via York. The reason being or not so ‘human’ being is that I’m going to track down Dracula. Yep, you know the blood lusting guy with those awfully sharp teeth! He made an appearance in Whitby. Check out the tour held by Harry Collett, also listen to THIS. I’ll also taste the best fish n chips in the world – I can’t wait.
The next day my journey continues further up north. I’ll be cautious from this point on. Firstly, it’s going to get cold and secondly I hear coloured people aren’t ‘that’ welcome. Middlesbrough. I’m here for an hour. A lot could happen, but I’ll be wise whilst I wait for the train to Newcastle. I hear lots of great things about New-castleman, night life, tits… anyways. 20 minutes connection time, down a few beers and possibly munch on a pie. Next stop Edinburgh.
Nothing planned on the Friday, maybe just ‘hang out’ here and there, get to know the locals and also try to find ‘pubic triangle.’ I’ll keep this for myself for now, but could be interesting. The next day I go on a mammoth 12 hour tour of Scotland. Check it out HERE. AFTER, I’ll spend my last night hear with the locals.
There was a reason behind my northern adventure but now I’ve left it open to see what I come back with. A short film, mock-documentary was always in the mole-skin. Hope it lives on. I’ve never been to these places before so it’s about the experience I’m going to gain whilst throwing my little rear, deep in to unknown shit. Could work, could fail. At least I gave it a go.
My only friends are a flip cam, Lumix, Holga and my macbook.
O yeah, how could I forget!
Tonight I’m off…
… wearing these
Keep those testicles crossed for tonight and my little adventure. Let’s just hope I don’t get too shitfaced and miss my 8am train!
The following are actual stories provided by travel agents:
I got a call from a man who asked, “Is it possible to see England from Canada?” I said, “No.” He said “But they look so close on the map.”
I just got off the phone with a man who asked, “How do I know which plane to get on?” I asked him what exactly he meant, which he replied, “I was told my flight number is 823, but none of these darn planes have numbers on them.”
