Today I was reminded of something that hadn’t come up in a while. A friend at work had said that it was “the right time” to do something. Generally people are obsessed with the wrong time, like the wrong time of the year to be jumping into rivers dressed like Bonnie Langford or the wrong place and the wrong time because you chose that Sunday when your nan was visiting to announce that you enjoyed sticking cellotape to your armpit and ripping it off like He Man. I don’t remember the last time when I thought something was happening at the right time but it almost happens every day.
My alarm goes off at the right time (because I set it for the right time). I go for lunch at the right time (because I chose one o’clock so the day didn’t drag on it’s a*se). I take a shower between eating and shooting zombies for fun (because I had a small window of twenty minutes). All these things take place at the right time. They all also had my subconscious hand in setting them off. I could easily shower in the morning however that is the time I’ve set aside for complaining about having to go to work and continually flipping the pillow over for the cold side because it feels better on my face. I could theoretically have my lunch at the awkward time of 3pm but if I did not only would I f*ck up everyone else’s plans but also I would have to wait six hours from the start of the working day to get anything to eat, as well as this what kind of d*ckhead lets someone go for lunch in the middle of the afternoon?
I’m actually writing this at the right time. It’s half seven, I’m sat in the pub waiting for the quiz to start and nobody else is here yet although the way the two Scottish lads in the corner are staring at me like I’m a t*rd in their pint is making me think that this is the wrong time…
(originally written Tuesday)
December 20th, 2009
Ian
PUMP!
December 19th, 2009
Kevil
As I write this there is a reindeer trying to steal my biscuits, Ian is playing a tune on a mushroom and Sarah is sulking because she doesn’t have the mushroom.
BTW Reuben isn’t going to get the magic skateboard he wanted for chirstmas.
Sarah still wants the mushroom.
December 18th, 2009
Kevil
Gerry used to have a great job.
“It was my life, and I loved everything about it. That job was me and I still am that job. If it was that easy to let go I would have done a long time ago. I really would.”
Gerry is a giant. Between 1987 and 1999 his legs were the tunnel just before the turn off for High Wycombe on the M40 in the South of England. Not many people are aware that the Government employed giants in this capacity to cover large sections of roads.
“Originally it was to save money with construction costs. They told us that it took twenty years to build a tunnel and we believed them. It was only later that we found out the figures were wrong, that they’d lied to us. The workers who were going to be employed to make the tunnels would throw rubbish at us as they drove past shouting, “Job stealers!” and “Faddy Long Legs!” but it’s hard to hear anything when they’re shooting past you at 90mph. I thought they were gloating about their facial hair.”
Gerry still looks back on those twelve years with a lot of fondness and warmth. A lot of his friends were also employed in the same scheme.
“Samantha was the overpass on the M5 near Bristol. Danny would double as the tunnel near Birmingham city centre and that one as you come out of Manchester depending on what day it was. My best friend Liam was only a few miles down the road from me and we’d spend most of the afternoon talking about sheep. Liam loved sheep.”
When the budget cuts were announced in the summer of 1999 a lot of what the government considered to be unnecessary services were abandoned including penguin traffic cones, squirrel dusters in the House of Commons and the Giant bridges. Gerry was the last to go having done it the longest. He remembers vividly the last day.
“I didn’t want to do it anymore. I had lasted all that time and this was the only day I didn’t want to do it. I kept picking up cars and using them to pick my nose. A few people were shocked, they had never realised it was a giant and not a tunnel. They ran screaming from their vehicles. The army were almost called in until Jimmy Saville, running his thirtieth marathon that year, stepped in and sorted out the situation. I still owe him a pint.”
Since leaving Gerry has had a varied and ultimately unsatisfying series of jobs that never quite capture the imagination and thrills he experienced from being a tunnel. It is something that practically none of us will ever fully know about.
December 17th, 2009
Ian
F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ckpiles! F*cking F*ck of a slow F*ck Computer! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! F*ck! Sh*tstain Mother F*ck!
December 16th, 2009
Ian
Oh yes, this is pukka. No doubt about it.
No cheating involved. No Siree.
December 15th, 2009
Kevil
Episode 23 – If I Were You, I Wouldn’t Want To Know You
During a fatal ice skating accident in which three dwarves, presumably looking for Santa, are maimed by a falling electrical pylon, Sir Chester Lester manages to frame Vixen Hawk for the aggrevious error and sends her into hiding. Whilst hiding Vixen must face several home truths including the concern she has about the mysterious door in her mum’s cellar that leads to suspicious surroundings. Then there’s also all those picked body parts clogging up the freezer. Then there’s also the man from the Council who claims he’s Vixen’s estranged father and that he would have been back sooner were it not for the amount of paperwork after the 1979 boating gala confusion and general filing over the last ten years.
Meanwhile Sir Chester Lester, with nobody to hold him back, goes on a rampage across the many eateries within a three mile radius, stopping only to take in a show between mouthfuls of chaos! Vixen is stuck at a crossroads. Literally. The traffic is so bad on the M17 that she can’t even reach the top of OD Cliff for a dramatic “what should I do” cliffhanger pout of multi-national proportions. But she doesn’t have to for by the time she gets to the scene it’s all over! Another mysterious character draped in tea towels and sporting a ridiculous Australian accent has single-handidly put Sir Chester Lester behind bars and vanquished his cronies to the far nether regions.
The man moves forward to shake Vixen’s hand, but can he be trusted?
December 14th, 2009
Ian
Raspberries
Raspberries.
When you draw them they look like grapes, grapes
I don’t draw them anymore
I can’t draw them anymore
I can’t stand them anymore
They ruined my life
Those damn raspberries.
Arthur “Lemon” Lemonson
December 13th, 2009
Ian
Sometimes I wonder if the way I look really influences how people are around me. I am quite a self-conscious person at the best of times but as a father there are certain expectations about me i.e. to have a large repetoire of shitty jokes, to dance in a wild and unexplained fashion at parties and to generally embarass myself at every available opportunity. Hmmm; apart from the first one pretty accurate so far.
On the way into town today I realised that all of the dads were funny-looking. One, clutching a can of Pepsi and discussing Jean Reno films with his son, had a large, dark beard and Ali G sunglasses. Another was clad in a faded denim jacket, awful cod-Australian hat (sans corks) and a ponytail. All of a sudden I felt immediately relieved about my impossibly short haircut that I had gone through with just a few days before, even if it doesn’t suit me and will take at least six weeks to get it back to an acceptable length. Those dads stand out for the wrong reasons. I stand out because I don’t look or act like what has come to be referred to as a “normal” dad. It made me proud to be able to stand so proudly at the expense of others for a change. Then I remembered I can’t drive and I don’t have a pension.
For those reasons the weird ones, all the weird ones including Ali G and ponytail, towered over me with their big shoes, laughing like raspberries. They can keep it though if it means a terrible taste in fashion and listening to the Eagles.
December 12th, 2009
Ian
Good Evening and welcome to another re-treading into the musical myriad mastery of a very cynical and well-worn individual who’s views have been described as bordering on “impressive”.
Besides this hasn’t been aired for a while and there have been so many who have passed through the charts, by the radar and then disappeared into obscurity just as fast. Sigh. Kate Nash, where are you now? Married to a Crib? Fair enough.
Tonight’s eyes fall on the lovely Tula “Tulisa” Contostavlos from Kevin’s favourite group N-Dubz. According to Wikipedia, because this is where I get most of my general knowledge, Miss Contostavlos is of Greek and Irish heritage and by far the prettiest member of the group. Hands down. You might think she was drafted in to fill up the hottie side of things but she more than pulls her weight with fellow band mates Dappy and erm Fazer.
That said I can’t really admit to any sort of admiration for the group in the slightest. With lyrics like, “Like a crack baby being born addicted to the needle, So much evil in people, Dappy said it 1st so I guess that im the sequel,” and “A-List, Play list, Even My Mums Famous, I Would Do Anythin’ for Some Source Stadium Status,” they’re not really going for an Ivor Novello but hey, who wants one of them? Snow Patrol got one. Tut tut Ivor Novello…
You won’t find me playing it. You will however find me staring at Tulisa at every available opportunity.
(picture borrowed from femalefirst.co.uk)
December 11th, 2009
Ian
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