Teenage Pregnancy Implementation Manager. Have you got the balls to do this job?

As the 2009 approaches, some people will be thinking of new year's resolutions, some will have already started getting bladdered and some will be doing other things.

I have decided that in the new year, I am going to bring happiness to the world. And I shall do this by, every day until I get bored, giving you a joke from my 'sick jokes' joke book. Some of them are quite sick. Dead babies, paedophilia and general light-hearted bigotry might be involved. You have been warned.

Respiration Training

I was told today that it is possible that I may have to have wheelchair training - essentially, how to push something. I'm glad that the help is there. I've been struggling all of my life so far. Doors present a real problem.

Vent

This post is for my benefit, not yours.

Oh, cock.

First off all, I saw this story here. I then saw this one, here. Same news source, only one month has passed. Did the Beeb miss something here?

Ha ha

Why is your kidney mean?

It always takes the piss out of you.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/player/nol/newsid_7250000/newsid_7253800/7253819.stm?bw=bb&mp=wm&news=1&nol_storyid=7253819&bbcws=1

At last

11:00 11/11

In this commemorative post I would like to bring to attention the people who have died in wars so that we can sit here on the internet in comfortable chairs.

I have always had a respect for the armed forces, partly because a fair few of my family members are in them, but mostly because anyone who doesn't is an ignorant half-wit. Whether war should happen or not is irrelevant, but the people who form the forces are willing to give the ultimate sacrifice for people who possibly will never hear of them. Such selflessness is not often found, and is to be revered.

And so, at precisely 11:00, on the 11th of the 11th - right now, in fact - we should all just take a couple of minutes to remember them. So stop reading this tripe, and remember.

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

Just for you

Being decidedly lacking in any interesting thoughts of late, I thought I would give you a bunch of quotations to either inspire you, make you laugh, or make you die in disappointment at how rubbish they are. Try not to make a mess.

1) "Cats don't have opposable thumbs - incidentally, this is why they can't flush the loo."

2) "It is necessary only for the good of man to do nothing for evil to triumph."

3) "All roads lead to McDonalds."

4) "Why do you think the SAS are based at Hereford? Is it so they can catch the Welsh crossing the border?"

5) "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on."

6) "My dad always used to say, 'If you're falling off a cliff, you may as well try to fly. You have nothing to lose.'"

7) "When you reach for the stars, you may not get one, but you won't come up with a hand full of mud, either."

8) "Experience is a hard teacher, because she gives the test first, the lesson afterwards."

9) "Given Amy Winehouse's drugs problems, it is a delicious irony that her debut album was entitled, 'Frank'."

10) "Everything worth doing can be done better from a place of relaxation."

11) Hearing Aid + Normal Hearing = Superhuman Sonar Man.

12) "If God really wanted us to believe in him, he'd exist."

13) "Revenge is a dish best served cold. Unless it's arson, in which case it's probably best hot."

14) "DFS would make more money advertising when their sale starts than when it ends."

15) If you've ever yearned to see the mixture of confusion, suspicion and fear which gripped people when electricity was demonstrated for the first time, simply watch how the Jeremy Kyle audience reacts when a guest mentions the internet.

HA!

I have just looked up some train times prices. I want a return that spans two days (Monday-Tuesday). To buy two single tickets will cost me £4.80. For a return, £375.00.

HA!

Stupid peice of rubbish headphones

My mp3 player has a stupid 2.5mm headphone jack (the norm is 3.5mm). This means that it's somewhat difficult to find headphones that fit and are decent. I thought I had tracked some down. Alas, 'twas not to be. They have now a) broken and b) made my ear hurt. If anyone has some 2.5mm headphones or £399.99 so I can buy an iPhone, I will be eternally grateful.

I didn't do anything

In the recent spate of 'I hate public transport' posts, I would just like to protest my innocence and state that I never ranted about public transport. I merely stated in an MSN name that it had flaws ("the only problem with public transport is the public. And the transport.") I did not begin an endless tirade of spite towards the various people involved in the provision of transport for the people.

So now, I will do my bit. I do not like public transport. I find it annoying that my life needs to be dictated by a little piece of paper. However, for a system which must do that and that is probably quite underfunded, it is good at what it does. We expect buses to be late, and so make allowances and alternatives. I also like to take an example of a wonderful idea called a 'book.' The trains are expensive and some of them are falling apart, but they get us from A to B (most of the time). The London Underground is not at all like the song.

Public transport could be considerably better, but it is not attrocious, and is certainly better than the transportation methods that I have seen in some places.

The Public, however, are not so forgivable. I understand that people work hard, have had long days and just want to go home, but whatever time it is, I cannot abide bad manners, and so if people are rude I get irritated quickly, and will retort. Loudly.

So long as you don't take any crap on the transport, they are tolerable. I think everyone should stop moaning and have a cup of tea instead.

Incidentally, Bernie, rather than burning your face off with antiseptic, there is this wonderful invention called 'soap.' You may find it less painful. Alternatively, if some random guy tries to touch you, just whack him. I know you're weak, but that's why God gave women stilettos and men eyes. They should meet.

It's going to go wrong.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/3188748/Bugs-to-be-brought-in-to-control-foreign-superweed-invading-the-UK.html

Is it just me who thinks that this is going to end badly? We shall soon be taken over by evil bug monsters. I, however, have a plan. Don't bring them here. Just use some powerful Roundup. All shall be fine.

Oops...what does that do?

After discussing it today, I worked out that by the time I go to medical school (if all goes well), I will have had next to no dissection experience, just a heart and a kidney. I will then be expected to cut up a dead human being. Should be interesting.

Actually, I can't wait.

Incidentally, experiments make me hungry.

Hang on a minute.

I have been thinking, and have reached a conclusion. Global Warming should in fact reduce sea levels.

When an object is placed in a fluid, water is displaced (Archimede's Principle: "any body fully or partially submerged in a fluid is buoyed up by a force equal to the weight of the fluid displaced.") Water is the only substance that gets larger when frozen. Around 90% of an iceberg is underwater. Therefore, when an iceberg (or the polar ice caps) melt, the 90% that is in the water is decreasing is size. The 10% that is above the water line does contribute to rising sea levels, but this is dramatically out-done by the 90% underwater to counter this. As a result, the volume of the water decreases, creating a decrease in sea levels.

Clearly, I must be wrong, because everyone else says that sea levels are going to drown and Norfolk will become the new Atlantis, but I think it's quite a good hypothesis, apart from the fact that it was poorly worded. If anyone can point out why I'm wrong, I would be most grateful.

Update: I've worked out why I'm wrong. Water expands as it heats in addition to when it freezes. Oops.

I'd never thought of that...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/7648460.stm

My gosh. The thought had never occurred to me. People who spend more time off sick die younger. Breakthrough of the century.

Seeing red

I hate traffic lights.

Damn

The fact that I've not posted for a while is an indication that, absurdly and contrary to all experience, I'm not grumpy about anything.

However, this post signifies an end to the silence that you had been enjoying. And the culprit is someone who should be making me happy: Tesco.

We, that is my mother, booked an order online to be delivered to my door. It is not a complicated process, and because of this, all was good. Until the time of the delivery arrived. My mother was out, and so I was going to have to accept the delivery, which would not cause a problem, I have done so in the past for Tesco, the Post Office and various other respectable establishments.

And yet, I am not sat here eating biscuits. Because the man was insistent that an adult be present. Technically, he was right to do this, but I don't care. He is still a fool. I'm not terribly good at suffering fools. I tend to get peeved at them. That is why peace is broken. The man in the van from Tesco. Blame him.

Ahhh

I like polishing shoes. I find it relaxing. Just thought I'd share.

Yay

If you are reading this, then I am a genius of the technological age. If not, I'm a failure, but you don't know, so I don't care.

Oh, and I've just arrived at Hills Road. Yay.

Preparation and a warning

Tomorrow is the induction day for Hills Road, my educational home for the next two years, and I thought it might be something of a good idea to be a bit prepared. This includes pens, a notepad, a pencil and...well, that's about it. If there's drawing to be done, and it's not of a dissected organ, then I won't be found in that subject. Therefore, colouring pencils will not be needed.

I thought that this would be relatively simple. I would just nip into W H Smith and buy them. Of course not. The lunacy of the things you can buy is astounding. Fountain pens for £65.00. And many others, for other amounts, that don't work any better but show you to be a bit of a prick who things that this pen that looks a touch snazzier than that one is worth an extra £62.00. It isn't, assure you.

Then there are notepads. This is where I got rather annoyed indeed. Quite why we need so many, I simply cannot work out. I don't give a rat's arse whether the cover has pretty multi-coloured lines, concentric circles or a picture of Mike Tyson, so long as it is full of A4 paper. And yet pads that are plain and the right size are small in number. I do not care for annoying colours. This book is going to be ripped apart and put in folders, or filled with complex formulae. There will be no unicorns or Mr. Men, so why should there be on the cover?

As you may be able to tell, I am not impressed by W H Smith. However, the final straw that made me want to shout a lot (more than usual, anyway) was a W H Smith at Waterloo Station. In fact two, maybe even three W H Smith at Waterloo Station. This is the station I travel through to visit my Dad, and I have to wait there for a bit, so I grab one of the free papers and do the crossword, or the sudoku. There was a time when I forgot my pen, so I thought, 'Oh, I'll just go and buy one.' Or not, as I later discovered. In all three, there was not a pen in sight. This is supposedly a stationery store. I was appalled. I bought my wine gums and left in disgust.

Be warned, people of the internet. W H Smith is bollocks. Patronise Rymans instead.

Dilemma

It is a problem that is spoken of fairly frequently in this post-feminist world of ours: if you're not sure whether a woman is pregnant or a fatty, should you give your seat up? I feel that the answer is obvious, and that you should give up your seat.

You cannot lose in this situation. If the person is pregnant, then you look polite and the pregnant woman is able to rest. If she's just fat, then she is a fatty, and therefore doesn't have feelings. Like ogres. Or, in the rare event that she does have feelings, then she gets upset, and perhaps loses weight, saving both her life and taxpayer's money. As I said, you can't lose.

Programming...Failed.

'Embarassing Illnesses' is a programme on Channel 4 which features, rather surprisingly, people with embarassing illnesses. I find it quite interesting, which perhaps just goes to show what sort of a person I am, but I am always left wondering why people apply to be featured on this programme.

As far as I can tell, it isn't for money, as you don't get paid, and we have a superb state-funded healthcare system in England.

It also can't be for the outstanding treatment you receive, for your bog-standard, run-of-the-mill, corduroy GP could do exactly the same.

No, the reason, I have decided, is that people are so desparate to have their 15 minutes of fame that they will happily show their multi-coloured tongues or wonky John Thomas on national television. I think that this is a hugely sorry state of affairs.

I struggle to understand this perplexing desire, and it's not for want of trying. I simply cannot get why we are so wrapped up with the celeb culture. Piers Morgan is, supposedly, a celebrity, but that doesn't stop me from thinking that he is an untillegent cock who was probably the victim of a lot of buggery at public school, out of spite.

Even the Queen - she's just a lady who happens to be on some money and stamps.

The world will improve hugely when people realise that Victoria Beckham really is a stick, all footballers do is kick a bladder, Janet Street-Porter is a weird thing consisting mainly of teeth and a stupid surname, and Ben Affleck didn't really single-handedly save the world when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbour, in reality he jumped about for a bit next to a fan and then went and sat in a caravan. And I could have produced a more scintillating programme than Big Brother with a bucket of plasticine and a spoon.

Shut up

I generally don't like the Labour Party. Whilst they have had some awful luck recently, they've bollocksed everything up and I will be pleased when they lose the next election. However, I'm glad to see that someone in there has a sense of humour. In response to a 50,000-strong petition to have Jeremy Clarkson as the Prime Minister, someone spent a little time making this video response. Well done to them, I say.

And then, with a disgraceful display of maturity, the Tories knocked it down. I like the Tories. Chances are, when the time comes, I shall be voting for Mr Cameron and his band of merry-men. But at this time, I want them to pull their heads out of their arses and joke along with the Labour chaps. It would make them look good and would stop me being angry. Stupid prats.

Everywhere

Myleene Klass seems to be presenting just about everything on the Beeb at the moment. I'm not complaining, she's not exactly hard on the eyes, but I wish she would be a little more selective. She's appears to have replaced Julian Clary as the de facto host for all Strictly Come Choiring on Ice type programmes. I got bored of him too.

Genetics

Evolution isn't all good. I happen to have, for exmaple, two weird little toes (not on the same foot), from my father's side. From my father himself (possibly, it could be just bad luck), I have a crappy knee.

And the most annoying ailment caused by genetics is not the painful knee (which can be ingnored), but rather the intermittent shakes that I got from my mother. She always shakes, whereas I am sometimes steady and sometimes not. Now is one of the not moments. It is so bad it is making it difficult to type. On Friday, it was difficult to eat. I like to eat. Stupid inherited features.

Hnad eye co-odrinatoin.

Scientists have discovered a link between clumsiness and obesity.

I can destroy that theory with one simple fact: it's bollocks.

I have awful hand-eye coordination. This is partly because my eyes don't work properly and partly because I just happen to have bad hand-eye coordination. Despite this, I cannot be compared to a whale. I am a suitable weight for my age and height, am fairly healthy and intend to stay this way. All of this has been achieved whilst stepping nowhere near a sports fiield, gym or swimming pool. Do you want to know my secret? If not, tough. The reason behind my health is something that I like to call 'walking.' What you do is you put one leg in front of the other and move. It's not hard. I learnt to do it when I was just over a year old.

I also happen to have a walk that conserves energy. I am told that myself, my brother and my father all walk in the same way, a sort of march that fully utilises our leg lengths. And looks a bit odd.

In fact, I can happen to think of reasons for clumsy children to be even more healthy. When Average "Rarely-Stubs-His-Toe" Joe eats dinner, he eats normally and quickly, no problems. When Mr Clumsy eats dinner, it takes him ages to get the peas onto his fork, then he hits them into his cheek, so he has to get up and wash his face. He sits down and repeats. Curiously, he hasn't heard of a napkin.

I have a suggestion. The scientists who conducted this study were looking at the wrong thing. When they were observing how hard it was for a child to pick up matches and comparing this to how much of a porker they were, they should have been looking at the person's plate. This would give a much more simple reason for why they had a waistband the size of Borneo.

Eek

I have discovered that Gordon Brown had an uncle with the surname Souter. Oh dear. I hope that 'Souter' is the scottish equivalent of 'Smith.'

Pathetic

For the past week, my step-father's grandson has been staying with us, in London to see the sights and in Cambridge to...do something else. It has been quite a good week, the little man in question is a nice little man, and there is something else. Something that has annoyed me. That is the fact that I have spent money, and therefore can't buy a games console.

I have been nagged about the fact that my trusty PS1 is not the most up-to-date piece of technology for quite some time, but having had a PSP with GTA Vice City in it to hand for most of the week, I want one. And I don't trust ebayers that much with anything above around £20.

There is only one down-side to playing with this PSP. I have injured myself. By playing to much, I have managed to get RSI in my right thumb. What a pathetic ailment that is. I am quite ashamed, to be honest. The time has come for me to take heed of my medical advice to anyone and everyone: amputate. Posts might take longer in the future.

Update: apparently, this isn't that uncommon. RSI in children is up 35% in the UK, with some children having to go to hospital. With that, I don't think I have to chop my hand off. Hooray!

Per ardua ad astra

In the 1970s, the IRA launched an attack on the city of London. Bombs were detonated all over the city, with innocent civilians as targets. During this onslaught, large numbers of police officers travelled on the London Underground system to reassure and defend the passengers.

In 2008, Boris Johnson, Mayor of London, announced that 30 teams of officers would patrol the tube once again. Is this not a step back? Britons have always gone about their business, whatever was going on elsewhere. After the bombings in the '70s, people got back on the tube as soon as they could. After the bombings on 7th July 2005, people resumed normality as soon as possible. Of course the police will have other positive roles, such as enforcing the drinking ban, but to form 30 specialist squads seems to me to be characteristic of a time of great fear and high terror alert. This is no such time.

Even if there was a critical alert level, Britons would continue. We have experience of muddling through. Consider this example:

After the attacks on America on September 11th 2001, America shut down. It's previously lax air security was tightened, and even babies weren't allowed milk on planes (I never understood the change of this rule to, "if you taste it, you can take it." Surely a suicide bomber is not going to mind drinking something that will kill him?).

After the attacks on London, the entire city transit system was shut down. Until 4 pm the same day, when it was re-opened. This hardiness in the face of adversity has featured throughout history, and was demonstrated most memorably during the Second World War (the Blitz Spirit). However, more recently, we have had assistance in our readiness for terrorism. This has come from the Americans, although not through their response to 9/11, or the 'War on Terror'. No, the reason that America helped us to prepare is that they, the Land of the Free, people against oppression, who went to war with Iraq to stop Saddam Hussein from murdering innocent civilians, helped to fund the IRA, who murdered innocent civilians. The Land of the Free? What do you think?

Keep Right

Perhaps I have a superior level of brain power that had previously gone unnoticed. I doubt it, but otherwise, how is it that I can manage to stand to the right on an escalator, and others cannot? If there is no sign saying 'Keep Right' then perhaps the miscreant can be forgiven, but when on a tube escalator, where people could well be in a rush and the signs are clear and frequent, it's just rude. And before you pipe up with, "what if they can't read it," the man I'm thinking about was a yank. You could tell by the sandles with socks, the equator around his waste and the fact that he spoke very loudly in his very annoying accent about very dull things. America is supposed to have an adult literacy rate of 99%, so that man had no excuse, except for being an anti-social halfwit.

I don't intend to sound mean, but just recently I've been travelling through London a fair bit, and the monumental amount of stupid actions I have seen is starting to worry me. For example, there are suits clamouring their way up the escalator, which is being blocked by our good friend Joe from above, and yet next to them there is a completely clear escalator. Not a soul on it. The only down-side is that this escalator isn't working, but they'd still get to the top that little bit quicker.

Or there are the people (well, tourists) who decided suddenly, when walking down a crowded street, that they need to look at their map. So they stop. No moving to the side, out of the way, but instead just standing there like a tower in the middle. I know that not all tourists are like that - I, for example, am wonderfully civil and polite - but the ones that stand out are the ones who make me mutter under my breath and wish I had the power to banish people.

I now have a reason to become a knight. Previously, I just wanted to be Sir for laugh, but when I get my knighthood, I shall abuse it, and visitors to these lands shall behave themselves or feel my wrath.

The Father, the Son, and the Holy Goat.

"I am the way, the truth, and the life." - Jesus, John 14:6

This is the quote that I saw as I was on a train leaving Liverpool Street station earlier today. This did not have the effect of bringing me closer to God.

What made me laugh was the building directly adjacent to this quotation. The name that I saw just after reading Jesus' little thought was: "Balls Brothers."

A Jesus quote and then, straight afterwards, the word 'balls.' Well, I thought it was fuuny and a good way to sum it up for those who do not believe, which is a category I never really considered myself to be in until now.

I was raised a Christian (C of E, none of that Catholic nonsense, despite my going to a Roman Catholic Primary School), and never really considered my religious beliefs until my tedious train journey. The trouble that I have with religion is that I am quite a scientific chap, and religion is ludicrous. Consider this:

You are a psychiatrist. A patient, let's call him Hugh, enters your surgery and says that he has seen a man with a beard who has told him to give all his money to charity and go a live with a load of other men in a really old building. Hello loony-bin (please excuse my political-correctness).

Now imagine that you are in exactly the same situation, except the 'man with a beard' named himself 'Jesus'. Ooh, yes, on your way, be happy in your monastery.

By no means am I an atheist, I am just finding it increasingly difficult to believe that the bible isn't full of utter twaddle. Whatever I decide, religion will always have a large role to play: it makes for excellent things to cry when you hit your thumb with a hammer - that is, your right thumb, on your right, hammering hand. I'm a natural carpenter.

I'm saved?

I happen to hold in my head lots of trivia, random snippets of information which almost certainly can be of no use. For example, did you know that Colgate faced big obstacles marketing toothpaste in Spanish speaking countries, because Colgate translates into the command “go hang yourself?”

I can think of no situation where that would be useful, and yet it is committed to my memory. Happily, however, this is not all bad. An article in the Daily Mail (oh, what an impressive work of fiction that is...) seems to think that trivia is good. And I agree, mainly because otherwise about 50% of my knowledge is entirely pointless. Two animal rights protesters were protesting at the cruelty of sending pigs to a slaughterhouse in Bonn. Suddenly the pigs, all two thousand of them, escaped through a broken fence and stampeded, trampling the two hapless protesters to death (that is a fact that makes me roar with laughter), and yet I have already forgotten most of my taught information. If you needed me to chop out your liver, for whatever reason, I would struggle. Enormously. Not only because I'm not medically trained.

Despite the positive tone that the Daily Mail makes, I struggle to see how trivia can help me. If anyone wants to pay me somewhere around £100,000 p.a. to tell them random 'stuff,' please leave a comment.

Let this post stand as a comment on the Daily Mail - it has two redeeming features:

1) The best TV Guide

2) Garfield comics

Mmm. Sleep.

I recently watched a Chinese film, dubbed into English. I won't be doing that again for a while. By no margin was it the worst film in the world, but it was full of over-the-top soppy moments, all of the actors over-acted and it was generally quite bad. However, I had only two options: watch this film, or go to sleep.

The following morning, I woke up feeling refreshed.

A better time

The world was a better place when people believed in God. There are still many believers of the various gods, of course, but there are many, many fewer people who still put their faith in the big bloke in the sky.

Normally, I would not morn this, I would continue my life as if nothing has changed, however humans naturally gravtiate towards putting their lives in someone or something else's hands. This has led to the creation of such phenomena as 'New Age,' or as I affectionately call it, 'Utter Bollocks.'

People will use phrases such as 'this room has positive energy.' Really? If that is the case, what is it doing? Where is it going? Energy is usable power. It is not a feeling, or anything like that.

On a different note, there is homeopathy. The name for this is not something said when in company. If it worked, surely it would be available on the NHS, or there would be reputable scientific evidence?

Science does not have all the answers. That is the beauty of science. It doesn't make false claims to know everything. It just goes on, trying to find them, and it will never end. Even when it understands the universe, it will never know some of the key answers: what makes us human? Why are we not just a collection of atoms and electrical impulses? What is it that makes us us? I love science because of this: the complete, unashamed admittance that it doesn't know, but that it will strive to find out.

Also, there's the fact that you get to blow stuff up.

Bugger

For quite a while now, I have had tickets to visit the British Motor Show near Canary Wharf on the 1st of August with my mother and step-father. This was something that I was looking forward to, having enjoyed it last year.

In January my father and his wife bought a house in France, because he is soon going to have to leave his current accommodation, which he does not own. I have not yet been out to see it. He is going out to France on the 31st of July and coming back the following Tuesday.

Other than these two events, I have nothing planned for the holiday. We were just going to make it up as we went along. What are the chances that it happens over the same period? I am annoyed at this. If I were paranoid, I would suspect governmental conspiracy. Hell, I can be insane, IT WAS THE GOVERNMENT, DAMN IT!

I dub thee, "Something Stupid"

Why do people have the urge to call their children ridiculous names? By this, I do not mean names that might be considered slightly unusual, but names (if you can call them that) which just defy belief, such as Gwyneth Paltrow's daughter Apple, or someone I vaguely know called Azalea. An Azalea is a tree. This is like calling your child Pine, or Ash.

Or you've got Fifi Trixibelle Geldof, Peaches Honeyblossom Michelle Charlotte Angel Vanessa Geldof and Little Pixie Geldof. Bob Geldof tries to prevent cruelty all over the world, and yet look at what he did to his children. This is abuse, surely.

Or I heard of someone called Paris. Would you call your child London or Hull? No, so don't call them Paris.

Then, of course, there is the spelling. Now, some obscure spelling is absolutely fine, for example the Scottish spelling of Alastair is with a 'd' (Alasdair), however, something like 'Kortny' is just wrong trying to be different. I'm always wary of those with names spelt differently; it's as if they're trying to make up for something.

There is, however, a use for these 'names.' The government should employ someone with the specific task of looking at the names of people born in the UK (if it paid well, I'd be willing), and if the name is deemed mean, cruel or just plain stupid, the parents have to participate in compulsory parental training before taking a test and re-naming the child. If they fail the test, the child is given to people who, due to unfortunate circumstances, are unable to have children, and who would never call their child Brynxton Herbery Fiold. IVF is no longer necessary, and we have a drop in the rate of child-related misdemeanours. And if the original parents breed again, and haven't learnt their lesson, they are shot and used as cadavers. Everyone's happy.

Incidentally, making outlandish and controversial statements can be a laugh. He he he.

Age and Beauty

I like cars. In the not too distant future, I hope to own some decent ones, and perhaps some obscure ones (a hearse, for example). However, as a general rule, I do not like Porsches. They all seem to be driven by complete cocks who spend half an hour before the journey making sure that their fringe is just-so. This is something that I dislike.

Not only that, but all modern Porsches seem to look the same. Below are three entirely different models. For the life of me, I can't tell them apart:

All I can tell you about them is, "one is red." Excellent. But I can't help but wonder where it went wrong. In their past, Porsche have made some beautiful cars. One of my absolute favourite cars is the old Porsche 356 - Porsche's first production car:

How did Porsche get from this to the boring, indistinguishable cars that they churn out today? I just wish that they would sack either sack their designer or give him a kick up the hintern. I am bored of Porsche. Roll on Ford:

Oh no - it's the Rozzers!

Something that irks me is incorrect grammar. What irks me even more is that I find incorrect grammar irksome in any situation. I'd make an excellent member of the Grammar Police. For example, when I take notes in class and am writing very quickly, in handwriting that is indecipherable even by me, I will actually miss something that the teacher is saying just to correct that apostrophe over there. This comes to cause problems later on, when I am trying to learn from the incomplete notes with perfect grammar. That is not as easy as you'd think.

Stuck in Your Head

This morning, I woke up humming. Quite what I was humming, I didn't have a clue, but this song did not leave me all morning. I hate it when this happens.

Getting a song stuck in my head isn't normally that bad (unless it's a bad song, such as the Ketchup Song), but it is awful when I can't remember the words, only the tune. When that is the case, it just rattles around my head like a table-tennis ball hit by Wang Liqin into a ball pit.

When I finally get relief and remember the words, allowing me to actually enjoy the song (in this case, 'I'm a Man,' by the Spencer Davis Group), it leaves my head, and I am left with another song, again wordless, and at the moment still unknown. Damn.

Cobham

I like the name Cobham. Whilst cycling home after watching Kung Fu Panda (go see it - for an in-depth review click here) it occurred to me that there are a few good place names in the UK. This post is to celebrate that, and shall be expanded upon in due course as I discover more names.

Who knows; I may even dare to venture out of the UK and into other...places.

The names:

1. Cobham.

2. Clapham (also: Clapham Junction).

3. Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch (damn Wales).

4. Six Mile Bottom .

5. Whilst not a 'good' name, Hull has to be included.

6. Staines. I'm a child.

TB, you say? Fetch me my gun.

Seeing as the prom has occurred since my last post, you're probably thinking that I will be describing how surprisingly good it was, how I enjoyed myself, how I like chocolate fountains, and how I thought that Bernie did a good job with her after-party.

How wrong you are. THE BADGERS LIVE! Which, to be honest, is perhaps a bit daft. The problem with badgers, apart from the terrible obesity problems, is that they are spreading TB among the nation's cattle. This makes farmers annoyed and makes cows go, "moo," because they're cows and don't have a clue what's going on.

But fear not, ye workers of the land, I have a variety of solutions:

1. Electric fence around the cows (each individual one).
2. Electric fence around the field.
3. Badger food laced with arsenic.
4. Badgers laced with arsenic. Other cows will notice that they kill, and stay away.
5. Shoot the badgers.

I quite like option 5, because the badgers die in all of them anyway, and I want to try hunting. Hooray for badgers!

Maybe later...

As I look over my MSN Messenger contacts list on this, the night of the prom, I see one girl online from St Bede's. Everyone else is, presumably, engaging in tarting themselves up for the last night we have to get together and, in many cases, make drunken fools of ourselves.
What amuses me though is that whilst they are away applying make-up like it's the camouflage that will save them from sniper attack, and spraying various chemicals into their hair so that they end up looking like a cross between Amy Winehouse, Russel Brand and a feather duster, I am sat here thinking how late I can leave it before I have to go and get ready. TV is much more interesting.
On the same note, 'Pushing Tin' is on tonight, starring John Cusack and Billy Bob Thornton. I wanted to see this, and it's on the night of the prom. Stupid prom. There's not even a hog roast.

Prom Season

Tomorrow (Monday) is my father's 51st, and so this weekend, my brother came down from Nottingham and my sister and I drove up to Surrey, to where he has recently moved. It was a lovely weekend but that is irrelevant to my point.

On the drive to Surrey on Friday (which consisted largely of sitting on the M25 - 4 and 1/2 hours to do a journey that should tak 1 1/2), I counted 9 limos. 9. I know it is prom season, but every time I see a limo, I groan. Limos are overdone, entirely impractical on the roads, and I expect every one to smell of alcohol, vomit, and other bodily fluids which I would rather not mention. Hen nights and so on.

Why do otherwise perfectly normal and respectable people feel the need to clog up the UK's roads with vehicles like this. I'm guessing it's not just to spite me.

So, I don't like limos. Just take a car and spend the money on another day, or on a real car, or if your feeling really weird, give it to charity! Just please, please don't rent a limo. Please. They're crap.

CHARGE!

It turns out that just running is quite dull. I forgot to charge up my mp3 player, and so all I had to amuse myself was me, which isn't too bad, but exercise would have been a much more pleasant experience if I had had the sweet, dulcet tones of David Bowie blasting through my ears at the time. Never mind; I shall tonight plug in the blasted machine, and tomorrow will be accompanied by a musical performance worthy of only those with tin ears.

Hooray.

Not a Moan, as such.

I don't intend to say anything more, just look at the following:

Imagine who would have such taste and live in such opulence?
An American Billionaire?
A Saudi Prince?
Louis XIV of France ?
Savour the pictures then scroll to the bottom of the page to see who owns this
amazing work of art.

(please excuse the external link...)

http://www.flickr.com/photos/28006567@N03/2611048373/

(from 1 to 13)

This Mansion is in Harare and belongs to:
The President of Zimbabwe
Robert Mugabe
A maniac, mass-murderer whose people are starving
while he siphons millions into his own pockets.
The World stands by and watches,
including closest neighbour
South Africa .

Exercise = Hell

Help. I think I might be ill.

For some reason, I have got it into my head that, with lots of spare time on my hands, I should try to get fit. I don't know why I think this, as I have managed to live 16 years so far getting by on as little as possible.

Also, it's not as if I am unable to have sudden bursts of sheer physical wonder when necessary - Alex can vouch for that.

And so, although, frankly, whenever I think of voluntary exercise my knees quiver a little, tomorrow I shall be waking up at 8 o'clock and going for a jog, before helping my grandmother teach her dog to swim (for the love of Pete, please don't ask).

As I said earlier: help. I think I might be ill.

Isn't it ironic?

No. It bloody well isn't. Alanis Morissette, you're an idiot.

"A no-smoking sign on your cigarette break." - where's the irony, please tell me.

"It's meeting the man of my dreams, and then meeting his beautiful wife." - again, where is the irony?

If you can't write anything sensible then, for the sake of humanity as a whole and my patience specifically, please do one of two things:

1) http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/irony

2) Sod off back to Canada.

That will be all.

Sadness isn't sadness, but happiness in a black jacket.

Bollocks is it. It's sadness.

To begin my tirade of grumpy moans, I feel I should attack, not specifically Paul McCartney (who wrote the detritus that is the title for this post), but all the poncy pillocks who go about making the stupid statements such as that. "All you need is love." Yes, very noble, but you do need food, shelter, warmth etc. Love doesn't actually serve a tangible purpose.

In conclusion, if you're thinking of writing some inspirational speech that will guide people in their moments of dilemma, causing them to realise that the world is much simpler when looked at through a telescope from 15,000 feet whilst dancing with Mike Tyson, please, pause for a moment, then go and shut your head in a door.

Good day.