Monday, 26 December 2011

I'm moving. Shit, I bet you're excited.

Ok, I'm moving to a different address, because I'm shit at computers and understand the other website better.

It looks better on phones, and I think I've also made it look 'more professional'. Which is good. Also means after a week of this being inactive I can recycle a shit tonne of this material.


The written address is '' but the link above will take you straight there.


Thanks, Jim. (Shane).

Today is Boxing Day. I hope you didn’t go shopping, for the sake of your own soul. Watching the news was like bearing witness to the first few hours of a global pandemic, or the coming of the apocalypse. Or the savage sacrifice of a baby animal.

I was a little bit sick in my mouth when I saw hordes of humans bursting through the front doors of Next (on TV, I didn’t go there), because a) the things they received yesterday were not the right things or b) they were the right things but they needed a shitload more of them.

At least the TV was good tonight. One of the highlights for me was the bizarre reimagining of ‘Jim’ll Fix It’ hosted tonight, by Shane Ritchie. The concept was both uplifting and exciting for TV viewers in the seventies, eighties and nineties but tonight’s perverted doppelgänger culminated in a macabre sing along where kids stood around a semi famous opera singer, not really singing, while a six year old girl hung suspended in a harness above, dressed like an angel, but looking more like a cumulus cloud motionless and ignored.

I’m not sure Shane fixed anything, but at least he gave a six year old girl an attention deficit complex.

Thursday, 22 December 2011


I had designs for my blog to be a regularly updated insight into the mundane but just cynical enough to be funny observations I frequently happen to come across in my day to day goings on. I left the house this morning in the usual fashion. Timed to perfection, allowing thirty to forty seconds less time per task than is comfortable. Eating my cornflakes so quickly I coughed flecks of them onto my bathroom mirror and left without cleaning them off. Anyway what I'm getting at is that I rushed, forgot my charger and therefore couldn't use my laptop to write this lunchtime. So I'm going to do it tonight.  Xx

Wednesday, 21 December 2011

iBorrow an iFad

I’m back once again (not this time like the renegade master), at my place of full time employment. This means that I have an hour to vent my frustrations and to get jacked up on coffee. (I know it’s not a proper addiction, but I care about my grandmothers feelings).

I spent a while deluding myself this week that I might be able to acquire an iPad on Apples  Fiona finance option, because I need one, I need one, or I’ll die. I need one because it’s exactly like my iPhone, so does all the things my iPhone does, but it’s a bit bigger. So my emails will be a bit bigger, and so will the boobies.

I quickly realised though, that in this time of financial crisis they only lend money to people that could easily buy it outright in the first place anyway. Gone are the glorious days of irresponsible lending to the poor. My monthly paper bills are testament to this and apparently they expect it back at some point. Unfortunately I have recently and selectively decided to refute the actual worth of currency and since I charge for receiving correspondence, per phone call, email, letter, bailiff visit etc., I now estimate that they owe me £20.

Anyway, here are some more realistic strategies for acquiring an iFad.

Stage one: Make all of your Christmas gifts this year. It’s free and more ‘personal’. I heard mum’s like pressed flowers on paper, framed and with a poem underneath. Where I live, there are no flowers, they all died when the atmosphere collapsed, so instead I pressed a dead bird that I kept in the freezer from ‘before’. Birds are pretty too.

Stage two: Eat out of bins. As long as no-one you know sees you, it’s not demeaning. Just think about how people will view you when you have an iFad, it’s a success indicator and worth risking your health for.

Stage Three: Mug someone physically weaker than you. Pick your target well. The person should not be able to resist you forcefully taking their iFad from them. If they do and you are unable to acquire a real iPad the other option is to buy a digital photo frame. Below is a conversation you might have and strategies for making the façade realistic:

Mug friend: Is that an iPad? You must be really successful.

You: Yeah it fucking is. Keep your hands off it or I’ll brain you.

Mug: why is it plugged in?

You: It’s fucking charging. I’ve been watching a shitload of porn. Drains the battery.

Mug: What you doing on it now?

You: Looking at pictures. On iPhoto.

So there it is, you’ve got an Ipad. And it’s all down to me.

Monday, 19 December 2011

Mistletoe and Bastards

It’s fucking Baltic outside, I’ve spent all my money on thermo set plastic mince pies and Christmas day looms like a wave of syphilitic prostitutes down a water slide.

I’m personally looking forward to the mounting pressure, the potential for driving myself into further financial ruin and the festering smell of the humans in all the great churches of modern day consumerism. (Bluewater, Norwich mall etc, etc.)

Thing is, I love Christmas; the Christmas I have at home is by far my most treasured day in a year. It’s just that I fucking despise the fact that everyone else insists on having Christmas too, because I end up on the business end of a cock slap of unreasonable desires.

Once upon a time, a shop sold some of the things you wanted, but not all of the things and if they didn’t have the size or the colour you’d just get over it, or pick the lice out of your hair. Maybe wash in a stream. The shop reserved the right to tell you to fuck off, shoot at you and to call you bad words.

Now, because I can decide which programs I want to watch on telly at the very moment I want to, can pause them for a pot noodle or a wank, rewind to the bit with the boobies, pause that and take a screen shot and make it my background, I walk around thinking everything works like that.
I can understand when stupid people expect this level of indulgence in every part of their mundane existence, they’re used to it. They don’t understand that there are still some areas of life where you can’t get exactly what you want and in a fit of tiny brain misunderstanding, they are rude. I also understand that while in my Reich I’d drown them in sack bags for their insolence, its fairly unacceptable to kill a rude person just for being rude.

So like a tiny primate, fettered by its desire to throw shit, I must continue to make myself feel better by dribbling cynicism into the void that is the internets.

Unfortunate really.                                                                                                             

Tomorrow, I’ll be talking about the issue of ‘the bills’ and winter survival for those that can’t afford heating or Christmas presents.

Saturday, 17 December 2011

I've realised that I don't have a lunch break on my day off, so I might not write on here to avoid getting confusd about what day it is. There are also so short story deadlines coming up so I'll spend the time writing those and maybe post a little bit on here when I'm done. Safe.