Sea Dea Change

It appears that Red Ken read this post of mine, judging by today's news. I've gone uncredited, but I think we all know why this decision was made.

Different strokes for different folks

As I'm fortunate enough to work in the centre of London, I went to the Cézanne exhibition at lunchtime today. This was mainly because my girlfriend told me that a section of the introductory video was hilarious (and she was right).

I had about 2 minutes to rush around the actual exhibition afterwards and noticed an old man sitting on one of the comfortable seats in the centre of the room, looking at one of the paintings. Rather than examining the painting close up, to study the brush strokes, he had elected to look at it through a pair of binoculars.

Why?

Perhaps his eyesight was so bad that he believed the painted bathers to be real, and he was perving on them. Or maybe the binoculars were actually the wrong way round, and (this would explain why he was on the other side of the room) he was in fact trying to envisage what the painting would look like at the size of a postage stamp. For his job, commissioning art for new postage stamps.

It never ceases to amaze me how odd people can be.

Two-minutes violence

It had to happen. You hear about bouts of violence supposedly caused by listening to heavy metal/playing computer games. Well, I think that’s mainly nonsense, but I do think that ‘Curb your enthusiasm’ and Richard Herring’s brilliant blog Warming up should come with some kind of warning that too much exposure to them may turn you into one of their protagonists.

I was on the bus on Sunday, which, at the next stop, stayed still for an abnormally long period. After a while, the driver switched the engine off and announced to us that there was a 2 minute silence. Everyone seemed to notice this, except for the scary looking man in a hoodie next to me, who was chatting loudly on his phone. After what felt like ages, but was probably just seconds, he announced down his phone “Oh, gotta go bruv, there’s some kind of silence on the bus”. He ended the call and then decided to blast everyone with the tinny speaker on his phone with a beautiful song, carefully selected for Remembrance Sunday, all about ‘niggers’ and ‘things being done to mothers’ that I won’t specifically go into.

After a few more seconds of this, he announced to the bus “Oh sorry, my bad” and switched it off.

For the remainder of the 2 minute silence, I felt proud of this man. Although he had taken a lot longer than the rest of us to join in, he did (after about a quarter of the 2 minute silence) realise what was going on, and turned his Crappo Blaster off.

Imagine my surprise when, as the driver thanked everyone for their patience and switched the engine on again, the ‘niggers’ / ‘things being done to mothers’ music started blasting out again.

Now, I’m no prude (although you’d probably not believe me based on this blog) but I can’t stand it when people blast their music out on public transport. I actually listen to a lot of hip hop (which is generally what is being played), and my problem isn’t normally with what is being played. It’s more that fact that I think that it’s antisocial, as well as being incredibly distracting, to have to listen to someone else’s music. I think I was also particularly surprised by the fact that this man obviously had SOME decency to switch his music off to respect some dead people, but then showed absolutely no respect for the living people on the bus (although in fairness, it’s difficult to tell exactly who this applies to on the number 73 bus).

Anyway, I don’t know what came over me (although I think it was mainly to do with the fact that I have never seen anyone challenge anyone for this, and I have always been curious to see the reaction of the mobile-disco-offender), but I decided to confront him. Here is a transcript of what followed (as best I can remember):

Me: Excuse me, would you mind turning your music off. I don’t think anyone wants to listen to it.

Mobile Disco Offender: Sorry mate, it’s my music, I can do what I want.

Me: I really don’t think anyone wants to listen to it, and it’s antisocial. Let me ask around…[shouting to nearby passengers on the bus] Does anyone want to listen to his music?

[Passengers saying nothing and looking sheepish]

MDO: See, they don’t care. They all want to listen to my music. Look, [pushing it somewhat, in my opinion] who wants to listen to my music?

[Passengers saying nothing and looking sheepish]

Me: They’re all just too scared. That’s the only reason no one else is saying anything. [Announcing myself to my increasingly attentive audience] Come on…is there anyone else here who doesn’t want to listen to this guy’s music?

Sheepish looking man 1: [slowly raising his hand in the air, and smirking] Err..actually, I don’t particularly want to listen to it.

Sheepish looking man 2: [slightly muffled, whilst speaking from behind his coat] Neither do I!

[about 4 more people slowly raised their hands and lett MDO know exactly what they thought of his music, whilst the increasing audience started laughing]

Me [now aware of my audience and rather getting into it, as if I was a stand-up comedian]: Ha ha! See, I beat you! None of these people want to listen to your music!

MDO: Look mate, I’m not turning it off. I was listening to it before the 2 minute silence, I switched it off for that, so now I can listen to it again.

Me: That makes no sense. What you’re doing is antisocial, so why does that make it ok? [Now definitely pushing my luck] So, for example, if you were half way through murdering someone on the bus, and you stopped for the 2 minute silence, you’re saying that it’s ok to carry on with it afterwards?

[Much laughter from the rest of the bus]

MDO [Looking like he is tempted to try my suggestion]: Are you having a go at me?

Me: Yes, I suppose I am.

MDO: Well, you’ll probably be glad to know that I’m getting off at the next stop.

Me: Yes, I am, although I’m reeeeeally going to miss that great song you’ve been playing.


He did get off at the next stop, and as I wallowed in my glory, a woman told me she thought I was brave, while 2 attractive young women pointed at me and commented on how cool I was.

I’d like to think that one day, some sort of silence will be held in honour of my own bravery.

Things that have appeared in the toilet - Part 2

This bottle of 'Sainsbury's Red Wine Vinegar' has recently appeared in the bathroom in my flat.

Had my flatmate taken up a cheap and eccentric drinking-habit? At 92p a pop, it seems far more affordable than 'real' red wine.

It later turned out he'd used it to clean the bath and sink with (and done a very good job indeed). I'd heard of malt vinegar being used for this purpose. Perhaps red wine vinegar is the middle-class solution, and balsamic is what the royal household uses on limescale?

Things that have appeared in the toilet - Part 1

As this blog seems to be becoming more and more toilet-based (which is not intentional, but I'll go with it anyway), and I no longer live at the flat at which my previous 'Things that have appeared on my doorstep' posts were based, I have decided on its successor: 'Things that have appeared in the toilet'.

This is not as disgusting as it sounds, as it just means things that have appeared next to the toilet, or in the bathroom, that look out of place. Although if I do spot anything unusual in the toilet itself, I'll be sure to bring you that breaking news as soon as it happens.

Anyway, I thought I'd kick it off with something I found in the toilet at work today: A mug of water.

There are many questions that this object raises:

-Who could have brought it there?
-Why use a mug to drink water, when a glass is more satisfying?
-Is drinking water banned in the office of the person who put it there? If so, is this legal?
-If you drank the water whilst peeing, would that water come straight out as pee?
-If you drink the water whilst going for a 'number 2', do some of the particles from that get into the water and get swallowed?
-Did someone ultra-eco-friendly bring it in there to pour down the toilet after they'd used it to minimise on flushing water?
-Did someone very small bring it into one the cubicles, to actually use as a toilet?

Has anyone else found anything odd in a toilet lately?

Class Zero P

You may be surprised to hear this, but I hadn't originally set out to write a blog all about my adventures in trying (and often failing) to pee at work.

Anyway, you'll be pleased to hear that today's entry is no exception.

To give you some background information before you hear today's thrilling tale: the company I'm currently doing freelance design work for specialises in educational websites for schools. Recently all employees here had to undergo a CRB check with the police, just to make sure that we're not going to do anything nasty to any of the children who attend the conferences we hold in the NEXT ROOM ALONG and never actually talk to. Obviously this is very sensible, as it's a very unnatural scenario for an adult to be anywhere near a child, let alone when there's half a metre of concrete separating them.

As a result of all this, we were today sent an email asking that, until the police have completed their CRB checks , that we should, and I quote: 'please try to use the toilets upstairs for [our] own legal safety.'

Again, it is a totally unnatural scenario for people of different ages to use the same toilets, so I fully agreed with all of this.

Since reading the email I have been vigorously drinking as much tea as I can fit in my bladder, just so I can excercise the basic human rights of 'Peeing on the same floor as your office' (not literally, I mean in terms of where the loo is located in the building).

I suppose I should have been unsurprised when, after the effects of this frantic tea-drinking, yet another ceasefire occured at the porcelain. This was due to the kids' (female) teacher barging in to do a headcount, and finding no one in there. No one except for me of course, doing my best to pretend I could pee.

Clean Broke

Having attempted to do some good (or 'yin') on Saturday, namely cleaning my flat, the inevitable 'yan' kicked in and broke my glasses. All that thrusting back and forth with Henry (the Hoover, that is) made me so sweaty that my glasses kept falling off. In attempt to rectify the situation and bend my frames into a better shape, i.e. one that didn't resemble the sliding technology used in Japanese bullet trains, I snapped them.

This turned out not to be a total disaster as I'd been thinking of getting some new frames anyway and I have contact lenses to enable me to see in my occasional moments of vanity. And, most importantly, it meant I had an excuse to stop cleaning.

Having made several phonecalls, I discovered that there is only one optician in the WHOLE OF LONDON that could knock up a new pair of glasses over the weekend. That's understandable - London is a small place. It was recently voted 2nd smallest village in the UK by Blind Moron Monthly Magazine.

Anyway, having dreaded going along to choose some new frames on my own (thus emerging from the shop resembling 'Dame Edna'), I ended up with the opposite problem: my immediate family and girlfriend all came with me to make an afternoon of it.

To cut a long story short, minus the Cartier section at the back of the shop (starting price for diamond-encrusted frames, £4,000), they all honed in on the most expensive pair in the shop. And muggins here had to pay for them. They seemed to cost £100 more than the second most expensive frames in the shop, as the 'arms' are hinged to bend in both directions (it's pretty cool actually).

I tapped in my PIN number, possibly for the last time, to pay for them and selected the option for a discounted pair of stylish mothballs for my wallet. One hour later, and following a calming cup of green tea bought by my girlfriend to stop me from shaking at fact I'd just spent the price of a decent 2nd hand car on my new facial-furniture, and they were ready for the wearing.

The style I went for are reminicent of the type seen on arsey graphic designer twats hanging around expensive sandwich shops in London, namely because I'm an arsey graphic designer twat in London. Although I went to Gregg's for lunch today.

Putting them on felt a bit like Robocop must have felt in the scene where he gets switched on, and I was immediately faced with the trauma of navigating myself through the sea of people on Oxford Street, and having a blind spot the size of two large muggers either side of my face. I then watched an incredibly dull extended 45 minute edition of 'Peep Show', which featured me standing on a bus home navigating my way through peoples armpits.

This morning, I discovered that none of my t-shirts look quite right with my new luxury nosewarmers, and it now appears that I've set off a vicious snowball of events (whatever a 'vicious snowball' is) that will empty my bank account and leave me sleeping on the streets. Albeit in incredibly stylish designer threads.

My paranoia at looking like a completely different person was confirmed when two of my best friends failed to recognise me last night, and two of my colleagues today commented "Oh, I've never seen you in glasses before!" (I wear glasses every day).

On the plus side to all of this, I may be able to have some fun with my new found semi-invisiblity. And they look like the kind of glasses that people who are never wrong wear, so I should be able to get away with saying anything. What fun!

This place should provide nappies

This email from my Resource Manager has answered the question I posed yesterday as to what will next prevent me from peeing at work:

'Hello all,


I’ve been informed that the toilets aren’t flushing properly in the whole building – the issue is being addressed and I will let you know updates as they come to hand.


Thanks,



XXXXX'

Taking the piss

It appears that the powers that be, who don't want me to pee, are at it again...

Not content with trying to ruin my flow by sending men into the urinals who are broadcasting my pissing to their friends via mobile phones, today I was faced with the ultimate challenge. As I unzipped, I heard someone on their phone approaching the urinals (which you'd believe was now the social norm, if you worked where I do). But today's ceasefire came with a twist: the person on the phone was a WOMAN!

Admittedly she was the cleaner, but all the same: Person of opposite sex in immediate vicinity + Audio transmission device = urinal as dry as a....err...as a urinal in the toilets where I work.

Aren't toilet cleaners taught the same basic equations we all were at school?

Anyway, what should I expect next time I've drunk too much tea? Nick Broomfield filming his latest documentary in there? Every surface in the bathroom replaced by a mirror? Germaine Greer standing behind me shouting 'Hurry up, I'm next in line'?

Can any of you suggest any even more 'impossible to pee in' situations?