Purple Smoke

Humourous

2006-12-07T14:16:00.000Z

As you're probably all aware, films often feature scenes including human excrement, vomit and semen (well, the films I watch do anyway). These excretions are often produced to a high standard, which got me thinking: There must, somewhere in the world, be a company that produces these on-screen bodily fluids and solids. This in turn got me thinking that, as there's probably a lot of money involved in creating this stuff, there must be fairly rigorous procedures used in the creation of this mock-bile. But what might these procedures be? And what is used as source material for the cini-goo?

I imagine a meeting at this office to go something like this:

Boss: Jones, we have a 3pm deadline for this one. It's a film called 'There's Something About Mary', a lot of money involved. They've asked for state of the art semen, as it plays a major part in the movie. We're working to a strict time limit here, so we'll need you to order some flour, tapioca and egg whites from catering. Oh, and we need a fresh batch of source material to work from. Order some magazines and get David on the case with that one. I want you to then head up the team of bileuticians and create as close a match as possible. There could be a Christmas bonus in this if you do a good job, Jones.

Do you think that's what happens? And is it a similar process for the other bodily products I mentioned? I bet you're all thinking about how they do it now. We must be told!

Sea Dea Change

2006-11-23T11:37:00.001Z

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

2006-11-21T15:57:00.000Z

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

2006-11-14T19:03:00.000Z

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

2006-11-14T15:02:00.000Z

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

2006-11-10T11:50:00.000Z

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

2006-11-08T16:06:00.000Z

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

2006-11-06T17:02:00.000Z

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

2006-11-03T12:11:00.000Z

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

2006-11-02T16:42:00.000Z

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?

Big Trouble in Little China

2006-10-27T12:09:00.000+01:00

Our office 'In Emergency of Fire' meeting-point is currently on fire. Perhaps, in hindsight, it would have been sensible not to have choosen a wooden pagoda near various flaming-wok restaurants in Chinatown for this purpose.

You better watch out

2006-10-26T12:38:00.000+01:00

Two evenings ago, I was walking home from work and, on an unlit patch of pavement very near my front door, nearly trod on some used syringes. 'Fine', I thought, 'this arrangement is probably fairly safe, unless someone else decides to leave a pile of banana skins right next to the syringes. In which case it could be potentially dangerous'.

Imagine my shock when I noticed that someone HAD left a pile of banana skins next to the used syringes. I began to think that this whole thing was rather anti-social, so I decided to call Hackney 'Hackers' Council about it. Strangely enough, although they are quite forthcoming about insisting I pay my council tax, when it came to asking them to do something for me (i.e. clearing up the skins/needles/both), they denied all knowledge of my flat even being in Hackney.

Anyway, if you live in the Borough of Hackney and don't want to catch anything, I'd advise you to keep an eye on the pavements. Give it a few days until the syringes become embedded in someones shoe and are transferred to a more caring Borough.

'Hands-free'

2006-10-19T17:20:00.000+01:00

It's happened again! I just went to pee, and this time there was someone already at the urinal, talking on his mobile. This guy was obviously a seasoned pro, as he didn't need a bluetooth, hands-free headset. No, he had obviously mastered the phone/bone-holding combo the old fashioned way.

I was desperately trying to pee loudly/fart in the background, just to highlight to his caller how disgusting he was, but I couldn't manage it.

At least this particular pest got caught meat-handed, as I heard him laugh later on (still on the phone) and say "Yes, I'm washing my hands".

Does anyone have any suggestions as to what we should name these urinuisances?

Or any stories of your own personal experiences with these people? Perhaps from a 'Ladies Toilet' perspective?

Loo-tooth

2006-10-16T12:29:00.000+01:00

I'm at work and just went to the loo. As I started to pee in one of the slightly-too-close-together urinals, another gentleman came in (whilst I was mid-stream) shouting loudly into his mobile on one of those annoying Bluetooth headsets. It sounded like a business call, and he just started peeing alongside me while he was still talking. Obviously I was unable to stop, given that it's a nigh-on impossible feat for a man to do so, and I wasn't happy about having my widdle transmitted through the airwaves.

As he zipped up and walked off (still on the phone) I heard him shout "I can tell you're anxious" to his colleague. No bloody wonder, I thought.

Speed dating: The results

2006-08-16T13:46:00.000+01:00

I know what you're thinking.

You're thinking, as I have left such a huge gap between writing about my speed dating experience and then writing about the results, that I must have been ticked by absolutely every woman there and have since spent all of my time going on dates, having mad passionate sex, visiting exotic locations with them, and eliminating them down one by one, a process so difficult that I have had to change my name and appearance, and woo them all back under another guise.

Well, you'd be wrong.

Actually, a couple of the minging ones gave me a tick and some of the foxy ones put me down as a potential 'friend' (which should be pronounced 'friiiiiend' i think, as it implies the "Yeahhh Riiiight"-edness of how likely it is that I'm going to bother meeting up with someone I already know I'm in the friiiiiend zone with).

There is still hope though, as one of the attractive girls still hasn't put her ticks up on the speed dating website. I assume that this because she has spent the past two months, having decided that she wants to spend the rest of her life with me, just tying up all the loose ends in her life, making the wedding plans, and drumming up the courage to give me a tick, knowing that it will change her life.

I'll keep you updated on how that goes.

Speed Dating

2006-06-29T12:57:00.000+01:00

Last summer, in order to feel like I was participating in the zeitgeist a bit more (and that was the only reason), I decided to go speed dating. This, surprisingly, turned out not to be too unpleasant an experience. The worst part was descending the stairs to the bar it was held in, and opening the doors. But rather than turning out to be a damp dungeon full of mad, screaming women and monsters (as we'd all expect), it looked more like a bar full of normal, and some even attractive, women.

I managed to get a few dates out of it, all with the same woman. She looked like a very pretty (and younger) version of Josie Lawrence from 'Whose Line is it Anyway' and it only took seven dates for me to become fully put-off her before deciding I never wanted to see her again. The reasons for this included:

- her not actually knowing anything at all about me at all after this time, the reason for which was that she NEVER STOPPED BLOODY TALKING ABOUT HERSELF.

- her rarely contributing any money to an evening out meaning that, even had I wanted to see her again, I could no longer afford to as she had drained my bank account.

- when slightly drunk, she started incontrollably breaking stuff. Fine if you're out somewhere, but not good if I'm cooking her dinner at my flat and constantly having to replace her wine glass/plate.

Anyway, for some reason I seemed to have forgotten all of this when I decided, one year on, to go speed dating again last night.

I went with two male friends and we turned up at the venue slightly disappointed to see around 20 men and 7 women there. We went to the bar and I order two beers for my friends, and a mojito for myself. As I sat down with my strangely pink-tinted mojito (I have never seen one like this) a group of the men behind us said "Ooh, we better look out for this one. He's on the cocktails" pointing in my direction. I started to wonder whether I had booked us into the right event when another man sat down with us and started talking, while the number of women seemed to have diminished.

I started to feel slightly more comfortable when one of the organisers announced that the dating was about to kick off, and decided to nip back to the bar and get a more manly drink. A bottle of Corona with some lime in the top being the manliest drink I could think of.

We were then told that, despite the fact that five women were missing from the event, it would go ahead on time anyway. So I sat down with my first 'date', Jonathan, a designer from Kent. He told me that it was his first time and that he had come on his own. He also mentioned that he expected to go speed dating around five times before getting a date with one of the girls. Optimistically, I thought.

Anyway, after speaking to a couple more blokes I finally got to speak to Vicky, a chatty brunette, who was a bit on the large side for me (given how svelte my own figure is, I think it would be unfair to be in a relationship with such a size difference). When she told me her job was in 'Heavy Industries', I refrained from making any jokes, the bell went, and I moved on.

Next up was her friend Jo, a youngish looking curly-haired brunette. She asked how old I am ("27") and then asked me to guess her age. I guessed 23 and was told I was wrong and to guess again. "22 and a half?" which turned out to be spot on. She told me that no one had guessed correctly on their first attempt, and as I started an argument with her on my skills at age-guessing involving the terms 'rounding up', 'mean, median and mode', the bell rang. Back to Jonathan again.

After hearing his interesting and rather honest views on some of the women there ("number 6 is chatty but minging, so I won't be giving her a tick"), three more women turned up and I got to speak to one of them next.

Ankana was a jolly and chatty girl who worked in the IT industry. I asked her where abouts her office was and she replied 'India', so I let her off the fact that she was an hour late, as that's pretty good going really.

At the end of the evening, after talking to a few more girls (including Juliette, a pretty but ever so slightly scary-looking childrens entertainer, who had more gold teeth than Goldie), I finally got to the sacred tables in the centre of the room, at which were sat the three most obviously attractive girls there. I noticed that all the other men there had also been staring at these three friends for most of the evening, so knew that they were probably going to have the pick of all of the men there.

Katie, Alexa and Rachel despite being incredibly attractive, also turned out to be very nice too, which I was slightly surprised about. As I was having trouble deciding which of them to give a 'yes' tick to on my form (in the knowledge that it was unlikely they'd all date me if they all liked me, given that they were friends), I asked Alexa which one of them was the best. She immodestly announced that she was, so I decided she would be ticked as a 'No'.

Rachel was a newly qualified doctor. After struggling to think of things to say to her after a few minutes, I brought up the subject of what would be the worst question to ask someone whilst speed dating and then promptly asked her what her favourite sexual position was. She blushed and was saved by the bell that informed me the dating was over.

All three of the friends were so nice that I decided to tick Katie and Rachel, even in the knowledge that this could cause all sorts of cat-fights, some of them possibly even in the mud, or with little clothing on.

The one thing my friends and I had decided to do differently to the previous speed dating session was to stick around at the end, and try to build up more of a rapport with some of the girls. After mainly ending up talking to Jonathan some more, seeing one of the girls i gave a 'Yes' to getting off with someone and seeing the other spending the rest of the night chatting up the barman, I decided that this idea had probably been a mistake and headed home.

So here we are, the following day and I've now entered my ticks on their website. So far I have no matches (it tells me that the girls I like haven't entered theirs yes, probably because they don't know how to use a computer) and I have been ticked as date material by Vicky, and as friend material by Jo. Hopefully they are fighting over me as we speak.

I shall post the final results on here as they come in!

Purple Smoke Goes Blue

2006-03-02T01:15:00.000Z

After a bit of a break, I'm back. And I'm back to the future. That's right, Purple Smoke has gone all hi-tech and down with the kids, so I can now write it wherever I am on my new mobile (which is so heavy that it causes pairs of tracksuit trousers to fall straight down when placed in the pocket), as well as having installed a wireless network in Purple Smoke H.Q., allowing me to write it on the bog or in bed.

The latter option, as well as the fact that I've had complaints that this blog is nowhere near raunchy/intimate enough has given me a great idea. I'm going to celebrate this comeback by having the first ever blog/sex session. That's right, I am a pioneer.

For your entertainment only, I've gone especially out of my way to pull a woman and bring her back to mine this evening. She's just 'freshening up' in the bathroom. Here she comes...

Random Woman: Hi there, I'm back from 'freshening up', tee hee!

Purple Smoke: Ah good.

RW: So, what you doing on your laptop?

PS: Err, just trying out some pioneering (Wink Wink readers) new software.

RW: Jolly good. So why don't you come over here then, big-boy?* Help me get out of these tight, yet figure-hugging clothes?

PS: OK then (i slip my new mobile into her pocket)

RW: Oooh...there go my tracksuit trousers. So why do you keep having to type on your computer every time I do something?

PS: Ah...just installing some new Microsoft patches. Wouldn't want to catch any viruses, would we? Talking of that (dimming the lights), can you pass me that big bag of condoms over there?

(I knew that plastic bag full of balloon animals would come in handy one day)

RW: You're sure these are OK?

PS: Yes, yes. I'll have the one shaped like a dog.

RW: This one?

PS: No, that's a giraffe, but come to think of it, maybe that's more apt.

RW: Let's get into your bed. Ooh..it's nice and warm. I love a man with a heated mattress.

PS: (best not tell her that this is due to the laptop's over-heated power supply) Yes, I'm pretty slick with the ladies.

RW: tee hee!

Did i just see you write 'tee hee' on that thing?

PS: No.

RW: And why is it in your bed?

PS: I may need to restart it once the updates have downloaded. And the new firewall I've put on there requires constant attention.

RW: You're making me wet.

PS: OK. Do you mind if I put my giraffe in you?

RW: Not at all - be my guest.

(Cue the sound of rubbery noises)

PS: Ohhh!

RW: Ahhh

PS: Ohhh!

RW: Ahhh

PS: Ohhh!

RW: Ahhh

PS: (dimming the lights a bit more)

(You've held the 'SHIFT' key down for more than 6 seconds. Click 'OK' to activate the Windows text to speech software.)

(Now input the text you would like read aloud and select a voice.)

(You've selected 'Phil')

PS: OHHH

RW: Ahhh

PS: OHHH

RW: AhhhHhhhaaaa?

PS: What's wrong?

RW: You sound different. Why's your voice changed?

PS: That's just Phil.

RW: Who's he?

PS: Never mind.

RW: You're weird. I'm off.

PS: OK. Thanks for popping round.

And there we have it - internet history has just been made. Give yourselves a big pat on the back for witnessing it.

PS: Ahhh...laptop, I have you all to myself now.

(Select new voice. 'Betty' selected)

Right, you can clear off now.

* Some text has been made up**.

** Oh alright, all of it was.

Things that have appeared on my doorstep - Part 2

2005-12-16T17:28:00.000Z

It just gets weirder! At some point within the last few hours, the CD has been joined by a 'friend'.

The CD turns out to be by Catatonia, for all you record buffs out there, so i'm not too bothered about having the rest of it thanks.

Things that have appeared on my doorstep - Part 1

2005-12-16T12:00:00.000Z

As I live on a fairly main road, many people walk past my flat every day, and every now and again one of these people decides to leave a present for me on my doorstep (don't worry - none of them have ever been brown).

This is a picture of today's present. I have to admit, i got very excited when i saw it as I genuinely thought that the CD was meant for me. Even though this is unlikely on so many levels (no envelope being one of the major ones). I was disappointent to find that, when i picked it up, it was only half of the CD case. And whoever had left it, had forgotten to include the CD! Silly person!

Does anyone recognise it?

This is by no means the best present that has been left there. In the past I've seen a china teapot and a plastic bag full of balloon animals. The last one seemed especially sinister - like a mother balloon animal had decided that she couldn't care for her new born balloon babies alone and, with a balloon tear in her eye, had left them outside the hospital.

But as i'm not a hospital for baby balloon animals (which I hope i have now made clear with the notice on my front door), i left them there.

They were gone the next day.

Square Souper

2005-12-16T11:55:00.000Z

For anyone who has been on the edge of their seat since i posted this, here's a picture of the cubic soup i cooked.

Rather amazingly, it went from 'Cube' to 'Soup' shape within seconds of me turning the hob on. It's only a matter of time before I get a call to do the special effects for Terminator 4.

2005-12-15T12:18:00.000Z

I have an interview with a job agency this afternoon, and have been asked to arrive in 'Business dress'. Does this mean what I wear when I'm 'doing business' (i.e. working at my computer)? In which case, will I get funny looks entering their office wearing a dressing gown? Should I travel to the interview wearing my normal clothes, and then whip out the dressing gown and put it on just before i meet them?

Maybe I won't bother going. Humiliating an innocent man who just wants a permanent job is mean.

Incidentally, the website where i found this image is quite amusing. Mark Wenzel deserves to be a star!

Perhaps when all three of you have looked at his site, the extra hits will be enough to propel him to superstardom!

Fearful follicles

2005-12-12T13:04:00.000Z

A few months ago I read a 'fun' statistic in a newspaper (you know, the kind of thing that seems far less true than the whole of the horoscope page) that suggested that people who shave every day live longer than those who don't.

Now, I know that producing statistics is a serious art, however you can easily twist them to produce any result you desire (e.g. by interviewing one person). I also am fairly convinced that there is absolutely no link between having a beard and heading to an early grave (unless you're one of the Twits and the excessive amount of cornflake build-up sends you unexpectedly toppling over).

Even so, as stupid as it seems, I now feel like I'm going to die if I forget to shave on a given day (easily done if you work from home and no one is going to notice).

Anyway, women don't shave every day and they live longer. What's all that about?

When is a candle more than a candle?

2005-12-09T10:22:00.000Z

When it's a Mandle Candle, apparently.

For anyone who hasn't seen the television advert for what is claimed to be 'the most significant enhancement to happen to the candle in many years' (Have there been any enhancements other than this?), it appears to be a candle stuck on top of some sort of colour-changing tube. You can watch the ad yourself on their website.

Which leads to the question, 'is it a candle, or a candle stuck on top of some sort of colour-changing tube'?

I'm sure this must be a hot topic in various craft magazines, but I don't want to be a part of this petty fighting. I just want to set the ball rolling and start the argument.

For anyone who has Christmas presents left to buy, why not consider a Mandle Candle?

I like the 'Helpful Hints' section on their website which suggests the advice 'Store candle in darkness (when not in use)'. Surely by the very definition of a candle, it's automatically in darkness when not in use?

A set of two 'Continuous Colour Changers' is only £21.75 (+ postage and packing) from the QVC website. And with such high-profile vendors selling them, you'd be stupid not to.

By the way, do you think Mr (or Mrs? But let's face it, it's probably a Mr) Mandle changed his name, or decided on his destiny just because his name rhymes with 'candle'?

Let me take you to, Lazy Town

2005-12-07T11:57:00.000Z

I'm knackered. Not because I woke up early at 8.30 this morning, but because I'm recovering from a vicious workout. A workout on the eyes and brain that will last until the day I die. And even then, I'm not convinced my rotting corpse won't still be twitching from it.

I'm talking about a programme called Lazy Town (8.30-9 a.m. Mon-Fri BBC 2), which answers the question 'What exactly would happen if Hollyoaks' Tony Hutchinson fell in a vat of that magic potion from Asterix and dressed like Biggles from the future?'

Well, the answer is a man named Sporticus (image shown above), who makes a class full of 6 year olds high on Sunny Delight and Wham bars on the last day of school before christmas look like, well, me on an average day.

This man seems to be capable of super-human powers, and although I want to believe that computer graphics have been used, I have a terrible feeling that he actually is super-human.

The programme basically seems to be funded by someone, somewhere (Iceland possibly?) intent on showing us mere mortals that Homo Sapiens are no longer the top of the food chain. A new breed of human has evolved, and we're being warned by a programme disguised to look like it's there to help children get fit.

In this morning's episode a child sent a letter to Sporticus asking for tips on doing push-ups. Rather than offering tips on what to do to ensure you don't get a bad back, Super-Tony proceeded to do every kind of push-up variant you could possibly imagine, and then some. 'Push-up followed by a clap behind my back', 'Push-up where I kind of collapse my arm to the elbow and then go back up again', and most impressively 'Push up on one hand and one foot' are all in the Sportacus repertoire.

By the way, everything (and I mean EVERYTHING) Sportacus does is highlighted by either a cartoony 'Woosh!' noise, or (for fans of 80s synthesizers) the 'Orchestra Hit' sound, much loved by the Pet Shop Boys (if you care, it sounds like a whole orchestra playing a fast, punchy note simultaneously, as imagined by a geek at Yamaha HQ. who has never actually heard an orchestra). Anyway, it's bloody annoying and answers another question, 'Why does this man live on his own?'.

Anyway, I digress. Sporticus finally decides, after managing to do a few simple tasks in a totally over the top way that would leave even Mr Motivator wheezing like, well me after walking to the corner shop, to drink a bottle of water.

But no - he can't just open the fridge, remove said bottle, turn cap and drink. No, as with everything he does, he has to do it in a way that makes us feel bad. His house (which i neglected to mention is an airship hovering over the Earth) has various holes that just appear in the walls to hand him certain things (who's lazy now eh?) so the water appears from one of these holes. He then does about 3 triple-backflips, some star jumps (that include doing the spilts) and spins around in the air just to grab the water. Then he sings a song about how important water is after exercising. It all looks a bit like a cross between some of the aerial shots from Cliffhanger and a Pepsi Max advert, but he's just drinking some water for crying out loud.

Someone should slip some kryptonite in that man's 'H2O'

Joe Le Unlicenced Taxi

2005-11-29T09:19:00.000Z

Last Saturday I was out near Old Street until the early hours, and as seems to be the norm round there, ended up getting one of those dodgy, unlicenced taxis to take me home. You know, the ones that are just some bloke in his car. My journey back was a bit of a nightmare, and things started badly when I realised the driver didn't know where we were headed. He also kept asking me if I was a policeman and was obviously very nervous at this prospect. I think he assumed that I was just waiting until the end of the journey before I leapt out of the car, flashed my badge and exclaimed "Taxi Police!" before pinning him down and calling for backup. Anyway, as we approached the scene of a serious accident near Old Street tube, he managed to knock a cyclist over, attracting the attention of about 20 police officers who were already there sorting out whatever mess it was. Amazingly, they just gave him a cheery nod and waved him on.

As I mentioned, he didn't seem to know where anything in London was so was using sat-nav to direct him. He reassuringly told me that he felt like he was just a robot fulfilling the demands of the sat-nav, with her reassuring womanly tones. Unfortunately, sat-nav didn't know about the existence of ths accident at Old Street tube, so sent us in circles for a bit. By the time he made it to mine (which involved ignoring most of sat-nav's instructions) I'd already mentally prepared my will. We came to a screeching halt with him doing some kind of Knight Rider skid that left us diagonally in someones front garden.

God bless London transport. Especially late at night, when it's at its best.

The Cranial Remix

2005-11-28T14:51:00.000Z

Does anyone else find that, after having had a song stuck in your head for a couple of weeks (it can be a good song or a terrible song - there's no accounting for your brain's taste), that you start remixing it/adding notes, instruments and singers that weren't there before?

I only ask, as I'm being driven mad by repeated listens to Kanye West's 'Gold Digger' sung by The Worzels (of 'Brand New Combine Harvester' fame). It works pretty well until they reach the 'N' word, at which point the possibilty of calling them up and suggesting they do a cover of it all seems a bit wrong.

The last time I had such an appalling cranial remix stuck in my head was when Holly Valance's 'Kiss' came out. Instead of hearing the (mwah) (mwah) noises, i'd hear the comedy sound of a trombone sliding down then up (like you'd expect to hear in a slapstick film). Thus:

"Cause tonight im gonna give you my
BBBBBRRRRRRrrrrrooooowwwwwWWWWWWAAAAHHHHH
Kiss!"

Anyone else have any cranial remixes they'd like to recommend?

Life Above The Undergrowth

2005-11-25T16:02:00.000Z

A friend recently directed me to these very amusing video clips (in particular those from 'Programme 1: Invasion Of The Land'). They're taken from the new David Attenborough series 'Life In The Undergrowth' and show how weird and interesting the courtship ritual can be for various bugs.

Tonight I have invited a young woman round for dinner, and have spent so long preparing for this, that I haven't even started any work yet today. 4.30 p.m. (when I've finished writing this) has to be my record so far. And it's Friday, so does that mean i get to leave work (and walk back to the non 'office' designated area in my bedroom) at 4.30 p.m.?

Anyway, it occured to me that the bugs featured in that programme would be quite justified in having the last laugh were they to obtain footage of what I've been doing today. David, if you're reading this, that video wasn't yours to take.

Here are some excerpts of what the commentary would allegedly include, had David Attenborough turned up at my front door this morning telling me he was here by order of the landlord to fit webcams in each of the rooms in my flat:

"Purpulos Smokius begins his courtship ritual first thing in the morning by using a vacuum cleaner to remove any detritus from the floor of his dwelling. This includes a vast number of staples which his dwelling-mate seems to shed on the carpet on a daily basis."

"Later on, P. Smokius is found scuttling from his cave to another cave around the corner from his, where goods are avaiable to buy. He purchases a number of items required later on that day, including the most expensive bottle of wine he's every bought in a non-restaurant situation. If you listen closely, you can hear him mutter: '£8.99? I'd expect it to be 40% for that price' before scuttling back to his cave."

"After using items from the shopping cave to prepare a feast for that night, P. Smokius cunningly realises that he has forgotten many items still required for the ritual, and scuttles back to the cave around the corner. Here he buys floor-cleaner, milk and ice cream. The latter two items we will go into in more detail in Episode 2, but they are the result of yet another bizzare human ritual which involves squeezing the nipples of a lesser organism and drinking/freezing the resulting product."

"Back at his cave, P. Smokius then scuttles around his cave some more, wrestling with a Vileda Supermop, to have his cave clean before the female arrives. After filling the mop-bucket with dirty water, he then proceeds to empty this all over the area surrounding his sink, meaning he has to do all his washing up again. He then wastes some time, when instead he should be working, writing about what would happen if David Attenborough had turned up at his front door earlier that morning and told him that he was there by order of the landlord to fit webcams in each of the rooms in his flat."

By the way, if any lay-deez are reading this, can you please reassure me that you lot get very turned on by the smell of Dettol, as that's what I've discovered I cleaned the floor with, and it stinks.

Baby Dating

2005-11-24T12:11:00.000Z

No, I'm not suggesting a dating service for babies, or even a controversial new technique enabling scientists to determine the age of a baby by cutting it in half and counting the number of rings inside.

What I am proposing is an alternative to Speed Dating, in the same line as Dark dating (where you chat people up in total darkness while a night vision goggle-wearing waiter serves you food), and 'Lock and Key' parties, where you have to find a woman who's lock fits your key (ooh err).

Baby Dating would require that you, and everyone else booking themselves in for the event, email a photo of themselves to the Baby Dating Corp. Using Photoshop, or some such image-editing program, Baby Dating Corp.'s team of designers then create a montage of what each potential couple's baby would look like. Then, come Baby Dating event time, rather than meeting potential partners, you rotate around a room (one for men and another for the ladies) looking at framed photographs of what your offspring would look like with each of the potentials, and give a tick or a cross.

I think it's a great idea and someone should buy it off me. But remember where you read it first - look, I've got: (c), TM, and Patent Pending on it. Just writing those symbols means it's mine, even though I don't know what they mean.

I can't help thinking maybe I need to work on the name a bit.

Safety First

2005-11-23T13:31:00.000Z

Last night as I was returning from the pub, I spotted an advert (one of those safety-conscious ones probably paid for by the government) on the escalators that read something like 'PROTECT YOUR MP3'.

What are we to make of this? Which MP3 are we to protect? My iPod has around 5000 MP3s on it, so should I pick my favourite one and protect that? Am I now required to carry a laptop and USB lead around with me so that, should I find myself in a mugging-style situation, I can say to the hi-tech burglar "Hold on mate, before you take my iPod, just let me hook it up to my laptop so I can transfer 'Biology' by Girls Aloud across. Then you can take it. You've seen those safety ads funded by the government right? Better do what they say, Big Brother and all that".

Hopefully be the time Windows has loaded up, he or she will have become bored waiting, and found someone with an old cassette walkman or even a gramophone to mug instead.

Or perhaps there's a typo on the poster, and the government have decided that in the current climate of terror, they want us to watch out for them, hence 'PROTECT YOUR MP'?

Yet another example of the huge repercussions that can by faced when a graphic designer makes a simple typing error.

Souper

2005-11-22T12:46:00.000Z

Does anyone know how to defrost a carton of Covent Garden soup?

I'm thinking that if i put it in the fridge, it will take weeks to defrost as it'll still be cold. But if I leave it out of the fridge, that it will defrost a little bit, and then instantly start sprouting the mould that the fate of the 'Best Before' label predicted, had I not cryogenically frozen him.

Or do I just put the soupy lolly in a saucepan?

(I don't have a microwave by the way, before you all get smart on me)

How do firemen do it?

2005-11-22T12:07:00.000Z

No - i'm not being saucy. I'm talking about waking up to an alarm bell, getting dressed, and going to work. All in the space of a few minutes.

Miraculously, I actually have some work at the moment, a freelance project for a few weeks. You'd think I'd be grateful for this, but what do I do? I keep distracting myself, that's what. Hell, I'm writing this instead of working, aren't I?

It's 12 noon, and I've only done about half an hour of work. I don't even have to slide down a pole to get to work - I just have to walk from one side of my bedroom to the other. This is why I set my alarm clock for 8:59 a.m. - in theory it should only take a minute to walk from my bed to my desk. In fact, i don't even need a minute to do it, more like about 3 seconds, but my alarm doesn't have the facility to allow me to wake up at 8:59:57.

So, what do I do after the alarm goes off? Well, this morning I spent about half an hour just lying there feeling sorry for myself for being hung over (and on a paltry 4 drinks) and then I watched quite an interesting programme about marmite. HOT NEWS: they're making it in a squeezy bottle. There was some debate in this programme about whether it was spelt 'Squeezy' or 'Squeazy', which quite frankly is obviously the former, but their dyslexic graphic designer had used the latter spelling on all his designs, so had to go back to the graphics tablet.

See, graphic design isn't just about using Photoshop to trace over a photo you've found on Google Image Search, it's also about being able to spell (and a few other such technical things you wouldn't understand). In fact, because of the huge potential for disaster in getting a spelling wrong in a design, I often spend hours worrying about doing exactly the kind of thing the Marmite man did. Ironically, I've just had to look up 'dyslexic' in a dictionary only to discover that it's not spelt 'dislexic'.

Anyway, yes, this gist was that the little nozzle on the end of the squeezy (or squeazy for all you designers out there) bottle didn't work very well so they got behind schedule until they decided to use a valve thingy instead.

It really was an interesting programme.

After that, I finally got out of bed at about 10.30 and went to the kitchen to see what was available for breakfast. Despite having a choice of breakfasts that would put Seinfeld to shame (that man always seems to have at least 20 different boxes of cereal in his kitchen), I always feel like having the one thing that's not in my cupboard. This morning it was beans on toast (no, i don't keep toast in my cupboard, i just didn't have any baked beans), so I went and bought a couple of tins. But tomorrow, i can guarantee that i won't want beans on toast, or anything else that's alreay in my cupboard.

Finally I started working at about 11 a.m., which is actually my record earliest time since starting the project. If i take baby steps, I may be able to get that down to 9 a.m. by the last day of the project.

Hmm...is it lunchtime yet?

A Blog is Born...

2005-11-21T13:16:00.000Z

Hello, my name is...Ha! i'm not going to tell you my name as I don't want any of this used as incriminating evidence in future.

All I'm saying is that I'm a 27 year old male, living in London, and struggling to earn a living as a graphic designer. When not earning a living I also struggle (with my science degree from a fairly respectable university) to figure out how on Earth one applies for Job Seeker's Allowance. All I know is that the amount of paperwork required for me to do this has probably been one of the main contributions to the rapid decline of the earth's rainforests, global-warming, and ultimately the destruction of the planet.

But hey - the £56.20 a week means I can buy pizzas and beer.

Other struggles I will no doubt spend my time whinging and whining about on here will include:

- Women. Why are all the good ones in London taken, and when they do split up with a boyfriend, how is it that they instantly seem to be going out with someone else? How does one become a 'someone else'? Why do women (the ones I like at least) seem to always need a boyfriend? They're always bragging about how 'empowered' and 'independent' they are, but they can't operate for 10 minutes without the support of some dickhead who's only half as attractive/intelligent as I am. And why do they always have to tell people like me that 'we did [insert boring event here] over the weekend', where 'we' has not been explained?

- Money. Why does everyone have tonnes of it apart from me? How can I get a piece of the action? A slice of the pie? I'm 27 and I can barely afford a bike, let alone a car/wife/pet/children. As for buying even a bedsit in London - how does anyone do it!

- Death. It's all a bit unfair really, ain't it? Just as someone's brain has become full of interesting stories, experiences, and knowledge, they pop their clogs. What's the point of life, eh?

I'm sure I'll be adding to those original and groudbreaking topics as I go along, but I don't know yet, do I? If I could really see into the future, I'd be able to tell you that I'm so lazy that I'll probably give up on writing this blog in a few days, but I can't. So you'll just have to wait and let the mysterious sands of time flow over you and get stuck in some bodily crevices along the way.

Until tomorrow....Watch this space!