Categories
About Me

FEEA

I invented a new **system** for evaluating pastimes and distractions today, called FEEA (pronounced “fear”, but with a soul-piercing screech).

The letters stand for Fun, Edification, Ease and Availability. What you do is rate all the things that you could do out of five, tally the four scores up, and the winner is the one with the most points. Here’s what I found.

**Playing Computer Games**

Fun: 4
Edification: 2 (there’s always that feeling that you haven’t really achieved anything)
Ease: 5 (can be done whilst drunk, that’s how easy it is)
Availability: 4 (waiting for it to load)

TOTAL: 15 (a most respectable score)

**Making Music**

Fun: 2 (a temporary state of affairs, I’m sure)
Edification: 4
Ease: 2 (takes a lot of hard work and dedication)
Availability: 2 (bandmates won’t come out of London at the drop of a hat, you know)

TOTAL: 10 (shocking. Must do something about this)

**Going To The Gym**

Fun: 1 (I get bored of looking at the same sweaty people and the same white walls over and over again)
Edification: 5 (…but I do feel better about myself for it)
Ease: 2 (takes a lot of hard work and dedication)
Availability: 5 (it’s part of the routine. Availability is not a problem)

TOTAL: 13 (blame it on the edification score)

**Housework**

Fun: 2 (varies depending on the task)
Edification: 4
Ease: 5 (can be done whilst drunk, that’s how easy it is)
Availability: 5 (assuming you’re actually at home)

TOTAL: 16 (wow. I should do more housework)

**Blogging**

Fun: 3 (it would be 5, but I have ensured that the score takes into account “reading other peoples’ blogs”. I joke, of course)
Edification: 2 (it would be 5, but I have ensured that the score takes into account “reading other peoples’ blogs”. I joke, of course)
Ease: 4 (type nonsense. Not exactly rocket science)
Availability: 2 (not enough hours in the evening)

TOTAL: 11 (second to last place. Not going to do **that** again then)

So, with that, I hereby announce my resignation from blogging.

I joke, of course.

*Originally posted here*

Categories
Poetry

About a Kettle

I’ve seen a lot of toasters,
And sandwich makers too,
But I never could stop searching
For a kettle just like you.

I like your pouty spout,
And your elegant element.
I like your ample handle,
And your kooky plastic scent.

Please sit here on my worktop,
And boil water for my tea,
And tell me how you’ve always searched
For a blender just like me.

Categories
Poetry

The Angry Shoebox

There was an angry shoebox,
Who mumbled all day long.
He’d whine about the weather,
And ask where all the red telephone boxes had gone.

The shoebox, he joined UKIP
To get the phonebooths back,
And everyone accused him,
Of being a dumbass racist hack.

And they were right, I guess.

(note: all abbreviations mentioned in this poem are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to any abbreviation, living or dead, is purely coincidental)

Categories
Meander

Threat to masculinity

Once upon a time, I was really really masculine. No, seriously, ask anyone that I went to school with. I was the hunkiest of the testosteroniest of the jockiest of the Men.

Many of you may remember Men Behaving Badly.

**Tony:** *I’m sorry, look what happens when you live with a woman? She’ll fill the place with cushions.*

**Gary:** *Cushions, yeah.*

That’s always stuck in my mind, for some reason. And it comes back particularly hard on occasions.

is this too many cushions

*Originally posted here*

Categories
IAMOWIM

Hyperquandary

I never used to go to the doctor’s much, because as far as I could see, it was a place for poorly people, and I have always been a tough fucker.

Dentists and opticians, of course, are quite different. You go there regularly, and they keep you tip top. They say, “Why Sir, you look good. Keep doing what you’re doing. And floss more.”

And they take money off you for it, so you think, ah, that’s cool. They get money, I get guidance. This is business. They like me being there.

But doctors are different. If you went to a doctor without an ailment, you’d be wasting their time. They don’t get money. They don’t think “awesome, that was the easiest £15 I’ll ever make.” They think “fucker.”

Recently my girlfriend has been getting very concerned about me. No grounds for it, as far as I can see, but I’ve been to the doctor’s twice in the last fortnight, for two different reasons, but on both occasions I’ve been told to “go back if it gets any worse.”

So what happens next time the girlfriend has one of her panic attacks and wants me to go to the doctor to have a particularly ugly looking hangnail checked out? Do I tell her that I’m a man, and can look after myself, and by golly, cavemen didn’t go to the doctor when they were poorly, and they were tough fuckers?

What then happens if the ugly looking hangnail jumps up and strangles me? I’ll wish I’d listened to her advice then.

Categories
Fiction

A Routine Case

The woman who would later reveal her name to be Dorothy looked up at me through the windscreen like a pouty puppy looking up through a car windscreen. I adjusted my trilby and spat my long-extinguished cigarette out onto the tarmac.

“Hey, ain’t that a bit dangerous?” she said, looking around her like an inquisitive yoghurt. The air moved around her like a confused bumblebee at an Olympic opening ceremony.

“It’s flameless.” I replied, my voice hinting at the burning sensation that this woman was creating within me. Her beautiful brown eye and her beautiful green eye reached into my body like a rubber-gloved surgeon performing a colon inspection, piercing me as if the surgeon had forgotten to put their keys down beforehand.

Something about her was familiar.

“Something about you is familiar.” I said.

Our eyes met for a second. Then she disappeared out of my life in a cloud of tyre smoke, never to be seen again for the next four minutes. I shook my head and went to find a mop to clear up the puddle of petrol on the forecourt.

“What an odd woman.” I said out loud, to no-one in particular.

*Originally posted here*

Categories
Poetry

Bitter? Me? What gave you that idea?

I’ve known a lot of girls,
In the days since I was born.
Some were real and made of flesh,
And some were merely porn.

I’ve given laughter to many girls,
I’ve even made some cry.
One of them even slit her wrists,
Because I made her want to die.

But these are just a sample,
Out of all the girls I’ve met,
For most girls that I’ve spoken to,
I’d much rather forget.

The girls who laughed at my geeky ways,
Who sniggered, sneered and scoffed.
You turned me down, well that’s your loss,
But I hope your tits fall off.

Yes I hope your tits fall off.

Categories
IAMOWIM

Toe problems

I stubbed my toe earlier today. Everyone accused me of hobbling round and making a big meal of it, but it’s bright purple now. I’m afraid that it’s going to turn black and drop off.

I took a photo of it with my new camera with the intention of putting it up here, but it’s just too gruesome to look at. Not only does my toe look like a plum, but my nails are dirty and I haven’t shaved my toe knuckles for… well, forever.

And besides, I would only have been putting it up so that I had an on-topic way to let you all know about my new camera, which I’ve done anyway. It’s a modest 3 megapixel Pentax, but it’s a step up from my clunky old 2 megapixel HP which was grainy and feature-sparse. This one’s loaded with tricks, and fits into the pocket of Pete.

*Originally posted here*

Categories
About Me

A letter

For this theme, I decided that I would dig out my old love letter archive and find something reasonably suitable to be extracted and posted.

However, when I looked in my super secret private folder where I keep them, they all seemed to be gone, except for one. I expect that Karen has discovered them, and thrown them all away. Except for this one.

> Dear Peter,
> I know I agreed to meet you at 8:00 but I totally forgot that I go to my Grandparents house on Thursdays, every single week!!! Sorry again but I didn’t really like the thought of you waiting for hours outside your house like a total lemon.
> I’ll speak to you tomorrow.
> Love Emma

Then again, perhaps I’m mistaken. Perhaps that’s the full extent of my love letters collection.

Ho hum.

*Originally posted here*

Categories
Music

Richard

Yesterday I saw an advert in a music shop that had been put there by a guy looking for a bassist and guitarist to join his indie band. It looked cute, so I made a note of his number.

Today, I phoned him back, and very quickly decided that his band was not for me.

Reason 1: I asked him about how much feedback he’d had already from his advert, and he said that he had had a few replies but most people couldn’t commit enough. So I asked him what sort of commitment he was looking for. It was soon clear that we were not a good match in this respect. I think his words were “Obviously I wouldn’t expect you to give up your job straight away.” I work full time, and it would take a lot for me to consider giving my job up for music. I told him this. He’s got his heart set on world domination, and I can’t compete with that. I make music for fun, not for a living.

Reason 2: He was reluctant to define exactly what he meant by indie. I kept probing him, as I knew it was important. He eventually said Coldplay. Ugh.

I’ve given him my contact details so he can send me their demo, but without knowing the guy I don’t think that I could join his band, because I don’t want to waste his time by hanging around for ten minutes and then leaving.

We’ll see.