A losers diary

[burns1]

Their is a distinct air of silliness about me, I fear

I have no idea why, because it’s really not that funny, but this is making me giggle like a schoolboy, so maybe writing it down will get it out of my system.

A poem written by a female university student in honour of her deceased cat, ‘Seefor’, courtesy of B3ta.com

“Seefor cat is
D for dead
And we’re all S for Sorry
Because he ran
into a van
Or possibly a lorry.”
‘

PS: I have decided to get a pet Goldfish just so I can name it Whizz Fish Swimmy’ because it is quite simply the best name for a pet I have ever heard.

 

[burns1]

Oops, pardon my French

I was, for my sins, doing some shopping in a rather unlovely mall in my home town on Saturday, when I walked past a crowd gathered outside the 99 pence store. (THAT kind of shopping mall)

There was a guy trying to attract people in by playing a version of the yes/no game.

I was just absent mindedly watching when I realised he had started talking to me, and with nothing better to do, I thought what the hell and said ‘yes’ when he asked if I was willing to play the game.

He asked me my name, where I was from and made some chit chat before explaining the rules ‘You can’t say the words yes or no, do you understand’

‘I do’

‘Good start, Sam. It is Sam, isn’t it?’

‘It is’

‘And you’re from round here, yes?’

‘I was born in the area’

‘And what are you doing here today?’

‘Christmas shopping’

‘Christmas shopping already, that’s a bit organised, are you generally a well organised person, Sam?’

‘I am not’

‘You’re doing well Sam, have you played this before’

‘A long time ago’

‘Well, you’re doing well, are you enjoying yourself’

‘It’s OK’

‘Well, I must say, you are making this look easy, are you finding it easy Sam’

‘Yes…Very…FUCK!’

I am so, so, SO sorry to the poor kids that heard me swear like that.


I walked off, red faced, and up the stairs to the comic shop to be faced by the owner laughing at me and saying ‘that’s the funniest fucking thing I have seen all day’

 

[burns1]

They call me Mr Smooth

I'm working on a project and the client is a very attractive Blonde. Now, some of you may have witnessed (or at least picked up from things I've written) that I sometimes get a tad, shall we say, nervous, around women.

The project we are working on is going to have to go above the budget she was originally given, so I've been waiting all morning to find out if we've got the go ahead.

She just came over to tell me we have.

I said 'That's Fab' and gave the double thumbs up sign.

WTF?

Where did that come from? I have never said that before and I have never given the double thumbs up sign before. And suddenly I find myself looking like a Paul McCartney fan at a Bootleg Beatles gig.

I hate myself.

 

[burns1]

Turn to page 41. You are dead.

So, I outgeeked myself beyond belief on Saturday. While my poor, long suffering Char waited outside in the cold (hey, don’t judge me I spent enough of the day waiting for her!) I ambled around Forbidden Planet to the tune of £75.

Then we went for coffee and I mentioned that there was a book signing back at the store at 1 o’clock. We talked about it for a bit and then Char said ‘You really want to go back, don’t you. Go on then, I don’t mind’.

And that is how I found myself at 12.59 at the end of a queue of very strange looking people.

And why I am now the proud owner of the 25th Anniversary Hardcover edition of ‘The Warlock Of Firetop Mountain’ signed ‘To Sam, no cheating this time, Steve Jackson, Ian Livingstone’

Yes, it’s a choose your own adventure book. Written for people who didn’t have enough friends to play D&D…

 

[burns1]

Missing you already

Someone once told me that this song was written after Prince gave up smoking. I didn’t believe it then, and I don’t, truly believe it now. But it damn well should have been.

It's been seven hours and fifteen days
Since you took your love away
I go out every night and sleep all day
Since you took your love away
Since you been gone I can do whatever I want
I can see whomever I choose
I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant
But nothing
I said nothing can take away these blues
`Cause nothing compares
Nothing compares to you
It's been so lonely without you here
Like a bird without a song
Nothing can stop these lonely tears from falling
Tell me baby where did I go wrong
I could put my arms around every girl I see
But they'd only remind me of you
I went to the doctor n'guess what he told me
Guess what he told me
He said girl u better try to have fun
No matter what you'll do
But he's a fool
`Cause nothing compares
Nothing compares to you
all the flowers that you planted, mama
In the back yard
All died when you went away
I know that living with you baby was sometimes hard
But I'm willing to give it another try
Nothing compares
Nothing compares to you
Nothing compares
Nothing compares to you
Nothing compares
Nothing compares to you

 

[burns1]

My God! Delusion. . .

I just started reading The God Delusion and it reminded me of something I think I had desperately tried to suppress.

Let me take you on a trip to the past:

I’m a 16 year old virgin when a new girl joins our school. Very friendly, Swedish, attractive (to me, my friends couldn’t see it) and, sadly, ultra religious.

But did that stop me trying? Hell no. She quickly became my ‘girlfriend’. She even let me hold her hand. Once.

And what did I have to go through to get this very special privilege?

Let’s start a list, shall we?

Go to her church with her. And her family. Every Sunday.

Join the ‘Christian Society’ at school. Which run weekly. During the lunch hour. Three times a week. In a room where I could clearly see all my friends playing football. And having, you know, fun. While I nodded sagely and pretended to believe in creation.

Drive 5 hours to go to a three hour church service in rural (read: Backward) Norwich. Where I felt like such a fool being the only one who didn’t stand up and raise my hands to allow god into my life that (oh the shame) I did. Singing Hallelujah with everyone else.

Go to her sisters baptism listening to a painfully trying to be trendy preacher say things like ‘I love the music in the hit parade’ (a phrase for the top 40 that hadn’t been used since my Mum was a teenager) and discuss the lyrics to ‘Size of A cow’ by The Wonderstuff:

“Don't you think it's funny that nothing's what it
seems when you're not looking forward?
Me, I'd like to think life is like a drink,
and I'm hoping that it tastes like bourbon.
You know that I've been drunk a thousand times,
and these should be the best days of my life,
Life, it's not what I thought it was.
Damn blast, look at my past,
ripping up my feet over broken glass.
Oh wow, look at me now,
I'm building up my problems to the size of a cow.”

Trendy Preacherman: ‘He should turn to God, not drink, and then his problems would be more like the size of a mouse’ (wha?)

Things went wrong when she threw out my copy of REM’s Out Of Time because she didn’t want me listening to a song called ‘Losing My Religion’.

Well, that and the fact that she said she would ‘kill her twin sister if God told her to’

So, yes, I wasted 6 months of my life trying to get laid by someone who probably still hasn’t had sex to this day because it’s so sinful.

God, I was tragic.

You know what's worse?

10 years later I met a girl through work who started to talk about The Landmark Forum. Luckily I managed to spot the signs before I got dragged through a similar thing. Mind you, I did get to sleep with this one.

 

[burns1]

Aladin's Grotto (of crap)

I had a tidy up of my flat over the weekend.

Here’s a list of some of the stuff that got thrown out/put in a box to take to the charity shop.I’ll leave you to decide what went were.

Two copies of ‘The Exorcist’ on VHS. I don’t know why I had it twice or why both were still wrapped in plastic.

One McDonald’s ‘Nemo’ wind up bath toy from a happy meal
One McDonald’s wind up puffer fish thing whose name I don’t know, from a happy meal.

One woollen, purple and white striped man’s dressing gown
The first 10 Terry Pratchett ‘Discworld novels’ in paperback

One half pack of Kellogs ‘Rice Krispies’ breakfast cereal. Expiry date June 2005. ( from the back of the top shelf of my highsest kitchen cupboard that can’t be reached without climbing on the work surface)

One unopened jar of honey, crystalised (ditto)

Two dented tins of baked beans (ditto)

Two…ahem…gentleman’s magazines dated June 2005. – must have been lonely that month…

Three dead cactuses (Cacti?)

One plant trough filled with gravel where my so called ‘herb garden’ briefly lived and expired when I moved into the flat nearly 5 years ago.

Three copies of The Guardian, various dates, none later than mid 2006.

Four old, stained pillows.

Two broken irons, one broken kettle, one broken toaster and one broken portable TV set

One old PC

One unopened kite making kit

Six boxes of 12 HB pencils, five glue sticks, three staplers, three packs of blu-tack, two pairs of scissors, 20 pads of post-it notes, a bunch of biros, roller balls and marker pens, three bottles of tip-ex, two boxes of paper clips, two boxes of drawing pins, a calculator, three rulers and a partridge in a pear tree (I can’t believe how much stationary I have ‘acquired’ down the years – bear in mind, I still kept more than enough to make sure I am not going to run out of anything)

A hairdryer(!)

Some female underwear. Owner unknown.

About 21 socks that had been abandoned by their sibling

Two pairs of boxer shorts with holes in (sssssssexy!)

A dozen or so ‘Friends’ videos from the first few years.

5 nearly empty but not quite bottles of shower gel/shampoo
Dozens of disposable cigarette lighters, half empty boxes of matches and half used packs of cigarette papers

I could go on, but I am bored now. I am ahoarder of a magnitude that surprised even me. That or I'm a lazy arse who can't ever be bothered to tidy up.

 

[burns1]

If I believed in God, I think he would be telling me something tonight...

So, I haven't really told anyone I work with the exact reasons why I don't drink. I just say 'I don't drink much'.

Tonight I had 2 beers.

There is a bit of a back story, so bear with me.

When I started my (wonderful) newish job, I was on a contract, covering for a girl who had been 4 months unpaid leave.

But I was bought in at the level she was supposed to be promoted to when she came back replacing me.

Apparently, I did good. Because they kept me on, and she came back and didn't get her promotion.

We get on really well, but in the background, there had always been the 'I stole her job' thing.

Until this week, when she got her promotion anyway.

So a few of us went out to celebrate.

And this is where we get to why I am writing now...

I shouldn't drink. I know that. But is THIS fair...?

two beers.

I was good. I stopped. I decided to go home before I let myself out of control.

(deep breath before rant) ... It really is not my fault that there are floods on my train line and all my trains have been cancelled so I could only get as far as Gatwick Airport and I find myself spending 10p a minute on the internet because their is fuck all else to do other than check out the IRC or pay £50 for a taxi for the last bit of my journey and even then have to wait 2 hours for their to actually be a taxi free to take me anyway, is it?

2 beers? A whole night at an airport? Not a fair equation.

I almost wish I was drunk again.

 

[burns1]

OOmpa Loompa Oops, it's he...

Life does NOT get better than this.

In the five ish years I have lived in Horsham, I have been told the following:

1: Julie Walters lives nearby

2: Ian Hislop drinks in one of the pubs that I used to

3: The black Jug is a venue where lots of C list TV stars drink when they are doing theatre in Horsham

4: One of the Oompa Loompas from ‘Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factoryt’ lives here.

I can say this:

1 is true, because I saw her pay £10 for a copy of ‘The Big Issue’ once.

2 is true, because even though I never saw him, I read an article he wrote for The Guardian, about Morris Dancing where he named ‘The Green Dragon, Horsham’ as his favourite Morris Dancing pub

3: is true because I have seen an awful lot of ex soap opera actors in there who are doing bad plays in the theatre opposite.

4:… really? Do I live near an official Oompa Loompa?

Let’s talk about 4…

Long ago, in the murky depths of this journal, I have mentioned the Ooompa Loompa. Especially the day that I saw him stop in the street and his equally short family walked into him and all fell over in an oompa loompa pile up.

(at this point, I think I should say that I am using the phrase ‘Ooompa Loompa’ intentionally. It is not how I tend to refer to people of restricted height…um…midgets….no, wait…dwarfs…hang on…little’uns…shit…wait…midgoes…hummm…)

To cut a longer story shorter… (Shorter...you see? you geddit?)

I bumped into the guy that the whole of the town I live in thinks was an Oompa Loompa today. We both went for the ‘self serve’ counter in the shop at the same time.

We apologised to each other at the same time.

We both did a very British, polite ‘No, you first, it’s OK’ thing.

My apology must have gone over his head,because he went first. (*ahem*)

And we talked while he was checking out.

Eventually, I couldn’t resist. I actually asked if it was true that he played one of the original Oompa Loompas.

And I got a better answer than I could ever have expected.

‘No, that was my Dad’

And then he pointed to his Dad who was at the cigarette counter.

I TALKED TO A REAL OOMPA LOOMPAS SON!

 

[burns1]

Obscure Death Death Notices (revisited)

Who: Jeremy Beadle

When: 30 January 2008.

Famous As: Insufferable prankster with a silly tache and stumps for fingers on one hand. Staple of 80s & early 90s Saturday night TV. Bafling popular with my parents. Had a small hand in the revival of ‘Candid Camera’ style japery.

I mention him only as an excuse to resurrect an old playground joke that will mean very little to you unless you are British and my age or older or have paid close attention to this post.

“Jeremy Beadle has a tiny penis. On the other hand, it’s massive’

 

[burns1]

I didn’t choo choo choose to do this

There’s a one day a month over four months training course that I am going on through work.
Designed for men to ‘find their path’.

Ostensibly it’s ‘self nominating’ and you have to want to do it. But being the sort of person that always finds the word ‘Yes’ closer to hand than the word ‘no’, I answered the ‘would you like to go on this?’ question in the affirmative, going against every instinct I have that things like this are a complete and utter waste of time, energy and breath.

Yesterday I had the two hour, pre-course orientation.

I made some notes.

They consist of:

‘The most important thing for you to do today is write your name in the coursebook’

I wish I was making this up.

This is going to be my idea of hell.

Although I have no idea how I didn’t burst out laughing when the ‘facilitator’ said ‘We’re all different, there’s no such thing as an average man, apparently the “average man” (and yes, he did air quotations with his fingers at that point_ likes football. Well, I don’t like football’.

(pause)

‘I like trains’

 

[burns1]

Rejected Valentine's Poems

Roses are red, and they might come in handy
If I give some to you, can I fuck you bandy?

Roses are red, in a vase made of glass
If I give some to you, will you give me your arse?

Roses are red, and tacky and corny
But I'll get some for you, cos you make me horny

Roses are red, and they'll do the job
if getting you some makes you suck my knob

Roses are red, I'll go to the bank
and buy you a dozen if you'll give me a wank

Roses are red, I think they look ace
If I get some for you, can I come on your face?

(I am SO sorry. Truly, I am)

 

[burns1]

Define "popular"

I am in the library, checking the Camden Roundhouses website to make sure that Steve Earle is still playing there tonight before I go and try to buy a ticket from a tout.

I just walked past a shelf that has 'The Encyclopedia of Popular Music' on it.

Vol 1: A band of Angels - Brunel, Jean Jaques

Vol 2: Burnett, Carol - Dusty, Slim

Vol 3: Dutch Swing College Band - Library Use Only*

Vol 4: Herbal Mixture - Louvin Brothers

Vol 5: Louvin, Charlie - Paul, Clarence

Vol 6: Paul, Emmanuel - Smith, Larry

Vol 7: Smith, Leo - Wildchild

Vol 8: Wilde, Kim - ZZ Top

I'm going to read Volume 8, because with the exception of Carol Burnett, it's the only one that names people I've heard of.

*Couldn't be bothered to pick the book off the shelf and see what name was hidden by the label.

 

[burns1]

Beaten to a bloody pulp.

Kinda.

What with all the fact that I was rude to Snit, I didn't really get round to writing about the fact that I got thrown down a set of stairs last night, did I?

Then I got robbed.

Then I had to pay £40 to buy my own phone back.

I went to see Steve Earle last night.

Then I got pushed.

The next thing I know is waking up in the back of an ambulance at about 2AM.

Then I remember being asked if I was OK at about 3AM.

I said I was.

I wish they hadn't believed me.

At about 5am this morning, I was bleeding from my eyebrows while buying back my mobile phone for £40 and wishing I was back with the nice nurse.

Steve Earle was great. But he wasn't worth the blood.

 

[burns1]

Wouldn't it be great...

...if you could Google search the contents of your house.

Then I might have been able to find my fucking travelcard and not have had to pay to get to work this morning.

 

[burns1]

Bye Kitten, I'll miss you.

Otis.

My cat.

My little madam.

March(ish) 1991 - 12 March 2008.

You were a few weeks old when you were given to me as my 16th Birthday present.

In a few weeks time, I'm going to be 34.

You left me about about an hour ago, your kidneys failed they say.

I saw you at the weekend, and you were as fit as a fiddle. Where did you go?

I'm going to miss you, my bossy old lady. My tiny, bent eared, skinny bag beautiful bossy old lady.

An evening at my parents won't be the same without you clawing at my hand everytime I stop rubbing your ears.

Sleep well, precious girl. I love you.

 

[burns1]

I think Charlotte hates me...

...why else did she make me sit through one of the most godawful films I have ever seen last night?

Anyone seen Wedding Daze?

It has literally no redeeming features.

Well, it has ONE. It has Isla Fisher in her underwear.

Given that I have been in love with her since I was a floppy haired, sex starved student sat in front of the TV in my pants, watching Home and Away while fwapping away like a deranged, horny chimpanzee, I have adored her*.

But even she couldn't make that worth an hour and a half of my life.

*Apologies for the image. It's not strictly true, I promise. I just liked the phrase 'fwapping away like a deranged horny chimpanzee'

 

[burns1]

Speaking of fwapping...

I told Charlotte that once, when I still lived at home, I was in my room having some 'alone time' while listening to music on my headphones and when I had finished, I realised that someone had put a fresh cup of tea next to my bed.

She believed me.

Bless.

When I owned up that it was just an old story that does the rounds she slapped me and called me a twat.

The fates got their own back when on Saturday a friend told me that it was St Patricks day. I said 'isn't that usually 17th?' and he told me yes, but this year the Catholic Church had moved it to avoid clashing with an important religious holiday.

I outright refused to believe him, and have told a colleague the story, being pleased that I wasn't gullible enough to fall for that out claptrap.

Turns out it was true.

Bugger.

 

[burns1]

And I think of her, wherever I go...

It's heading towards a year since I've been back working in central London, a year of a horrible commute made completely worthwhile by a job that I love (as much as it is possible to love a 9-5 job) and being here in this fantastic city.

I still get excited when my train crosses The Thames and I see Battersea power station looming above me, canary wharf hazy in the distance at the opposite end of the skyline, big ben, the BT tower (which I work almost in the shadow of), the new addition to the skyline of 'The Gherkin' (as we have so romantically nicknamed it), the sun reflecting off the pods of The London Eye, the bridges and...well...just everything.

I was taking it all in this morning, on one of the most pleasant spring mornings of the year so far and it just gave me the urge to say again, I love it here, I love it so much and am so proud of this city.

At lunchtime, I am going to go and take a long walk up to the top of Primrose hill, and take in the view of my favourite place on this planet.

I am a lucky, lucky boy.

http://static.flickr.com/120/287868452_e4973f09e2_o.jpg

(couldn't get that image to work, for some reason)

 

[burns1]

At least she has some manners.

I know I shouldn't laugh, as it encourages her, but my 20 month old niece was running round my parents lounge yesterday, when she farted. She stopped, stood upright put her hand to her mouth and said 'Oh my!'.

I got a very dissaproving look from her mother as I folded over in hysterics.

I was at least revlieved to see my brother trying very hard but failing not to have the same reaction