Monthly Archives: July 2010

Lateness, and other inspired blog titles

I was properly late for the first time in this job (so the first time in just about a year, really) the other day. I turned my alarm off the day before and forgot to turn it back on. Simple, innit. Unsurprisingly, it acted as some kind of catalyst for this entry. WHO WOULD HAVE THUNK IT?

I want to be the kind of person who can say “I don’t understand lateness, or how people can be late – I’m always on time and I expect the same of everyone else”. I could actually say it, obviously, but it would be a bit of a porky pie. See, I do understand why and how people are late. Shit happens, you mis-time things, sometimes you forget, sometimes your alarm doesn’t go off. It’s understandable.

But that’s not to say I understand under any circumstances. See, I can understand running a few minutes late. I can understand being a bit later than that because of a transport issue, or an accident on the road, or a menacing racoon standing in your way. Things like that make sense. But when people are just an hour late – two hours late – for no real reason, that’s when I start getting confused and ever so slightly annoyed.

I’ve been one of these people who has been very late to something on a consistent basis, but this wasn’t social engagements with friends: it was a job. And this wasn’t any old job: it was a job I didn’t particularly care about. That’s my justification for once turning up at 2.30pm for a 9.30am start and I’m sticking with it.

But seriously – if you’re one of those people who runs an hour, two hours, three hours late to meet me somewhere then I HATE YOU. Also: get a fucking grip.

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Fireworks and the art of going BOOM! in the sky

Got halfway through this yesterday, booze, Empire Strikes Back and low battery got in the way of finishing it. Sozzer.

Think of things you loved as a child: the smell of fresh cut grass, cool, dewy morns, free cake. It was all great, clearly. One of the things a lot of young ‘uns liked seemed to be those flaming (tiny)tubes of gunpowder launched into the air for the seeming good of humanity. Or: fireworks. Those things you set fire to and watched explode. Yeah, them.

I watched some tonight – nothing amazing, just a barge on the sea throwing flaming cylinders into the sky so they can explode in a shower of coloured… stuff. It was alright, though not exactly on a par with THE BEST FIREWORKS SHOWS IN THE WORLD, like… umm… the ones I’ve never seen. It had colours, explosions and a variation in the type, colour and size of explosion that happened all over the sky. So yeah, that was alright.

Thing is, when I was a kid I was terrified of the bloody things, and I never understood how anyone could be anything but terrified. I mean, they were literally explosion shows, with explosions. Loud ones. Big bangs combined with the impending terror of another big bang never did bode well for tiny Ian.

While I’ve managed to get over that and can now successfully coo with delight at the slightest sign of any coloured explosives being launched into the sky, I do still retain some feelings of fear from my childhood. As such, if you see me flinching at a fireworks display, feel free to come over, point, laugh and say “hahaha, Ian was a child once!” BOOM!

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A public service announcement RE: GET OUT OF MY WAY

This is a follow-up to a previous public service announcement from Dransfield Industries, a subsidiary of Dransfield Incorporated, which represents parent company Dransfield Dransfield.

29 July, 2010. Bournemouth, England.

Statement begins:

PEOPLE of the world, and not just Bournemouth, lend us your ears. We here at Dransfield Industries would like to offer a warning on the basis of new information discovered recently. We were quick to ease your discomfort when it came to certain PEOPLE walking the streets who you seemed to think looked threatening when they actually weren’t, so you should probably listen to this as we know what we’re on about.

It turns out that this once-docile, friendly PERSON who wasn’t out to mug you or your families (or pets) has, in fact, turned a corner in their life and edged closer towards punching all of you “brain dead morons” (PERSON’S words, not ours) in the “stupid” face.

It seems that with the summer comes an onrush of peoples from the world over to sunny Bournemouth. There is nothing wrong with this, as both Dransfield Industries and PERSON agree – people is people, innit. But there comes a time when, in a busy high street during a time when PERSON is walking through said busy high street, you should probably get out of his way.

This warning will not be repeated by request of Dransfield Incorporated and parent company Dransfield Dransfield. If you don’t move out of PERSON’S way in future, they are liable to kill you in the head.

Statement ends.

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Birthday is mine today

Today is my birthday. I am now 27 years old. This may be quite old, or it may be quite young, or it may be neither young nor old. I don’t really know or care that much. Still, I’ve got a few birthdays under my belt so far, so I think I’m confident in my opinion that they’re… well, they’re alright actually.

It’s not like Christmas, which has been mainly shit for me, and it’s not like [INSERT OTHER OCCASION HERE] where I usually end up battling nine flaming cock(erels). Birthdays tend to be pleasant, if not downright fun. Even last year’s complete non-event was good, just because I got drunk with Anna. Pleasant. Even today is good – I’m ill and had to go to work, but I like my job and I’m not dead, plus the aforementioned Womana came down and is now cooking for me. Pleasant.

But there have been less simply pleasant times, more ‘fucking stupid’ times. Ben falling asleep at the table of the Mexican restaurant we were at because we’d been on the lash since about 10am, only to be woken up by me shoving jalapenos in his facial orifices is pretty high on that list. As was the trip my uni mates made to Swinton and Sheffield for – I think – my 19th. I fed them tinned ready meals and we were so bored we played cricket in my mate’s house in Sheff. But it was good fun in the end.

I don’t much care for ceremony, gift-giving and all that nonsense – I like it, but I’m just not a major player of the game. I just like birthdays because I’ve had fun on the vast majority of them. How could I do anything but like them?

Wow, this sounds a bit sentimental. Sorry.


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200th post spectacularrrrrrr

Well, this is post 200. Again I should reiterate that I expected to last a little over one week – seven-to-ten posts, I’d say. So it’s a phenomenal personal achievement to have managed to make it this far, even if the quality has been questionable at best. Let’s prove that statement by highlighting some of the entries from ‘the difficult second hundred’. GO:

The 101st entry was actually one I expected to get more response to, even though it got a reasonable one. What’s the matter? You all fear the fact that my opinions on comedians are clearly so much more powerful, sexy and right than yours? Go look again, anyway. Here. Or the Star Wars is shit list – have a look at that one too. List-o-rama here.

Does anyone remember the general election? I don’t. I erased it from my mind, even after this ridiculously long, self-pitying demi-rant I had about it. GO. Speaking of self-pity, why did nobody donate to this worthwhile cause? Bastards.

This made me laugh, and still does. iPad wankers. And this still makes me so ridiculously happy – to the point that I remembered it earlier and it made me do a ‘laugh out loud’. Ah, Chaddock. You massive fanny.

Dranfield’s investigative journalism hit a new high with this little ditty, which crap as it is I’m actually a tiny bit proud of. Only a tiny bit though. PORNSTARS. Whereas my investigative opinion-having seems to have paid off with regards to Futurama, which has indeed come back and has indeed turned out to still be great. Well done there.

This got six whole comments, so why not re-link? And this has Youtube videos (and amazing comedy), so why not re-link? As does this, actually.

My lovely girlfriend muscled her way into the act a few weeks ago, releasing this tirade on an unsuspecting public in what I hope was the first of a few guest blogs. So I don’t have to write as many. Is that cheating? Who knows. Whereas I soon followed it up with a shocking revelation – and I’m still not sure if I’m over it.

But my version of the McDonald’s poem, which I did the other day, is actually one of my favourite things I’ve done. I actually thought about it for more than ten minutes – yes, it isn’t amazing and could be a lot better – but it makes me laugh. And that’s all that matters.

Here’s to the next hundred. And sixty-five.

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A public service announcement RE: walking

This is a public service announcement from Dransfield Industries, a subsidiary of Dransfield Incorporated, which represents parent company Dransfield Dransfield.

26 July, 2010. Bournemouth, England.

Statement begins:

WOMEN, men, children, dogs and everything in-between are being offered advice for if a reasonably large, northern man begins walking anywhere in the vicinity of them. This man, it has been noted, is not a threat to you, your safety, your belongings or your way of life. Just because this man has decided to walk on the same stretch of pavement as you does not mean he is about to murder you most violently. Or even make eye contact.

It has been noted by Dransfield Industries that many women, men, children, dogs and everything in-between act surprised by the appearance of this man on pavements. They have been known to cross roads in what is not always – but quite clearly sometimes – a way of getting away from the man. Looks of confusion, if not genuine fear, are commonplace whenever this man comes within a certain distance of many women, men, children, dogs and everything in-between.

We at Dransfield Industries, as well as employees at Dransfield Incorporated and the management team at Dransfield Dransfield would like to offer this piece of advice to all women, men, children, dogs and everything in-between, whether they seem to fear this man or not: he is not going to hurt you in any way, shape or form. You do not need to look behind you, cross roads, eye up any nearby items that could be used as makeshift weaponry, call MI6, run away or throw a smoke bomb at the ground before vanishing. This man is not a murderer, rapist, mugger, bumper-intoer, insulter or attacker.

Dransfield Industries would like to confirm he is just a largeish man who walks quite fast. We ask that all women, men, children, dogs and everything in-between remain calm on seeing him in the streets. He is of no threat to anyone.

Statement ends.


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Everyone is entitled to (matching) opinions

I read this earlier, and it made me smile. It made me smile because it’s just nice to read sometimes that the role of the critic is supported. Part of my job is reviewing video games – offering a judgement on them – so it rang true, as this is the part of the job under the most scrutiny from seemingly everyone in the world.

All too often it seems that simply having an opinion that runs contrary to that of the general populace (i.e. Metacritic’s average rating) means risking scorn, insults, ridicule and even the ire of those that make or promote the game. I want to know why. I want to know why it is that I cannot have an opinion on something that runs against the grain; that goes against what others seem to think. It is, shockingly enough, my opinion and not that of someone else, or the general public. It is not the same as the average, it is not an opinion solely formed to appease Metacritic and it is not an opinion formed to ingratiate myself with others.

It is a critical evaluation of a product, of a piece of entertainment, arguably of a piece of art. It is not a wall to be splattered with the excess foam coming out of my mouth as I gush nothing but effusive praise in its direction, nor is it merely a porcelain receptacle made to welcome any and all shit I want to throw at it.

But I seem to be in the minority thinking this, meaning I seem to be going against the grain again. I wonder what the Metacritic opinion is on all of this.


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