Tag Archives: hmm

Wall to wall small (talk)

This may (will) shock some (all) of you, but I’m not very good (“am shit”) at small talk. I’ve just had it re-confirmed to me on entering my house and being introduced to my new housemate.

I mean, it doesn’t help that I was walking up the driveway to be confronted by a shirtless man staring at me through his window, or that I then entered the house to have him walk out of his room, into my path and FORCEFULLY, AGAINST MY WILL, introduce himself politely.

Still shirtless.

Have to say, that may have taken away some of my natural small talk charm I’m usually so renowned for.

Seriously though – I can’t even do my usual claims of dismissing things because of their inanity or pointlessness. While it is both those things, it serves a vital purpose: making people think you give a shit about anything to do with them at all. This, in turn, stops murders from happening. I’m too smart to be above small talk, but I’m too dumb to be able to do it properly.

“So, what do you do?”

“Oh, right. That must be fun.”

“I hate you.”

Every time. Without fail. It’s not a recipe for making acquaintances want to not creep into your room and bum you to death in your sleep, really.

I really must teach myself the ways of spouting (more) inanity, lest I become Just Another Victim.

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Pointlessocity/pointlessosity

It’s 3am, you’re not getting a picture.

Here’s one for you – I have whined in the past about not being sure if I can keep going. I’ve complained that my entries here every day haven’t been great, and for a time I worried if I would be able to complete all of the initial year of posts. I succeeded, by the way. But that doesn’t change the fact I’ve complained non-stop about making myself do this nonsensical charade. But never – not once – have I openly questioned the point in doing all of this. I have never thought there’s no need and I might as well quit.

Far from it, I’ve thought what you might call “the exact opposite”. I decided long ago this was a good way to challenge myself in a manner I might actually follow through with. I always saw the point as a result of that mentality.

But recently I’ve been unable to concentrate, listless (more so than normal) and completely lacking in the ability to see any bigger picture. I’m going to continue, I’m sure, I’m going to carry on filling these pages with utter shit that some of you convince yourselves is passable and I’m probably going to have a few more rants in future – though less about trains, as I don’t have to use them as much anymore.

But – but – I’m struggling to see the point in doing this right now. Not I don’t want to, not I don’t care, or I see no benefit, or I’m bored or anything like that. I just see no point in it. It feels like a complete irrelevance to me right now. Blame it on the few beers I’ve had, blame it on the utterly shit week I’ve had, blame it on the boogie – I don’t care what you blame it on, because I don’t care.

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Insert title here

I’m making a complete mockery of my claim to one a day glory by doing something like this again, but I’m just not in the right place to be writing frivolous, silly little blogs right now. I don’t think I will be at all today, though I do hope I’ll be able to string some more sentences together tomorrow. It’s a vain hope, though.

So once again, consider this your one a day from me.

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THE PAST OH NOSTALGIA OH SWEETS etc

I don’t understand why I don’t eat sweets much anymore. Spurred on by the free Love Hearts going to and coming back from New York, I realised – once again – that sweeties are brilliant. I mean, I still eat chocolatey things and shit like that, and the odd Haribo when they appear at work, but I haven’t had a full-on session to try out all the different varieties.

Maybe that’s because the varieties stopped actually varying ages ago and I’ve tried everything there is to try. Though maybe not. Definitely not, in fact. I’m clearly just being a douche. I think even if you asked me to name a new brand of sweets when I was an intrepid sweet-eater I wouldn’t have been able to help you out. Anyway, here are some sweets I’m going to eat in the near future to help remind me sweets are brilliant, as well as help bring me out of this complete and total all-consuming pit of despair my very being seems to be residing in right now… too deep? Hmm.

More sherbert
Because sherbert is brilliant and piss funny, in that it’s lightly-flavoured sugar. Probably with added sugar. Sold as something more innocent. The sly, sherbert-marketing bastards.

Frosties
No, you dickhead – not the cereal. The hard, suckable, cola-flavoured candies that used to cost 10p for a roll and made your mouth all cut up and sore if you had too many of them. Which I always did. DELICI-YUM.

Strawberry laces
Possibly the best sweets ever. Possibly not. Strawberry whips were ace too, as they were really long and you could use them to drink Cherry Coke through. It would make it taste EVEN BETTER*.

Werther’s Originals
Alright, so I do still have these every now and then. And Murray Mints. Piss off, I’m an old man at heart. An old, paedo man.

Yes, I am relying on a base-level nostalgia entry today. Just be glad you’re getting anything out of me.

*Sugarier.

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Epic

Yeah, so I spent the majority of yesterday lying in bed feeling like I was going to die. Combination of rather debilitating illness, tiredness and some Bad Stuff going on. As that’s the case, I’m in a rush to get an early plane now and I still feel ill, consider this today’s One A Day.

Get over it.

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Zurich – the ultimate review (7/10)

Stepping out of the 4×4* into the tight, cobbled back streets of Switzerland’s biggest city** is one thing, but when you step out and there’s a light dusting of snow covering everything – that’s when you know this place is somewhere special. Unfortunately that’s ‘special’ as in ‘massively retarded’, and not special in the sense you all foolishly assumed.

I mean, what would I find alluring about a beautiful, clean, safe and even-more-beautiful city in a country that isn’t run by David Cameron? Nothing, that’s what. If you said “something”, I hate you because you’re wrong and more MASSIVELY RETARDED than Zurich itself.

One thing – and only one thing – I will say going for the city is that I never felt like I belonged. You know those annoying times where you go somewhere and it just clicks? The kind of place you feel like you should have been to a long time before and want to stay for a while? Yeah, none of that here, thankfully. I find it tends to ruin my ability to blindly react to stupid, pointless and thoroughly bewildering (in the bad way) beautiful surroundings.

So all in all, this is one of the worst places I have ever been in my life. If I have to go back again at any point in my life, it will be too soon. It will be too soon and I will want to die. It will be too soon, I will want to die and I will probably go on a hammer-killing spree. Consider yourselves warned.

7/10

*Necessary, owing to the winding mountain roads coated in snow. Unlike in Bournemouth/London/Leeds/Manchester/etc. Cocks.

**It might not be, I haven’t bothered checking or even asking the girl from Zurich sat next to me.

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The final stretch, pretty much

We’re fast approaching the point where my 365 (mostly) consecutive entries will be up. This is number 345, meaning there are 20 to go. Less than three weeks. As you can still see on right-hand side of this page, I expected to get bored or annoyed with the One A Day thing after no time at all. I did, but I also carried on for a few reasons, probably the main one being that I do very little in my life and it’s good to have something to live for*. In that time I’ve grown somewhat as a writer – and as a fatty – and have learned some techniques I’m sure will stay with me forever. Like writing a 100-plus word intro that says nothing, for example.

Anyway, I’ve been asked a few times in recent days and weeks – both in real life and the Cyber Future World of the Information Superhighway – if I will be continuing on with this. Plus Pete blogged about that very thing today, so he acted as my inspiration. My answer has remained the same to everyone who has asked: I do not know.

Right now the most likely course of action is that I will blog as and when the need hits me. Unfortunately that’s the most dangerous way I can operate, as I am notoriously not-so-proactive. If I set myself no timeframe to work within, I will simply not bother doing it more often than not. I honestly don’t know if I’d be fine with that, which is weird. I’m so accustomed to churning out a few hundred words each day it feels wrong whenever I forget to do it, or can’t for whatever reason.

I could always set myself new goals – one a week, or one a month. But then I think there would be a burden of expectation on the average of 40-or-so readers I get every day. If I were in their shoes, I’d be expecting something actually good if the writer had more time to come up with it. Hmm.

There are other ways of doing it, I’m sure, and I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen a week into next year when I’ve finished my One A Day run. We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it, because for now I can pre-prepare the celebrations for actually finishing this thing. See – confidence! Who’da thunk it?

*Melodrama. I actually have about three things worth living for. One of them is this badass dressing gown.

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The hangover NOT THE FILM HA HA HA

I find the stages you go through when suffering a hangover to be quite interesting. While I’m not sure we all suffer them the same – in fact, I’m quite sure we don’t suffer them the same – I do know there is obvious common ground we share.

This morning I awoke, it may surprise you to learn, with a bit of a hangover. Last night was a reasonably-sized event in which we all drank a lot, and I didn’t want to be the odd one out as I’m all about fitting in. So I woke up with the usual drained feeling, the massive headache and the general malaise that comes with the post-booze period.

By the time I’d dragged my carcass to the train station – off to sunny Guildford – I’d reached the second stage: nausea. Sitting in a slowly rocking train carriage, not being able to concentrate on the book I’m trying to read and pretty much on the heater, things didn’t look good. Fortunately, my iron constitution prevailed and the icy air of Woking helped me survive.

When I arrived at my destination, after what seemed like four months of travelling, I approached the reception. Just before my brain formulated the answer to a question I was asked, it pointed something out to me: I hadn’t yet spoken aloud, in the way one usually does to rub out any vocal cobwebs left over from the night before. My answer to what my name was went a little like this:

“NNNNHEEn Drld.”

By the time I was on the train back, I’d hit the stage of pure, unadulterated hunger. I was hungry enough to eat anything, and eat anything I did – I bought a packet of bacon flavoured McCoy’s. Now it turns out that bacon flavoured McCoy’s, rather than being bacon flavoured like they claim, are actually the flavour you get when you pour petrol on a Frazzle. And as for the aftertaste of bacon flavoured McCoy’s? It’s like heaven, except the heaven that’s really shit and horrible.

When I got home and after I’d eaten some real food, the feeling I currently have now set in. This is the part of the hangover I actually like a bit: things are like a dream, I’m tired but not knackered enough to pass out, the headache is gone and I’m not hungry. I’ll laugh like a knob at anything right now, and it seems I can write 400-plus words on a hangover. Hangovers are great.

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Obligatory Gran Turismo 5 post

I’m not sure what it is about racing games of the simulatory fashion, but I find them utterly engrossing without actually being particularly enthralling. You may have seen on the grown-up news (CROW-N UP NEWS EGG EGG EGG) that Gran Turismo 5 has been released, and I am currently playing it for review.

I won’t go over some things I went a bit mental about earlier, instead I just want to talk about that one particular element that strikes me as weird. It’s a game about travelling at high speeds in a ton or two of metal, taking sharp corners (that you aren’t supposed to take at said high speeds) and generally making a nuisance of yourself. Yet I find it completely calming. There’s ebb and flow to the thing, and it washes over me like a warm cup of Ovaltine.

Except nicer, as I don’t like Ovaltine.

With other racers I find myself constantly having to concentrate, perched on the end of my seat and yelping when I lose my train of thought for just a second or two. Don’t get me wrong – I love that a lot of the time. But it’s so bizarrely relaxing to go back to the simmier driving games – Forza as well as GT – and find myself in something of a happy waking coma while playing them.

It also helps that I’m not really paying that much attention while taking on the long races, rather I’m being hypnotised. Then 30 minutes passes without me even noticing. Ah, games. They’re well good.

Anyway, back to playing for a bit.

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Packing, lists, forgetfulness, things like that

Howcome every single time I have to pack my bag – which is quite often, at least compared to how it used to be – I have to sit around and think about it for nigh-on some minutes? It should be a simple case of routine, knowing what I want to take, knowing what to put in the bag, not thinking about it and just going pack-wild.

But no, I have to sit here and think about things. In fact, I’m going to make a list. I’m going to make a list for a bag of stuff I have to take just about everywhere I take bags of stuff. Pants is one thing on the list – why will I write that down? What’s wrong with my tiny mind? If I could just get a mental imprint of the list then maybe things would be easier.

It won’t work like that though, and instead I’ll probably forget something really obvious. Like pants, even though that’s the second time I’ve mentioned them this entry. Either that or I’ll write a perfect list, pack the perfect bag of things and then spend the remainder of the evening thinking of more throwaway blogs I can write. Yeah, probably that.

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