Tag Archives: stuff

Wanda and the lustossus wow that’s a bad pun even if you know what I’m on about

I am in that wonderful place right now where very little feels real. I had an active weekend, by my standards (as in, I left the house more than once) and last night’s sleep doesn’t seem to have been enough sleep if the fact I was falling to sleep in front of my work computer (but did not in actual fact sleep) is anything to sleep by sleep zzzz what?

And every time I feel like this it’s accompanied by the hazy feeling of wanderlust. I want to go places, see things, do stuff, la de dah.

Now normally I’d go into this and proclaim it the impossible dream as I am broke and don’t have the time to do anything at all ever, so I will. Actually, nah, I won’t. Because I’ve won a billion pounds so can do anything! Actually, nah, I haven’t.

But I will talk about how I find it interesting that fatigue and the recent memory of a good time is often accompanied by an almost-burning desire to up sticks and fuck off somewhere else. What does that say about me? I have my C in GCSE psychology backing my brain up, but even that powerhouse of a qualification doesn’t help me here.

It’s odd.

Still, looking at flights to America for later this year is definitely going to make me feel better and won’t at all piss me off that I can’t go.

Hah, ungrateful swine.

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It’s one of those things that’s blatantly obvious to anybody who pays any attention at all (me, people I know), but it still takes a report from a known public charity to make people sit up and take notice of the facts. Yes indeedy, rent is unaffordable for many people in the country.

Who’da thunk it? Well, like I said, me and people I know, as well as a lot I don’t. Why would we know this? Because rent is obnoxiously high wherever you try and live, at least in 75% of cases. I just made that figure up, by the way. There’s no Shelter-Science behind that.

Unfortunately I can’t claim to be in this group of people. While I spend too much of my wage on rent, my rent isn’t actually bad for what it is. In fact, it’s borderline good. Thems the benefits of having a private landlord who is marginally insane, I suppose.

Though he can evict me at a moment’s notice and probably doesn’t ever have to give me my deposit back or anything.

Anyway, I’ve decided to set up a handy guide to help you all get the cheap rent you deserve. Unless you don’t deserve cheap rent, or your parents or someone else pays it for you in which case you get nothing from me. NOTHING.

1.       Can you afford the rent?
If yes, move to question 2. If no, abandon all hope.

2.       Is it a shithole?
If yes, abandon all hope. If no, move to question 3.

3.       Do you really need to move that much? I sort of like your current place and don’t want you to break up the whole arrangement everyone has right now – I know it’s your choice and I’m being selfish, really, but I’m just trying to look at it from a different angle.
If ‘shut up Ian’, you win! If ‘huh?’ I WIN.

With this help you will all be able to get better places to rent. FACT.

I was going to do something ranty about shit landlords, but I got sidetracked by Inspection 12 and Picnicface. Soz.

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Boredom tries to take over… DEFLECTED!

I officially have nothing to look forward to right now, and it’s getting me down a bit. Not in a terrible ‘I require Prozac’ kind of way, nor in any way that I’m thinking about it non-stop. But the fact there’s no real event coming up for me in the near – or far – future is making me develop cabin fever, or something.

That’s what happens when you do a bunch of stuff in quick succession though, I suppose. You get used to how actually Doing Things manages to take your mind off how Boring things are normally. I am accustomed to boredom, as I have pointed out many times, and I should probably run seminars on how to deal with it – how to embrace it – as I am sodding brilliant at that. Ask anyone who’s spent any real time with me; they can vouch.

But it doesn’t stop me from yearning, and right now I’m yearning hard for some plan – any plan – to do something. I don’t think it helps that, for the first time since about 2006, I actually have a little bit of money to my name and can afford to do something more interesting than buying a small bottle of Chekov vodka and drinking so much my brain decides to take a leave of absence (only to return in the morning and kick the shit out of the inside of my head for being such a dickhead).

But I’m sure it’ll pass. After all, I got Dark Souls today, so that can keep me occupied for a month or two. I don’t need the outside, people, experiences, travel or activities – I can slay the undead in the comfort of my own hovel.

No, really – I am actually looking forward to this.

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Jetlag, apathy and disconnect. Apparently.

I am currently suffering jetlag in a way I have never experienced it before. I am going to put this down to returning to the UK from the east for the first time. Well, not the first time, but returning from the distance I have for the first time.

I went to Japan, you know. Did I mention that? Because I went to Japan. You’ll be getting plenty of catch-up blogs about that. Because I went to Japan.

Anyway, I’m feeling really rather disconnected from anything and everything, though at the same time it’s not like it feels like a dream or anything. If anything, it feels like weird sleep and time-related apathy has set in. There’s the usual depression that sets in when you have to go back to a stinky little hovel of a flat that’s full of as much physical mess as it is emotional…

Oh wait, that’s too whiny. Hmm.

Hopefully sleeping this evening will kill off most of the lagging sensation and mean I can be my usual, happy-go-lucky, optimistic and thoroughly positive self when I return to work for the first time in two weeks tomorrow.

That’s as in I’m going back to work tomorrow for the first time in two weeks, not I’m back in two weeks. I’d be sacked if I tried to have a month off. Much as I’d love having a month off. I WANT A MONTH OFF AND TO BE FLOWN AROUND THE REST OF THE WORLD FOR FREE.

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A moving experience

After sitting in the same place for almost two years we finally did The Big Move and shifted Play magazine across the office. It was a long, hard slog but we finally made it to the end of our huge journey, all of about five metres away.

I damn near broke my back, what with the company refusing to spring for a pack mule to carry my tons of stuff. But somehow, some way I managed to lift and move four boxes of magazines and some small gaming-related toys. I also managed – somehow, some way – to roll my chair to my new desk. It was harrowing.

But it’s strange how something as simple as a move of such a small (epic) distance can make you look at things so differently. Mainly because I see the office from a different angle now.

But it really opens you up, an act so simple (and epic) as moving – it broadens your horizons in strange ways. Mainly because I’ve got more desk space now.

But it does odd things that you wouldn’t expect, such a simple (epic) move as this, like it brings you closer to your fellow man and helps you bond with others suffering through the human condition. Mainly because I’m not trapped behind a partition and sit right next to new people now.

I’ll stop being hilarious now. We shall have to see how sitting right next to the kitchen pans out though. I’ve already introduced a new rule for those using the area. It’s called: SHUT UP.

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I think it’s about time that I have a ritual cleansing of all the shit I have. And by that I don’t mean I’m actually going to clean my flat for once. That shit would be nonsensical, yo. Nor do I mean ‘I have no money so I need to sell another 25% of the stuff I own’, though that is actually true and is part of the reason for this… well, not decision, but this ‘thinking’.

Thought. Whatever.

I have a lot of shit I do not use, I do not really have any need for and that I do not actually want, but I keep it all around. Hoarding is the phrase, I suppose, though that conjures up images of those horrible semi-people off those shows about disgusting houses. I’m not that bad. I do have a lot of shit though.

But there’s so much of it I honestly don’t want to get rid of, even though I rarely if ever use it. The couple of hundred DVDs? I might want to watch one one day – it does happen. Same with the games I haven’t even looked at in a year. The unworn clothes? There might come a time when I need a thermal undershirt, or a pair of shorts that still have the tags on them even though I bought them in 2006.

Christ, I’ve even kept hold of the boxes for things like my phone, iPad and 3DS. Though that’s probably more the CEX conditioning kicking in – they’re worth more with boxes, after all.

I do think I need to blitz it though. Rid of the DVDs. Rid of the games. Rid of the books. Rid of the clothes. Rid of the miscellaneous I can’t think of.

Obviously I want to sell it all. I’m not completely mad. Money would be nice, too.


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A thrilling insight into what might be coming in future blogs

I have a lot of homework on right now, so I’m struggling to think of a topic to base this thought-burp on. As such, I’m going to look around my room at some things in it, and come up with ideas for future blogs based on the items I see. Is this post-modern? Nah, just lazy.

First thing I see is a bin: I could tell a thrilling tale of how we never used to empty the bin until someone was idiotic enough to not balance their rubbish on top of the pile correctly. As soon as something fell on the floor, the person causing the spillage had to empty the bin. Stinky Jenga.

Second thing I see is my telly: It’s… well, it seems to be on the fritz. 10 months since I got it for free, it’s developed a fault that these TVs seem to get. I want it fixed, but I really don’t want to pay money to get it done. But then, do I trust myself and my Parkinson’s-steady hands to re-solder a connection? Hmm.

Third thing I see is speakers: I hooked them up, yo, and now they’re all like totally rad with bass and shit. I’ve had these badboys for bloody ages now, and they’ve lived with me all over the country. Well, wherever I’ve lived in the country. Which isn’t all over it.

Anyway, I’m only giving you three. Feel happy about that.

And on a final note, I just pressed ctrl+v and this came out: “I cannot deny a person, a human being, a taxpayer, a worker, the people of my district and across this state, the State of New York, and those people who make this the great state that it is the same rights that I have with my wife.”


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Leeeeavin’, on a Eurostar

Tomorrow I be going to Belgium to attend a festival of the musical type. This will be my first attendance at a festival of the musical type since 2005, I think. Apart from PrestFest, where I worked and saw Speedway and Mark Owen and got to lift lots of crates of beer and got a tip of £1 that disappeared. Bastards.

But yes, I will be attending Groezrock with some chums, where we will watch some bands and eat waffles and French fries or something. And drink trappist beers, or something part II. I fully intend to act like my 17-year-old self, as I did when I used to go to the Leeds Festival on a yearly basis.

What this means is I will be sitting quietly, being annoyed that I’m not more comfortable than I am. No matter how much I wash myself I will feel unclean. I will drink too much but never get good drunk. I will buy shitty food that costs more than it should… well, maybe not that as it’s not in the UK so might not be so fucking expensive.

Basically I will be boring, like I was when I was 17. Then to Amsterdam, where pretty much the same thing will happen but with marginally more comfort and for a bit longer.

Yes, this is a phoned-in entry, but that’s because I’m packing. And here’s the rub: I won’t be blogging for a week as a result of all this. I’m a crafty veteran of this One A Day malarkey, so I’m allowed to change the rules to fit me. FACE.


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T’would appear all of the comedy has been stolen from this entry. Darn.

Dear The World,

I am going out in a bit, but as my landlord ignored my request for a key to my room* I cannot lock my door. While there is a locked front and back door to the main attraction known as ‘the rest of the house’, it would still prove pretty easy to breach the defences of my room once these hurdles have been overcome. As such, I have one simple request to make: please don’t take my stuff.

I’ve just looked around and realised how much shit I have of value within just a metre or two of where I’m sat. It’s a reasonable amount, even when taking into consideration how much value my iPad has lost since the Absolutely Necessary Hardware Revision 2.0 came out (also: since I’ve touched it with my gammon-fingers).

I don’t really have any deep, meaningful connection with this load of stuff. I just don’t want to go through the hassle of having to re-get it, or having to hunt you down and beat you to death with your own shoes. In essence, I’m asking you don’t steal from me for your own good.

To be fair if it does go I’ll not be all that unhappy. It can be replaced, after all, and people will be sympathetic towards me WHICH IS ALWAYS FUN. All I’m really bothered about is my work and photos – so leave the laptop, or at least take out the hard drive and leave that instead. Deal? Deal.

Yours eternally,

*Admittedly I only asked him once, a year ago.


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What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is mine too

How long has to pass before you can actually claim something as ‘your thing’? I don’t mean actual, physical property. I abide by the rules of finders keepers, after all, meaning that Audi R8 I found parked around the corner is now mine. I mean, who would leave such a nice car parked in such a public place as their driveway? And why would they lock the thing if it’s only going to have breakable windows on it? And why bother with a keyed ignition system if it can be hotwired? Mere technicalities to try and stand in the way of a perfectly legitimate system of taking things for yourself.

No, I mean ‘things’ like – for example – the aftershave I wear. It’s Hugo Boss… the Hugo Boss one. It has no special name, as far as I’m aware. I’ve been wearing it exclusively for years now, but that’s only because my brother used to (might still) wear it, and as such it’s what I stole from him. When did it go from me copying my brother into being the scent I drench my neck in? A year? Two years? Ten? Regardless, I’m probably going to stop using it after this bottle is done, what with finding out Hugo Boss made the Nazi’s uniforms and all.

Another example – I am in love with the band A Wilhelm Scream, but I did not discover them myself. In fact, it was my friend Tom who said to me “listen to this, I think you’ll like them”. They are now pretty much my favourite thing that does or doesn’t exist. But I can’t call them my discovery, and when did they become my ‘thing’? I think they’re very me, but are they mine?


Anyway, I am now going to the pub. Which is mine. MINE MINE MINE.

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