Tag Archives: stuff

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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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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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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I didn’t buy a wooden spoon today

Unfortunately with me writing one of these things here every day I am going to repeat subjects. I’m not ‘likely’ to, I’m not ‘probably’ going to – I just will. Case in point: right here. I’ve been browsing more kitchen utensils and equipment, just as before when I bought a wooden spoon, only this time I’m inspired on two fronts. One: I’m looking online at far more thrilling items, and two: it came about after reading this toastie-based article on the Grauniad. More toasties in the news, please.

As I live in a tiny little flatlet/bedsit that doesn’t have much room in its kitchen I have to rely on plug in hotplates. Think Charlie from It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia and you get the idea. Though to be honest I’m more like Frank. Anyway, they’re a bit shit, so I’m all like browsing for other ones and shit, just generally getting an idea of what the water’s like in the world of hotplate economics when I realise that the toaster/poacher linked in the Grauniad story isn’t the only mental thing out there.

I present to you, the mini oven/hotplate combo. Amazing. I want five. Well, just one, as that’s all you’d need. Plus there wouldn’t be room for more than one. And it does make me wonder what happens when there are spillages – do you just have the hinges and cracks inside the oven coated in boiled-over water and other such goo? Probably. A cheese-coated oven. YUM.

What about this for your kitchen? Well it’s listed in the kitchen appliance section, so I’m taking their word for it. The day I have a kitchen big enough for that is… well, it’s the day I have one of those, frankly. I can sit in comfort while I am cooked for, with beer in easy reaching distance.

Ah, one day I will be so lazy all of these appliances will make sense. One day…

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