Search This Blog


New Year in Edinburgh.

Edinburgh hosts the largest New Year party in the world. Over a million people flock to Edinburgh during the four day event and having been one of the million in my younger years I have to tell you that if you've never been a visitor to this fair city you should make the effort to be one before you die. After you've died is a waste of time. You won't enjoy it half as much.

In the centre of town the streets are closed off, stages are erected, fireworks are placed and ready to go and the whole of town becomes party central. Outside the centre of town it's a different matter... Gangs of pissed up youths wander the streets like feral dogs, strange bearded weirdys who speak in guttural grunts stagger and sway along the footpaths and kids on minimotos terrorise anyone stupid enough to venture out the house.

Strangely enough though this makes for a fine and high setting for house parties. It's pretty much a guarantee that you'll meet colourful people who will give you their opinion on any subject. Never mind the fact that they have the intelligence of a retarded monkey and will be unable to string together a sentence without swearing every second word and calling you a cunt. In a nice way.

I may sound a bit harsh on the people around me but it's only due to the fact that when you love something you see it warts and all. And that's as true an axiom as has ever been stated.

These days my new year is no longer a drunken daunder down drink droukit dales. Oh no, nowadays my new year is a drink with friends and family. And that to me is a far better thing than the four day hangover of the old days.

Maybe I'm getting old. But I doubt it...

News and Weather?

I've come to the conclusion that the TV news is so full of shit it's beyond belief.

If the newsreaders aren't talking to you like you're a four year old then the producers are by filling your screen with graphics so simple that if you showed them to a chimpanzee the chimp would ask "what the fuck is this?" just before slinging a handful of it's own excrement at the screen and walking off in disgust.

It's the same with the weather forecast. In all honesty does anyone actually watch the weather? Or do you, like a normal person, do the sensible thing and look out the window? Please, for the love of God, tell me you do or I'll be forced to kill myself or, and this is more likely, you.


Drink is the enemy...

Love thine enemy.

Right now it's hard to love my enemy as it has laid me low for the entire day. It's all Jenny's fault, honestly. I had nothing to do with it. I had intended on staying home last night where I had a very nice evening in front of the fire planned doing the things I love... Playing the Xbox, reading, writing, having a nice long soak in the bath, torturing kittens and wanking off.[1]

But it would seem that the Grand Whazoo disagreed with my grand scheme and decided that Jenny was to throw a party and that I was to attend. So at about five o'clock I had a bath, a shave and made myself look handsome. I chose a very nice, but understated, ensemble of jeans, comedy T-Shirt, my new No Fear jacket my sister got me for Christmas and my trainers.

About an hour and a half later I was headed for Kirknewton (twin town Brigadoon) in my mates car as he agreed to drop me off for a few quid in petrol money and enough for a deck of cigarettes.

Arriving at the party I realised that I was the last person to arrive and everyone was in quite the party mood (drunk) and subsequently had some catching up to do. Cue me getting a hold of a pint glass, half filling it with rum, topping it off with coke and necking half of it in one gulp.

I then spent about a half an hour chatting to all the old faces that I hadn't seen since my departure from behind the bar where they play marbles.[2] More drink was had and I steadily worked my way through the bottle of rum I had brought with me.

At about four or five in the morning (my memory is hazy) a taxi was called and I headed home to the warmth and comfort of my bed.

Strangely enough, despite the fact I had a bottle of rum in my system, I managed to have the presence of mind to fill a bottle of water, drop in four soluble solpadine and place it next to my bed for whenever I surfaced from the depths of my dreams. And thank god I did. I woke up at four pm with a head like the Rolling Stones had had an aftershow party in it and my mouth was drier than a welsh comedians favorite joke.

[1] One of these statements is not true, can you guess which one? Answer in comments if you can be bothered.
[2] They call it bowls but I stand by my judgement.


As I can't think of anything to write about right now...

I thought I'd take the opportunity to list the music currently knocking my hearing into the dirt.

So here we go...
  • Brian Wilson - Smile.
  • Fear and Loathing - Official soundtrack.
  • Foo Fighters - There is nothing left to lose.
  • Groove Armada - Soundboy Rock.
  • Groove Armada - The Best Of.
  • H G Wells - The Time Machine (Audiobook)
  • Happy Mondays - Bummed.
  • Happy Mondays - Pills, Thrills and Bellyaches.
  • Jeff Buckley - Live at Sin e.
  • Jeff Buckley - Sketches for (my sweetheart the drunk)
  • Jimi Hendrix - Are You Experienced.
  • Jimi Hendrix - Electric Ladyland.
  • Monty Python - Greatest hits.
  • My Chemical Romance - The Black Parade.
  • Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan - Various.
  • Orbital - Various.
  • Pearl Jam - Ten.
  • Pearl Jam - MTV Unplugged.
  • Pearl Jam - Live in Salt Lake City.
  • Peter Sellers - 20th Century Genius.
  • Nick Drake - Pink Moon.
  • Placebo - Meds.
  • Prince - Sign O The Times.
  • Radiohead - Kid A.
  • Ramones - Greatest Hits.
  • REM - Eponymous.
  • Sigur Ros - Agaetis Byrjun.
  • Sigur Ros - Takk.
  • Sigur Ros - Von.
  • The American Charlatans - The Amazing Charlatans. (US Charlatans)
  • Foo Fighters - Best of.
  • REM - Best of.
  • The Flaming Lips - At War With The Mystics.
  • Timothy Leary - Turn on, Tune in, Drop out.
  • White Stripes - Elephant.
  • ZZ Top - Deguello.
I'd recommend listening to any of these albums as they are all good but you might wanna give Timothy Leary a body swerve as it's a bit trippyhippydippy and may not be to every ones taste.

State sponsored?

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a cynical bastard when it comes to the workings of world governments, I still think JFK was assassinated by the hawkish fucks who now control the upper echelons of the White House. And subsequently I believe that certain high powered people were behind the death of Benazir Bhutto early today in Pakistan.

Am I the only person who thinks that any high ranking politico could now arrange the murder of their opponents and blame the coverall enemy that is terrorism?

Behold the new boogieman folks... He is a shadowy type who will never be found. He is everyone you've ever known who speaks out against tyranny of any kind. He is a child snatcher, a life taker and a danger to your freedom. And he's coming to kill us all.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Surf's up.

As a small treat for you all on Boxing Day I have rooted out a great surfing video for you all to watch. It's called Riding Giants and is about the evolution of Big Wave surfing. Enjoy.

But first, to get you into the mood here's a small clip of Laird Hamilton riding the Chopu breaker.

And here is the main feature. Riding Giants.


Just for Crimbo...

Here's a little video of some spectacular crashes from the world of Motorcycle racing.

In the words of a wise man; Pain is temporary, humiliation lasts forever.


There are good guys and there are bad guys...

It can't be easy being a copper...

I'm sure we all agree we want the bad guys put in jail. But only the bad bad guys. Not the good bad guys. There is. I'm sure you've noticed, a discernible difference between the good bad guys and the bad bad guys.

The bad bad guys are the ones we'd all agree upon. Murderers, rapists, granny bashers, pedophiles etc etc etc... Whereas the good bad guys are the ones who sell drugs. I don't mean the drug dealers who live in the crack house at the end of your road, fuck no, send those fuckers to sing-sing so far as I'm concerned, I'm talking about the good bad guys who sell a wee bit of puff to their friends. These guys aren't bad bad guys, they're care in the community. Jeebus, They're social services.

Dust off the tinsel...

Put on the Christmas album...
Pop open a bottle of Captain Morgans and say hello to Christmas.


So, what are you doing for Christmas?

Maybe, like me, you're spending time with your family.

Then again maybe you're not...

Maybe you're staying with friends, maybe you're stuck in an airport lounge cursing the inefficiency of travel companies, maybe you're wondering where your next meal is coming from or maybe you're homeless and are lying in a doorway wondering if you'll ever have a roof over your head again.[1]

Well, whatever you're doing I ask you to do this, think of someone worse off than yourself and do something to ease their suffering. Buy a card and some chocolates for the old lady in your street, give your seat on the bus to someone who looks like they need one, send money to a charity, give a few of your bucks to a homeless person, sponsor a child in a developing country, buy a food parcel and have it sent to someone who needs it...

In short, do something that Jesus would be proud you did.[2] That, my friends, is what Christmas is all about. Love for your fellow man regardless of race, religion, creed, colour or sexuality. We are, as a wise man once said[3], all the children of the Grand Whazoo.

[1] In which case how the fuck are you reading this... Tramps with laptops? Whatever next?
[2] Even if you don't believe he was the son of God
[3] Me. (And possibly a few of the more enlightened beings to have visited this earthly realm.*)

[*] To be fair they probably didn't refer to the ultimate being as "The Grand Whazoo."

T'was the day before Christmas...

And all through the house; Nothing was stirring; Not even a mouse.


What a crock of horse biscuits.

Which when I was younger, (When things were simpler, when summer days seemed to last a month, the sun always shone, the ice cream truck was never more than twenty yards away and kids from your neighbourhood were never in any danger of being snapped up by pedophile rings or eaten by insane Rottweilers lusting for human blood.) I ate up like a homeless person who is offered a half eaten McDonalds by a drunk who thinks that their generosity will far outweigh a life spent pissing into the wind when it comes to the day when they are balanced on the scales of life.

Seriously... I bought into all that "Be-good-boy-and-Santa-will-bring-you-nice-things, Misbehave-and-Santa-will-bring-you-a-lump-of-coal" bullshit and acted accordingly. [1]

I was so badly suckered into the whole Lies To Children thing I was even pulled into the Charles and Diana wedding affair.

Hey, whoa there Bubba, back that truck up a bit and don't be so damn hasty in your judgement of a young lad getting involved in the one-day-a-princess-will-come-along story, I was after all only ten years old at the time, my parents were going through the early stage motions of divorce proceedings by killing each other with words and I was desperate for a happy ending of some kind.

So, having established that it wasn't my fault that I fell for all the lies that are told to children we'll move on. I won't mention the fact that for about a year I had pictures of Charles and Diana on my bedroom wall and you won't take the piss out of me for being so gullible.

(I'm serious. Don't even think about taking the piss or I'll hunt you down and exact revenge on you in as many horrible ways as I can think of... Wiring your reproductive organs to the mains, pulling your fingernails out with pliers, taking an industrial sander to your knees, having your eyelids held open while I squeeze lemon juice into them or making you watch the Spice Girls reunion tour concerts on a permanent loop; Need I go on? No. Good...)

In fact I fell for the whole lies to children thing so much so that to this day I still wonder "What would my mum say if she knew I was about to do this?" just before I get into any kind of high jinks. (Generally involving booze, drugs and on occasion fireworks.) I don't think too long though. Should the thought linger for more than a few seconds I end up going home, putting my feet up and reading the Scriptures instead.

Yeah, sure. The Scriptures. My fingers burn upon contact with any holy text and I'm overcome by the Devils tongue and begin screaming horrible, vicious things about Jeebus being nothing more than a gifted magician and Moses being an evil beardy cunt who had plans on enslaving the world...

Now though, I realise that my parents told me these lies in order to help them fashion me into the upstanding pillar of the community I am today. (How long do you think anyone will believe that one?)

They told me that if I was good Santa would bring me nice things to instill the belief that if I do nice things nice things will happen to me, they told me that God was omnipotent to make me heedful of the possible consequences of being caught doing something I shouldn't to teach me... I dunno. The only possible thing that I can think of right now that that lesson was meant to instill was; If you're gonna do something bad make sure you don't get caught.

It is my firm belief that generally people don't need these lessons beaten into them at such a young age. We're a clever race of beings [2] and most of us realise that there is a difference between right and wrong and we generally know which is which.

Foisting the whole Santa bit on kids isn't nearly as bad in my eyes as the whole GOD thing.

What kind of a person puts that kind of shit into a mind that can't fathom the idea that goldfish die easily if you overfeed them? I'll tell you what kind. The kind that seeks mindless conformity and unearned respect, the kind that seeks to control you from afar, the kind that insists you OBEY unquestioningly the demands of your elders, the kind that makes you say nice things when you really want to be honest and let loose. In short... Parents.

To end I would like to say this. Please pay no heed to this rambling screed denouncing parents and their strange ways. They do it because they love you and want you to be a good person.

Either that or they're an alien race bent on the overthrow of the human race one soul at a time...

You decide.

Oh, yeah. One last thing... Happy Christmas and all that guff.

[1] (At least until I figured out that Santa didn't actually exist and the whole gig was a fable made up by parents so that they could get peace in the months approaching Christmas.)
[2] (Occasionally we do fuck up. For an example see WW1 WW2 and every other conflict since man first stumbled out of the cave and decided to see what was out there.)


Ok, it's time to clear the air...

There is only ONE movie trilogy worth a fuck.

And no, geek boy, it isn't that bullshit Lord of the Rings thing (Peter Jackson's best film was Bad Taste. End of story. There is nothing left to say. Fin.) or the other trilogy (in six parts) that is so often bandied about, Star Wars. And that trilogy, dear reader, is Back To The Future. That's right, I said it...

And what drives me to say this? The fact that I have just watched BTTF 1-3 back to back and enjoyed it so much I'm gonna do it again straight away. Damned right I am. Who's gonna stop me? You? Ahahahahaha, I laugh at the face of Danger, tweak the nipple of Hazardous Misadventure and give a Chinese wrist rub to Fear on a regular basis.

I once wedgied Death himself you know... No, wait a minute, that was Bill and Ted. Rest assured though the first time I see Death I'm going to give him a wedgie so severe his undercrackers are going to slice through him like a cheesewire through something soft. Warm Brie perhaps.

(After Death has gotten over the uberwedgie and I've stopped laughing I'll no doubt tell him that he was always my favorite discworld guest appearance, we'll go for a beer together and discuss humanities faults in detail and We'll all not live happily ever after.)

The BTTF trilogy stands way above both LOTR and Star wars for script writing, plot, drama, escapism and sheer fun. It speaks to the kid in all of us and deals with something we all wish we could do at some point in our lives.... Time Travel.

The ability to travel through time has captured the imagination of humanity since H. G. Wells' published The Time Machine in 1885 and has, amongst certain circles, been the same ever since.

Shit, I know I for one wouldn't waste a seconds thinking time if the TARDIS were to materialise in my living room and Dr Who asked me if I was busy. I'd be off in a heartbeat bubba you'd better believe it. (It's unlikely really. My living is a bit on the cramped size and parking a TARDIS can't be the easiest of things to do.)

So, there you have it. The argument is closed once and for all.


"...Ho, big man, gonnae sell us a fag?" The voice said.
I looked up from my book and saw a hooded hoodlum hovering half a foot away.
"I'll give you one, I'm fucked if I'm dying alone." I replied, reaching into my pocket for my cigarettes.

I pulled out a couple of cigarettes and handed them to the inquisitor.
"Do yeh smoke hash? I wuz gonnae give yeh a bit for the fags like." The guy offered.
"No man, that shit'll kill you... Got any crack?" I replied.

"..." Said the guy. "...Erm, uh...Erm." He stammered, looking totally baffled.
"I was pulling your leg mate." I said.
"I can get yeh some if you want it man. I know a man that can, so to say." He said, in a lower tone of voice than he had previously used. He looked as shady as an early dickens character as it was humanly possible.
"No man, it's cool. I was just making a joke." I said.
"Oh, right then. See you later then mate." He said, turning and walking into the store behind where I was standing.

I finished my cigarette and flicked it into the gutter. With any luck one of the environmental wardens would show up and I'd get to lose some tension by ranting at him how he should be writing tickets for the global corporations that poison our planet on a scale my cigarette didn't even come close to. But sadly there were no yellow jacketed jerk offs around so I walked into the A4E building.

Five minutes later I was searching for jobs while pondering what had caused me to be in this place. Then I remembered. It was because I'd been sacked for writing. I still couldn't figure out what it was that had been the straw that broke the camels back when it came to the uberdopplegruppenfuhrer deciding I should have my employment terminated.

As I searched through job title after job title that aroused my interests as much as a nude picture of Anne Widdicome, I heard a voice behind me. It was the same voice that the cigarette cajoler had used. For the rest of the day I had a new friend.

I mean, what the fuck am I? Some kind of idiot magnet?

Aint' this cool...

It's a tool that helps you to up your reading speed.


"But I can't speed read." I hear you say.
"I disagree." Say I, in disagreement.
"I can't." You say.
"Don't argue with me." I reply, as you go off and learn that you can speed read if you know how to.

Simply copy and paste the text you want to read, sit back, hit play and off you go. Customisable so you can alter the speed of the text you can train your brain to accept higher wpm rates.

Maths problem...

Here's a test for you. Deduct 1.5 million from 25 million.

You should get 23.5 million. I did, and I'm not Einstein.

The reason I've asked you to do this little test is to see if you could see how utterly useless the fine imposed on Channel Four is. Despite making 25 million the fine imposed is significantly less than the revenue generated. Surely this isn't really a fine, it's a tax.

A more justified fine in my opinion would be Channel Four giving 27.5 million to charity (The original monies raised including a 10% "Don't do it again" fine.)

A4E again today.

This place reminds me of school. Without the fun and general hilarity.

When I was at school I was the class clown. You know the type... Strange shouts of random words, that marvellous pre-pubescent tourettes syndrome thing; Paper airplanes at inappropriate times; Telling the teacher that the reason you were late was that you were saving the world from alien invasion; [1] In short, chaos. ... Here however I'm the attentive student trying desperately not to scream at the class clowns for being stupid while other people are trying to work.

No doubt Manc_lass will be laughing at the irony of this. What goes around comes around and all that "H" me old china. Had I known how distracting it can be when someone insists on talking utter shite when you really just want to get your head down and learn something I'd have kept my high jinks to a minimum.

[1] I actually used this excuse once. Strangely enough the teacher didn't believe me and gave me detention despite the story I made up on the spot to justify it.


I rather liked this...

So I thought I'd pop itup here to let you all have a ganders at it.

The wrap of the gods...

My staple diet usually only ever contains the colour green when something has gone horribly wrong during the preparation, I'm eating lime jelly or I've decided to test my immune system and have eaten something moldy.

For the last few weeks though I have come over all healthy, healthy for me anyhoo, and have been mostly eating home prepared tortilla wraps. So in order to give future biographers an insight into the dietary habits of yours truly I've decided to post the recipe.

  • Tortilla wraps.
  • 1/4 oz hashish (or good quality grass.)
  • Bacon.
  • Salad dressing.
  • Salad of your choice.
  • Nando's extra hot peri peri sauce.
  • Heat grill to a decent temperature for cooking bacon.
  • Put bacon under grill.
  • Roll a joint while waiting for bacon to cook.
  • Just before the bacon is ready heat tortilla wraps and add salad and salad dressing to taste.
  • Place bacon on wraps.
  • Retire to the livingroom and eat the wraps while smoking the joint.
The ingredients above can be changed depending on personal preference. I like rocket and watercress but you basically any salad you fancy is fine. The same thing goes for the peri peri sauce. I've been known to occasionally have honey and mustard dressing.


There's nothing like a good peice of music...

To lift your spirits and to transport you to places faraway.

The Sigur Rós albums Ágætis Byrjun and Takk were the music that I chose to spirit me away from the piss smelling hellhole that was A4E today. And what a pair of albums they are. Melodic and grandiose sweeps of music pick up the inner-self and carry it to Valhalla upon soundwaves so concentrated you could surf on them.

A copy of Ágætis byrjun can be found here. [1]
A copy of Takk can be found here.[1]
Sigur Ros' other album Von can be found here.

Link provided for review purposes only. Link found by searching google.[2]
Please buy an official copy if you like this album.
[2](Don't know how long it'll remain there as it's a cheeky backdoor type link.)

Dying on the inside...

That's what I'm doing.

For no reason other than the fact I'm at that A4E place again and it's driving me up the wall. The connection speed on their pc's is so slow that I'd be quicker using a Sinclair ZX81 to connect to the internet.

And to add extra flavour to the situation the guy behind me may have pissed himself. Or so the person next to me reckons when she leaned over and asked if I could smell piss. Joy of joys indeed. The only thing missing is a few tatty peices of tinsel and we'd have a sheltered housing cristmas party.

Surely this is illegal under the Geneva Convention for human rights. Cruel and unusual punishment is outlawed isn't it? No-one should ever be made to sit smelling piss that's strong enough to peel wallpaper and could bring a tear to a glass eye.
Look at the bright side. At least I'm not covered in my own piss.


How I got barred from Starbucks.

Normally I don’t go into those coffeehouses that seem to be on the corner of every street these days, but as I couldn't find a greasy spoon within staggering distance of the cinema I gave into my desire for a cup of coffee and wandered into the nearest Starbucks.I made my way to the counter and was greeted in that wonderfully Americanised way by the uniformed gimp who stood with the most glaringly obvious smile that reeks of falsity.

“Welcome to Starbucks, how can I be of assistance?” She asked.
“Just a coffee please sweetheart.” I said affably.

“Would you like Cappuccino, Double Cappuccino, Espresso, Double Espresso, Americano, Caffe latte, cafe au lait, Mochacchino, Macchiato, Espresso Macchiato, Café Crème, Espresso Con Panna, frapuchino. Or maybe you’d like to sample one of our famous iced coffees?” Said the gimp.
“Just a coffee.” I said totally baffled at the list of things that she had just rattled off in one breath. There was an audible groan from behind me in the queue.

I heard someone call me an uncultured oaf but when I turned around to see who had muttered the insult there was a distinct lack of admittance from the responsible party.

“That’s called an Americano sir.” Said the assistant.
“Ok then, I'll have an Americano.” I said slowly, trying desperately not to lose my head.
“Regular, large or super size?” Asked the assistant.
“Regular please.” I replied.
“Would you like creamer in that?”
“What’s that?” I enquired.
“Whitener.” Declared the assistant.
“I'm still not with you.” I said, confused.
“Milk.” said the girl, looking at me like I was some poor animal that had been mauled by her cat and had then been dumped onto her lap as she ate her dinner.
“Oh, well why didn't you just say so?” I stated, sarcastically “Yes please, with milk.”
“And sweetener?” She enquired.
“Would that be what normal people call sugar?” I asked, slowly losing my patience.
“Yes sir, that would be sugar.” She replied, with a look of disdain on her face.
“Two sugars please.” I said, still trying to be affable about it all even though I was slowly bubbling away inside like a geyser that’s about to throw superheated water hundreds of feet into the air.

A long queue had formed and I heard a voice chime up “Today would be good.” It said.

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I felt the bile rise in my throat and the blood started to course through my veins. I snapped and spun around on my heel.“ALL RIGHT, WHICH ONE OF YOU FUCKERS SAID THAT?” I bellowed. “COME ON! WHO WAS IT?”

I must have look a terrifying sight as the poor woman directly behind me jumped so far backwards that she bumped into the person behind her and very nearly caused a domino effect all the way down the queue.

“WHO SAID THAT?” I yelled at the first person whose eyes met mine.
“It came from behind me, It wasn’t me, I'm sorry, please don’t hit me.” The owner of the eyes said meekly.

A suit-wearing guy stepped forward and proudly said, “I did.”
I pointed my finger at him and let loose.

“What the fuck is your problem pal?” I said, with venom in my voice, “It’s because of soulless, ball-less, suit wearing, money grabbing, yuppie shitholes like you I have to go through five minutes of questioning and interrogation in order to get a cup of fucking coffee... Don’t even think about giving me attitude just because I don’t buy into all this crap... Shut the fuck up before I wrap my hands around your throat and squeeze until your small, insignificant, pea sized, one track mind pops out your ocular sockets.... If you don’t mind I'd like to get my coffee and get the fuck outta this place before I lose my mind and do what the rest of the herd seem to be doing and start thinking I'm a fucking American.”

I never got to hear his reply, if he had one, as I was grabbed suddenly from behind and was muscled out of the door by two burly security guards.


They call it "Action For Employment."

And to add extra kudos they replace the "for" with the number 4 in their logo...

It's supposed to be a place where the unemployed can go to use a computer, write their CV's, do job searches, fill in application forms or drink Special Brew somewhere off the cold Edinburgh streets. What it actually is is a holding pen for halfwits. And I, dear reader, am forced to go there. 4 times a week... Pity me.

The first day of the course was an induction day where forms were filled in, details were noted and pupils were met. (I say pupils but for some reason the staff there call us "Customers" despite the fact that there is nothing in the place that you would ever purchase while not out your face on a combination of laudanum and LSD.)

Day two was... I don't know what day two was like. I bunked off.

Before you get all judgemental and feel like chastising me for not attending allow me to explain why I bunked off. It was for my own safety. I was genuinely scared to go back after the looks I got from some of the people after I scored 100% on my literacy test.

(Trust me, if you got eyeballed by someone who has a tattoo on his forehead saying "Skinz Rool" you wouldn't be so quick to judge...)

Day three was very much the same as day two. (I was genuinely freaked out.)

Day four, today that is, was used up by writing my CV so it doesn't look too bad, composing letters to prospective employers, applying for positions and enquiring about going to college to further my education in a desperate bid to stop me from becoming the manager of a McDonalds in five years time.


For a while now...

My text message ringtone has been a soundclip of the TARDIS in flight.


The other day I was on a bus headed into town when my phone began to ring.

A small boy who was sitting a couple of seats in front of me with his mother heard my phone and turned to his mother. "Mum, it's the TARDIS. The Doctor is coming!" He said, excitedly.

The boy started to look around with wonder in his eyes attempting to see where the noise was coming from, and spotted me. I smiled at the kid and put my fingers to my lips like we were sharing a secret. I opened my phone and showed the small front display to the boy.

His eyes lit up like only a child's eyes can when they are faced with something that amazes them and I spoke into my phone. "Yes, Doctor." I said, pretending that I was receiving a phone call.

I waited a couple of seconds before saying anything to give the impression that The Doctor was on the other end of the phone. "There's been no reports on any kind of invasion fleet on the usual subspace channels as far as I know." I said, then paused. "Ok, I'll check as soon as possible. Send the co-ordinates and I'll look into it." I continued.

I closed my phone, quickly got up and pushed the bell to let the driver know I wanted off at the next stop. In a flash an idea came to me. I pushed the bell again and yelled in the direction of the driver. "Come on man, the future of the human race is at stake here! I need to get off now!" I shouted. The driver, obviously thinking that he had a madman on board pulled to the curb and opened the doors.

I leapt off the bus and sprinted towards the nearest corner. As I ran I turned to catch a glimpse of the kid on the bus. He was standing on his seat with his mouth agape at the thought that I had been talking to The Doctor.

I stopped sprinting when I got around the corner and began laughing.


Rest in peace...

Evel Knievel.

October 17, 1938 – November 30, 2007