Today I learned...

Never order a large of anything in Starbucks. I mistakenly asked for a large, flat, black and was presented with a mug of coffee large enough to bath a baby in. Not that you’d ever bath your baby in a scalding hot cup of coffee that is, you’re sensible enough to know better. Or I think you are. Who knows, there are some people out there who may take delight in doing so. The internet is awash with freaks, loons and maniacs and real life isn’t much different. The only difference between the insane in real life and the insane online is that the ones in real life are easier to spot. The drool on their shirt and the dried semen around their fly gives them away… Or so I’m told. I enjoy the company of people who have excitement as their co-driver in my life but even in my deepest, darkest days I have avoided the obviously stark raving insane. Through sheer self preservation if nothing else.

*******

The sun has been shining today and the winter blues are being banished with spring stimulated smiles as I go about my day. The women in the street have a distinctly Parisian look about them as they replace large unflattering fleeces with summery dresses and sunglasses. The men, well, having never been one for eyeing up the male of the species, I can’t say. Perhaps I should seek out a homosexual to give me opinions on this. Perhaps not… Where would I begin the search? Hanging around in gay bars is not my bag and the only other place I have been informed that gay men hang around is public toilets and the opinions of toilet traders is not what I’m looking for. I need a hip and cool metropolitan male to tap for information not an arsebandit who sucks strangers dicks in the cubicles for kicks.

******

And for my next trick...

It was early today, around 1pm which is early for me, when I decided that I should go and give the front of the pub a wash down to get rid of the accumulated traffic grime. A bucket of soapy water and a brush were grabbed from the cleaning cupboard and off I went.

Looking up I noticed that the windows could do with a wash so I went inside and got the keys for the gratings that cover the windows. As I'm not tall enough to reach the padlock I grabbed a chair from the bar, took it outside and plonked it down in front of the bucket of water, and proceeded to stand on it to enable me to reach the lock.

Having unlocked the grating I swung it open and stepped backwards off of the chair. This is when my left foot landed squarely in the bucket of soapy water. And that was the reason I spent the day wearing a pair of Jenny's other half's jean shorts that were 3/4 length on me due to his being at least a foot taller than I am.

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Now playing: Elbow - Station Approach

To say she was Gorgeous...

Would be an understatement never equaled since Noah's wife said it looked like there may be a light shower on the way.

Six foot tall in her heels she wore a plain looking vertical striped top and jeans that looked to all intents and purposes like they had been painted onto her slim, lithe legs. Her top halted just below her waist line and her perfectly shaped backside peeked out like a denim covered peach.

She was the kind of woman that all other women on the planet hate, purely for the reason that she could make a C&A top and a pair of cheap jeans look better than a Stella McCartney designed outfit that cost thousands.

And she was looking directly at me.

I took a quick look backwards to see if she was looking at some adonis behind me but there wasn't. I turned back and our eyes locked. She smiled a broad smile and her svelte shoulders rose for a split second as though she was attempting to stifle a small laugh.

I did a double take and looked behind myself to be doubly sure that she wasn't looking at someone in my blind spot. Once again there was nothing behind me but the shop facing I was leaning against. I looked back and saw she was still staring right at me.

The thought, "Maybe she's blind" passed through my head. Rapidly accompanied by a second thought saying "Must be. She's stunning though. For a blind bird..."

I flicked my eyebrows and gave her a small smile.

(Which I was sure made me look like a not-quite-retarded-enough-to-qualify-for-the-special-olympics retard. I've harboured this thought since my early teens when I began to question my inability to talk to girls without talking utter bollocks and laughing nervously.

This delusion was fuellued by the fact I had a roundish face so recognisable in the mongolioid fraternity, being told I was unteachable at school by an overly cruel teacher as I had dyslexia and something known in my family as "The Douglas Lip" which manifests itself as an overly protruding bottom lip. Put the two images together and whoosh, insta-spaz.)

To my surprise she flicked her perfect eyebrows upwards and smiled. I laughed nervously and gave her a small wave. To my utter disbelief she waved back. "She can't be blind then..." My inner voice commented.

A second, more pronounced voice, suddenly yelled out in my mind. "HOLY FUCKING CHRIST! SHE'S WAVING AT YOU! DO SOMETHING QUICK! RUN AND BUY FLOWERS... PERFUME... CHOCOLATES... ANYTHING... GIVE THEM TO HER BEFORE HER EYESIGHT ADJUSTS TO THE DARK AND SHE REALISES YOU HAVE THE LOOKS OF A TROLL DOLL AND THE GRACE OF AN ELEPHANT TRYING TO ICESKATE WHILE HIGH ON CRACK!" It announced.

In the space of a second all the moisture in my mouth dissapeared and was replaced by the taste of a flip flop on the largest sandy beach in history. I tried to swallow and almost choked on my own tongue. "DO SOMETHING YOU FUCKING FOOL!" yelled the voice in my head.

With my heart beating a bassline detectable on seismographs I stepped away from the shopfront, adjusted my jacket slightly and crossed the road towards the bus-stop she was leaning against. As I began to cross the road I felt a hand grab my collar and pull me backwards.

I was about to spin around and aim a punch at the person who had grabbed me when a large articulated lorry flashed past and I realised that I'd almost stepped into its path. I had been saved from a splattery end by the hand that grabbed me and said a hurried Thank You instead.

I looked over the road and saw that the figure of perfection was still there, her hand over her mouth and a shocked look in her eyes. I looked carefully left and right to make sure I didn't get run over and crossed the road.

As I stepped up onto the pavement I spoke.

"Hi, I'm Duke." I said, struggling not to begin gibbering about how I had nearly died.
"Elouise." The woman said offering her hand.
"Nice to meet you." I said, taking her petite hand in mine and shaking it gently.
"Are you OK?" She asked. "You almost got ran over by that truck." She continued.
"Hmm?" I began; Attempting to play things cool. "Oh, that... I'm fine. Good old fashioned adrenaline... Keeps the heart rate up... Beats excersize..." I said.
"I'm glad you came over to speak to me" She said. My heart leaped.
"Really?" I said.
"Yes. In fact if you didn't come over I was going to come over to speak to you." She said, through perfectly formed lips.
"Mind if I ask why?" I asked, leaning on the bus-stop in an attempt to look as though I get offers of sexual congress from random, beautifully stunning women all the time.

She leaned close to me and I caught the scent of her perfume and her skin. My mind spun. She leaned in close to my ear and whispered softly...

"You're fly is undone and your penis seems to be trying to ecape." She said...

There I was...

Minding my own business...

When a bloke with a clipboard stopped me and said "Can I ask you a question."
"You just did." I replied.
"I don't understand." He said.
"You just asked me a question by asking if you could ask me a question." I stated.

"Ahh, err..." He stammered.

"You should have said; Can I ask you a couple of questions." I said, reeling him in like a fish.

"OK then. Can I ask you a couple of questions?" He said.

"You just have." I said.
"I don't get your meaning." He replied.

"Well, you asked me if you could ask me a question and then you asked me if you could ask me a couple of questions. A couple is generally accepted to be two of something so by rights you've asked me a couple of questions. You should have said; Can I ask you a few questions." I said.

"OK, can I ask you a few questions?" He said.

"You just have." I replied, struggling not to laugh.
"I'm confused." He said.
"Well, firstly you asked me if you could ask me a question, then you asked me if you could ask me a couple of questions and you've just asked me if you could ask me a few questions. A few is generally accepted as three so by rights you've already asked me a few questions." I stated.

"Aha! Can I ask you some questions." He said, thinking he had figured out a way to ask me whatever the hell it was he wanted to know in the first place.

"No." I said. And walked away.

Back at A4E...

Jesus H Christos,

This place is doing my head in. More than usual. And that's quite an achievement when you consider how much I hate this place.

In all honesty I would be more productive at home job hunting than I am here. If it's not the computers running so slow that they make a Sinclair ZX Spectrum look like Deep Blue it's the broadband not being able to handle the amount of people checking their Bebo, Facespace or Mybook sites.

"Ho, Sandra, I've just messaged you on facespace! Gonnae check it and reply to me!"

I shrug my shoulders and shake my head wondering why it is that Coco The Cunt thinks that the Internet should be used to send someone a message when she can easily write it on a piece of paper, make a paper airplane and whip it across the room with more ease. Perhaps it's because Coco the Cunt can't spell worth a fuck and the computer does a spell check...

At the moment I'm sitting in the corridor typing away as all the chairs in the Positive Moves room are taken and this is the only place where I am relatively undisturbed. That is if you don't count the talking heads who are skiving off by claiming they need a piss or are stocking up on tea and coffee.

But that's cool, I can put up with the occasional distraction as long as I don't have to listen to Coco the Cunt telling her friend she's just filled in a Facespace application that rates her looks and she needs a friend to rate her as gorgeous.

Which, if I'm being honest, is a blatant lie. She's as attractive as a bulldog licking piss of a nettle.

a4e Sucky suck suck...

Like a cheap whore on coupon day.

So I ran away, again. Like a little girl who's had her pigtails pulled one too many times and gets the fuck out so Johnny Bully can't haul her head down and hang spit balls over her. Or something like that but with a male perspective. You know what I mean so stop picking holes.

I sat for about an hour or so, basking in the reek of piss, checking for possible employers who may be looking for a highly intelligent, laid back worker to destroy their business quick style but for some strange reason I couldn't find any.

The decision to flee came when I went outside for a cigarette. The rain was tonking down good style and a couple of hundred yards away was the warmth of my sister in laws barber shop. Fuck it, I thought, I'm off to get my hair cut.

After killing a half hour or so while my sister in law cut my hair I pondered whether or not I should go back to the piss stinking hole or do one down to a coffee shop where I can surf the net without having a websense filter kick every site worth reading into touch. The coffee shop won hands down needless to say.

After a long break...

I have once more decided to dip my toe in the waters of satire having got back into writing for thespoof.com where I shall be posting parody headlines and spoof stories as often as I can.

As regular readers of this blog I expect you all to show your support for me by winging your way to here and having a read at my spoof stories.

It's been a long time coming...

But today I finally got my arse into gear and decided that it's about time I emptied all the guff from my computer and uploaded them to mediafire.

Doing this will allow me to reinstall the operating system and hopefully speed up this dinosaur of a thing that I use. I'm not kidding when I say that if it was any slower it'd be considered retarded and could qualify for the computer version of the special Olympics.

The only bad thing about doing this is that I'm still connecting using dial-up and it takes an age to upload anything. But, I'm nothing if not persistent and will get it done somehow.

After much cajoling and persistant badgering...

I've decided to get back into writing my comedy book.

Fuck knows if I'll ever finish it but I'm sure enjoying the process.

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.

43 Places.

I've done a list of places I'd like to visit over on 43places.

Click here to see my places.

Goals are what I need in life right now.

So today I whipped over to 43things and began listing goals I'd like to achieve.

If any of you have any suggestions I'd be more than willing to listen, mostly because I'm struggling to think of forty three things I'd like to do.

*Update*

I've managed to find forty three things but please by all means suggest things if you want.
Click here to see what my forty three things are.

Just call me Putrakettleon.

I got up early this morning as the sun had me from my slumber at the devilishly early hour of 6am. By 6:30am I was washed, dressed and downstairs warming up the Vespa for a drive in Edinburgh and its surroundings.

Nine and a half hours later I returned home and pulled my helmet off to discover that I've got sunburn. Not normal sunburn. Oh no. I've got what should be termed Biker-Burn or something similar to allow you all to picture the kind of sunburn you'd get if the only part of you exposed to the suns rays is the part of your face that is behind the visor of your helmet.

There's a bright red oval stretching from the top of my eyebrows to the bottom of my nose and from one temple to the other. I look like some kind of albino Aztec Indian. All I need now is a bone through my nose, a hat that would make Carmen Miranda shit a brick and a CD wedged in my bottom lip and the look would be complete.

Once in a while...

I get a hankering for something different to munch on. (My usual diet consists of enough fast food to give a rhinoceros a heart attack.) So tonight I hied up to the local ASDA (Walmart to my American readers) and went food shopping.

I strolled through the deli aisle where my eye was caught by a rather scrummy looking mixed leaves salad with feta cheese and walnuts. That's the bugger for me I thought and deposited it in the basket. Into the bread/cake aisle I went where I got a Garlic and herb topped twisty loaf thing that you bake in the oven.

Then I made the fatal mistake of walking through the frozen dessert aisle. Right in front of my eyes were six packs of cornetto ice creams on special offer. Two boxes for £3. (Quick question; If ASDA keeps rolling back prices as they claim in their ad's how come nothing is free?)

Needless to say the healthy option went south quicker than a hooker during the Catholic seminaries visit to town, and the salad and garlicky bread were dumped into the freezer and were rapidly replaced by two boxes of mint cornettos and a gallon of Carte D'or Greek yoghurt and honey ice cream.

So tonight instead of sitting in the livingroom chowing down on a healthy mixed leaves salad and garlic bread I'm up to my eyes in ice cream.

Just call me a fat cunt. I deserve it.

Occasionally...

I wish I lived in a city that never sleeps.

A city where sparks of life can be found at all times of the day or night. You know the kind of place I mean no doubt. A place like New York, Rio or Tokyo. But I don't. I live in Edinburgh. But that's not to say that you can't experience international cuisine at a relatively late time of night.

At 10:30 tonight I had a hankering for something different. Something new(ish), something exotic, something off the normal beaten path for me. So I jumped onto the scooter and headed into Haymarket to the Sushiya Sushi Bar.

Sushiya wouldn't look out of place on a New York side street and I wouldn't have been surprised if a group of New Yorkers had walked in and announced that they were off to Studio 54 and wanted to sample the finest sushi in the city beforehand.

Sushiya may not be the biggest restaurant in Edinburgh but if style and substance counted for anything this place would be off the map of coolness.

I sat with my back to the window so I could ignore the fact I was less that 100 yards from the Haymarket train station and imagined instead that I was in one of the aforementioned cities. On the wall a TV set showed a Japanese cooking show that somehow still managed to have that familiar look of Endurance.

As I couldn't understand the language of the TV show I popped my ipod into my ears and ate my Seafood Special raman soup while I imagined that just outside the door of the sushi bar a whole other city went about it's evening.

Should you ever have the hankering for sushi in Edinburgh I'd highly recommend popping your head through the door of Sushiya.

Sushiya directions. (Google map link)

They say...

That good friends are hard to come by.

This is plainly a load of shite. Good friends are easy to come by. Take my friend Lyndsay "With an I" Broon. She's funny, intelligent, engaging, open-minded, free spirited and ever so slightly deviant. Just the way I like my friends to be...

Today Lyndsay and I met up for lunch at Negs where we spent an hour or so discussing many varied (and at times downright fucked up) subjects. She's no longer an employee of the club I used to work for as she was sick of being sexually harassed by committee members and pervert punters so we had a right good go at the swines for being morons who are hell bent on alienating their staff.

After a while the subject was dropped and our conversation strayed onto the subject of sex. Specifically, why she seems to get it so easy and why I haven't fucked anything with a pulse in the last 7 years.

...Jeebus, has it really been that long? Doesn't time fly when you're a hopeless romantic who can't find a woman who doesn't end up ripping your heart out your arse, throwing it in a blender and hitting frappe...

After lunch Lyndsay suggested we take a walk around the corner to Blackwells bookstore where we decided a book buying session was in order. My purchases were "White Man Falling" by Mike Stocks, "The Book of Dave" by Will Self and "Carter Beats the Devil" by Glen David Gold.

As the books were on a 3 for 2 offer I only spent £15.98 (a bargain in my eyes as I'm pretty sure all three are going to be great reads) and I've decided that my rereading of "To Kill a Mockingbird" can wait for a week or two.

As Lyndsay was meeting a friend an hour or so later we took a walk up the road to The Pear Tree where we spent an hour discussing topics that you normally only have with people you really know... "Which cartoon character would you like to fuck?" Etc etc etc etc... And people watching.

After Lyndsay and I parted company I took a leisurely walk along the road to Cockburn Street where I purchased two pairs of Aviator style sunglasses (£10 for 2 pairs) and continued to walk along Princes Street where I spent three hours sitting on the grass in the sun watching the world go by.

Scottish Motor Show 2007

These pictures were taken at the Scottish Motor Show which was held today at Knockhill Racing Circuit.

New Beginings...

In the spirit of change I've decided to give this blog a bit of an overhaul.

Now all I need is something to write about...

Any suggestions would be welcomed.

To make up...

For my murdering the Easter Bunny I decided to take an hour out of my life today to do something positive. I didn't do much but I did potentially save a life.

And how did I do this? I gave blood.

Under advice...

I have removed a post I wrote last week.

Apologies if you were one of the people who left a comment but apparently writing your own opinion (Which I believe we are all entitled to) on your own blog can lead to you being sued.

To finish I'd like to make the following statement...

If you don't like what I write, or my opinions, STOP READING MY BLOG.