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Friday, 30 December 2011


The notebook said on the front of it, “Life is what happens when you are busy making plans” I stood there for minutes trying to work out if I was supposed to buy the notebook or concentrate on living. After an hour I decided I didn’t want to be living in this way, so I bought the notebook, went outside ripped all the pages out and threw them in the bin.
Babak Ganjei 1
Post modernism 0

Thursday, 1 December 2011


While my band Wet Paint are on mini hiatus I decided to record a bunch of songs with my friend Dan Michaelson operating production duties and making sure the microphones were on...It turns out they were on. Obviously when I do anything music related pirates go crazy with their piracy schemes, so I have released this song via Meerkat documentary....see you later Pirates xx
(if you like what you see/hear follow this page

 (i know catchy address right?)

Wednesday, 30 November 2011

Bad moves


“So you come here often?”
Nothing she just sat there in the circle facing out. Her focus seemed to be firmly set on the man opposite. Yeah ok so we weren’t exactly dating, but on the basis of proximity I was definitely closer to doing so and her staring was beginning to feel like borderline cheating. I tried to give the man opposite evils but he seemed to be crying into his lap.
“This blows, let me buy you a drink”
“Come on one drink won’t hurt”
“It’s only a drink, I’m not asking you to marry me”
“What if I asked you to marry me?”
“We’re not getting anywhere here, were not even going round in circles we’re sitting in a circle, it’s almost completely pointless”
“Ok one drink”
She got up swiftly, as I stood up slightly suprised with the success of my reasoning the weeping man also stood up.
“Hello My name is Dave and I have not had a drink now for nine days”
“Hang on” I whispered “I thought this was a singles club”
“it doubles for that” she said as she put on her sombrero “let’s go”
Reluctantly I picked up my sombrero
“Ok, but whatever happens we’re not getting married” I whispered.

Tuesday, 29 November 2011


The Way To a Girls Heart

The Doctor walked in with some news. “You’re as sick as a Parrot,” he said.
“Which one” I enquired. He had five side by side in a line up.
“The second one”
“From the left or the right”
I was relieved. That one didn’t look too sick. The second one from the right looked like he was having some sort of existential crisis.
“Do I need to take anything? “ I asked
“Is it still raining?”
I split an opening in the blinds with my fingers and looked out. “Yeah a little”
“Then take this” he handed me an umbrella.
The Nurse left the room. Sure it was a bit of a cliché but I’d fallen in love with the nurse. Hey, it’s my prerogative. Sure, maybe I don’t know what I mean when I say, “It’s my prerogative”, but sometimes it’s cool to say things that just sound good.  Chances are the listener doesn’t know what you mean either, and in that case you win by looking smart. Because they will presume you know what you mean. It’s called language gambling. The only problem this time was that I said it in my head and I didn’t understand it, so I had to concede to a stalemate.  It’s an unnerving feeling failing to understand your own inner monologue, and often an indication that it’s time to take up an evening course.
We had been in the same room for over one minute. That’s usually long enough for an FBI agent to track a persons whereabouts from a phone call, and it’s long enough for me to perform my special skill of projecting my own ideas of who a person is and falling in love with them. I was practically welling up about forty second into the time we spent together when recalling a moment in her childhood, which hadn’t happened. It was similar to something that hadn’t happened to me in my own upbringing. It was clear to me we were a perfect match, like cheese and onion.
            She walked back in. The nurse was very good at exiting and entering rooms. Or at least this room in which I had now experienced the impact of both the exit and the enter, so I was qualified to judge on both counts. I plucked up the courage to approach her and tell her a joke to break the ice.  I opted for the Horse Whisperer joke, because it’s the only joke I know, I had written it myself. Also I’d put it in a blog post once to which nobody paid attention. I’m not bitter, but believe me it deserved better, and I was going to prove it I was convinced it was funny and there is nothing more attractive than a man acting on conviction. If I said it I could also mention it again in this post. Being a stubborn egomaniac I decided I was absolutely right in my thinking.
“What did the Horse Whisperer say to the Horse?”
“What?” she inquired.
“I’m sorry what?” I punchlined.
“What?” She inquired.
“I’m sorry what?” I punchlined, this time throwing in some gesticulation.
“What? She inquired, but this time delivering her one syllable with the suggestion that her time was being wasted.
“I’m sorry what?” I punchlined, this time flapping my arms though I did not know why.
            The doctor nodded in approval as he scrawled something on his clipboard. The parrot with the crisis had begun compounding my jokes failure by repeating “I’m sorry what?” In quick succession. The Nurse left the room with the sort of strut, which suggested she had better things to do
“You get the joke don’t you” I asked the doctor.
“Yes” He said with a chuckle, which at least felt like a small consolation prize. The Horse is flapping his legs and pretending to be a bird so he doesn’t have to talk to the Horse Whisperer.
“What? No, a Horse can’t even move it’s legs to flap, they only go front and back”
“Yes I thought that was the funny bit”
“Then why were you flapping at all it’s very misleading?”
“Hey, it’s my prerogative” I paused to assess if the gamble had paid off.
“I always thought laughter was meant to be the way to a girls heart”
“It’s a way, but it’s a very indirect way” The doctor said. “Unless you are both laughing at another’s misfortune, you can’t beat a shared emotion”
He started to rifle through a draw
“This is a far more direct way” He pulled out a scalpel.
“I think I was talking in metaphor”
“Well” the doctor shook his head turning his back on me looking out the window. “I’m a man of medicine, I don’t speak in your flowery metaphors”
Said the man who diagnosed me as “sick as the second Parrot on the left”.
“Well I guess I’m off” I said to his back.
“Wait!” He threw a beanie at me “it’s getting worse out there”.

Monday, 28 November 2011


So you want to look like you care about someone's well being and all that, but it's early days maybe even minutes and there is no point making them feel self conscious about the state of their oral hygiene. To be honest it will look a bit weird that you had even noticed they would need help with such matters, considering you had never got to within five meters of them. The three extra heads are a nice touch but move on, or buy it for your own sorry mouth.

You can argue till the cows come home that this is half a dress, but on this occasion the cows are getting a cab and rushing back to save you, because it is what it is, and it's an apron. It's not wise to push your relationship to such a domesticated status before you have even found out there actual name. It takes all the sizzle out of it. Nobody wants an apron. Not even a stranger.


Are you a man? Or an Idiot? They don't need to know, don't make it obvious.

 Lots of things got invented in the 80's (Cranberry Juice) it's generally regarded as the decade in which the world really came into it's own. It's also a time when people learnt to help others(Live Aid)  In that time the filo fax was regarded as the equivalent of a mans laptop. It reeked of aspiration. James Belushi even made a movie about one called Filo Fax. These days it's been reduced to a thing you rest a tv dinner on which you haven't even bothered to spoon into a plate. Save this for yourself.

Ok so Charles Grodin is in it, but even if you bought this movie and an actual Filofax I can safely say  you can kiss goodbye any potential  romance. (though on IMDB it's the best rated Jim Belushi movie tied with Mr Destiny, but that at least has Michael Caine in it, and the Linda Hamilton from Terminator...they should have called the Teminator movies Mr Destiny(just a thought).

 There's no way to really wrap this. Also it may be a Seabass (which makes you sophisticated) but most people won't identify that, they will just smell a parcel, and it's one thing for a gift to give its self away by its shape, smell: that's a different story. This gives itself away on both counts. Avoid.


Listen to it first, it's probably not as good as you remember it ( though it does include scatmambo and jazzology on it)


People think this has something to do with Christmas, it doesn't. Plus like the Thompson's Directory the text print is too small  cos they tried to pack in so much story which makes it almost impossible to get past the first few pages without going cross eyed and taking a nap.


If you're going to invest in anything like this, make sure your recipient has some outdoor space.

Chances are they will share them with someone else.

Now you know what to not get, go get em!...

Not the items, the subjects of your affections


Tuesday, 25 October 2011

Dear Vaillant Boiler Owner

Another day of my life was passing, and on this one I had bought scourers, so in some respects it hadn’t been a complete waste. It may not have made for the greatest segment of an autobiography, but I’d told myself I would hold off on that until something a little more dramatic had happened to me anyway.  Yes, with the pressure off, I could freely walk the streets, buy scourers, put them in a drawer and think about other household goods that would elevate my status as a mature functioning adult. I unscrewed the cap of a bottle of tequila, which was shaped like a hat, and poured a medium-sized glass. Shuffling through my pockets as I threw my coat onto the area of floor I had designated as a coat rack, I found yesterday’s item: a radiator key. Yes, for just one pound and forty-nine pence I had given myself the power to unlock air from nearly every radiator in the country. Only mature people would have one of these. I put it in the pocket of my jeans just in case I got invited to a dinner party and didn’t want to take my coat and when I was there a radiator needed bleeding. I was prepared. Yes, if someone needed an adult, well…hello. I placed the hat-shaped cap of the bottle on my head, shouted “arriba” and took a sophisticated sip from the glass.
            I suddenly noticed a letter for me on the table. It was addressed to “Vaillant Boiler Owner”. I was so taken aback that the hat fell from my head and I didn’t notice for a good six or seven minutes. I had never been regarded as valiant. I didn’t know what it meant, but I was picturing something in the vein of the Three Musketeers, and I liked what I was thinking. I was disappointed with my admirer’s choice of font on the letter, and the fact that they had clearly exploited their company’s postal privileges to send me their passionate plea for unison. A love letter always looks more personal when handwritten or, if you want to go the whole hog, written in blood. But my day had so far solely consisted of obtaining scourers, so I wasn’t about to start going on about it. I decided to check the meaning of the word “valiant” on Google. I was delighted with the results, which confirmed my swashbuckling hopes: “boldly courageous, brave, stout-hearted, worthy, excellent”. And Google didn’t even know I had a radiator key in my pocket. Suddenly, every decision I had made in my life that had led me to this moment seemed absolutely one hundred percent the right thing to have done. Picking up the hat from the floor, I placed it back on my valiant head and decided to take another sophisticated sip.
            Feeling a little overzealous and excited, I decided to do a Google image search to see what company I was keeping as a valiant type. I found a picture of Will Mellor. That’s right, Jambo from Hollyoaks. He was the cool one in Hollyoaks when it first aired in 1972. This was, however, just a consolation prize, as it had taken five pages of scrolling to get to him, and other than a picture of a bear eating a slice of watermelon, the other four pages were filled with ugly white rectangles with the word “Vaillant” on them. I looked at the letter again, and my heart sank. “Vaillant Boiler Owner” it said. Of course, my boiler is a Vaillant. I am simply “Boiler Owner” (though now I do also own a radiator key and scourers). The hat-cap fell off the side of my head in sympathy for my misunderstanding. I muttered “arriba” gently and took a slightly less sophisticated sip from the tequila. What was I thinking? Why would I have received such a letter? Unless someone had been impressed with my confidence in picking up cleaning goods in the local Sainsbury’s… And even then, how would they know where I lived? Even if they followed me, I’m in a gated mews, so they would have had to take a punt on the door number, and the odds on succeeding there would be worse than two to one, as there are ten houses in there. Yes, the more I thought about it the more ridiculous my initial reaction seemed. Unless of course they had sent the letter to all ten houses in the hope that at least one copy would reach me. I hadn’t ruled this out, as it would explain the generic typeface.
            I opened up the autobiography I had put on hold and leafed through it, desperately looking for a valiant moment, but all I had were receipts for food. Where had my life gone so violently wrong? Why would anybody be impressed with this Alan Titchmarsh excuse for a man? Suddenly weighed down with personal rage, I decided to put things right. Perhaps my mistaking a boiler insurance policy letter for love would be the turning point my life needed. Maybe I could be valiant and make a statement of intent - a romantic gesture of immense magnitude. Rather than wait for a girl to confirm her interest to me in writing, I would go out there with my dusted-down boom box, stand outside her house and play something, like they do in films with happy endings. But who would this lucky girl be? I wrestled with my brain for two and a half seconds. Then I put on my shoes.
            When I was at school there was a girl I loved with an intensity I have never fully realised again. I think her name was Sam. It felt like, within the small beach town mundanity in which we lived, we had found a connection as strong as a fridge magnet on a fridge. I always thought it was a shame our relationship was mainly conducted from no closer than ten metres. A fridge magnet rarely registers its connection from distances that great. For that you would need one of those industrial horseshoe shaped ones you get in cartoons. And we weren’t  cartoons. We were REAL LIFE. I will never forget the day her bulbous blue eyes locked with mine while I was standing behind my friend Roland.  It may sound stupid, but it was one of those moments when you think “this character is going to be a big feature in this movie I call Life, perhaps even an Oscar winner”. Based on her coat I presumed we shared an impeccable taste in obscure indie records nobody had ever heard. I loved that coat. She once didn’t wear it because it was really hot, and I walked straight past her without realising. She was an incredibly special specimen.
            It’s not important how I ended up knowing where she now lived, sixteen years later in London, the capital city of England. Let’s just say we had a connection like a cactus spray-mounted on a basketball. I positioned myself outside a window and started flicking through a selection of CDs. It was important to get this right. I wanted to show I’d moved on from being the gawky kid wandering around the old town centre, so I wanted something that would reflect my progression into the adult world. I decided this would mean an instrumental piece. Yes, as an adult, I didn’t need words to tell me what a song was about. I could try and crack the saxophone code. I went to art school. I reflected on what I had learnt there: that everything is subjective, and I can understand everything the way I want because it’s what I want to understand. I think this is what I understood to be correct. I opted for the long version of the Taxi Driver theme tune. I toasted the air and took a sophisticated sip from the bottle of Tequila. I removed my poncho and hoisted the boom box above my head. The problem with these instrumental songs is that they take a long time to really kick in. I could feel my arms shaking as the main motif began to finally introduce itself. But it was working - the window opened, and a head peered out. And it was the girl who might have been called Sam.
“Who are you?” She asked seductively.
I was bamboozled. I hadn’t though this through, but I now realised it was probably pointless to give my name as though we were close. It wouldn’t mean anything to her anyway. I opted for sexy.
“Who do you want me to be?” I shouted.
“Robert Pattinson”, she replied, with almost no time to think.
“Okay, I’m Robert Pattinson”, I shrieked, as the weight of the boom box finally became unbearable.
“Why are you playing scary music out there? Do you have any Tinie Tempah? He’s always on the radio.”
“Tinie Tempah?” I thought to myself. This wasn’t the kind of music that coat would listen to.
“I’m really sorry, this is an old boom box, it isn’t a digital radio.”
“He’ll be on the normal radio.”
“Okay, let me check.” I was happy to check, because it meant I could finally put the boom box down. Unfortunately, it didn’t have an FM setting, and after a few minutes of whizzing around white noise, I settled on a sports debate on Talk Sport.
“I’m sorry”, I said sexily. “You’ll just have to make do with this.”
“Well, thanks for trying”, she said, clearly impressed with my tuning skills. “I’m going to shut the window now. My heating’s gone, and the house is getting cold.”
“Wait!” I screamed as the window came smashing down.
“I have a radiator key…”

Tuesday, 18 October 2011


PHOTO OF AN EXCEPTIONALLY 'DEEP GUY' /this was a bad time, it looks like a man whose going to have a breakdown and heartattack at the same time, thanks for capturing it JON BAKER

          I stepped outside and looked up into a clear blue sky, it’s a good day, I nodded to myself. Or is it? I always question everything. It’s one of the burdens of being a “Deep Guy” The sun suddenly starts to pierce my eyelids and I stare down into the ground as I struggle to get my focus back. Why is the sunshine regarded as such a positive force I think to myself? It’s not trustworthy. I mean how can I trust something I can’t even look in the face? If the sun were a human being it would not be my friend. He/She would be giving me evils for the whole night as I desperately squirm around looking for some focus away from He/She’s glare. Why must he/she be so angry with her/his penetrating heat and glaring light? Clearly the sun had some unresolved issues from its childhood, why had it chosen me to punish? Well I just don’t know. But hey, when you’re a “Deep Guy” and consistently sensitive to the communal anxieties that form what we call a “society” you tend to be the first to get your eyes burnt. I can sniff out tension in a room like some people can smell dog shit on a shoe. I can also smell dog shit on a shoe. I have often been complimented on the versatility that comes with my sense of smell. As I stood bent down trying to regain some composure, I had already decided that though the street looked very pleasant and the people looked nice in their fewer clothes than usual, something just was not right. As a “Deep guy” it’s difficult to appreciate anything simply on it’s aesthetic value and yeah maybe that makes you a bit of a stick in the mud on the majority of a hundred percent of occasions, but hey, that’s the price you pay for always being right.

            Finally the black dots were clearing up and my vision began to come to. In the near distance I could hear the weeping of a small child, I was half sure the child was a girl. My eyes were now following a dried urine trail on the pavement and slowly weaving in and out of that was a new white liquid. I looked to my left to find the rest of a 99 sitting slowly fading into this flirty dance with a piss trail. I picked out the Flake.  I could only imagine an over zealous lick had pushed the body of the Ice Cream away from its cone base and onto the floor. I’m no detective but this must have been what happened. But who could explain the Ice Creams desire once free; to so openly flirt with another mans discharge? What we were looking at here was the equivalent of the Nabokov story Lolita. The vigour and youth of the agile young ice cream slipping and sliding between the stale smelly stagnant old mans weakness, seducing and illuminating his sense of worth. This may be an inaccurate description of the book. I have to admit I haven’t read it. But I could tell from what I was looking at, it wasn’t going to end well and so crossed it off my reading list instantly. 

I suddenly jumped my head out of my musings and focused back on the weeping girl. I had to hold back my own tears, as a “Deep guy” the disappointments of melting Ice Cream, along with other forms of child torture like bursting balloons had always killed me. If there was a God clearly he was a bully for creating such possibilities for childish despair, and having spent time trying to get on with some bullies in my life I didn’t have any left for a giant invisible one. I handed the girl the Flake and tried to smile, “five second rule” I said and patted her on the head. I turned around wiping a small tear from my cheek, and walked away like a hero. Within seconds it dawned on me by turning around I was walking back on myself. I’d be back in my flat in within seconds. Not wanting to look like a “Deep Guy” who didn’t know where he was going I decided to combine my amending the mistake with a little education for the young mind.  It wasn’t hard for me; the incidents of the last three minutes had really pissed me off. And even though he doesn’t exist, me and God, well we were finished. I approached her “and another thing” I said like Columbo, before denouncing any possibility of God’s existence. I asked if she understood what I was saying. She pulled the Flake that was dangling from the corner of her mouth like a Cuban cigar out and puffed. “God’s an Ass,” she said.  I was pretty sure I had spoken with more fluency than this, but I couldn’t argue with the sentiment of her summarisation. Job done. I shook her hand and said “All the best”. I wasn’t sure why I did that. I turned like a hero. I decided this time to acknowledge the existence of the child’s father. I went to shake his hand but he was not so keen. It transpired the Ice Cream was never hers and he was not very happy with me picking up random chocolate off the floor and putting it into her daughter’s mouth. I apologised and tried to turn like a hero. As I walked the five steps back to my flat I realised I was outside the Catholic school I had applied for on behalf of my son. I wondered if this would affect his application.

Monday, 17 October 2011

Top Ten Adam Sandler RomComs That Never Saw The Light Of Day

The Window Cleaner

Adam Sandler plays David Sprockett a window cleaner with a difference. He has a fear of the outdoors, so he only cleans the inside windows. He strikes a bond with one of his clients Belinda (Eva Mendes) while cleaning in her flat. With her help he learns to embrace the streets. Soon he finds himself making double the money as he can now clean both sides of the windows. With his newfound wealth he dumps Belinda only to realise the error of his ways when he locks himself out his house.

Fill Her UP

Adam Sandler plays Louis Dilbert a simple Gas Pump Attendant who dreams of becoming a Petrol Station Manager. His life plans are turned upside down when he falls in love with a girl who has one of those electric cars (Drew Barrymore). Suddenly Louis has to ask himself the big question…”Is there more to life than petrol?”

The Graduate

Adam Sandler remakes the Graduate, and does it in one of his trademark funny voices. Co-starring Honour Blackman.

No Pleasing Pleasin

Adam Sandler plays Frank Girdle, a nice guy who gets stuck in a lift with a girl called Pleasin. And there’s no pleasing Pleasin.

Another Mans Shoes

Adam Sandler plays Bobby Bickford a sports journalist who wakes up after a party in another mans shoes. As he tries to retrace his steps he comes across a kind substitute teacher Jane Druidzky (Michelle Pfieffer). But is she the wife of the man whose shoes he is wearing? And where are his shoes? And why would there have been a situation in which this mix up could happen?

Let’s Not Talk About It

Larry Larry(Adam Sandler) has an incredible fear of Skateboards. On top of this he can read the thoughts of woman. One day he falls in love with a pianist, his fear of skateboards will never really come up until roughly seven years into their relationship when she greets it with mild bemusement. Because he can read her mind he is relieved she really doesn’t care about this in the slightest. In the Romantic Comedy critics are labelling” mildly pointless”.

I’m In Love With Your Shadow

Shandy McShane is a social misfit; he can’t bring himself to talk to anyone, and longs to live in another time. The time of silent films. His obsessions with his heroes Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin begin to border on the uncontrollable as he loses himself in a world of mime and theatrical performance. To complicate things further he falls passionately in love with the shadow of an undercover cop… and she’s never standing still!

Bad Timing

At the funeral of his wife Chuck Jewder (Adam Sandler) finds himself falling madly in love with a long lost friend of his wife Sally Bloom (Jennifer Anniston). Only it turns out Sally is at the wrong Funeral, and never even knew his wife. Chucks friends try and point out that the fact she wasn’t his wife’s friend doesn’t make it fair game, at least not on Funeral day. But hey in the words of Chuck “when the heart speaks it also sticks it’s fingers in its ears and opens its mouth and goes ahhhhhhhhh”

The Really Happy Guy
Bradley Bixley (Adam Sandler) is a really happy guy, the kind of guy who plays the lottery every week and has never won a cent but says,”It’s not about the winning it’s all about the taking part”. One day he falls in love with Raquel form work (Lindsey Lohan) and slowly his life turns to hell.

I’ll Meet Me In Ten Minutes

In this Hilarious period drama Buxton Conroy (Adam Sandler) plays the first guy to get a mobile phone in the late 1980s. As he desperately tries to rearrange set plans he made with his girlfriend from the week before he realises he is the only person on the other line. The phone breaks them apart, as he no longer can stick to a planned arrangement. Until ten years later when he calls a wrong number and it’s her on the line. Can the thing that broke them apart bring them back together?

Thursday, 6 October 2011


If you know me, and why wouldn’t you I’m posting insightful personal comments about myself on every social network site every five minutes, then you can probably imagine I have a deep passion for dressing up.  If you’re like me you too are also waiting on a life-changing sum of money, which will arrive as soon as the appropriate party realizes you're a genius. But hey time waits for no one; so while you’re waiting for that loser to show up don’t get caught out. Halloween is around the corner and you can still make an impact, without breaking the bank. Here are some ideas for you…

1.            SECRET SHOPPER
This is quite a simple look to pull off, and also it being a secret if anybody asks you what you have come as you just tell them you can’t say as it would “breach company policy”.
2.            THE INVISIBLE MAN
This one really hinges on how popular a person you are. In terms of outfit you don’t really need to do anything but probably avoid a sombrero.
3.            A CYCLIST
Borrow a helmet from a friend and put it on. Most people can ride a bike so it won’t be too difficult to get your hands on one.
4.            DREAMER
Go to the party with a little more positive an attitude than usual
5.            BUSKER
Take a guitar and position yourself in a corridor. I once did this, I broke a girl’s heart with a rendition of Michael Buble’s  “Haven’t met you yet” and I made 82p.

Everybody has a waistcoat! Now wear it and stand in the toilet, working for yourself you can keep all the leftover lollipops.

See the instructions for the Invisible Man outfit; it’s the same principle.

This is quite simple, your outfit is really quite simple, you can go as you are; just make sure you are incredibly funny and bubbly when you get in. Then remember to turn into a complete asshole about an hour later.

Take your top off

10.    NUDIST
It’s a more extreme version of the Mcconaughay outfit, often people who go as the Alcoholic will find themselves slipping into this character later in the evening.

Wednesday, 28 September 2011


If you’re in a bar and across the room a girl smiles at you, a beautiful girl with voluminous hair, blue eyes, full of the joyous possibilities that come with youth, the chances are she’s smiling at that guy Troy behind you.  Before you’ve realised this you’ve had your life affirming Inner Snow Patrol track tingling through your insides as for two seconds you remember what that feeling is that doesn’t happen too often. That powerful feeling that makes you look at the trousers you are wearing that you thought looked shit suddenly look ok again. That’s right it’s a feeling called love. Yay! Your return smile has turned into an inane toothy grin. Your attempt at a wave is bordering on a Nazi salute and In a panic you turn around inadvertently smothering yourself in Troy’s pecks. He doesn’t appreciate this (he does really, never trust pecks). Squawk like a duck and move on. Sure it’s upsetting that the girl that you did not know who was probably more than likely the “One” will now never talk to you.  But hey some times life throws you lemons. Make sure you take the lemons home and make yourself some lemonade, it’s generally frowned upon to make your own drinks in a bar, unless the bar staff are particularly unambitious.
            Now what makes Troy so great? He looks a bit plastic, and he doesn’t seem to have a lot to say, sure you are judging him simply based on appearance and the moments you spent in his chest but honestly that’s fine because Troy is an idiot. You on the other hand are a serious artist who feels great depths of emotion aka self-loathing. Ok so it’s been scientifically proven that self-loathing is not sexy and this is termed as a “turn off”, try and keep it in check. It’s one of the cruelties of the world that being self aware and ready for impending doom is not a desirable quality. This is why Troy without even being aware of what he is doing is a massive success, ignorance breed’s success; it’s a fact of the world... The trick to any good relationship is to never tell the truth. Everybody knows that. If you’re looking for someone to love you for who you are you will probably end up with an ape.  Troy can communicate with a few well-timed shrugs from his chiselled physique but like most of us you will need to pick out some words. It’s handy to have a variety of words. A professional chatter up man will have at least twelve different words at his disposal, not including the joining up words.  It’s rarely appropriate to use the word hate in this situation so that’s one word you can eliminate from needing to know if that makes things easier. So when Troy has got his drink and moved on because he is so ignorant he has failed to realise this amazing lady is ready to pounce on him, brace yourself. You’re going to make your move.
Leave your drink at the table, that way it will be less obvious your shaking.  Now go and get all the information out in as pithy a way possible. It’s important to get her sympathy quickly; sympathy is a key to many longstanding relationships. You also want to look distraught over something; girls like a project, but you also want to look strong, like you can hold down a mortgage. Remember you don’t need to tell the truth. You head to the bar and before she has even acknowledged you say this.
“I can’t believe my Horse died today, still at least my cat’s ok in the house I just paid the mortgage payment for on time”.
Now move on. She is so consumed by the information Troy is all but a distant memory now, you have cast your spell. I mean your Horse just  died! Suddenly Troy’s perfectness just makes him look spoilt. You can’t argue with true love, it will always find it’s way, and now it’s found you.
When you meet at the corner of some moonlit street with intrepedation filling the air, for you are both about to start what may become a pivotal chapter in the rest of your lives it’s advisable to not bring a Watermelon as a gift. It’s too big. If you do, at least insist on carrying it. It doesn’t matter if it’s for her. YOU carry it.

We can deal with those issues later, when you have mastered the first bit.


Friday, 23 September 2011



I'll probably drag this out and make it into a film.


What did the Horse Whisperer say to the Camel?
“Alright Mate I’m the Horse Whisperer”

What did the Camel Say to the Horse Whisperer?
“I’m not a horse"

What did the Horse Whisperer say to the Camel?
“This job ain’t easy”

What did the Camel say to the Horse Whisperer?
“How did you get into this line of work anyway?”

What did the Horse Whisperer say to the Camel?
“I’m trying to get over a girl”

What did the Camel say to the Horse Whisperer ?
“I don’t see the correlation”

What did the Horse Whisperer say to the Camel
“I guess it’s nice to be understood, and to feel like you made a connection, with someone”

What did the Camel say to the Horse Whisperer?
“Yeah but a Horse?”

What did the Horse Whisperer say to the Camel
“You can’t help who"gets you"

What did the Camel say to the Horse Whisperer
“Are you sure they get you?”

What did the Horse Whisperer say to the Camel?
“Yeah I feel like they really do”

What did the camel say to the Horse Whisperer?
“Look there is a Horse!”

What did the Horse whisperer say to the Camel?
“Oh I see the difference now, well I guess I got work to do”

What did the Horse say to the Horse Whisperer?
“I’m sorry what?”

Monday, 19 September 2011


So you've chosen a life as a poet huh? We can't all be poets you know. Some of us have got what it takes and some of us doesn't.
  I'm sorry, what can I say? I guess I'm just one of the lucky ones. If we were all good enough to be poets no one would be up to turn on the self checkout machines in Tesco's. Then the world would explode. I mean yeah, I can appreciate it's annoying for you that not only can I connect with the human psyche so naturally and tell you exactly how to feel, but I also have the balls and fighting skills to smash in any fool who upsets my woman. I can see that, it seems unfair, but you will find your "special purpose" and if your lucky it won't be minimum wage. Anyway if you are going to take the misguided step and try, here are some examples of award winning poetry. I won the best poet in my house in the early hours of Monday morning prize. My flatmate Jon is going to present me the prize in the morning when I tell him I won it.

                                              Do You Want To Go and Feed The Ducks

                                                                      They said
                                                  “Your so funny, don't go changing”
                                                                         I said
                                                     “Ok, but I don't feel that great”
                                                                     They said
                                       “we know, but that's what makes you so funny”
                                                                         I said
                                              “Ok, do you want to go feed the ducks?”
                                                                      They said
                                                                     “Not today”

                                                                  I Went To Ikea Once

                                                                    I went to Ikea once
                                                            I bought a hot dog, and a coffee
                                                                The coffee was crazy hot,
                                                                I put ketchup on the hotdog
                                                                         and mustard
                                                                      or at least I think...
                                                                        It was mustard
                                                                       It was white 
                                                                    I ate the hot dog............
                                                                  in silence..........................
                                                                        next to a man
                                                                     eating a hot dog in …...
                                                                      I cursed the coffee
                                                                       It was crazy hot
                                                             I wouldn't be drinking that for an hour.
                                                              I walked through the ailes of Ikea
                                                                           I looked at rugs
                                                                               and candles
                                                                        and bathroom scales
                                                                             and I thought
                                                                                   one day,
                                                                    one day I will have a house.


                                                                       Bad Director

                                                            I have dreams when I'm awake
                                                           They are better when I'm awake
                                                         I have full editorial control on them
                                               The guy directing my dreams when I'm asleep
                                                                           He's a dick

                                                            A Conversation I'm Having

                                 “Did you learn your lesson?”
                                                                                     I made the same mistake again

                                                  “well, that happens”
                                                                                        all the time
                     “well, as long as your always learning”

                                                                                         yeah but
                                                                                         clearly I'm not?

                                                                     “Ok, Bye”

Ok so now you know how it's done, guess I'll see you at the next poets read off. Goodnight. x

Sunday, 4 September 2011


Dear my Best Friend

           I don't know who you are yet because this is the future, and we haven't actually lived it out, and so I apologise for not being more descriptive with the name bit at the top of this letter. I'm sure you can appreciate “best friend” to be a weighty accolade and for that reason I have chosen to not waste it willy nilly. So if you find yourself reading this, then it's you. As you know I am a very serious person, and I say and do what I mean. Which is why I do very little, though thinking about it I say a lot. So perhaps some discrepancies may prove apparent when you trace back through my life. If you're reading this then yes I'm dead. I'm not happy about it either, to be honest i'm pissed off.
                I mean I was probably just sitting, just sitting and then poof I was gone. In a slow release gust of air, like releasing the air from a tyre. Not even a balloon which at least would have me do one last bit of flapping about before smashing into a wall. I was probably sat on the sofa watching David Dickinson's Real Deal. If this is the case can we please say I was in the middle of Fitzcarraldo. I've been meaning to watch a Herzog film for twelve years and let's face it knowing my luck I would have probably passed away the moment I finally got round to watching it. Typical. Also please  remove the Twiglets, the bag is probably finished so just discard the evidence. No one needs to know about another's snacking. While I remember I should say I really appreciate you organising all this for me, I'm presuming my children are too successful and upset to be able to cope with giving me a fitting send off. You were always the one who knew me best and if your a girl I'm sorry if I ever squeezed your boobs,or even thought about doing it.
         Here I have laid out the finer details for the event to make sure you too can enjoy what will be a memorable occasion. Remember chin up, and try and enjoy what is meant to be a festival of life.

9.00am ...Arrive at cemetery. Be greeted by a juggler. I could never juggle. It's a fun word juggle and people don't usually say it at funerals. It will instantly lift the mood. Stand in line and get your face painted. I haven't actually spoken to the Face Paint people, but I'm hoping they can do a deal on funerals. There will be no restrictions on what face you choose. Except no sad clown faces, and no Elephants. My boy once asked for an Elephant and it doesn't really work. It kinda ends up looking like a giant penis on the side of your face. This isn't the occasion for that kind of toilet humour.

10.00am ...Breakfast will be served. I don't want to have peoples stomaches grumbling through the show. Hire a Hot Dog Vendor, make sure he has sauerkraut, and sauce. Also make sure he/she is well hidden behind a tree, all will be made apparent shortly.

10.15 ...We will gather by my tombstone. Times have been tough recently and to pay for it I had to get sponsorship so don't be alarmed by the McDonald's golden arches symbol that's been engraved into the stone. I agreed to that, though I did fight my corner and refused permission of the words “I'm lovin it” being written below. You would have been proud of me then. I really stood my ground there... and now I'm in the ground...Brilliant.
It's difficult to choose what would be a suitable song for the coffin going down. You can't really beat the emotional punch of Journey's “Don't Stop Believing” it truly is magnifique. Celine Dion's “My Heart Will go on” also feels like it has a suitably apt sentiment for the occasion.

11.00...Let my Uncle do his “Pick a card any card trick”, he needs the practice and an audience. disco

12.00...A man dressed as Ronald McDonald, hopefully the real Ronald McDonald will arrive to serve lunch. Happy Meals for everyone. Make sure your not all fobbed off with the same toys. Place the trays on top of the Tombstone a member of staff will be round to collect it later. I'm not sure how I feel about allowing McDonalds to sponser this party, I have to be honest about that. I grew up with Kurt Cobain teaching me to say no to advertising at all costs, (not that anyone was asking me), but nothing seems to really matter anymore and people forget about stuff anyway. So with the money I saved I bought myself an Ipad and took it down with me. You know, in case I wake up. Or reform, Or whatever might happen in the further future. I bought the most hi tech one so I won't be too out of the loop and able to catch up with eveything.

13.00...I've allocated an hour for lunch, but a McDonald's shouldn't really take you more than three minutes to eat. So I suppose just talk amongst yourselves. Transport should arrive to take you to the Bethnal Green branch  where they have specially cordoned off an area for a slide show. Pick yourself up a drink and help yourself to a complimentary straw. I'm very pleased with the show I have put together, It is entitled “Things I Thought I might do” half of it is stills from Fitzcarraldo, but don't worry there is a spoiler alert.

Ok now go to the pub.