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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.