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Follow the foot (friday)

So far my weight watchers plan is working out okay. I was telling a mate about it recently, slightly embarrased and he said "I've got nothing but respect for it mate, I lost loads doing that". We then chatted about points and stuff. Madness. I feel like I've joined some secret club like the freemasons or something. Perhaps that's how Weight Watchers should move things forward to the next level? Get a secret handshake and perpetuate a few rumors that it is actually they who rule the world. I'd be up for that.

In fact I've always said that if there really is a big conspiracy to rule the world whoever is organising it should really get in touch with me. I reckon I could lend a hand. I'll take that Loose Change film off my sidebar for starters. Loads of people have followed the link from this blog to that film. Maybe I'll make one which challenges it. Or something.

It does all sound like fun though doesn't it? You know, being a secret ruler of the world. Particularly if it involves turning into a lizard from the future like that David Icke bloke says. That really would be fun.


If you secret society people exist, you know, get in touch. We'll do business.


*Don't worry readers, it's all a cunning ploy. I'm going to get them on my side first, then expose their evil ways!**

**Er... not really. I actually just wanna see someone turn into a lizard and/or watch that secret Kennedy tape.

Battle between the wibbly people and the prickly people

This month I promised myself I wouldn't worry about my hit counter. Last month I suffered the indignity of getting all hung up about whether or not it would go up on the previous month. They give you the totals for each month. It'd look a bit rubbish if it went down right?

But who cares? It's a confidential account. I'm supposed to be writing this for a nobler purpose. I've struggled to suss out exactly what that is. I've tried to not be excited when the hit rate goes up on it, without success. I've known it was a bad thing to do and knew it as soon as the counter went up on here.

However - this time, even though I've not been worrying about it quite so much it looks like, for yet another month running, the hit rate has continued to climb. This clearly is down to word of mouth. I've not to my memory plugged it at all on the radio recently and yet still we're getting new readers as well as retaining the old ones.

I can only think this is because someone other than me is promoting the site. Like, erm, you. The reader. So ... you know. Um... thanks.

That and the weird things people type into search engines.

I've had the following searches lead to this site:

"athele's foot" - presumably looking for "athlete's foot" this halfwit stumbled across my equally numb-nutted attempts to describe the annoying/satisfying condition.

""Lady Punches" teacher" - this guy's clearly an advanced level searcher. He's using quotation marks! Ever want to google something properly use them! However, how I got on page one of a search like this I'll never know.

"+cuckold +regret" - my odd titles sometimes draw in odd readers. A cuckold is someone who has their wife cheat on them. I once put up a title about "twisted cuckold fantasies". From that point onwards I've had poor people like this landing on my nonsensical ramblings. The tragedy is that I'm on something like page 21 of a search like this. So they're really doing their research and I'm yet another dissapointment on the way.

"dan-bryan" - a bloke who was on Big Brother some time ago. I slagged him off (perhaps a little too viciously according to my girlfriend) a while ago. I'm on page 11 of a web search on this guy. Who reckons it was him who leafed though the preceeding pages?

"Shayne Ward Images for Desktop" - am on page 3 of this particular search. Quite surprising really. Google put the pages in order of hits - I was told - the blog only gets a few thousand. You'd have thought a big popstar like.. oh. Yeh. It's Shayne Ward. Again, the poor f#cker will have stumbled on me slagging their idol off.

"cuckold fantasies" - oh dear. Yet another one. The problem with this particular type of search is the more people who come to my site looking for it, the more hits I get and the more people come in the future. I'm on the first page of this search.

"need to know what happens if a condom has just come out from the penis whiling having sex" - oh dear. Some poor bugger looking for advice. I'm sure their kids will be well looked after. Spelling mistakes manage to get my site onto the first page.

"Rik Mayall cheated death after a quad bike accident" - this is possibly one of the few searches I'm not a little embarrased about.

"long little fingernail" - second most popular search behind the cuckold one. Why is that? What's the significance of such a search? Why do so many put it into google? Is it a band or something?

"the thinker with a beard" - scrap the Rik Mayall comment. This is the best search of them all! I love that. Page one as well. This list is fun.

"phoneboy hallam fm" - page 4 of this search. My old mate needs to up his game a bit.


Buck Rodgers is very happy nowadays

So I went to my first weight watchers meeting. I don't think I've ever felt more out of my depth at 7pm on a Wednesday evening. Very odd. Still on the flipside it was quite nice to do something new and different. I now have my book which tells me how many points there are for different foods. I also know how many points I'm allowed each day: 31.

I kind of feel like it'll be worthwhile but at the same time am a bit embarrased that I'm going to something which is populated mainly by women who are slightly older than me.

One of the women there clearly wasn't a fan of my talkshow. She (with a jokey smile) said "oh you're that bastard off the radio are you ... ha ha ha". Bit difficult to know what to do with that other than smile and go "ho ho - yep - ho ho".

So I got weighed and told I wasn't really that overweight. Only need to loose about a stone. Cool. Nice to hear. Actually I think my scales at home are broken. I weighed less there, fully clothed, than I did in my bathroom naked, first thing in the morning. They're quite old scales and sustained my bulk when I really was big (18 stone baby!).

I listened to a talk about how the sort of knickers you wear determine what sort of person you are. Pink is the best I think. Pink or black. I wasn't really paying attention. I was busy reading my book and wondering how many points a pint of Guinness is.


Still can't stop laughing at fat f#ckwitted failure Jade Goody... ho ho ho... oops, there I go again.

I spent the day re-grouping my resources. I'm going to send another Future Shock off to Tharg tomorrow. I spent the day writing it. In my despair I sent an email to 2000AD's finest new writer Al Ewing (check sidebar for his site). He suggested that a rejection letter is a cue for another submission. I couldn't agree more.

My rejected story has gone to FutureQuake [click here to read about it] who are a good bunch of smallpressers who do a great magazine which contains rejected Future Shocks and short stories. I hope they accept the script and use it in their mag. It'd be my second published story. The first of course being in Phlegm magazine and available to buy now from all good odd little shops in Sheffield.

As I've said before, the life of a local radio disk jockey is one of huge swarthes of empty unused time. Only now after almost a decade of this lifestyle am I finding something worthwhile to do with that time. I'm writing. I'm writing loads.

My new story is about the fact it is more likely we live in a 'virtual reality' universe like the one in The Matrix than it is that we live in a 'real' one. If, for example, there were 99 fake universes tricking thier inhabitants and only 1 genuine universe the odds are 99% in favour of us being in a 'fake' one. Get your head round those statistics. It'd be a lot easier and cheaper to make a fake than go with a real one.

Add that to all this lucid dreaming stuff I'm looking into and we've got some great short story material.

Even if you lot aren't real.

They said I was maaad. But I'll show them all!!


From eccentricity to darkest mania

So I got a rejection letter off Tharg today for the recent story I submitted.

The gist of it was this:

“Apologies for the brevity of this letter […] too much expositional dialogue and captions, rather than allowing the storytelling to flow smoothly.”

My last rejection letter said he felt there was “too much expositional dialogue”. It’s clearly a weakness of my writing. I over explain things. I do it on the radio as well. And quite probably on this blog.

You know. I go into real detail, over tiny things which you already understand. I keep on and on about something which even a four year old would have grasped by now. It’s almost as if I’m explaining them to myself for the first time. You don't need to know about it in miniscule detail but you get it molecule by molecule, atom by atom.*

Rejection is a pain in the arse but a necessary evil. If you want to get anywhere worthwhile you need to put a bit of time and effort in. I’ve got three rejection letters from Hallam FM still in my boxes at home. They'll crack in the end.

I sat on my bed and read a book my sister got me for my birthday. It's got a summary of the 7 Habits of Successful People in it. I've decided to follow the advice and become a successful person.

Starting tomorrow.

No, the day after.

Actually it's Weight Watchers the day after.

Next week then. Certainly sometime next week.


*Ho ho. See how I just did it then? Brilliant. By doing it on purpose it sort of means I always do it on purpose doesn’t it? Yeah! I only sent in my sh#t script as a sort of elaborate joke. Yeah. Bo#llocks. Ruined. C#nt.

(Sunday) It perfectly encapsulates the frustration of the day!

St George's day today. Cue a load of people moaning that "we don't celebrate St George's Day like we do St Patricks". I'm guessing here but isn't that something to do with the fact that we're a protestant country and the Irish are Catholics? That's why they honous the papal system of patron Saints where we do not? You never know but in the past celebrating a catholic symbol in the past in our country might've got you burned at the stake.

As I say this is just a guess.

It sort of makes sense. Irish people therefore have a rich tradition of celebrating St Patrick's day which we do not, thanks to our unique history and cultures respectively. I've never been a fan of St Particks Day myself. I'm not Irish - or Scottish or any other 'ish' aside from English*. I do like Guinness. I specifically do not drink it on St Patricks. I also hate that s#it music they play and all those c#nts who wear silly hats.

And people who pretend to be Irish when they're clearly not.

I may be missing the point with my cold hearted explanation of why we do not celebrate St George's day. I'm not averse to the idea of celebrating this country. It's not a bad one to live in. I'm probably quite patriotic in my own odd way. I never go abroad ever. Why's that?
Well two reasons:-
a) I can't be ars#d
b) I like it here. Why go anywhere else? Might like it more, that'd ruin things here. Might like it less, why go there then?

It's a bit like when girls get profound and ask why women are called sluts and men are called studs. Simple answer to that, again I may be missing the point.

Women have more to loose if they have many sexual partners. They could end up with a kid and no father.

Blokes can gain by spreading their genes and not having to raise the kid themselves. Frees them up to spread more seed.

Evolution has therefore dictated that to be a successful breeder a women needs to be more choosey about their partners whereas men are more keen to just get on with it. This makes sexually adventurous women less common and more risable than blokes.

Not saying it's fair. Just explaining why it happens.

Like I say, might be missing the point. Never tell a woman this after a couple of glasses of wine. Things can get nasty. No matter how many times you remind them that you've never called a woman a slut in your life.


*"Hang on a minute Nick - you've got Scottish relatives and wasn't one of your family from Irela-" F#ck off with that nonsense! Where was I born? Yup. England. What am I? English. Game over. We'd have a lot less problems if people got their heads round this one.

(Saturday) And the piper plays on and on and on and so on

The subject of "Lucid Dreaming" has come up on this site in the past. My mate Richard has been experimenting with it after looking at the website suggested here by the mighty Neil Porter*. As I wrote previously I've been recording all of my dreams each morning. A few texts from my mate Richard recently sent me barmey with jealousy:

"Dreamed I had a shark attacking me in an aquarium - then I realised I could breathe underwater and it triggered a reality check. Then I got all excited like when Alan Partridge gets Ursula Andress in his car and could only think to change the colour of the fish before I woke up inside another dream I didn't realise was a dream. Have to watch this mate, could turn into a real pair of dream geeks, boring all we talk to..."**

Amazed and a bit excited I continued faithfully recording my dreams. This helps you to remember your dreams and makes it more likely you can distinguish between the two.

So I was busy boring my mate Craig*** who'd come up to say hello, with talk about dreams. When he added his twopenneth to the mix:

"Apparently if you talk to someone in a dream you're actually talking to a demon from another dimension. A good way of telling your dreaming is by looking to see if you've got any hands. I heard it on some radio show or something. Fancy another pint? This pub's got a menu for beer****!"

That night I finally managed to crack it. For the first time in years.

I was in a room and it was dark, there was a storm outside coupled with a bit of thick rain. In that instance I realised I was dreaming. It was obvious, I had no memory of how I'd got there and the room had no doors. Could only be a dream. I tested the thoery by trying to turn into something other than a human. The oddest thing I could think of, something truely strange. I turned into a duck.

So there I am. A fu#king duck. Madness! I strutted about the room quacking, although to me it sounded like a loud barking noise. Then I thrashed my legs (which were my wings) and took flight. Whoosh, out of the window. It was dark and outside the building, there was a huge ocean. So here I am, a duck flying over the sea. Not the strangest dream I've had recently but certainly odd.

All the time it took a slight effort to remember that I was in fact dreaming. It was an odd but convincing experience. Really exciting but at the same time a little scary. I remember thinking there was no reason I couldn't fly as a human. Soon I'm flying in the nude over the sea.

As I'm 'flying' the following thoughts go through my head: this'll make a good 'blog entry, bloody hell can't wait to tell Richard, this is lasting ages, wonder what you do for real sleep then if you've lucid during your dreams? How do you relax? Do you need to?

Now I've been flying without direction for some time over what looks suspiciously like "" when I decide to test the theory that you can breathe underwater in dreams.

As I hit the waves I remember what Craig said about demons and also note to myself that I've not yet spoken to anyone or anything. As I sink into the water I literally and metaphorically feel out of my depth. I'm breathing fine but a little scared of meeting anyone.

I'm talking to 'maverick film maker' Louis Theroux totally unaware it's a dream.

I wake up. Amazed.


*Neil suggests in a more recent email that we put a comments page on the site. I'm not so sure, I quite like it that it's all done through emails. Saves me having to come along and moderate the da#n thing everyday. Feel free to email me your thoughts:

The reason I didn't have one initially is because I didn't want people kicking off about the fact I don't do a talkshow anymore.

He also points out that Toby Foster (who was mentioned last week in this update) has a website of sorts at This is of course true. However if you check my sidebar you'll see one to, a website which also covers The Last Laugh and features Toby's podcast which I'd go as far as to say was quite good.

**Nonsense. There's nothing more exciting than listening to other people's dreams. It's ace.

***He's a Reading fan and was round to see the recent football match in Sheffield.

****The Devonshire Cat. My mate Ben took me there recently and I vowed to get pissed in it as soon as I saw the menu!

The reality sucker punch of truth...

Bloody hell. I'm so sorry if I've misled you recently with my postings about The Zumebar in Manchester. Don't misunderstand me, it's a great club, but it's not as good as The Lescar. The Lescar must surely be one of the best comedy clubs in the UK. The first time I ever went there, I remember it so clearly, I was a bit worried at the price. It seemed a little steep to watch some people talking rubbish. Still I thought, I'd have a go and see what it was like.

That night I watched Simon Blythe rip the room up into the sort of laughter where you can't actually breathe because you're laughing so much. Added to this was Toby Foster the compare who was clearly naturally funny.

I was hooked.

I'd been to a few stand-up gigs before. I'd even had a go at a few open mic spots but to be honest with you I hadn't really caught "the bug". I'd got a watered down version of it from the telly. In fact, if you extend the metaphor, you could almost say I'd been innoculated. By watching it on telly I thought I knew about and had seen "live comedy". What an utter f#cknut I'd been.

You can't explain to someone who has never dabbled in watching proper, good, live comedy how great it is. All they've got to go on is what they've seen on the telly.

And that's a bit like thinking you know all about sex once you've watched a porn video.*

You don't. You can't. Thing is it's possible to go to see s#it live comedy and then think - what the f#ck is everyone talking about? This live comedy thing is rubbish. No it's not. It's great.

The acts I saw last night were Anvil Springsteen** and Ian Moore. The latter was the funnier of the two. He dished out some beautiful smackdowns to a couple of di#ks at the front who kept talking during his set. Beautiful.

All I'm saying is, if you get the chance to go somewhere like The Lescar, go!


*Oh dear. I've just remembered a mate of mine once told me that was why he watched porn. To improve his skills. I pity his future girlfriends! Just so long as they've always got a clean face flannel I suppose they'll be okay.

**He was fantastic. He did some really edgy f#cked up material about The Queen which had me crying with laughter. Some of the crowd looked genuinely shocked, a good look to see on people's faces in such situations.

The absurd boasting and tall tales of Mr Damage

I believe all drinks should be served in pint glasses. If you can't drink a pint of it - it's not good for you and you shouldn't be drinking it at all. Also if it's really nice anything less than a pint is going to leave you slightly unsatisfied. Diddy cup of milkshake or a pint? I know which one I'm going for.

If this had been the case last night I'd never have got as drunk as I did. You can't drink red wine in pints. You'd stop half way though and say something like: "this is strong stuff perhaps we should lay off it?". As it was I didn't notice how ruthlessly strong the alcohool was as I dropped glass after glass of it into my brain.

This is what happens when you go for a night out with local radio disc jokeys. As I've explained on here before, if there's one thing DJ's have loads of it's time. You prep your show in chunks and as a consequence you end up with hours of time on your hands. I guess the theory is that you use the time wisely and go experience things which can then be incorporated into what you do.

So in a way, getting legless last night was a bit like putting in some extra show-prep time.

That'd explain why I feel so tired.

And hungover.


The Royal Visit

My mate James Piekos has sent me a very unintentionally amusing article about "BIG Brother star Dan Bryan* [who] is returning to his former career as a hairdresser". It's in the local Hull and Eastridings newspaper. There's some lovely bits of nonsense in there along with the comment that this decision to go back to hairdressing shows "his celebrity status [has] not changed him". Clearly not.

The real corker though is this line:

"I'm not charging stupid prices either. Just because I have been on TV it does not mean I'm going to come back and start charging hundreds of pounds - that would be a slap in the face to the people of Hull"

This last quote made me and James laugh for a good solid five minutes. A slap in the face to the people of Hull? What the f#ck is he talking about there? I'm sure the people of Hull would tell matey to f#ck right off if he started charging a fortune. It's good business sense not to charge someone a stupid price mate. Nothing more.

I've gone on record in the past as saying that reality TV makes victims of its "stars". This misguided fool is a classic example.


*The "[who]" is added here to give the sentence grammatical clarity. It just so happens that it could easily work if I'd put [who?]. Dan Bryan is "That Bloke Off Big Brother" to you and me. Go buy the current issue of Phelgm - I wrote a story about him!

Gamba gu gamba

Slightly strange feeling today. I'm standing in for my ol' pal Matt Mackay while he gets his teeth into "The Big Drive Home". Matt does my old afternoon show, the daytime one I did before moving to nights to do the talkshow. It's strange to be sat here prepping my show just like I used to a couple of years ago. I'm sort of nervous but also quite excited. I'm sure something will go wrong today because I'm new to it.

What I'd completely forgotten about was the fact that when you work during the day what you wear becomes more relelvant than it is when you work in the middle of the night. Usually I rock up in whatever clothes I like and then wander round in my socks scratching my ar#e and picking my nose whenever the mood takes me. Currently the laws of social engagement prohibit such activity. People might think me a bit weird.

However - it means I'm more than a little annoyed that:

a) I'm having a bad hair day and my barnet looks really s#it.
b) My trousers look like they need ironing.
c) I look fat.

I'm not used to being genuinely annoyed about such things. At least not when I'm getting ready to do a radio show.


Email corner:
The Mighty Neil Porter sends us this website about dreams and the practice of Lucid Dreaming in reference to my entry of a few days ago.

Feel free to send in your emails to

The green light spells of danger mouse (Monday)

I'm known as a fan of Dr Who. In fact I'll go you one further. I'd say I'm quite possibly South Yorkshire's most vocal fan of the programme. Friday nights' bitter blow still smarts today. I forced my girlfriend, her brother and Dad to watch the first episode rather than go out to TGI Fridays. That joy was postponed while we all sat in amazement.

It wasn't a good episode.

There's no way round that.

My only consolations are that firstly the new Doctor isn't as awful as I thought and that Dr Who can often start with a duff episode. If I'm honest with myself the first episode of the last series was utter to#s. It can surely only improve.

The first ever episode of Dr Who is rubbish actually. It's called An Unearthly Child and there's little or nothing to reccomend it. Things only really got cooking in the second story when the Daleks stormed onto the scene.

In fact Dr Who has always been patchy but as I discovered this weekend at The Zumebar that's in many ways a lot more fun than consistently good. I like risk takers. It's the reason I like Blur more than Oasis. The former took more risks than the latter so as a consequence in the longterm they're more fun to listen to.

The fact Dr Who is sometimes s#ite is what makes it better than Star Trek. The former is the Blur of Sci-Fi where the latter is the Oasis of the two.


It was still a bit embarrasing to have to admit that I'd forced a whole room full of people to watch something which was s#it though.


Under the drops and close by (Sunday)

I've been recording my dreams recently after I watched the fantastic film "Waking Life". They're all a bit odd. I want to get to the point I was at around the age of 17-19 when I'd managed to both recognise and control the dreamworld on a regular basis. It requires a focus of the mind which isn't quite mine at the moment. I think recording my dreams will help*.

The first time I ever managed to realise I was in a dream was when I was at secondary school, in the first year and I dreamt that I was back at my primary. I had a moment of revelation when I thought: "hang on a mo' I've finished primary school now, this must be a dream". In the dream I stood up and shouted out my discovery to everyone else there. I clearly remember in my dream a mate of mine called Josh giving me a stern, quite bizzare look. Then with a bump I awoke. From that point on I started the gradual climb towards being able to suss out a dream.

Then the real world got more interesting and my interest in dreams waned.

"Waking Life" has re-lit the flames. A very odd, quite long film which gives you loads of 'philosophical perspectives' to chew on. Good fun. Go see! Go see!


*Here's a sample from my dream book: Was still doing the phone in show but couldn't get to the studio. It was a student radio station. One problem was that I was late. I was busy getting some fish and chips. Then I was Steve Holden who after some persuasion agreed to give me a lift. I'd eaten some magic mushrooms earlier by mistake. They looked a bit like slugs? When I finally got to the radio station it was buried under loads of stuff and the studio didn't work. Me and Gary tried to uncover it but it was taking ages. Woke up. Now you see why this is a footnote and not in the main blog entry.

All the rocks are singing songs that I cannot understand

We went, once again, to the fantastic Zumeba and watched no less than five acts and a compare. It's easily my favourite comedy club in Manchester now, despite the mixed bag of tricks on display this time round. I like comedy and I get the impression that most of the people who go there (we're talking about 20-30 people at a guess) do too. As a consequence I think there's room for people to try stuff out. One or two of the acts on were clearly what's known as "open spots". These are people who are trying out new material and/or are fairly inexperienced in the art of comedy. One of these open spots tried doing an act with no jokes in it whatsoever! Brave but a bit pointless. Another of the open spots was a girl who did some of the most extreme material I've ever heard. Her set didn't really take off either but she got a few laughs.Inbetween these two in the line-up was a canadian bloke who did sort of magic tricks. He raised the roof! His set was a bit short and I couldn't help wondering if he was a particularly good open spot. He was taking his clothes off and doing all sorts of silly stuff. Really funny.

The main act was a bloke called Gary Delaney who I sort of know through my friend Tom Binns. I was really close to saying hello to him, the conversation would have probably run like this:

"hello, erm, you were really funny, I liked the Basil Brush joke about suicide bombers."

"Oh thanks."

"Yeah and I know a mate of yours called Tom Binns so... erm, hello again, erm..."

"Oh you know Tom do you, great etc"

I think I'm either profoundly ill at ease with myself or grossly anti-social. Either that or a combination of the two but I decided not to bother saying hello to him. He was funny and I would have been full of praise but I'm just rubbish in these situations. Obviously later on you think, 'yeah should have said hello to him'. But I didn't. I remember getting an email off someone once who'd been at some event I'd been at, they said they'd sussed out who I was and they were going to say hello because they liked the talkshow but didn't in the end. I'm sure if they had we'd have had a quick polite chat and then carried on with our lives. Hey ho.

Still, Zumebar's pretty good in Manchester on a Friday if you're ever over there.


Yipardee dat da - da doh doh - pee pa dee dap, da da doh!

The last time I went to the gym I was sat tying my shoelaces when I looked up into the b#mhole of some bloke. He was leaning forward to adjust his weighing scales which he'd brought in his bag with him. I was so surprised I had no idea how to react. Any long term reader of this blog knows I've had my share of unpleasant scrapes[one example] in the past. The thing that really freaked me out is that we were the only two people in the room. A big room. There he is with his horrible slightly saggy b#mcheeks wobbling about and his brown eye staring right at me. He was so close to my face it was as if he'd done it on purpose.

Then he f#cking coughed. When he did this the eye of the storm winked at me. As I looked into the void I was tempted to poke it and say: "get your f#cking arse out of my face you ignorant t#at". I didn't but if I had done I think you'll agree I'd have had right on my side.

Despite the fact that this one incident is easily enough to excuse me ever going to the gym again I'm planning to get back to it once easter is over.

Also I've decided that I should go to Weight Watchers. Yes. That's right. Weight Watchers. My mate Tracy is going to go with me. Not next week but the week after.


It's not athlete's foot. It's a little friend who I stroke at night for fun. It talks to me and we have fun. It's like a pet.

There's a sting in the sun as it licks your eyes

Reality TV is a cruel beast. There's no doubt about that. Poor old Shayne Ward has bumped into the fact he's not actually a millionaire quite early on in the game. The first of many smackdowns I'm sure. I take no pride in the fact that I'm about to be proved right as yet another hapless halfwit discovers that no one really gives a f#ck that he can hold a note.

It's really quite amusing that they call it Reality TV yet it presents us a vision of the world which is so far from any reality I've ever encountered. The popular vote has never been an indication of quality. That's a reality I'm familliar with. The majority of popstars make very little money and often feel bitter and cyncial about the industry which abused them both during and after the process. That's another reality I'm familliar with. Fu#knuts like Simon Cowell are only usually tolerated by people who are out to make novelty pop songs like Mr Blobby and Go Go Power Rangers. Once again this is a reality I'd recognise.

The only reality I can ever see in X - Factor and programmes like it is the one which we all endure each day. Working class people like Shayne and the people who watch the programme being exploited by rich people like Cowell and those who make the programme. That's reality.

Still it is pretty funny that it's all fuc#ed up in matey's* face.


*When I say matey I mean Shaun Ward.

How can you not like that? What the f##k is wrong with you?

You know when you bite a fingernail off and it goes right down to the root? The minute I bit it I knew I'd made a f#ck up. Now my finger is about twice the size and a bright shiney red colour. This may have contributed slightly to the mood of pessimism which pervaded my clothes shopping in Meadowhall. Actually, come to think of it, I was in a good mood on the way there.

I think the problem is that both me and my flatmate Matt aren't built mentally for the task. My attitude is that I already have clothes which work perfectly well. Why buy more of them? Trousers? I've already got some trousers. Top? Already got one of them too. Why buy more? I only need two or three.

I also find buying clothes a deeply embarrasing experience. I don't know why. Perhaps it's the indignity of trying them on in a harsh glaring light, stood infront of a full length mirror. One top I tried (XXL size) was so tight it made me look like I needed a bra. Not a pleasant experience. Even if it was a private one.

Another thing I don't get is why clothes shops have to play such rubbish Amercian rap music. One shop we walked into had loud speakers which literally blared out the message "this goes out to all my niggaz" when we stepped in. I'd rather not be confronted with racist stereotypes while I'm out trying to buy some new underpants and a jumper. What's the deal with those lyrics? How does "breaking in a hoe" and "f#cking up some honkey" relate to buying clothes? I suppose the fact these clothes were made in sweatshops by oppressive regimes as part of the pyramid system upon which Western Capitalism so smugly sits ties in. I'm not sure if that's what rap music was originally supposed to be about though. I thought it started out as a direct attack on the politics of oppression. But there we are*.

Then we went in some other shop** and bumped into what must be company policy. I'm wandering round and some bloke says "Hello mate, how are you today". Obviously I ignored him. In my mind there are two possibilities; he's mistaken me for someone or he's mad. Just ignore him and walk on. Never know he might be about to ask for money or something. Beggars are very clever these days.

Then once I'd walked a safe distance I took a sneak peak - nope he's the shop assistant. Urgh. How embarrasing. What was he talking at me for? I go find my flatmate. He's looking at stuff when all of a sudden before I can warn him he's approached by a female shop assistant:

"Hello there"

"Uh?" comes his reply.

"How are you today?"


"Are you enjoying your shopping?"


"Are you looking for anything in particular today sir?"

"Tops. Looking at tops."

"Well there's some fantastic new items over to that part of the store, and if you're looking at some of the cheaper items we've got a sale on over here"


"Just thought I'd let you know that, if you need me I'll be over here"


Obviously we left after that. I don't like people talking at you when you're shopping. It's clearly some wacky company directive which poor f#ckers like her have to carry out. The people who made the decision will never know how stupid and irritating it is for the shop assistant and for the customer. I hate clothes shops.

And don't even get me started on Meadowhall. How come THE MAJORITY of people look weird, strange and odd? You'd have thought it would be a minority. But no, the vast amjority of them are fu#king mutants.

Matt bought: Some jeans.
I bought: nothing.

However I did look at a home computer, quite nice. Might buy it.


*For the record I think 50 Cent is a c#nt.

** Either Hugo Boss or Cecil Gee, the two are joined together? If you work there I feel sorry for you. That's a ball ache having to make conversation with miserable c#nts like me.

Then my bones turned to mush and I slipped through the cracks in the floor

I'm still reeling from the impact of watching the film Loose Change. At one hour twenty minutes it's unlikely you've watched it yourself. If it's so good how come it's not been on the telly? A devastating no-holds barred critique of the official line which took us to war in Iraq? Yeah, that's exactly the sort of thing I see on telly all the time.

I read an article[external link to article in question] this weekend by a bloke called Mark Kermode who tacitly reviews this underground film in his column in The Observer. He tries to argue that "conspiracy theories are comforting". That's quite odd I thought. Loose Change was, to me, anything but comforting. It's suggesting that the American government is so intent on power and war that it is willing to kill even its own citizens to ensure a new moral crusade. I find the official line far more comforting. Osama Bin Laden ain't ever going to win his war. A tyranical US Government probably will. How is that comforting?

After deciding the film "sounded like baloney*" our interpid reporter, just to make sure, rang "British film-maker Paul Greengrass, who's putting the finishing touches on his thoroughly researched, fact-based docudrama, United 93". So he rang a bloke who has a vested finiancial interest in the party line. Woo - wonder what response he got?

Ironicly he was told: 'Conspiracy theorists are not to be sneered at'. So what does Mark do with this advice? He sneers at them with the following un-related twaddle:

"I used to take solace in Gail Brewer-Giorgio's bonkers books Is Elvis Alive? and The Elvis Files, which argued that a fit and healthy Presley had carefully planned and faked his death in 1977, fled Graceland in a helicopter and restarted his life in privacy and seclusion. I embraced this story simply because it was less depressing than accepting that my hero had got too fat, sloppy and drug-addled to live.
In the end, the facts won out and I had to abandon my adolescent fantasies. Others should do the same."

Great. Thanks for that Mark. Now could you explain what the f#ck that has to do with the film Loose Change? Your adolescent fantasies and the books you cite WERE abandoned many years ago. In fact they were never even taken up by the vast majority of people. How do the two relate?

Just because you're f#ckwitted enough to believe 'Elvis aint dead' does not mean you should presume the rest of us share your gullible stupidity. Three people have mentioned your column to me in the past few days. That's three people who are now less likely to watch Loose Change and make up their own minds.

I for one am undecided. It wouldn't surprise me if 9/11 was a self inflicted wound nor would it shock me to discover it wasn't. Currently there's more suggests the former. I do know it has given genuinely dangerous countries carte blanche to do what the hell they like in Iraq and Afganistan. Killing thousands.

I also know that these murderers are the guys who are on our side. It's comforting to think of them as goodies. It's nice of you to offer us that comfort** while tacitly implying that anyone who thinks otherwise is being childish.


*"Baloney"??? Tut tut. Di#khead!

**Nice things are often immoral. Like that chocolate I ate today. And the porridge with syrup. Back on the diet tomorrow.

Athlete's foot is itchy. I used this video of Big John to take my mind off it: CLICK ON THE VIDEO LINK.

The last song in the "Key of Z" must chime over the hills

The life of a late night local radio disc jockey is, as I've said on here before, one of endless spare time and occasional boredom. It's satirised perfectly in the "I'm Alan Partridge" TV series which could easily have been based on large parts of my life.

Today I sat and played for hours on a playstation game called Worms World Party*. I'm now at the rank "Major". Days like this annoy me because I know I've totally wasted it and will one day re-read entries like this in horror as I see how clearly I've wasted years of my life. I know I've got the potential to do good stuff. What am I doing with this potential? Earning the dubious title of "Major" on Worms World Party. "Major" what, I ask you? "Major" waster/geek/bore?

I slump towards the fridge - I'm pretty sure there's nothing in there for me to eat. Actually, no, what's this? A Snickers bar? For me? It's probably Matt's I'm sure he won't mind. I can always buy him a new one, replace it. Anyway I've bitten a chunk off it now. Tastes a bit odd. Very, very, very, chewey.

And.. it's grey.

How can it be grey?

I've seen many things in my life but never before have I seen a mouldy, grey, Snickers bar. It's just not something you come to expect. Even when you live in the flat I do.

Nasty eh?**

I binned it and the green Twix which was sat next to it.


*On the Plastation - not Plastation II or PS2 or whatever it is you think I mean. Just a normal playstation because late night local radio does not contrary to popular belief pay big money. At least not if you're me.

**It gets nastier. As I looked at the grey Snickers bar I carried on chewing and I must admit the familliar taste of chocolate had now returned to my mouth. I -for a split second- debated whether to eat it anyway. Common sense prevailed but there we are.


Got an email off a very helpful reader which sums up the response of almost everyone whom I've showed FlashEarth to. I like to think of this blog as a potential portal to other interesting things on the net though and as a consequnce bring you this link:


You really don't want to go ranting and raving about Flash Earth. Not because it isn't a good product. Not even because everyone else already knows about it. But instead because it is not the original or best product of this genre. In fact Flash Earth is just a Flash implementation of 2 other products called Google Earth / Local and Microsoft Live Local.

So why are they any better than the really cool thing that you have been playing with? Well Google Earth is a desktop application (from which the images that you are seeing are taken) that offers much more functionality that you see with your service. You can zoom, rotate, pan... cool. On Google Earth you can tilt and fly. You can see important momuments marked on the map for you. You can get driving directions. You can overlay maps. And my favourite bit is that when you zoom out instead of getting the flat map of the Earth that we have all seen 100 time before you get a globe. That you can spin. Ahhhh... So I would suggest that you have a play on this instead. It is a free download from .

Now what about these other things? What the hell are they? Well Google Local is a web based implementation of Google Earth. So it is actually pretty similar to what you were looking at before. It is not written in Flash so there are some differences (mainly the initial loading time is much less) and you can quickly switch between maps and satellite photos. Or even view them both at once. It also knows where things are. So you can search for cinemas near you, or shops or whatever. It will even pinpoint Hallam Fm (although I don't know how correctly) -- see this link: here . Hallam Fm should be marked with an A.

And Microsoft Windows Live Local... well I am not much of a fan. I mean it is cool. But it offers you nothing new from what you have already seen. It is roughly equivalent to Google Local. Offering local searches and maps.

Anyway, that is a tour of the current offerings from all the big names in the satellite imaging world.

All the best,

Sam in Sheffield.

"Right, now we've changed the sheets we'll flip the mattress" - "Okay babes, lets flip it, you take that side"

The bouncing leg syndrome seems to be a common phenomena. I was sat in my favourite bar/resteraunt and there were some foreign people sat on the table opposite. They were bantering away and one of the blokes had a bouncy leg. There it was in all its glory. I wonder if he picked up this odd little trait while in this country or if it's something that is a trans-gpobal problem?

My mate Phoneboy gets it, I get it, my flatmates get it. I'm sure on occassion you've had it. It's not a major problem, in fact it's almost a bit of fun. You bounce your leg. That's it. Some people think it's a sign of nerves. I think that's boll#cks. I often do it when I'm not feeling nervous. So does my mate Phoneboy.

I remember someone once telling me it was called St Vitus dance? I'm sure that it's not as serious as that though. It's something that is perfectly within our control. You can think about it and stop bouncing your leg. If you want, but actually I quite enjoy doing it, so why should I stop?

The thing is, it seems contagious. If you're in a room with another bloke who's bouncing it's hard not to follow suit. I've watched it spread round a room*. The odd thing about it is that it's a largely male pastime. Women are less likely to bounce. I do not know why this is but think there's a piece of profound knowledge waiting to be discovered within the reason.


*A bit like yawning. Now I've mentioned yawning, you'll be thinking about yawning yourself proabably. I'm fighting against the urge myself. It's -yawn- hard not to. Feels good though.

"oh - erm, I don't - erm, TSK! Who put that there! Grr! Erm, bugger." (saturday)

So I joined a video shop. Well, you know, a DVD shop. Whatever.

I fell out with Blockbusters a while ago because I didn't like their attitude towards my attitude. They seemed to get annoyed if I left DVD's lying around my bedsit for months. Or - even worse - on the front seat of my car. "Ohh, must pop down and drop that off. It's been sat there a while now. Not just yet though, got to go to work first".

Then we got Sky TV. That really was the end of my relationship with Blockbusters. Now our Sky TV is broken or something so I've joined a new one. You have to give a password every time you rent a video though. Even though you've got your card with you. Seems a bit odd to me. Also the people in there seem eternally pis#ed off at life. Almost to the point that you want to say - "cheer up mate, it's not all bad news is it?".

When I asked this weekend if they had a couple of films I was keen to rent I'm sure I saw them rolling their eyes and tutting as if I was an utter fuc#wit. My girlfriend's not keen either as they don't stock The Karate Kid - almost as a matter of principle it would appear: "No mate, we've not got that, certainly not" he replied, without checking and looking a little like he was about to push me and ask me what my f#cking problem was.

I've had this sort of problem before, most annoyingly with people who work in comic book shops.

"Have you got Slaine Book of Invasions?"

"No, we don't stock that have you tried the internet."

"Erm, no I never thought of that, sorry to have wasted your time" comes my reply whereas what I should actually say is "I don't buy stuff off the internet, that's why I'm stood in your cruddy shop. I like to hold a purchase in my hands first and I also support the idea of fu#knuts like you having a job, which in the longterm you won't. Because of things like the internet. And because you're sat there - actually suggesting your customers use the internet! The correct response to an enquiry like mine would actually be; no mate but maybe I can order it for you. Then I can say, 'no thanks it's okay'. And f#ck off out of the shop. And another thing! Why don't you stock Phlegm in here? You should it's a great magazine, and it's local. Chris#sake, I give up!"


Something went wrong with it... so I fixed it... now I realise how much I love it... (friday)

Bloody hell. I know this is old news for some people but I'm still new to it what with not having a computer at home.

"What? What are you talking about?"

Well - strange voice - I'm talking* about this website:FLASH-EARTH**

It's a website which allows you to zoom in on any point on the planet that you care to look at. It's f#cking awesome. I think I've spent inh the region of 12 hours f#nnying around on it. My mind can't take in the sheer enormity of the world and my tiny place in it without whimpering a bit. It's great.

Just shows you how irrelevant you are. And yet at the same time makes you value your mind and the world in which you live. I just do not know what to make of it. Awesome.

So everyone I've told about it has rolled their eyes and gone: "Doh, didn't you know about that already? I've known about that for years. In fact I invented it. That's how cool I am. Blo#dy hell mate. Last time I saw that I fell off my dinosaur. Yeah! A dinosaur. That means I've known about it since at least the Triassic period. Doesn't make sense does it? No. But I don't need it to 'coz I'm cool."


So why didn't you show me it then? Why keep it to yourself?

I used to get this with bands. People would snigger and say "Ha! Oasis? I saw them live before they'd even formed!".

In fact I used to specifically annoy fans of alternative/indie music with the following comments which you may like to borrow:

"Yeh - I've been into these guys since their first album" - when clearly you haven't.

"Have you heard their best song? It's [insert biggest sell out pop hit here]"

Or you can say - ""Have you heard their best song? It's [insert badly pronounced title of one of another similar band's song here]"

But the best is to tell them you like a band who have just broken through into the commercial mainstream despite many years of critical and artistic success. When they ask you why you didn't like the album of their that they played you two years ago you reply with:

"Well they were rubbish back then, but now they're really good - that's why they're on top of the pops - they've improved".

See how much of the sentence you can get out before they go purple.


*I'm not actually talking, I'm writing. I mention this just so you don't have the image of me sat on my own in a room talking out loud as I write. That'd be odd. Then again, life IS odd so how could it be any more odd? Ahem - sorry. That thing really has broken my brain.

**I've saved it over Meadowhall. You will end up spending hours on it if you've not yet been there so beware if you read this at work. As most people apparently do.

As you like it

I, like everyone else, was sad to hear that cheesey Big Brother "star" Anthony has been the victim of a bit of random violence over the weekend. Apparently some thug bludgeoned his nose for fun. Not nice.

The thing about it is that there will be a proportion of people who'll relish this news and think it's okay to gloat about it. It's not. Human savagary is always depressing. Even when the victim is a grinning halfwit.

What strikes me about these things is that firstly whenever you get a bit of unprovoked violence like this there's always people who try to make out that there's some sort of justice there: "Oh he must have done something to deserve it..."

Bo#locks. That is not always the case.

I've seen (in fact I know people) who will kick off for no reason. They get off on it. There's no rhyme or reason for it. Yet always there's some fuc#nut who'll trot out a little bit of cod-morality. "He was looking at his burd" - "He spilt his pint" - "He gave him an odd look" etc, etc. What rubbish. All this really means is that they hope it never happens to them so they've invented a number of things which they'd never do.

The -serves you right- mentality.

I remember getting a kicking once in Sheffield for no good reason. The excuse was that I'd 'pinched [his] burds arse'.

The number of people who then trotted out the - "ooh but you can be argumentative, did they know who you were?". No. I didn't argue with them I didn't get the chance. They were too busy beating me with their fists and feet. So f#ck off and let me go buy some make-up to cover this black eye.

Yes, that's right! I wore make-up. On my black eye. I was caught between two polar opposites: feel like a woman with make-up on or an uber-hardman with a black eye.

"Grr - yeh, you should have seen the other fella - grrr! I've got a black-eye so f#ck yooo!".

So. I'm not just putting a link up to this story about Anthony off Big Brother because I think it's funny that he got punched. I don't think it's funny. I'm sure you won't either. Nor is the idea that he might now be putting make-up on amusing. Or the inevitable soul searching he'll have done when he was on his own with his wound.


So re-write the f#cking rules you moron... just put that

I've sent another story to Tharg*.

I really must stop doing this.

I've been at it since I was 14 and it's a filthy habit which I really don't appear able to control. Each time the urge seizes me I just have to hunch over the computer and squeeze out another short story with a twist.

That's how Tharg recruits new writers. He lets them write a short story with a twist. That's how he's always done it. Once you get writing them though it becomes something that your mind gets a weird kick out of. There's an elegant obvious beauty to short stories which arouses my mind. The greatest short story writer in my opinion is Edgar Allan Poe. "The Black Cat" and "The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar" being two particularly notable examples**.

Initially my imagination alone was enough but the more into it you get the more you crave stimulation and added layers of meaning. Soon you're composing stories which don't even make any logical sense.

Actually - that's true. I once wrote and submitted a story (couple of years ago now) which really doesn't make any actual sense. I read it to a couple of mates and they had to admit they had no idea what any of it meant. I thought I did at the time but looking back at it it's sheer drug induced nonsense***.

Each time once I've got rid of the story the urge settles for a bit and I can get on with my life. But sooner or later the consequences of what I've done catch up with me and a rejection letter lands on my doorstep.

This time it'll be different though. This time people will all love my story!


*Tharg is the 'alien editor' of The Galaxy's Greatest Comic 2000AD. It's a weekly comic which, if you're looking to get into the artform, you'd do well to subscribe to. It's the home of Judge Dredd and various other well known British comic stories. It's one of my reasons for living. Their website is:

**What do you mean you haven't heard of them? For f#cks sake! Go print them out and read them then: The Facts in The Case of M.Valdemar and The Black Cat.

***I do not and have not taken any drugs. This is a joke.

A sleeping giant awakes today... he plans not to sleep for the next 100 years?

I've just finished the reviews of various small-press comics which I've been struggling to finish for the uber-geek magazine "REDEYE" that I occasionally write for. It's taken me hours but in a bizzarre way it's a really satisfying process. It's sort of scary firstly because here I am criticising stuff which has been written by creative people* who are in places really baring their soul. I'm not a fan of the idea that I might be the brick wall into which their dreams crash. However I really do love comics books and unlike most enthusiasts I actually like the idea of them being a mainstream interest. I dig the idea of people liking the sort of stuff I'm into. In fact it's often oddly important to me.

Doing firm but fair reviews is my way of trying to ensure a quality level in the future. The last issue carried a couple of harsh words for a few creators but they seemed to take it fairly well judging by responses on their website. They may of course be hiding the pain. I've no way of knowing.

When you do something creative in life you've got your soft and dangly bits out on show. Having someone come over and prod it, then measure it while tutting to themselves isn't a nice experience I'm sure. That's why creative people are so odd. They've constantly got their bits out. It does things to your mind.

Anyway, as a result of enjoying writing these reviews and the 'nobel purpose' behind which I'm writing them I've decided to do a new blog. It's still very much in the planning stages but I think it might be quite good. It's going to be something along the lines of a "Blog Review" where I'm planning to write online critiques of other people's blogs. The reason for this is that I enjoy reading 'blogs but can never find good regularly updated ones which are worth the effort. The only ones I currently know of are ones I've mentioned here in the past.

There's Bored Housewife.

There's Richard Herring.

And... that's it.**

As you may have noticed it's a bit of a minefield finding anything of any worth on the internet. You search through and find good intentions mired by laziness. Either that or self indulgence parading as quality. Or just utter f#ckwits who can't spell let alone string a sentence together. It's annoying to say the least.

That's why I like the idea of a blog review site. If you'd like to contribute to it send me an email and I'll try and work out how to go about adding you.


*Like my mate who writes Phlegm. I went to his exhibition yesterday and as you'd expect it's brilliant. As is the pub that's hosting it, The Gardener's Rest, located at the bottom of the hill leading towards the ski village. It's in Neepsend in Sheffield. Go see it if you can.

**Well, not quite. There's a mate of mine's who doesn't want me to plug it on here because he's a pus#y and then of course there is also my girlfriend's which she doesn't want me to plug on here either because she is also a p#ssy.

The 3rd of May, judgement day, now I see the flush, and the burning of the Bush.

Last night on the radio show I do the callers were suggesting some of life's little pleasures. I've had this feature running for a while now as it works quite well at the start of the week when no one can be ar#ed to do anything. It sort of cheers me up to read a list of nice things. Nothing too nice. Big pleasures make you want to go and experience the thought for yourself. Got to be a little pleasure.

I made this very clear on air a few times but still you get the inevitable: "the day my first kid was born - holding them for the first ever time, seeing their perfect eyes looking up at me..."

No f#cknut. That's surely a big pleasure. As, I'd have thought, is getting married/buying a house/taking class - A drugs? And so forth.

I'm sure you can imagine.

The thing about being on the radio is that you can sometimes get a jaundiced view of humanity, like in any service industry. I used to work behind the 'tills in Morrisons. It only takes one or two halfwits out of 100's to mire your view of the whole of humanity.

The fact of the matter is that most people are as intelligent as you are. And if you work at it in the end they'll contribute to a silly list like this one called; '101 of life's little pleasures'.

Here is the final list... you'll notice it's one short. I enjoyed that. When they were all counted up I realised we were missing one and it was time to do other stuff on the show. I think if I'd got 101 compiling this list would have been a big pleasure for me. As it is, that failure made it a little one.

Nick Margerrison's Hallam FM list of 101 of Life's Little Pleasures....

1 Scratching your athlete’s foot. (Regular readers may notice this is clearly one of mine, I put it in to get the ball rolling)

2 Breaking open an new jar of coffee.

3 Chocolate*

4 Spotting a mistake in a film

5 Fresh creamy new milk on cereal from the top of the bottle

6 Random cuddles

7 Finding money you forgot you had in a drawer or pocket

8 When you beat someone to a parking bay ( ha ha)

9 When someone follows you in to the toilet and youve left a smell

10 Alarm goes off early/wake up early.

11 Finding a quid.

12 Having your back scratched in just the right place.

13 Peeling a satsuma

14 Knowing you have a day off

15 Watching someone fall over in the street

16 Not putting any weight on over Xmas

17 Having a lazy day and not going out of the house and not even getin dressed

18 A cheeky smile off a good looking woman.

19 A cheeky smile off a good looking bloke

20 Squeezing bubble wrap

21 Dipping a teabag then scrunching it against the cup and watching the brown tea water come out

22 Crumpled bit of paper in your back pocket – turns out to be a tenner

23 You go get new clothes and find out you’re a size smaller

24 Getting a hair cut

25 Farting in the bath

26 Having a wee in the toilet with the door wide open ‘coz there’s no one in the house

27 Going to the gym

28 Playboy **

29 Budweiser **

30 All cold outside – you’re wrapped up in bed inside

31 Hot soup

32 Whem you listen to the radio and you get all the songs that you like in a row

33 Not sleeping in the wet patch

34 When someone else answers the door or phone for you

35 Going to the cash machine and finding money you didnt know you had

36 The cold side of a pillow

37 When you're hot and you go outside in the summer and you get a nice breeze down your back

38 Getting into a freshly made bed

39 Squeezing a spot on your chin and hearing that tiny little noise it makes as the green gunk squirts out

40 Gettin through all the traffic lights on ur way home from work

41 Someone letting you go in traffic

42 Seeing someone you don’t like getting annoyed

43 Getting the car out of a garage in working order

44 Having a wee after you needed one for ages

45 Opeining a milk carton properly

46 When your ear 'pops' and you get your hearing back (which you didn't realise you'd lost)

47 Having a bus that is actually on time

48 Farting in a lift or crowded room then looking f#cking disgusted as if it was someone else

49 Eating a fry-up when your on a diet

50 When you've had a lot of work to do, you've finished it and then you have the rest of the day to yourself

51 Not having to work on a monday as only you only work four days a week

52 The first sip of a glass of good wine

53 When your watch is a bit slow and its almost the end of the day and your psyching yourself up for the final ten minutes and you realise you can leave already

54 Having a wee in freshly fallen snow

55 Seeing an idiot who has inconvenienced you suffering the consequences of their idiotic behaviour. A good example, being a speeding moron who cuts you up on the motorway and then few junctions down there he is being bollo#ked by the police

56 Coming home after a night out clubbing and someone has popped a hot water bottle in your bed for you

57 A baby exploring your face with its hands

58 A baby (or babies) laughing

59 A handwritten letter

60 Lying in bed listenin to some saddo trying to fill his time up thinking of 101 (why not just 100?) of life's little pleasures

61 Hearing Hallam FM when you cross back into South Yorkshire after being away

62 Listening to Nick on the radio

63 First breath of air on a summers morning

64 Your partner cooking you a sunday roast with all the trimmings (surely that's a big one?)

65 A sunny, warm day with no rain.

66 When it rains and it’s been really sunny

67 Waking up thinking you have to go to work, then realising its a bank holiday

68 Spreading out in a double bed when your wife is working nights

69 Havin sex with a random stranger when your out on the town

70 Walkin past a really good looking person

71 When the boss makes a mistake which everyone is aware of

72 Peeling sunburnt skin

73 Waking up and realising its your birthday

74 Spending time on your own with some KY jelly

75 Your first bacon sandwich after quitting the vegy way of life

76 When a traffic warden gets a parking ticket

77 The smell just after it rains in summer

78 Waking up next to your partner in bed and then being 'romantic'

79 Eating an ice cream

80 Someone you hate failing an exam

81 Waking up to the smell of bacon

82 Goin to sleep at night in your warm bed

83 Being able to do anything you like after gettin rid of pain in the arse partner

84 Wa#king

85 Having a lie in and listening to Big John and the gang having a laugh

86 After a hard day at work, letting the dog lick your feet

87 Dogs

88 Tendering the inexact fare on a bus and getting away with it

89 Hearing the alarm going off turning it off going back to sleep

90 The taste of melting butter on hot toast

91 Finishing work on a friday evening

92 Sunday papers

93 Finding out your box of chocolate has 2 trays

94 When you turn the radio on and your favourite song is playing

95 When you are chilled out with your girlfriend on the sofa with some cans

96 Getting six roast chicken packets of crisps when the multipack bag states that there should be five

97 When a petrol pump stops exactly on a pound instead of a random amount

98 Having your head stroked

99 My daughter giving me a cuddle

100 Having a bath without any interruptions

101 - ?

That's right dear reader. It's upto you. Email me in a little pleasure and I'll pick the best one.

Also if you think this list needs correcting or adjusting email me and tell me. I'll annotate and date any corrections which come up.

*Is it a little pleasure? Some may say it's a big pleasure. As I say feel free to email in.

**Remember these are not my choices - I personally would agree with anyone who wanted to remove these two.

The human race will never truely be happy if even just one of us is left standing in tears.

There's a pub in Neepsend called The Gardener's Rest. I think this is it CLICK HERE[extrenal link]. I'm going to try and convince my mate James Piekos to come along and look at it when he pops up tomorrow. He's all up for going to The Carvery that we used to frequent but I'm in two minds about it. I always eat too much there and I fancy a change.

The reason I want to go to this other pub is that the bloke who writes Phlegm has put on an exhibition there. I've successfully befriended him now. He's a nice chap and it's a bit odd because although we're friends I'm still a big fan of his work. My only other friend like this is Scottie McClue. Other mates who are particularly good at what they do I was friends with first and then a fan of second, if you see what I mean.

I've never been to this pub before so it'd be a little adventure for me.

I've never really got into pub culture to be honest. I've not been part of a local, not really. I've never had my picture stuck up on one of those 'bonkers boards' you often see where pub regulars are displayed in all their glory at birthdays/lock-ins/parties etc.

I think partly this is because I can't handle my drink so don't usually retain the necessary social skills for long enough when I'm in a pub. It's also partly because of my rubbish working hours. And perhaps because I go through long periods of feeling anti-social and incommunicative.

All those things combined I think.


Cover your eyes in the light of the stars and sing, sing, sing!

This may look like the sort of entry that's written by an old man who is getting more and more disgusted by the nation's youth. It may look like that but it's not. I'll explain why as I go along. Suffice it to say I've always hated the human race. We're filthy f#cking disgusting horrible creatures who are only really fit to be laughed at most of the time. We've achieved nothing of any worth in the short length of time we've been here. We're too wrapped up in our own quarrells and greed.*

I've never liked lads between the ages of 14-18. I don't know why. I always want to tell them to 'f#ck off and show some respect'. Doesn't matter if they deserve that or not. Being essentially mild mannered and sane I don't go swearing at strangers but y'know it's a half-thought. Most of them look like they need a good kicking.

When I say never I mean that in the truest possible sense I can. As a young kid I didn't like them. Often because I was scared of them. They were the horrible "bigger boys" who'd kick you or smack you for no reason. Survival instinct made me fear them. Then when I was 14-18 and they were my peers I had to put up with their nonsense. I also had to endure a certain ammount of self-loathing. As a result I chose to hang out with quite a select few people. It was hard finding anyone worth talking to at that age.

Now I just look in disgust whenever for any reason I'm confronted by them.

Stood as I was in Hillsborough on the Friday about to get the tram** I was amazed at how little things have improved amongst this strange group of people. Drugged up on hormones they were loafing along in the way lads do. Covered in spots, skin as greasy as a chip and hair shocked into the oddest cuts you've seen. Then one of them made me want to kill him.

"Hock - sshpit"

Dirty little c#nt spat on the floor? What's that about? I haven't seen one do that for years. Like, 20 years ago kids used to do that. It seemed to die out though as I came to that age. Has it come back into fashion? He wasn't suffering from a respiratory or digestive problem. He was doing it to show what a f#cking dude he was. Why? It makes no sense. Why?


Puberty is a terrible thing. The sooner they work out how to do without it and we're born as adults the better. I've no idea how I'd cope if I had a lad of my own that age. I'd have to disown him for 5 years or so.


It's becoming an annoyance now. I'm waking up in the morning anxious to scratch it. This simply isn't possible if the lady is in the bed. It's like I'm having an affair with my fungus infected foot. I can't explain to you how much sweet pleasure it is to scratch it. However if we extend the affair analogy I need to get rid. It itching so often is like it calling at inconvinient times. I've got to get it sorted. Soon. Just not yet. Itchy time again!

*It's possible to hold this view and the exact opposite at the same time. I don't know how but I'm living proof of this fact. I equally understand that humans are all unique beautiful intricate fascinating jewels of love. Multi-layered facets of the universe's developing process of consciousness, self awareness and ultimately of course its divinity. Go deal with that nonsense. It makes sense.

**How f#cking great is the tram? Very, that's how fuc#ing great it is. Cheaper than a bus. Nicer. Less full of t#ats.

The twisted cuckold fantasies of Johnny Rubberheads

I love taxi drivers. They're often a bit bonkers when it comes to driving but as people most of the ones I've met in my life have been really nice genuine people. Doesn't matter what race/sex/religion etc, if you're a taxi driver I instictively like you on some level.

Here's a tip. You want to know what's going off in a town, ask a taxi driver. They know everything about their patch. Absolutely f#cking everything. When I arrive in a new place if I'm looking to learn about it a taxi driver is often the only person I don't regret asking.

I've worked up and down the country doing this local radio disc jokey nonsense. Loughborough, Newbury, Morecambe etc. No matter where you are you can always get the inside info off a taxi driver.

So when I arrived in Cambridge this weekend I instantly asked the first taxi driver we encountered if he knew where Syd Barrett* lived. I was going out on a limb here, really testing my theory. The answer I got was a beauty and maintained my faith in The Kings of The Road:

"Yeah mate I know him** his Mum lived up on xxxx street"

Brilliant I thought. Even in Cambridge my rule of thumb about taxi drivers still works.

I peered out of the window wondering if The Madcap had laughed on the street corners that the taxi was careering round. It was nice and sunny and I felt sad that Syd Barrett is still alive, living nearby, but no longer laughing. I once heard his music described as letters from a long lost friend. That descripition rings true for me.


*If you don't know who he is go and find out. Buy a few albums and educate yourself. One of my favourite musicians. I was horrified to realise how few people are aware of him this weekend.

**Right, my girlfriend denies he said this. Her version of events is that he didn't know him but knew his Mum or something. She's therefore ruining my story with non-specific denials. Such is life.

Athlete's footnotes:
- So what's the f#cking deal with this nonsense then? Answers on the back of a postcard. Careful though I stumbled over it as a pop-up.

- This one provides a beautiful smackdown to anyone on an income in the UK:

- As the number of readers this 'blog gets continues to grow I now find it's not possible to put a 9/11 conspiracy film on[backlink to a previous entry] without getting a rebuffal[backlink to a previous entry] and then this site gets 'anonymously' emailed over to me:

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