just click

Not related to my previous entry but I saw this and had to stick it up here.

Click me

Bursting my balloon

That's what I need to do. Here or elsewhere. Stay tuned.

Druids R us

Ever had a day that went on an on? A sloooow day? Today's the day. Summer solstice. From here on in the days get shorter, S.A.D. increases, the barbeque gets aired even on rainy days and children are forced to play outside in the rain because "summer will soon to over". In case you were wondering this isn't a meeting of the Klan. It's just some druids doing what comes naturally (if you're a pagan). If you look closely you'll be able to spot the one they're about to sacrifice.

8 from 3

**

For reasons that are completely beyond my control (like greed and discipline) my healthy eating splurge never got beyond a fortnight and lip service (and I don't mean the Asian "happy ending" lip service either). This means that as of Sunday I still had 11 pounds to lose. Due to buying an MP3 player (which, after 3 days, is already on it's way back to the supplier, but that's another story) I did, for the first time in years, manage to go for a short run in Parliament grounds near my house which had the astonishing effect (coupled with reasonably sensible eating) of raising my metabolism for sufficiently long to lop another 3 pounds off. Three weeks left. Hence 8 from 3. Is it feasible to lose 8+ pounds in the remaining 3 weeks or should I just accept man-breasts and faux pregnancy for yet another holiday album?


** This may or may not be an accurate representation of how I currently look.

Sick bitch

What sort of poisonous, sick bitch does this?

Drag the bitch behind a car for 5 miles. Roll in salt, oil and chilli powder. Crisp with a blowtorch.

Find me

I'm hardly elusive. But if you did want to find me here's a few tips.

• I'm the man in the checkout queue behind the old biddy who has waited for three customers to pay before opening her purse and then start counting the exact amount in coppers.
• I'm the man who excitedly opens up his latest purchase when he gets home only to find something's falling off, it's broken, stained or damaged. Always.
• I'm the man who phoned you but you couldn't hear me (see above).
• I'm the man who's just arrived late (everywhere).
• I'm the man who's just waited 20 minutes at the bar being ignored by the bar staff as walk-ins walk away arms full of drinks and.....
• when I did eventually get served got half a pint of Guinness spilled on my crotch.
• I'm the man swearing at the computer.
  
• I'm the man who's drunk.
  

Proof

Proof, if any were needed, that women are different.

Noctilucent Clouds

Call me a nerd. Geek. Freak. I don't care (you won't be the last).

I've been trying to catch these for about 2 weeks, finally caught them tonight around midnight out the back window of my office. They're a natural phenomena whose cause is still unknown. They're clouds on the edge of space, where clouds shouldn't exist (90 miles up) much, much higher than ordinary clouds which are normally up to 5 miles up. They luminesce neon colours and are only visible in darkness (I used a manual shutter of about 6 seconds). More on them here.

A night at the opera

If I'd been brought up with a silver spoon in my mouth it would have been different. I wouldn't have to walk through life carefully balancing the chips that sit comfortably either side of my fat working-class neck. And therein lies the cause of Friday night's problem, a work related black tie dinner sandwiched between 2 parts of an opera. Not just any opera but an exclusive performance set in an old stone built barn (about 300 years old, set in the grounds of an old country estate) which could only hold 200 patrons, performed by an amateur company complete with an amateur orchestra (bar the conductor). Several things struck me during the night.

• The performers are unbelievably dedicated to rehearse for so many hours to make the performance as polished as it was (and some of them were extremely talented), though why they'd do that so that they could perform only once to a half drunk, overdressed bunch of snobs who are only there to say they'd supported the opera and been to ....on Friday and "wasn't it simply fabulous...." is beyond me. Too much in for too little out. The books just don't balance in my head.

• Drinking Bordeaux and Champers from 5pm on one the hottest days of the year is akin to doing the 4 man bob-sleigh at the winter Olympics without brakes or crash helmet and with your eyes closed. There's only going to be one outcome.

• Opera is a play ruined by singing.

• Why are there times when 3 or 4 characters are facing the audience all singing different tunes and lyrics. What the fuck is that about?

• Drink, me and cigarettes are the Holy Trinity.

I'd rather spend an evening naked, clubbing seal cubs to death with a blunt rusty ice pick dipped in chilli sauce than sit through one of those again, though I did have an out loud laugh at a lady in the chorus who overemphasised so much that I thought she'd just rolled in from a gurning contest after taking 10 E s.

Scorchio!

5 straight days of fantastic weather (24 degrees, that's about the hottest it ever gets here). In the same decade. In the same year. In the same week.





Nah!

Stop

I've done this many times. Stop. Start again. Repeat ad nauseam. Every time I restart I wonder why. One always leads to another. I can get addicted to anything. I'm quite sure if all there was in the world was air and water I'd get addicted to them instead. This time I have to make it stick though. It's making me look old (good god, I've realised I am vain), making me unhealthy, making me smell and I don't want my daughter to associate me with the smell of a stale cigarette though she never sees me smoking ( I hope she isn't imprinted already but fear it might be too late). I'm not even worried about the money. I used to be so fit. Seven miles over hills in 36 minutes. 140 sits ups in one sitting. Two minutes of anything now would place me uncomfortably close to my maker. So 60 hours ago the last Marlboro red was tossed away (after a good toke). No-one's dead and nothing of any real value is broke. But I could kill for a piece of nasty tasting gum.

Tits and arse

Now and again a tiny sparklet fizzles across the vacuum that currently occupies the space where my brain used to reside. It's never the genesis of a eureka moment like Newton's third law or the Archimedes Principle. Today's spark came after being away for 2 days and drinking heavily last night into the wee hours as I mooched around the airport awaiting my flight home this evening. Was I a tit or an arse man? Told you! Of course the answer changes from day to day and whoever happens to be the unlucky recipient of my gaze at the time. The decision du jour appears to be dependant on such weighty aesthetic variables as;

• size
• presentation
• setting

I'll try to explain each in turn. Size, I'm not saying big's good and small's bad. It's more complicated. It's a combination of shape and size. There's an X factor. I think there must be an optimum rate of curve programmed into mens' heads that just presses buttons. That's why cleavage works and Wonderbras sell. Which brings me on to .....presentation. Ladies, do yourself favour and get a proper fitting bra (try one back size down and a cup size up) and see what happens. Now turn sideways and adjust it properly. See, that didn't take long. I used to sell those things a long time ago. Can call out a bra size at 40 paces (or alternatively, close up with my eyes closed), a unique talent that is completely fuckin' useless to me. And buy a nice bra. Never buy a cheap bra. Same goes for matching pants (knickers, U.S. peeps) Don't buy a size too small here though or you'll separate things that just weren't meant to separated. Thongs are seldom a good choice, they don't help to shape anything. Proper pants and knickers please though not Bridget Jones'. Bums can benefit from jeans, trousers, skirts, dresses, yep anything, as long as they're a complimenting shape. If you've got a big arse wear a top or dress that narrows your waist. Keep away from baggy stuff. Same goes if you're a skinny arse too actually. Can't work out why so many women get it wrong. O.K. So now I've given you a perkier chest and rounder arse I have a dilemma. Which looks best? Actually, that's the simple one. Setting, just depends if I'm standing in front or behind.

If you need free, unbiased, confidential advice on these important issues my mailbox is always open for sample photographs.

Today's entry has been sponsored by dirty old men everywhere, Gossard and Victoria's Secret.