Friday, April 30, 2004

The Friday Fuckwit!

#3. Willie Thorne
Irksome, Gary Lineker-fancying, snooker commentating, billiard-headed fuckwit.

Call me sad if y’like but I quite enjoy the World Snooker tournament each year. I wouldn’t refer to myself as a snooker fan as such, but the game does fascinate me.

Snooker commentators however, I do not enjoy. John Virgo is dull, Clive Everton is craply detached and ‘the great’ Ted Lowe spent his entire career uttering grunted remarks despite being dead. None are as bad however, as Thorne. The ultimate chalk-toting pillock.

I won’t bang on about this (because I already am feeling that this post isn’t going to be very interesting) but he is just so painful to listen to. Thorne’s co-commentator will make an observation, Thorne will argue the point, then make the same point himself! Then he will repeat the same thing over and over again as though somebody is disagreeing with him, when no one else has breathed a word.

But it’s the snooker lingo that really pisses me off. They rarely say “win the frame” – it’s always “clinch the frame” (how dramatic). A snooker ball doesn’t “hit” another snooker ball, the balls will always “kiss” (how poetic). I also remember watching a game once where John Parrott used the expression; “He’s made a right Horlicks out of that!” three times in one frame! THREE!

Snooker’s alright, but watch it with the sound down – like Hollyoaks.

Tuesday, April 27, 2004

Once You Pop…

It was never going to work was it? They were just such a ridiculous shape. Looking back, what the hell were we thinking even TRYING to attempt to dip a Pringle of that shape? Just think back to all those hours you have wasted desperately trying to dip one of the old shaped ones. Well, friends, thank smeg those days are behind us. Praise be that we can look forward to a future where Pringles are a proper dipping shape. I don’t know about you but I’ve been waiting for them to bring out some decent shaped Pringles for years.

Do people actually fall for marketing like this?

As for the platypuses, (should that be platypi?) they ought to be ashamed of themselves. Selling their little aboriginal, aquatic souls to a potato-peddling, moustachioed, cartoon twunt.

Monday, April 26, 2004

Pest Alert

Regular visitors may remember my organisation’s facilities team who recently sent a circular email to over 200 people because a paper napkin had gone missing. Well they’re at it again.

Date 26/04/04
Subject: Wasps

"As some of you are aware, there have been a number of wasps coming in through the windows over the last few weeks. (These are scouts looking for a suitable nesting site.)

Rentokil have visited the site and have not identified a nest. They have recommended putting up wasp boxes in the loft spaces in both buildings, and a number in the surrounding trees. This will be actioned today.

As an ongoing precautionary measure, please ensure the windows are closed and the LAF system on your desk is fully utilised.

Many thanks

Facilities Team"

I work in a glass building, basically a greenhouse with carpet and chairs. It would be unbearable to not open the windows on a hot day. There is no air conditioning, only the ‘LAF system’ on my desk. This is supposed to divert fresh air into the building via two adjustable vents. Essentially, it’s a crap car fan and the only thing it diverts into my face is warm, dusty air and these weird little flies.

We are no longer allowed cans of fly+wasp killer as they are 'an irritant'. Wasp stings aren’t irritating at all of course. Wankers.

Friday, April 23, 2004

The Friday Fuckwit!

#2. Ameet Chana (aka Adi Ferreira)
Awful goatee sporting, 2 for a pound madam, miserable East-End market fuckwit.

I don’t even watch ‘enders very often but this twunt still manages to irritate me to the extreme. You look utterly ridiculous you prick. Shave, then piss off.

Thursday, April 22, 2004

Hobbit Boy

That’s what he called me – “Hobbit Boy”. Did you read it? In yesterday’s comments? I quote Mr Bonobo Love: “Yes, Crumb shaves his toes, don't you hobbit- boy? ”


Truth is - No, I don’t ‘shave my toes’. Though I did once.

Admittedly I do have quite hairy feet and toes. Not stupidly hairy, (I’m no Chew-fecking-Bacca for crying out loud.) Nevertheless, they are a bit hairy.

Back in our lads flat days I had got drunk, had a shower and was lying on my bed watching telly in my dressing gown. Mr B Love came into my room and sat down to watch the telly with me. (Hence him witnessing the pedi-fluff removal)

I tired of telly. My inebriated mind was wandering. I began fiddling with the disposable razor from my washbag. One thing led to another and quite simply I shaved one of my feet. Not both you understand, that would’ve just looked silly.

Sod it, I’m going to shave my other foot tonight.

Wednesday, April 21, 2004

Charity begins at home


"I’m too nice."

Before you all start bombarding me with comments of wholehearted agreement please allow me to justify this statement.

Yester eve, around 6.45pm I was getting on with evening chores; tidying the lounge, putting some washing on, shaving my toes, that sort of thing. There was a knock on the door. In good spirits I answered. There stood, in the pissing rain a youngish chap dressed in some sort of white gown with ‘Oxfam’ embroidered on the breast pocket.

Before I could open my mouth to say “good evening” he launched into his sales pitch. He was offering me the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to support Oxfam. Did I know what work Oxfam were involved with? I said I had some idea, but…

…too slow! He interrupted me and was off again into a 5 minute explanation.

I’m too nice, I did my best to pretend to appreciate what he was saying, without looking too interested. Nodding from time-to-time, agreeing where appropriate. Then when the explanation ended, the guilt trip began:

“Think what just 30pence a day could do. Think what I waste 30 pence a day on. Think about the good I could be doing. Is this something I would be interested in signing up to?”

Well, no. But sadly I’m too nice.
I replied (telling no word of a lie): “Quite honestly mate, I appreciate what you are doing and I wish you luck with it. At this moment in time we are striving to save every penny we can to buy our first house.”

Not good enough. He’s off again. (By this point I had been stood at my front door listening to him for around 10 minutes.) Another guilt trip followed. Including the line, “You’ve got a house” (which given Monday's disappointment really angered me.) But I’m too nice – I couldn’t say what I really wanted to which was; “You know nothing about me or how much I struggle financially – I’ve said no, now fuck off”

Thankfully, my girlfriend, however small, sweet-looking and good natured, is not so reserved and when pissed off would have Mike Tyson backtracking pretty sharpish.

She came bounding down the hallway from the kitchen shouting at him. “He’s told you twice we are not interested, it doesn’t matter how long you stand there waffling on – we can’t afford it, now please leave us alone”. This did the job. He made his excuses (which took around 2 minute) then sheepishly buggered off.

I’d would really like to support a charity, I always give to stuff like Children In Need and Comic Relief. I quite often give to collections. I always buy a poppy. My girlfriend is doing ‘Race for Life’ in a week or two to raise money for cancer research. But 30p a day is £2.10 a week which is £109.20 a year, not a lot – but right now too much for us.

I just pray one of them doesn’t come round when she’s not in. I’ll end up selling a kidney on the doorstep.


Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
He's a twunt."

Monday, April 19, 2004


I've bought loads of stuff throughout my life. Thing like bicycle clips, a t-shirt that changed colour when it got warm and green apple flavour 'nerds'.

I've never bought a set of furry dice, sexual intercourse or one of Peter Duncan's old hats. Or a house.

So today I nearly bought a house. My lady and I went to view one on Saturday. We fell in love with it and put in a bid of £plenty. This morning we got a call to say that someone had topped our bid, so we increased it to £plenty+ (which was the best we could do.) It was not accepted.

I guess it just wasn't meant to be. Still, as I say, gutted.

Sunday, April 18, 2004

Get Even...

I think the way in which Amanda Holden publicly humiliated Les Dennis was shameful. I also think her comments about him since they split and they way she has rubbed his nose in it prove her to be a right bitch.

Hats off to Les, who seems to be over the worst of his media slap-down. He supplied the quote of the week on Have I Got News For You?: "I kept getting texts from David Beckham, then realised I still had my ex-wifes phone."

Have some of that you heartless tart.

Saturday, April 17, 2004

Fuckwit Update

Lump commented yesterday that he recalled my Friday Fuckwit from her Dr Who days and remembered her being 'not too bad on the eyes'. I'm willing to be proved wrong and had to find out whether it was true...

Fair do's, I think I'd agree that she wasn't as bad back then. Let herself go a bit since though hasn't she? Jeepers.

If only after Dr Who they'd banished her to an isolated cave on Saturn she might be remembered as a cute young thing. Ah well, they didn't. Ugly, whinging old cow.

The article I stole this picture from is an interesting read - Lust in Space

Friday, April 16, 2004

Judging Books By Covers

Why the hell not? I’m not a hate-filled man. I have much love to give. Yet I do detest an unfeasibly wide range of people. Not people I meet you understand, I’m talking about ‘celebrities’.

There are just so many of them these days aren’t there? I’m sure you could all pick out 3 or 4 obvious ones. Perhaps it is attention-grabbing media slags that really get under your skin? My displeasure is far more random than that. I loathe just about everyone in the public eye.

I probably could do with anger management or maybe even just chilling out a bit, but instead I am proud to unveil a new weekly feature on TMC:

The Friday Fuckwit!

#1. Louise Jameson
Stupid skunk-haired freckly fuckwit.

I really hoped I’d seen the last of this week’s git when she left Albert Square. Sadly she turned up in The Bill last night and ruined my evening. Anyone remember her in Bergerac? She wasn’t any more attractive when she was younger.

Thursday, April 15, 2004

I'm An Iraqnophobe

Crivens, have a peep at the size of these bastards.
There's a gang of them stomping around the badlands of Iraq apparently. I say accept the truce and get the smeg out of there! Nowt to do with politics, oil, Islam, weapons of MD or the war on terror. Imagine waking up and finding one of these geezers nipping at your toes. No ta.

Wednesday, April 14, 2004


Before I had a week orf you may remember that I was rattling on about my home town (Bridgwater) and the lack of famous people it attracts/has produced. Well peel my tangerines - that all changed in one night I can tell you. Not only did Badly Drawn Boy show up to play a gig in Bridgwater but the support acts included Mick Jagger's brother! (I know - sharp intake of breath!)

Then, at the end of the night the DJ started playing loads of early 90's music from the Manchester scene and we were promised a 'special guest'. We were (forgivingly) expecting the bloke who reads the local news, or at a push Eddie the Eagle.

But no! Who should appear on stage but Happy Monday Bez! Yes - that Bez! Okay, not exactly 'A-list' but pretty good nonetheless. A load of us got up on stage with Bez and were jumping around with him, my mate had him in a headlock at one point. For one night, bizarrely, the Hacienda came to Bridgwater. You can keep you polos Dickinson!

Tuesday, April 13, 2004

About Time I Wrote Something

Ah! Holidays, aren't they marvelous? Today is my eleventh (and final) day off work. Looking forward to having plenty of free time tomorrow to blog again!

Bonobo and I spent a couple of nights in a tent in Newquay. We hired some wetsuits and boards, got in the water for a few hours, but other than that were basically pissed for the duration of our visit.

In fact, so pissed was my comrade that he felt the need to pick up a weewee-soaked disinfectant cube from the men's urinal. So pissed was my comrade that he believed running it under the tap for a minute or two would cleanse it of all things bad. So pissed was my comrade that he proceeded to place it in his mouth for comedy purposes.

I have to admit to have never been so gobsmackingly appalled in my entire life. He is a horrid, horrid man. (but damn funny, impressively brave and certainly original.)

Tuesday, April 06, 2004

You Were Right, Smells Like I've Won The National

You know when you're singing a song for no reason, then turn on the radio and it's playing? Does that make you go 'Whoa! Freaky!'? It does me, and I seem to be caught up in something similar at the moment.

Since watching Badly Drawn Boy last Friday I've been singing his hit 'You Were Right' almost non-stop. One of the lines in 'You Were Right' is:

"I remember doing nothing on the night Sinatra died, and the night Jeff Buckley died, and the night Kurt Cobain died..."

Then last Saturday I backed Amberleigh House to win the Grand National. The last time I backed the National winner was 10 years ago. (In 1994 I backed Minnehoma to win). Almost immediately after that race in 1994 had finished I heard on the radio that Cobain had taken his life.

It's not quite the 10th anniversary of his death (that's Thursday), but last Saturday was the corresponding Saturday 10 years on.

To me, that's a little bit 'Whoa!'

  • The Cobain Memorial

  • Monday, April 05, 2004

    Crispy Barman Saturday Night Git

    Another poetic post about the beauty of life?


    Someone else for the firing squad?


    Before I continue I should point out that I have a reputation for not being the most tolerant chap on the planet. For example whenever Worzel is feeling a little down in the dumps, he takes me to McDonalds and just watches me getting more and more angry - something that he finds astonishingly amusing. My problem with the aforementioned hamburger outlet is their shameless lying:

    Me: "Quarter Pounder please"
    Robotic inbred chav: "That's going to take 4 minutes"
    Me: "It isn't is it?"
    Robotic inbred chav: "Yes"
    Me: "No, it isn't. It's going to take at least twice as long as that, isn't it"
    Robotic inbred chav: "No, should be about 4 minutes"
    Me: "Everytime I order a burger in here I get told it is going to take 4 minutes. Every time it actually takes almost 10 minutes"
    Robotic inbred chav: "This one should be about 4 minutes"
    Me: "We'll see..."

    Admittedly I do usually have this problem when ordering a Filet-o-fish, so you might say that it is my own fault - but what is the thinking behind this? I have even tried saying to them "If you tell me it'll be 15 minutes, and it arrives 15 minutes then we're both happy. If you tell me it'll be 15 minutes, and it arrives after 12 minutes, then I'll be even happier. But why tell me it is going to be 4 when you and I both know it'll be almost 10 - hmmm, hmmm HMMMM?"

    As I say, Worzel finds this hilarious and I probably ought to get my blood pressure checked.

    Anyhow, I digress - I was intending to tell you about Crispy Barman Saturday Night Git

    On Saturday night we graced the centre of Bristol for a shindig in honour of the Monkey's birthday. My good lady decided she would like a packet of Prawn Cocktail crisps. Being the good bloke I (sometimes) am, I went to the bar to buy her some. I waited, and waited. I got frustrated pretty quickly. (My patience somewhat clouded by the fact that the pub we were in is notorious for employment gimps). The 'barman' had overcharged some chap for his round and they ended up having a 5 minute confab about it. I waited, silently irritated.

    I reckon I was stood there for about 7 minutes - there was only me at the bar. Then a pretty girl prances up and stands the other side of me. Matey boy finally finishes serving the poor sod (who had been overcharged twice and was outwardly losing the will to live) then he turned straight to the pretty girl and confidently asked, in his finest, masculine tone "Yes Please?"

    Pretty girl: "A vodk....." ............I erupted.
    Dickhead: "What?"
    Crumb: "I SAID- I think I was next and I only want a packet of crisps"

    The dickhead, clearly rattled and embarrassed (heh heh heh) looked at her, looked at me and then looked back at her.

    Crumb: (to pretty girl) "I'm sorry, but I was wasn't I?" (has she no manners?)
    Pretty girl: "You were, yes"
    Crumb: "Thank you." (to dickhead) "A packet of prawn cocktail crisps please"

    The Dickhead's reaction was unusual I thought:

    He handed me the crisps and as I offered him payment he said:

    "I don't want your money if you're going to be like that..."

    (still, free crisps...)

    Thursday, April 01, 2004

    Are You Lost?

    To kick off my week of leisure, on Friday evening I'm going to see Badly Drawn Boy performing live in my home town of Bridgwater, Somerset.

    Reasonably famous people rarely visit Bridgwater. As far as I remember we’ve never had a decent music gig before (Glastonbury is only 10 miles away so people tend to play there.)

    So by my reckoning BDB will in fact be the most famous visitor to the town since 1983 (and that was only an unconfirmed report that Sandra Dickinson had been spotted buying some polo mints from the Shell garage.)

    Has anyone visited this idyllic mid-Somerset hideaway? (voted by readers of 'The Idler' as the 44th worst place to live in the UK). I'd be interested to hear your memories...

    Errr.....Remember Me?

    The few of you who actually read my drivel will maybe have noticed that it's all been a bit quiet Crumb-side this week.

    This is because, after tomorrow I am looking forward to having eleven consecutive days off work. Yippee!

    How is this effecting this weeks blog effort? Well, because of my impending holiday I am having to work harder than the guy that comes up with Beverley Hughes excuses in order to get all my work up-to-date. The real pisser is that I know when I return to work a week next Wednesday some 'helpful' toerag will have buggered it all up and by the end of my first day back I'll need another holiday. Oh well, I'm sure it'll be worth it.

    In store is a bit of relaxing, a bit of drinking, a bit of paintballing - and Bonobo and I are going away for a couple of nights camping. Our girlfriends aren't coming. It's a two-man tent. There's bound to be funny looks....

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