Tuesday, August 31, 2004

Moved On (Finally)

Wotcha. Thanks for all your messages. The move went okay. There’s still plenty to do but I have returned to work today satisfied that it was two weeks well spent.

So we reached August Bank Holiday Monday. It seemed logical to try and sell the hoards of old tat that had been uncovered over the course of the move. So it was only polite to attend the car boot sale at the annual summer fete in my home village near Bridgwater, Somerset.

Chav: *gestures towards candle holder thingy*: “How much for that?”
Crumb: “20p mate”
Chav *wrinkles nose and wanders off*

What the bloody hell did you expect me to say you scabby wanker? 5p? 2p? It would surely defeat the object of the exercise if we were to give everything away for free?

We were trying to sell a rather nice wooden telephone table. I would have hoped to get at least a fiver for it. My good lady offered it to some old bag for £3 and she toddled off shaking her head. For Christ’s sake.

Still, we made 67 quid. It’ll buy a tin of paint and a curtain rail.

It’s good to be back.

Monday, August 16, 2004

Movin' On

Last Thursday the purchase of my first home was completed. I am now officially a homeowner and have a rather spiffing little flat in Brislingon, Bristol.

But bugger me, it's a tiring game alright. Since last Thursday I have not stopped. I have packed and carried more boxes than Santa's head elf and have shifted 5 van loads of heavy furniture. As a result of all this fetching and carrying my arms have stretched by approximately 14 inches. Sadly this means that my jumpers don't fit anymore, but on the plus-side I can scratch my knee without bending down.

Anyhow, I now have two weeks off work to sort the flat out. I am getting broadband installed on Wednesday, very exciting. So it's best foot forward, I've got a loft to insulate.

Friday, August 13, 2004

The Friday Fuckwit!

This weeks FF has been expertly prepared for your enjoyment by the ever-tremendous Ms Jones...

#14 Jason Cowan
Thong-wearing, Relentlessly Dull, Orange Fuckwit

Ever since The Mighty Crumb invited me to contribute to his Friday Fuckwit feature I’ve been thinking hard about whom to select as my victim. The Crumb himself shies away from the obvious, preferring to select more subtle and obscure targets and presenting his case in such a way that we cannot help but agree with him.

I tried to follow his example but alas I am incapable of subtlety and so my choice for today’s Fuckwit can be none other than the hideous, vile and repugnant Jason from Big Brother. No other individual currently on our screens and in our tabloids can solicit such violent hatred from my otherwise amiable self.

From the moment he walked into the Big Brother house wearing nothing but a leopard skin thong I knew he was going to bump Jim Davidson from the top of my list of absolute cretins. And it wasn’t just me: the looks on his housemates’ faces pretty much said it all: “Just who the fuck is this wanker and do I really have to share my personal space with him?”

His vulgar displays of vanity while in the house were truly gargantuan in proportion. I deeply resented turning on the telly to be greeted with a full frontal shot of him preening and rubbing his semi (thank Christ) naked body? For fuck’s sake, such television should come with a health warning!!!

Shockingly, this shiny excuse of a man claims to have bedded at least 250 women (*ahem* bollocks!). Let’s be generous for a second and assume that he is telling the truth (yeah right!). Well, I had no idea there were that many desperate women around!!! From where I’m standing neither his grossly distorted, orange body nor his cocksure, anti-social personality are even remotely attractive in any way, shape or form and so my best guess is that he just gravitates towards the drunkest woman in the room and thrusts, hoping she won’t notice.

Since leaving the house Jason has denied that he is bi-sexual, claiming he only pretended he was to improve his chances of getting onto the show. Finally, something we agree on: he’s definitely not bisexual. No! That’s because he’s actually very, very gay! Unfortunately for him (but fortunately for the British gay community) he is so far back in the closet that he probably spends most nights wandering on his own around Narnia! Jason! You are gay! I know it, my flatmates know it, Dan knows it. In fact every fucker who’s ever seen a second of Big Brother knows it. Come out come out wherever you are!

All of the above must surely be enough to explain why I hate Jason so much. No! The most awful thing of all (apart from how he sat with his legs wide apart, hands cupping his scrotum) was his constant fucking whinging. His biggest gripe was how contrived and fake the whole show was. Well let’s just stop the fucking press for a second! Big Brother? Fake? Contrived? Really? It took you until now to figure that out? You unutterably stupid fuckwit!

Thursday, August 12, 2004

Unsporting Behaviour

I’ve always liked Chris Moyles. He and his breakfast friends make me laugh. After years of ‘the utter twats’ (sometimes referred to as Zoe Ball and Sara Cox) he has made me switch back to Radio 1 in the morning after a very long absence.

But I am not happy to hear him taking the piss out of the Olympic Games.

Chris has to recognise that he is in a position where he is able to influence the thoughts and actions of a huge range of young people. Many of his listeners are of an impressionable age and take the words of a popular media figure to be gospel truth.

This country has underachieved in the world of sport over the last 20 years. We need figures in the media to be promoting sport as something which is fashionable in order to get kids interested. We need to be encouraging future Olympic champions, not putting them off with thoughtless ‘humour’.

I like watching televised sport; I do a fair amount of it. However, like Chris I can’t imagine that I will be glued to the Olympics. Nonetheless my thoughts and best wishes are with each and every athlete who will wear the British colours.

They deserve our utmost respect and recognition for simply making the Olympic team. Not mindless mockery that belittles that achievement.

Tuesday, August 10, 2004

Two Pennies To Rub Together

I've been mulling over Watski's recent post about the kids of nowadays and their reluctance to do paper rounds. My own experience of a round of paper leads to many painful recollections.

I grew up in a village just outside Bridgwater in Somerset. I did a weekly paper round in the village and every week I delivered 222 papers. Though to be honest 'newspaper' would be stretching the truth somewhat. The West Somerset 'Trader' (for twas it's name) was a local advertiser consisting of 4 pieces of paper and nothing of interest. Of the 222 I delivered I imagine that only 3 were ever read, on a good week. The rest were either binned immediately or stored in a cupboard for one of those emergency 'the Andrex has run out!' moments.

I was responsible for the older part of the village. The posh end. The end with bigger houses with longer driveways and sweeping landscaped gardens. Many of them on a rather steep hill. I reckon it probably took me about 3 and a half hours in total to complete the round. It was hard work and a very long walk.

But hey! I had money in my pocket! Didn't I? Well, no. Actually I didn't.

Because for all my efforts providing the people of my village with their weekly adverts, hot from the press, I was rewarded with three pounds and thirty-three pence. Yes folks, for three and a half hours work. 222 papers, 1.5p per paper.

I kept the paper round for over a year. I wanted to jack it in but my dad said that he wanted me to learn the value of money. Basically he gave me extra pocket money to supplement the meagre paper round salary. He said if I jacked it in he would stop that extra pocket money. I suppose that was fair enough and quite honestly I enjoyed the walk.

So the moral of my tale - Well, I suppose I did learn the value of money. But sadly I now know it all-too-well, and that I still work my arse off for piss-all! But that's life I guess.

Monday, August 09, 2004

She used to be so nice.

She was the sort of mate that I couldn't help spending time with. She was just so nice and relaxed. And yes - she was very attractive and although just a friend I sensed there was something there. A definite spark, but always unspoken and never acted upon.

I knew her 4/5 years ago whilst at University. I used to see her a lot. She was topsmart.

We lost touch. She moved home to the Midlands. I moved home to the West Country. We drifted. She got a boyfriend. I got a girlfriend. The last time we were in contact was probably about 18 months ago. I have to admit that I haven't really spared her a thought since. Sad but true.

Then out of the blue about two weeks ago I received an email from her. It was a highly impersonal group email (grrrrr) to about 40 people. It said something along the lines of:

"I expect many of you are wondering why you haven't heard from me since I returned from overseas. I'm sorry but I've been very busy organising channel 4's summer sessions."

I skim-read the rest, then I deleted it. I have never been sent such a bunch of self promoting, big-headed bullshit in my entire life. I didn't even know she'd been overseas, nor did I care.

If I'd got a message from her saying "Hi how are you, just thought I'd drop you a line to see what you're up to....blardy...blardy...blar" then that would have been cool. I would have replied and asked her what she was up to. "Channel 4's summer sessions you say? Wow, that sounds wicked, I always knew you'd make it"

But I can't tolerate boasting like that - what do you want love? a fucking rosette?

Friday, August 06, 2004

The Friday Fuckwit!

#13 Karl Howman
Highly unnatural, compulsive flashing, brush stroking fuckwit

How man? Good question.

How the hell did this chump ever make it as an actor? Presumably all the other actors heading for the ‘Brush Strokes’ auditions were all on the same coach as it plunged over a cliff, or struck down by a mystery plague. In doesn’t matter, because whatever led to Howman being the only bloke to attend that day, the nation has had to tolerate him ever since.

Having said that, whilst playing cheeky, ladies man Jacko his terrible acting ‘kind of’ worked. And I have to admit that I found watching him finishing off painting the wall during the end credits of Brush Strokes really rather soothing.

So maybe it isn’t Karl who is the fuckwit here, maybe it’s those who have cast him down the years. Maybe the real fuckwits are the advertising agency for ‘Flash’ who are responsible for him smarming away at us 10 times a day.

To be honest I think I probably resent him more than anything. He clearly can’t act - yet he has forged a career in show business. Okay predominantly pantomime, but a form of show business nonetheless. Here I sit, toiling away in my dull office, wishing I had a career in show business. I reckon I’m a better actor than How man.

In fact, you could say “I’m doing the hard work – and he doesn’t have to.”

Lucky, lucky, lucky fuckwit.

Tuesday, August 03, 2004

Nothing on the telly

What time is the snooker back on Vera?

Monday, August 02, 2004

Heal The World

You've got to love some of these random ads that us blogspot bloggers get to display on our sites. I've just logged on to find a link to USA Unicef.org at the top of this page.

For one short, beautiful moment I had suddenly become:

The Mighty Crumb
"Health, Education, Equality & Protection for Every Child"

I have to be honest guys, I'm not sure I can deliver...

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