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Sunday, May 30

streaking at sports events is it seems a quintessentially english pastime. other nations give it a shot but no one seems to be in the same class as the poms.

and when they do .... well it's just crass.

take the cricket at lords last weekend. in terms of history there's nothing like it. the M.C.C members like things the way they were way back in W.G Grace's day. they don't like you to cheer your team, jeer the opposition or even wave a flag. support must be shown in a gentlemanly fashion. a round of applause here, a stiff upper lip there and a pimms and lemonade is the order of the day.

so when a kiwi supporter charges the field in jeans and a tee-shirt (no shoes), eyebrows are raised to say the least.

at that point it remained a disgraceful intrusion. the situation however degenerated to a whole new level when said intruder approached the pitch at the pavilion end, dropped his levi's and preceded to rub his arse up and down the stumps.

i'm giving the streak ten out of ten for ingenuity. zero for aesthetic performance.

i can't imagine how bad that looked on stump-cam.


Friday, May 28

when possible i try not to spend time nor money in crap city bars. i know it's something akin to throwing stones in glasshouses but when i look around the cliental i can't help passing judgement - so many fuckers.

anyways i was in brasserie rock on thursday evening. yes i know. it sounds like some sad sad '80's lounge bar. remember when all the bars used to be called something something 'rock' and all the restaurants ended in 'street'.

this place is pretentious to the core but i had my excuses. i was meeting my boss and his wife there and it also happend to be nicely placed to catch the evening sunshine.

everyone is drinking bottled beer at three fifty a pop and it's like a scene from some hellish uni bar with wanker upon wanker jamming cuts of lime down long neck coronas. so i rushed the bar. to my left were two chicks that looked filthy as hell. to my right was a lion - or at least half of one.

it was brilliant. tossers everywhere and there's a bloke at the bar dressed in a lion suit. he had it half peeled off but still had his tail and paws on and was holding the head under his right arm. by the time i'd got my order in (it was either rolling rock or corona. dammit) he was gone.

however we were standing in slightly elevated postion and i could see the lion and his mate the tiger amongst the crowd. surrounded by throngs of city boys in their expensive suits and three hundrd buck shoes was this pair of big cats.

puuuurfect.

Tuesday, May 18

with such passionate hatred for the Bush and Blair double act it's hard not to wonder what happend to the good ol' days. old man's talk perhaps but it's difficult to remember a more depressing lack of leadership, decency and charisma.

that texan cocksucker is so stupid it hurts. he needs to be more Bob Hawke ; less ..... less yank.

Hawke was loved simply because he epitomised the battler. at least that was the perception and he played it beautifully. in truth Hawke was a Rhodes Scholar but you can't keep the Aussie out for long and he established a drinking record at Oxford that still stands. superb.

he also got smashed in the face playing cricket in a Press versus Government match. imagine Bush getting pummeled by a Dodgers pitcher or Blair getting knocked over by Steve Harmison.

wouldn't happen. it's not scripted for christ's sake.

the quote i love though is as follows. Alan Bond (another upstanding citizen) had just wrestled the America's Cup away from the yanks for the first time ever. sport was a close third after drinking and gambling for Hawke and he didn't miss the target after Bonds famous victory.

(slurring?) that everyone could have the day off to celebrate he announced,'anyone who sacks a bloke for not turning up to work today is a bum.'

that-a-boy Hawkie.


Monday, May 17

grrrrrrrrrr ... time's slipping by on me. what the FUCK is going on? i desperately need to be more organised but absolutely refuse to be forced into using a diary or calendar. i've no idea what the hell's happening from day to day which in some respects is how i've always been.

lately though i'm kinda conscience of it.

i'm loving the start of summer i've got to say. it's been a while coming and that's quite something in itself considering i spent a good part of the winter in eqypt and new zealand. you've got to keep busy otherwise the dark grey months that constitute the northern nuclear winter will completely bury you.

i've celebrated the arrival of the weather by doing my very best to fatten up for summer. there's nothing better than getting that fat white gut out there for the beach. handles - i love them. it's funny how self perception can be a little deceptive though. i'm 28 and since i can remember have been six foot one and somewhere between seventy five and seventy eight kilo's. after stuffing myself like some fat fuck yank in Prague i came home and weighed myself. my flatmate - a chick of course - has some scales. knock me down with a feather but i'm failing miserably to flab up and found i was down to seventy two K's. i don't get it. i feel flabbier than ever yet i weigh less dammit. fat does weigh less than muscle so there's possibly something in that. screw muscle.

Prague was a blast. it really has got a whole lot going for it and whether by virtue of luck or good management we managed to stay clear of all the stag's and trashy essex sluts that you read about rampaging the cobbled terra firma. sluts are great but this isn't fucking chelmsford. the czechs love beer and meat. it's a simple philosophy and one that combines seamlessly with their superb grasp of a bogun mullet. it's an awesome scene.

if i can't find time i'm going to have to make time. back soon.

Sunday, May 9

life right now is great but hectic. my two week break in February really seems a long long way away now. Prague the weekend just gone was superb but i'm pulled in so many directions right now it's hard to know exactly what i'm doing from day to day. no time for hobbies here and i've no doubt i'll look back on these times and lament the fact i wasn't doing MORE. MORE. MORE ...


Monday, April 26

favourite words this weekend are as follows .....

GALLIVANT ; to gad about, especially with members of the opposite sex. to roam in search of pleasure.

GAMOPHOBIA ; a morbid fear of marriage.

both come via the Sunday Times Magazine which has to said provided and excellent couple of hours entertainment over lunch, hops and water in Camden today. the definitions come from a book titled 'The Superior Person's Second Book of Words', and it's author Peter Bowler rightly points out that the cure to gamophobia can in some instances be more fatal than the disease itself.

a quandary. which reminds me. i must be careful when i next take a duvet day from work. a friend went out over Xmas last year and along with his mates attacked the seasons festivities with suitable vigor, consuming large amounts of booze and drugs in excellent time. unfortunately it was a Wednesday. my friends 'friend' rang his boss the next morning informing him that he wouldn't be in. his boss then asked why? this is a very very tricky question when ones mind is still being patrolled by a consortium of mercenary substances.

fooled by the simple question the 'friend' panicked. after a pause and a stutter he blabbed out the only sensible excuse he could think of.

'there's a monkey in my head.'

...... and hung up quickly before his wretched mind forced him to say anything incriminating or darn right stupid.

Friday, April 23

people that have no shame are absolutely the best possible antidote to the uglier side of life.

today was an especially ugly day. thank fully a colleague of some note on the lack of shame front managed to lift my spirits considerably when he walked me through an unfortunate episode he was involved in at varsity a number of years ago.

he'd been out in the West End and like you do tucked away a few beers in a pacey fashion. comfortably inebriated and full of belief my fearless friend exited the pub and went about organising a chariot home.

with none forthcoming he wandered over to the nearest phone box, where to his boozed horror he found two girthy woman crammed within.

he was having none of it and in one seamless motion whipped open the door proclaiming the box to be his and his alone. with the eloquence of a true gent he managed to politely utter, 'get out of the phone box NOW, you fat slags.'

it all went rather pear shaped there on in. the two woman in question were indeed very large. they were polite in kind and in quick fashion produced a sporting trophy from a bag and proceeded to beat my esteemed colleagues head in with it.

they battered him senseless with what turned out to be the East London Womans Darts trophy before battering him further in a flurry of kicks to the head and ribs.

begs belief but my esteemed colleague declined to press charges.


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