Getting nowhere fast

My three regular readers might have noticed not a lot has changed on my blog recently. This is because my computer which has been wheezing and spluttering for quite some time has decided to die. Until I can get some money together my posts will be quite sporadic.

Everyone likes lists

I have been a tired grumpy commuter for a few months now and I thought it might be a good to time to list the things that have warmed my cockles and the things which have caused my hair to fall out at a quicker rate than it already is - thanks dad.

The things I hate

People talking in the morning, all conversation should be banned till at least 10am, especially jovial conversation.

Getting hit in the face with someone's wobbly arse as they try to unsuccessfully navigate the carriage - just use the bus!

People who aren't going to work.

People who cough and splutter as if it was joyful.

A woman who always presses the traffic light button even though she has seen me do it before her, she does this everyday.

The things I love

Trumping with my headphones on as I walk, you can't hear how loud they are so who cares.

The OCD woman who legs it to the carriage every morning so she can get the same seat, I'm going to race her one day to see if she freaks out

Lovers saying goodbye and greeting one another, well I'm not a complete heartless turd.

Dick Slide

This has to be weirdest slide I have seen and without doubt the most pervy. It is quite a good example of what happens if you don't use contraception though.

Also, who the hell thought it would be helpful to play Queen on the kazoo? All in all, quite disturbing.

This is genius

Bacon is good for me!

I can't work out if this guy is a precocious little turd or a forthright dwarf.

Sheeeeeeitttttttttttttt

Your annoying friend who keeps banging on about how the The Wire is the best TV programme ever made is right and if you haven't watched the series, go out, buy the boxset and prepare to lose hours of your life.

This clip doesn't at all explain why I love it but it makes me laugh.

Holy crap

In February, a man who appeared with al-Asiri on Saudi Arabia’s list of most-wanted militants — former Guantanamo Bay inmate Mohammed al-Awfi — surrendered in Yemen and was transported to Saudi Arabia where he renounced terrorism and entered into the kingdom’s amnesty program.

But al-Asiri was not a genuine repentant — he was a human Trojan horse. After al-Asiri entered a small room to speak with Prince Mohammed, he activated a small improvised explosive device (IED) he had been carrying inside his anal cavity. The resulting explosion ripped al-Asiri to shreds but only lightly injured the shocked prince — the target of al-Asiri’s unsuccessful assassination attempt.


Good lord!

Taken from here

Headline of the week

If I have said it once, I have said it million times, Yeti's dirty little perverts the lot of em!

Bikini girl: Pervert yeti stalked me

A teenager has added fresh rumour to the yeti debate after claiming the beast spied on her in her bikini as she paddled in a river.

Justyna Folger was having a dip during a camping trip when a shadowy creature appeared on the opposite bank.

'At first I thought it was a bear but it appeared to be stooping and then it raised itself on to two legs and ran off. I couldn't believe it,' said Miss Folger, 19.

Found it 'here'

Hmmm nice

Poetry corner

I was reading the local rag today and found this treasure on the letters page. Prepared to be moved!

Rainy days cut son's stay short

My son came on a visit from Oz

He did not stay long here becoz

it rained and rained,he went off the track

called at Thailand on his way back.

Said it was much better there

said in Thailand rain was rare

he's back in Oz now soon be

No mozzies, no roaches, everything

It hibanates or does not appear

till later on in the Ozzie year

out come the spiders the ones that bite

I drown them in spray they give me a fright

My son swears they saw one in his car

braked with a jolt, and found the spid-ar

set off driving to their abode

saw the spider walking down the middle of the road.

Maureen Taylor, Vicar Lane, Woodhouse

Taken from here

Moronic Dash

I would like to think that I’m a mature and well rounded adult. I pay my taxes, buy boring things such as insurance, take notice of interest rates and I always vote.

However, every now and then it dawns on me that in fact, I haven’t developed as much as my enforced façade displays. Often the mask slips and glimmers of that annoying and quite moronic fool that controlled me for the first twenty years of my life is for all to see.

Today that moronic side forced me into a race.

Walking to work I normally have to stop at some traffic lights at a bottom of a hill. When the green man began flashing today, instead of trudging along with the other clones, I suddenly found myself in a foot face to its summit with a tracksuit clad youth.

He overtook me and something snapped. I wouldn’t and couldn’t let this teen beat me. He got a good start and quickly over took me, I showed great resilience quickly passing him but again the Nike sponsored cretin overtook me.

We didn’t look at each other or acknowledge the fact they we were in a duel but we knew the score.

This stride off continued for a good ten minutes until I got the ultimate advantage and eventually won. I seized the initiative and nipped in front of a car, quite dangerously, and gave him the slip.

Aha! Victory!

A moronic victory.

Why you shouldn't add your boss as a friend in Facebook

Click on it for a bigger version.

Dying in public

I saw a man collapse in Tesco the other night. He had a suitable rabble of helpers staring agog at him, including a nurse, so I thought it was best if I carried on my way.

I would hate to go like that, slumped on a shiny supermarket floor surrounded by morons with my last vision of humanity being a slightly overweight woman trying to work out which final yogurt she should choose to make up the three for a pound offer.

If I had to die in a public place, I would want it to be a massive heart attack at a football match.

Ideally, it would involve me clutching my chest in row Z before rolling down the steps in a dramatic scene just as the ball had gone out of the play. This would lead to the whole stand taking to their feet to witness the drama and a collective murmur of gossip would ring in my ears as I faded away.

Maybe they would name a seat after in my honour. Possibly have a minute’s silence of remembrance before there next home match and a drunk away fan would shout something out and then a chorus of boos would break out in disgust and ruin the moment. Yeah, that would be nice.

Do you think God loves DnB?

If my local church was like this I would give it a go.

Let the git crap his pants

Probably not for kids

Silly season has begun

It's that old tale.

You set up your camera for a nice picture of you and your loved one next to a scenic landscape and only a ruddy squirrel goes and steals the shot.

I Wanna Be Your Dog

I can't freaking move for posters showing Iggy Pop selling me insurance or Johnny Rotten trying to convince me to buy sodding butter. What on earth is going through their minds?

Iggy why are you chocking on corporate cock for a few quid? Surely you have a few bob put to the side by now?

I thought it was bad when Pele was splashed onto TV screens in-between football matches to remind its mainly testosterone heavy viewing audience that having a limp dick was fine but I didn't expect Iggy, not Iggy!

What next?

Will Morrissey appear on the advert break of loose women advertising a cock ring or will I be flicking through a newspaper only to find Yoko Ono was sick of humanity and was instead taking a job with BAE systems as a sales rep.

This kind of shitty contradiction is every where these days.

Last week I saw a heavily tattooed punk wearing a Rage Against the Machine T- Shirt. My heart filled with admiration as I walked towards him in my cheap office wear.

Here was a man who had principles, who wasn't part of this unfair capitalist system. This rotten system which will leave my children paying for the mistakes of some greedy bankers. My admiration quickly withered and died however, when he got closer I noticed he was gleefully slurping a Starbucks cappuccino.

I'm not saying I'm any better.

I eat whatever food looks good regardless if some farmer in a country I can't pronounce is getting a good deal or not. I don't spend the time to research if my jeans were made by people on 1p a day and I couldn't give shit if the battery in my Playstation was made from recyclable materials.

But I do demand that my favourite rock stars do not try and sell me sodding insurance.

We can eat cereal!

A Sunny Apology

I freaking love it when you read the apologies that newspapers have to issue after someone actually challenges their report. This is a recent treasure from The Sun.

In an article published on The Sun website on January 27 under the headline 'Gollum joker killed in live rail horror’ we incorrectly stated that Julian Brooker, 23, of Brighton, was blown 15ft into the air after accidentally touching a live railway line.

His parents have asked us to make clear he was not turned into a fireball, was not obsessed with the number 23 and didn’t go drinking on that date every month.

Julian’s mother did not say, during or after the inquest, her son often got on all fours creeping around their house pretending to be Gollum.

Also, quotes from a witness should have been attributed to Gemma Costin not Eva Natasha. We apologise for the distress this has caused Julian’s family and friends.

Its an easy mistake to make. Maybe the reporter just misread his shorthand, we have all been there.

Good song and good video

I thought she was a dick, I didn't know she had one

Isn't it ironic...don't you think?

Irony upsets me generally. Well, not irony itself I suppose, but the way in which the term is flung around with total glutton disregard.

For instance, my friends take great delight in the fact that I always correct people when they say something is ironic and it's actually not - I just can't help jumping in.

This in turn means the person I rudely corrected naturally then puts me on the spot and ask me what irony is. This always leads to me crumbling before their delighted eyes as I make a terrible stab at trying to explain it.

Well, this week I came across two great stories which I feel is irony in all its blazing glory. Feel free to correct.

First is this story I noticed on the BBC website.

An illegal immigrant managed to smuggle himself into the UK by hanging on underneath a coach full of Border Agency officers returning from France.

Despite the driver carrying out checks, the man squeezed into a space next to the fuel tank, evaded capture and ran off when they arrived in Folkestone.

Before setting off from Coquelles near Calais with coach of immigration officers, the driver - who is not an employee of the Border Agency - carried out the usual checks to make sure there were no stowaways.

But unbeknown to him - and the immigration officers onboard - a man had managed to get underneath the coach and squeeze himself into a small space next to the fuel tank.

The other example was on the BBC World service.

The presenter was talking to an expert of internet addiction in China and was saying that a number of sufferers had created a computer users anonymous group to support each other in their addiction to spending all their time online instead of interacting with people in their normal day to day lives. Which is all well and good, if the group wasn't based online.

Here is a famous clip of Ed Byrne talking about irony

Going to go and see this tomorrow....looks good

Just odd

Tonsil Hockey tramps

On my travels today I witnessed passion in all its blind oddity.

Two tramps were locked in a frantic lustful fervor as they ground down each other's face in a tatty bus shelter.

One stopped kissing only to let out a roar of incoherent guttural noise towards someone who mistakenly knocked them with his bag as he walked past.

The faces of the other passengers as they waiting in the Monday morning queue for their ride to arrive was priceless.

However, I think I was pulling the same face.

Sometimes the beauty of modern living is too much.

A little laugh

This is old but fun, like my nanna really.

If this doesn't make you smile then you are dead inside

Thanks to our man in abiko

Flabby intrusion

If you had a wobbling cake-encrusted arse, how would you walk through a train carriage?

Carefully?

Don’t be silly.

Clearly the best thing to do is bend right over and without any regard thrust all your flab, flab which is pulsing and screaming to be let free from its tight tracksuit prison, yes, thrust the repressed flab right in the face of someone.

Maybe someone who cannot escape, maybe someone who is sitting down simply trying to read the morning paper in peace?

Maybe someone, whose face is relatively a fifth of your big flaccid greed filled bum?

Maybe someone like me?

Oh dear this made me warm to him slightly....I feel dirty

Dazed and confused

At the end of every working day, I take great pleasure in witnessing the confused and frightened faces of my fellow passengers.

The event which causes me such delight takes place as I slump off the train and plod to my car.

As I do this, I’m always passed by a ragged transvestite running as fast as their hairy muscular legs can take them.

The amusement comes from the passengers walking in the opposite direction. Their tired work-worn faces suddenly jerk into shock as they see this wo/man running towards with such determined intent.

Some people look terrified; others seem confused and do a double take, while a small number simply grin.

Palin in the arse

Palin makes me want to leave this country, smuggle myself across the American border, work really hard, get a top job on a leading U.S newspaper, so one day, if I bide my time, one day, I will be lucky enough to get a chance to kick, her, in, the, FACE!

This clip just reminds me of hearing a drunk aunt scolding her spoilt child for not sharing at a family gathering - patronising, embarrassing guff.

Nafftastic

I have been addicted to Lisztomania by Phoenix all week - I just can't stop listening to the damn thing.

Choosing the song to this 80s movie mashup video is brilliant.

How do you open a Banana?

like this.....

Hairy conundrum

For as long as I can remember, I have taken the piss out of my father’s hair loss. It was always my first target when some healthy banter was undertaken between us.

However, karma has suddenly reared it smug little face and decided that like my dad, I will also have to endure the crushing reality of a squeaky head by the time I’m thirty.

A recent example of the hairy Karma police came this week while I was adjusting the few follicles I have left at my disposal before going on a date.

I was using some product, which apparently gives you a textured look, yes denial is a warm feeling, but I was getting a bit frustrated at the general barren look it gave my head in the mirror

It was at this moment that my father walked by, and without breaking his stride, uttered ‘You can’t polish a turd’

Of course, he is right.

Alvin, Simon, Theodore - bringers of death

Just when you thought the Daily Mail couldn't come up with any new ways to scare the elderly and middle England they pull this cracker out of the bag.....they report that -

Thousands of French chipmunks carrying potentially fatal diseases ready to invade Britain!

Ahhhhhh! Fuck!

I bet this was only going to be a News in Brief until they found out chipmunks were French.

It is strange though, the piece doesn't mention how these criters will affect house prices.

Full story here

Everybody was Kung Fu fighting

A fight broke out in the Korean Parliament when the ruling Grand National Party occupied the speaker's podium in a bid to quickly pass the bills aimed at easing restrictions on ownership of television networks.

If you spoke Korean, I bet you would be able to make out a weasly guy at the back chanting 'fight fight fight' and 'ooooooh you not going to take that are you?'

Does your friend have swine flu?

Your friend has been signed off work with the dreaded pig cold.

They clearly have a fever, their face resembles a bulging beetroot and their nose pours with mucus. They groan and demand soup, they sneeze and plead for soothing sympathy.

But still there is a suspicion that burns quietly in the pit of your stomach. They don't look that ill. You don't think they have freaking swine flu...they just have a cold.

I have been speaking to a doctor today and there is a test.

You don't have to take a swab from their nether regions, stick or jab anything anywhere which might ruin your friendship, or lead to awkward silences.

No, all you have to do is simply place a £20 note at the base of their bed. The doctor said if they crawl out of their sweaty pit and pick up the money then they don't have it.

Right, where is my wallet?



Picture taken from here.

O brave new world

As I peaked out of my bedroom window a glorious beam of sunlight hit my face, instantly blowing away any dregs of Monday morning depression.

My healthy cereal and ice cold milk was wonderful and feeling refreshed, I began a unexpected trouble free drive to the station – not a jam in sight.

I got to the station and was greeted by an attractive brunette who gave me a flirtatious smile and thrust a free chocolate bar into my hand.

To my utter surprise the train arrived early and the clean carriage was practically empty.

The journey was quiet and I happily tucked into my free chocolate while the quiet zone in the carriage lived up to its name.

When I reached my stop, I strode off the train with a spring in my step and began to meander down the platform ready to face a fulfilling sun kissed day. Sometimes it feels great to be alive.

As I got to the platforms entrance there was a large group of very attractive women from some random sports team.

O wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beautious mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't!

Had I awoke in a parallel dimension?

No.

This commuter utopia correctly crashed down around my bedazzled ears.

I turned a corner leaving the station and was greeted by the sight of an angry tramp.

He was slumped next to a wall, had vomit on his tracksuit top and was shouting random vowels at people as they went by, while a pair of very sad underpants swung from his crusty bottom.

I like this

Waltz with Bashir

I watched Waltz with Bashir again this weekend. It was even more powerful the second time round.

Smack Peter Siddle up!

Every so often I see someone's face and a deep rooted primal level of hatred surges through my torso and I want to smack that said person right square in the smacker for no other reason than I don't like their face.

Well, jumping to the top of my list is the Australian fast bowler Peter Siddle.

Taliban Vodamoan

I'm reeling a bit today.

I was watching a grizzly news bulletin about the war in Afghanistan when I noticed something rather troubling - well besides the utter waste of human life and a total lack of a exit strategy.

During the bulletin it showed a Taliban recon guy who was caught jotting down the position of our lads while trundling up and down some desert landscape on a knackered moped.

They searched him and they found incriminating evidence of terrorist wrong doing on his phone.

The thing is, he had the same phone as me.

My social status and geek credibility has slipped so far that I'm now on par with a extremist cretin who lives in a cave and wants to end the western world.

In fact, my phone is the mobile of choice for the axis of Evil.

I want your clothes, your boots and your motorcycle

I came across this great story of a delusional drugged up terminator fan:

A man found naked at a casino claimed he was a Terminator sent from the future.

19-year-old Sean Stanley Smith was arrested on the Nevada border after he was spotted by a motorist wandering around the highway nude.

He was ordered by police to stop but preceded into a nearby casino - where he was then tasered in front of a group of children.

Smith claims he was a Terminator sent back in time from the future - a reference to the film character made popular by Arnold Schwarznegger in the sci-fi franchise. The films usually start with a naked man being transported to the past.

However, it turned out that Smith was not a time-travelling Terminator but was in fact suffering from the effects of LSD and marijuana.

He was charged with indecent exposure and resisting a police officer.

Taken from here

Early morning sexual disappointment

I disappoint sex-starved men every day.

My shoes, which are rather manly in every other respect I feel I must point out, well, my shoes sound like dainty stilettos.

When I power walk to work they make a feminine click on the concrete and this seems to affect my fellow male commuters.

You see as I stride behind them, they hear the click and begin to conjure up what they want the woman following them too look like.

In their overworked addled minds they no doubt start to think that a leggy blond with an infectious smile and a tight bottom is only meters away from them.

When they the sneak a look to find out if they are correct, they see me instead.

A podgy midlander, who has bags under his eyes, a permanent frustrated grimace and more importantly, a penis.

Freaking Laser Beams

Reading one of the local rags today and came across a wonderful little story.

A convicted robber has been sent back to jail after he was caught shining a laser pen at a police helicopter.

The coppers said that the yob flooded the cockpit with green light, dazzling the co-pilot and preventing the pilot from reading the controls.

Well, yes of course this little turd was a fool but come on, 'Flooding the cockpit with Green light.'

How big was the freaking pen?

I have been on a bus where a group of tracksuit clad troglodytes shone lasers into the drivers face and he managed to not plough into passengers.

Also, I hope the Taliban doesn't clock onto this weakness of British pilots. I've seen a bloke down the market who will sell these laser pens at 5 for a £1. We haven't got enough helicopters in Afghanistan as it is without the Taliban using this type of state-of-the-art gadgetry.

Chase the Cheese

Drowning out the sounds of humanity as I limp to work is a must but today within ten minutes of stepping onto the train my ipod battery died on me.

I was trying to lose myself in my own thoughts, when I overheard a conversation by two teenagers in front of me – don’t they know it is virtually illegal to talk on a train in the morning - or at least it should be.

Anyway, one of the spotty souls was having a bit of girl trouble and was asking his friend for a slice of sage advice.

This is what he told him.

He said: “Don’t worry mate, you know what the Apache Indians say don’t you? ‘He, who fails to chase the cheese, owns a dick that will never sneeze’.

Erm…..WHAT?

I haven't clue what that means, but his friend seemed to really take it on board.

Please don't talk to me I fall in love so easily

Found this here.It's a great blog

Pills and poo

Imagine the scenario, you have gone to a club night where you have unwisely taken a few pills, drank lots of Jagermeister and generally danced like a loon.

You wake up feeling terrible to find yourself in a unfamiliar bed, with a unattractive snorer and worse of all, you really need to use the toilet.

You slip out of the sheets and quietly waddle around trying to find a place to get sweet relief.

After 15 very confusing and troublesome minutes, yes 15, you find the toilet. The bathroom is pitch black. You decide not to waste time finding the light switch before nestling down for an emergency bowel movement. You let rip - in the dark, you feel good, the panic recedes.

However, it peaks again when you reach around to where the toilet roll should be and there is nothing.

You hear a bang from the other room, whatever you shared the bed with is awaking from their slumber and you want to get out now. You scratch around frantically, but again, you cannot find the roll.

So what do you do?

If the answer is wipe your bum with your socks, then you would get on well with my mate.

The death of a Hobknob

Whilst using this fine country's creaking, over-priced shambles of a transport system, I normally get to see some wonderful 'Care in the Community' characters

My favourite this week was a broad very tall black man. He was dressed head to toe in army camouflage and just as the train pulled away from the platform he suddenly sprinted into the carriage sporting a wild panic stricken look.

He ran down the isle of the carriage shouting 'don't move' and 'calm down' at some very tired and generally bemused passengers.

One poor middle aged chap who was walking the opposite way nibbling on a Hobknob, caught the psychotic marine's eye.

Big mistake, of course, never make eye contact - the carriage collectively drew its breath.

The loon grabbed the bloke, who looked like he was completely made of tweed and old Guardian supplements, shuck him and demanded that he 'chilled the fuck out.'

The guy made a face as if he was living his last moments and with utter fright dropped his Hobknob - the nutter crushed it as he continued on his way.

Childhood terror

A tranquil and dozy morning’s commute was suddenly plunged into a childhood nightmare today.

I was skim reading the day’s morning copy of the vacuous Metro when someone’s Blackberry suddenly jerked into motion and began blaring out a terrifying ringtone.

When you are young I’m sure there was one TV programme that although was aimed at your age range, it still scared the living crap out of you. Well, mine was Wizbit. It involved a giant drugged up rabbit, Paul Daniels, the not so lovely Debbie Magee and worse of all Wizbit himself – who was a crazed maniacal grinning yellow triangle who clearly wanted to steal my soul.

This chilling concoction of naff magic from the wizened Daniels and LSD vomit inducing characters peaked when the clearly mentally unstable Wizbit began to sing his trademark song slowly hopping from side to side. That song was a fellow commuter’s ringtone and it disturbed me so much, I made a hasty retreat and left the carriage.

If you dare, watch the clip below.

Haribo, diabetes and a mobile refreshment unit

Things of note on the way to work:

A Frenchmen nonchalantly eating Haribo. Well, I say he was French, but I only made that assumption because he looked like he could quaff down cheese at the speed of light and he was wearing a beret. What Englishman would wear a beret?

Two teenagers tucking into vast cubicles of coffee, one put in around five teaspoons of sugar in his cup and handed it to his friend.

He then sniffed it and said: "hmmm smells like diabetes." A train worker announced over the tannoy that he would be moving through the carriage shortly with what he called 'a mobile refreshment unit'...it was a trolley

Midgets and Prostitutes

My friend is not one for current affairs. When anyone starts talking about politics his bulging red face droops and turns lifeless and grey and his eyes transform into soulless black dead pools like those seen on great white sharks just before they tear an Australian surfers limb off.

However, there is one subject which he is always passionate about, always up to date with- right at the cutting edge.

That subject is of course, Midgets.

He doesn't care about the Israel/Palestine conflict, he couldn't tell you a thing about the genocides in Rwanda or the war in Afghanistan.

Nope, he loves reading about little people.

Click here for his latest update.

Morning paranoia

Every day as I make my way to work, I pass this mildly attractive blond and every day she laughs in my face.

On sighting me she suppresses the hilarity that is clearly wriggling through her torso but as we approach one another and get closer, my tired drooping features are too much and she let's out a thudding guffaw.

That was until today. It was time to fight back. I will no longer be a victim of this daily giggle barrage, this periodic cackle. I will not got quietly into the Morning. I will make a stand.

As we passed today, I played dumb. I let her think I was the easy target of an easy snigger. But just as she was going to strike, I let out a sonic boom laugh of such force that my shoes were still vibrating hours later. The laugh was summoned from the very bottom of my early morning guts and forcefully flew right into her moderately attractive unremarkable face.

The arse looked at me like I was a complete loon, like I was the one who was somehow weird.

I'm walking a different way to work tomorrow.

Things of note as I went:

• An eager man well into his thirties pulled a wheelie alongside a clearly disinterested woman. Wheelies didn't even impress girls when I was ten.

• An elderly couple strolling lazily while eating ice creams. A touching heart-warming scene until the woman let out an almighty yeasty bottom-burp. I failed in not laughing. She seemed as shocked as me.

• A couple of Eastern European descent having a massive argument - why do arguments in other languages always seem romantic or funny?

Nasal nuisance

Got to the station and as soon as I got inside the doors, I heard a man bitterly swearing under his breath. Turned out it was me. All trains were running 90 minutes late due to a derailment outside the station.

A boring cargo train had groaned off the track. Nothing exhilarating , no moment of collective excitement as you are swept up in a swirling news event which ends with grainy footage from your mobile phone's camera rolling continuously on Sky News while a air brushed robot babbles over the top of it.

Nope, nothing like that, just a feeling of indignant irritation which burns fiercely in the belly huming on top of morning caffeine. I finally got on the train, only to find another nasal whoosh omitting from two seats ahead of me. Good Lord, not the squatting piss bottler again?

I waited until we got in a tunnel and used the reflection caused by the lights in the window to get a look. It wasn’t the wheezing woman again but an Asian man in his twenties. He was taking chest popping deep breaths and squeezing them out through only one of his pair of perfectly functioning nostrils.

He didn’t do this for just a few moments but for the entire 40 minute journey. Instead of asking him to stop or indeed finding out why he was doing it, everyone in the carriage chose instead to pop in earphones to whatever device they had. A typical cowardly British reaction! I chose to listen to Jurassic Five – ahh Concrete Schoolyard.

Inflatable fun

Do you want to know one market that isn't being hit by the global recession?

Bouncy castles of course.

My friend turned 26 so we all chipped in and rented one for his party. The cheerfully scruffy man who came to blow it up said business was booming.

The car industry is on it's arse, the financial sector's bubble has popped and the public sector is bracing itself for a massacare, but gleefully throwing your self around a rubber structure is vastly popular. So, if you are looking for an investment don't join your company's share scheme put your money behind Inflatamania or Sir Bounce-a-lot's Castles.

Oh also, filling your belly full of processed mystery meats, cheese, and cheap beer and then throwing your self around a bouncy castle like a child after one too many Mars Bars is a foolish, moronic thing to do. In short I'm an idiot.

Lusty Guff

I finally gave in and embraced my inner geek today and saw Transformers 2 - oh dear.

It's a overblown and hormonal crude cauldron of nonsensical lusty guff. The plot was flimsy, the film was at least an hour too long, the action scenes were tiresome and all too frequent.

Megan Fox is an airbrushed filth bucket who was only cast because she has been heavily marketed by the film industry and tabloid press to frequent the inner squelchy desires of every sex starved teenage boys underpants. Every scene based around her was shot as if it was a semi pornographic hip hop video and the moronic ill conceived parents worked in the first one - they were a embarrassing and awkward inclusion in the second - especially the warbling mother.

The awful redneck robots were crap, as were the Dick Cheney inspired Washington interfering official and the Jack Sparrow Blackbird.

The only saving graces were the little robot that became Miss spunk breath's pet and John Turturro - whose character was rightly resurrected.

If it was an hour shorter I would have been mildly content, however, I came out of the cinema feeling like I had been trapped in lift with a group of loud obnoxious American teenage boys - with half of the group playing on their Sony PSP's on full volume only pausing to guffaw at a knob joke and the other half furiously masturbating in corner.

Tis was pap!

I know it's not aimed at a cynical 26-year old but still, I grew up loving Transformers, I have the pictures of me in Optimus Prime pjammas aged seven to prove it but that film was just Hollywood stretching the script to hit every key marketing demographic to rake in the cash.

London calling

Sat in the sweltering carriage and the peaceful hum of shuffling newspapers, buzzing tinny earphones and the sniffles of hay fever sufferers is broken by the booming ring tone of a smart looking businessman in front of me. Instead of wanting to smash his iphone over his shining sweat beaded skull, I quite enjoy it. His ring tone is The Clash classic London Calling. This moment of punk induced pleasure came to a swift end when I realised that the reason for the choice of song was it was actually London calling him - someone from his London office.

I'm against this mixture of business and pleasure. Now every time that bloke is out and hears that song surely he is going to be mentally catapulted back into the office, back to the stress, board meetings and lunch on the go. My ring tone is a generic splutter and that is how its going to stay.

Say it in your head

Waiting to slump off the train and power walk to another sweat-encrusted day in the catacomb office, when I noticed a middle-aged woman wheezing with strange intent behind me. Unknown to her, I haven’t as yet turned on my daily news podcast about far flung turmoil in places I probably will never visit, so I can her every snotty bubbling vibration. I do the normal thing – denial.

If she was to keel over, I would of course intervene. Most probably by standing over her staring agog, but for now I stay completely rigid and unresponsive. I was sure she would stop. But no, the wheezing became louder and more pronounced the longer I waited for the platform to whizz into view.

Another dreary looking woman next to me, whose skin seems to sit involuntarily hanging off her chin, shoots me a look of confused concern. I stay rigid. Untouched and dead to the moment. I sneaked a look at the wheezer.

Suddenly she sank to her knees and then with a sigh moved to an unattractive squatting position – normally found by animals in local parks or humans in car parks, depending on the area. This prompts the gristle pebble-dashed chin wobbler next to me to again shot me another look but this time, I cave in and reciprocate the sentiment. The squatter must have seen the exchange because she suddenly boomed. “I really need the toilet.”

For one, what kind of grown woman would ever say that type of thing out loud and two, she was squatting next to a freaking toilet!