Wednesday, 31 October 2007

Black Lace and Blue Midgets

So what have I been doing these past few weeks?
Well, I had a lovely trip to Cornwall at the end of September, Ongey and Paul were there. I wont go into mega detail, but one thing that amused me is how certain people percieve themselves. Or rather, how I percieve them to percieve themselves, which may be a figment of my rampant imagination.
So we go into one of those hippy / mystical / witch shops. You know the ones, they sell crystals for 5 quid which will grow back your severed leg and the whole place stinks of patchooli. They sell all sorts of otherwise useless stuff, like a 15 inch wide candle holder shaped like a dragon. Or some sort of glass orb on a mount, so that when you squeeze it, it recites Lady of Shallot by Alfred Lord Tennyson in a serious deep voice whilst swirling some pink gassy shit inside the glass of the orb.
I only spend a few minutes in there, as whenever I go into a shop, any shop, I suddenly well up with guilt that people may see me as a shoplifter. I don't know why, I've never stolen anything from a shop in my life, but I get a complex. Maybe its because deep down I am a shoplifter, and I am guilty for crimes I am yet to commit. But I get paranoid and leave and stand outside.
It was enough time to size up the guy running the shop. Clearly he'd gone to a lot of trouble to come across as some sort of "warlock" or "wizard", but in a sort of contemporary take on the subject. He didn't wear a robe and a floppy felt wide brimmed hat, or anything like that, and he didn't have a beard.
He was about 50 odd, of average height, with a middle aged spread. He had a crisp white shirt, tucked into black jeans, which showed off his fine gut. He had a belt with a big buckle and some sort of Celtic design on it. A black leather waistcoat and winkle picker boots. His hair was also immaculate, tightly curled and of a shoulder length.
Now clearly he thought he was a wizard, I thought he looked like the lead singer of Black Lace. Doo Doo Dooooo lets all do the Conga.
Maybe he was the singer and this shop was his retirement project? It amused me in anycase.
Part II -
Just got back from my good friend Des' stag do in Killarney in the west of Ireland. The guinness is lovely, the scenery is gorgeous, but a night on the town was terrifying. I'd never thought I'd say this, but Stevenage is quite classy in comparison.
So anyway, blue midgets. Apparantley you can hire a midget painted blue for a stag weekend. They handcuff the midget to the stag and you are inseperable for the whole weekend, including having to share a bed (you are handcuffed after all). I guess you can dangle him out of the window if you want some privacy.
The charge 500 quid. i don't know if it's true or not as they'd "run out of midgets" for Des, but we discussed how wrong it would be if you had to take a crap with the midget in the cubicle with you. And then I thought there was only one thing worse than that, if the midget wanted to have a crap and your hand was cuffed to his wiping hand.
Have you ever seen a smurf shit? Nows your chance.

Monday, 15 October 2007

Making Crab Apple Jelly

On Sunday, me and Deb went into the moors near our house to collect crab apples. This blog will take you through the process of making crab apple jelly. My job was simple. Thrash the shit out of the tree and make the apples fall.
Step 1 : Hit tree with stick. (Be careful, crab apple trees have lightning reflexes and may dodge your blows)

Step 2: Use martial arts bushido attacks on the tree with your stick to soften it up some more. The tree has done a side step on this occasion, I am attacking thin air. The canny tree bastard!

Step 3 : Centre yourself and gather the apples.

Step 4 : If a passing cow comes past, then try to entice it with some apples. Beef goes very well with apple jelly.

Nearly there... come on daisy.... the most humane way to kill a cow is to throttle it with your bare hands, any other way is cruel. Confuse it first by pointing at an imaginary monkey playing in the apple tree. It will buy you valuable seconds and allow you time to pounce.

Damn! Someone already tried the "look at the monkey!" line on this wise old cow. She escaped, outstripping me with a bovine spurt of speed. I am left holding my apples.

Step 5 : Collect the apples in a big barrell. Cut them up and strain them to collect the juice.

Step 6 : I got bored, but I think Debbie puts them in a pan and boils the juice with sugar or something.
Step 7 : Allow to cool. Eat it on your toast.

Sunday, 7 October 2007

Just because I look like America’s most wanted…

An elderly couple struggling with their luggage at the train station. I offer to help them in my bestest least aggressive posh customer service voice, honed from those years I worked on helpdesks.....
"Would you like me to help you?"
The old lady looked me up and down with fearful antipathy, steeled her eyes and sneered "No thankyou." and proceeded to huff and puff with her stumbling bald husband till they got on the train seconds before the door closing beeps.
OK, so I look rough, I have a beard, I have long hair, but I was not in any way interested in stealing a suitcase full of her big pink elasticated knickers and his awful Ronnie Corbet cardigans.
I think I represented two archetypes for her :
1) Arab fanatic
2) English dastardly villain (my accent is ever so posh when I'm doing customer service stuff)
She should stop watching those Hollywood films I reckon.
I also ate raw garlic the night before, just to see what it tasted of, so maybe I stank too. I can forgive her that I suppose.