Blog

Yesterday I took part in some market research in the promise of £55. I was sat in a room with 10 other white people talking about white and muslim relations. I had gone along thinking that I was going to be answering questions about soft drinks. It turns out there are only so many race relations questions you can answer with ‘Well, I suppose its a lot like Coke vs. Pepsi’

I’ve done market research before, the last time I did it, I was answering questions about deodorants. I wasn’t planning on doing it. I just got dragged in off the street as if the rep looked at me and thought I looked like I stunk and could use the 45 minute hint.

It was weird as it went on I felt like divisions came in the group as the session went on talking about such a controversial topic. There was one girl who claimed to be an expert on muslim relations because she was friends with one (maybe this will be the new ‘I’ve got a Black/gay/whatever friend’ for the millennials). Another person who said that she worked with a muslim lady and would regularly email her at work.

There was one man who claimed to have a great relations with the muslim community as one of his tenants was a muslim and one woman who claimed that she would love to live next door to a muslim as she has always wanted to get a good curry recipe and Eid would mean free food. So I think we can all move forward so long as it makes caucasians fat in some way

There was also a woman who made eloquent points event though she sounded like the broken squeaky penguin from Toy Story 2 which made me nostalgic for the 90s even though back then racial relations were worse back then, which may have defeated the purpose of her intentions.

The phrase ‘they’ was bandied around a lot, as if the muslim community was another entity which is sad to think about. Maybe the propaganda machine truly works. Who knows, all I know is that I should read things a bit closer as my £55 was on a gift card.

I once went on holiday to Stockport. Me and my girlfriend at the time were living at my Mum’s. And looking back on it I think things were so desperate that the idea of a holiday 8 miles away was a treat.

A holiday would be difficult to sell in a travel agents. ‘ They have a Pyramid like Egypt, The Louvre and… Pyramid schemes’

I learnt that Stockport used to be a part of Cheshire but the Boundaries changed to Manchester. Which must have been a disapointment. A disapointment on the level of coming 4th at The Olympics. So close yet not even on the podium.

Although to be fair I’ve always thought that Bronze is a shit colour for a medal . Especially for a grand prize. I just imagine the organisers of the early events:

‘What precious metals do we have for our champions?’

‘1st place, Gold’

‘Ahh yes to metal of the ancient pharohs’

‘2nd place, Silver’

‘Yes pristeen and pure, the colour of principality and divine elegance’

‘3rd place, Bronze’

‘Yes not 1st, not runner up, we shall give them the colour of shiny diarhea, the kind you get after eating reduced chicken that you even at the time were unsure about’

Bronze as a metal im sure was fine for the Bronze age. It had very little comparison. It was a massive leap from the stone age. I can imagine a bronze tool being lauded like it was the latest Iphone.

‘Have you heard about Ogg?’

‘Got a bronze bowl’

‘fuck off!’

Rita Ora is incredibly sexy. But I can’t get over the fact that her name is Rita. I just imagine Rita from Corrie or or one of my Grandmas friends. It just feels like someone who has a bus pass, pisses when they sneeze and always had boiled toffees on them. There’s a lyric in one of Rita’s songs which is ‘and we made love right there on your best friends couch’ and i think "That guy shagged a girl called Rita.

This isn’t just limited to celebrities. One of the sexiest girls I ever met was called Linda. Which is my Mum’s name. I’ve never lost interest in someone so quickly as when I heard her name. I just can’t imagine shouting out mid coitus ‘Give it to me hard and fast, Linda’. Which will always be in my head the name of a 52 year old who can’t wait to retire. The only thing I can think of that would be worse to shout out sexually ‘Give it to me hard, Mum’. Which is what I’d essentially be saying with any Linda based copulation.

But then there are a lot of weird fetishes online so maybe I’m the one in the minority with that thought there.

I went into the apple store because i was bored and wanted to feel bad about my personal finances. I do like going into the Apple store as it makes me feel like I’m in the future, well if the future was built by iKea and capitalism.

I can just imagine how they designed it;

"Ok, Steve Jobs what colour scheme should we go with to showcase our futuristic expensive gadgets?"

"Grey"

"Grey? A bit boring isn’t it?"

"Yeah, alright i take your point, let’s jazz it up. With some beach wood tables"

"Cabinets and shelves?"

"No waist level tables to see everyones smugness and erections"

I was amazed at how big the Ipads are these days. They were supposed to be a little portable thing that was just a screen. it was supposed to be superior to the laptop or the desktop because of how portable it was.

It was so big that it needed a cover with a keyboard built in. Which opened up its top for your lap. I can only imagine that next it will need a track pad in two years time followed by a tower with CD drives. Then 2 years after that you can only use it if you install Windows 95.

I was reading today about Salford’s history, it turns out it has a nuclear connection. And its not just some toxic barrels being dropped into the quays. Which has lead to a wave of lower and lower GCSE results.

It turns out the entire world was depending on Salford if there was a nuclear war. Let that just sink in for a minute. I think its the first time Salford has been considered in an advantageous situation or the front line for anything other than the ability to buy Duty free cigarettes.

Although I bet the Russians would have had no clue because upon looking around the city they would have already thought it had been bombed. You can totally imagine the devastation if you squint your eyes whilst you look at the city. You just have to imagine less pound shops and BetFreds but maybe a few more teeth.

So they built a nuclear fallout shelter in Salford the new bastion of hope for the west. Apparently they managed to keep it secret by employing polish builders who could talk about it without the locals finding out about it. I’d be willing to bet that there were still racist people claiming ‘Bloody poles coming over here building our fallout shelters, british shelters by british workers’. But then maybe the government were actually scared that if English workers made it it would have ended up just being some tinfoil in a cardboard box.

It’s one of the few nuclear bunkers in the country that is off the official secrets act. London must have seen sense and seen that a nuclear bunker in salford may have only lead to the creation of radioactive chavs. Although you would think the thought of NATO and the world having to rely so heavily on salford would have made them consider keeping it top secret indefinitely.

In the bunker there is all the comforts of a Salford home such as a pool table and presumably some pool balls in a sock, and enough turkey twizzlers to get even a fat child through the apocalypse. It even had fake windows with paintings depicting Salford, the outside world to look at during the radiation storms, so people going slightly mad from their captivity could look at someone stealing from a Tesco self service and the cock of the school and a dog shitting with no one picking it up,.

Whilst I’m sure that this state of the art bunker would have been enough to keep the cold war Kremlin at bay. It was not actually enough to keep the chavs of Salford at bay. in 2005 some scrotes managed to break in and steal over £14,000 worth of things. The police caught them due to DNA from a cig dimp because of course that was the reason.

It reminds me of Hannibal from The A team the idea of committing a heist whilst still smoking I can just see The Salford A Team now… "In 1997, a crack commando unit was sent to prison for a crime they definitely did commit. These men are on ankle tag and not allowed out of their flat past 7:30PM. Today, still wanted by the Police they will commit acts of vandalism for a 6 pack of Skol tinnies or higher".

My car was broken into yesterday. The front and the back window were smashed which is annoying as I feel it shows that whoever did it clearly does not give a shit about my no claims discount or the faff I have to go through in order to fix what they did to claim what was already a 2nd hand iPod as their own.

I think to myself are criminals really that petty that they’re stealing things that will gain them a net £30? I can make that in a few hours at minimum wage. I can make that filling in a survey online. It’s 10 subway sandwhiches or 5 Big Mac meals or 10 condoms frim a pub toilet, 3 packs of cigs or a pair of trainers from sports direct.

How many other little bits of kit are people stealing to fund their what must be fairly low level of lifestyle? How many other people’s £30 iPods are going towards weed and curry and chips? Unless of course I’ve judged them wrong and they’re in their dens saying "only another 92 iPods to be pawned until we invest on the Fanny Mae"

I was fairly dispondent when it happened, it was a shit thing to happen but I was fairly calm until I saw that above the pilfered glove box was a book that I know they did not look twice at. The thing that could actually have enriched their lives was the thing they left me with. Chavvy pricks.

I don’t think problems ever go away. I’ve been having a lot of problems with the shower. Ever since I moved to my new house it’s been a case of wash only a little or have the shower leak. We now have mould and a mushroom growing out of the wall, which I didn’t think was possible.

On top of that my car was broken into. A £200 repair for a £30 ipod which is real annoying. It’s at times like this that I think that I’d like a break. But I think problems are relative. I think someone from Syria would find my problems trivial.

I just think I’d never see an end to my problems. If my problems eased I would likely see other issues fill that void or I would end up with problems that I myself find trivial.

I spot myself doing it, finding myself irked by a problem that is ultimately a small one. I find myself getting frustrated whenever I am in the middle of something or am about to start something and I am struck with the worst desire to take a piss. I always think that You never see someone using the toilet in an action movie. I imagine myself as a bomb disposal expert shaking because I’m under pressure to save lives and hold my bladder. You never see that in the news papers "Hero firefighter shits self in order to keep on going" "Prime Minister calls breaks to PMQs for Pee MY Qs" or "hostage negotiation goes wrong as he misses call of nature"

I think P. Diddy (Pee diddy if you will), said mo money mo problems, when it should have been mo time mo problems

My parents have always smoked. Or for at least as long as I can remember. I think that raising me must have been stressful. I remember there was a time when my parents would smoke several packets a day. It lead to the walls always being brown in our house and having a painter and decorator say to us that the only colour the walls could be decorated would be cream.

I remember my dad quitting for about a week before I discovered him smoking. He tried to throw the cigarette in the bin to hide it from me and the bin subsequently caught on fire. The father son dynamic of disappointment coming full circle when he didn’t know how to put out a bin fire.

The most amount of time my parents would go without smoking was usually when we travelled on holiday and the no smoking sign came on in the plane. Oh how my mum and dad must have rued the fact we didn’t holiday in the 70s. There was one time when my dad was pulled aside coming back from a holiday with more cigarettes than his allowance and the authorities didn’t believe that all the cigarettes were for him. They were.

It was my parents relationship with cigarettes that stopped me from smoking. During the time when all the cool kids were smoking I was eating ice cream and toffees like the fat little rebel that I am. Cigarettes definitely still have a feeling of coolness about them. Even now. Theres always people hanging out with the smokers just so they can hang out with musky smelling, rained on bastards just for the banter and company irregardless of the 2nd hand cancer.

I have smoked the occasional cigarette, usually casually. It’s definitely a go to for talking to a girl you like if she is outside having a cigarette. Chatting to a girl whilst she is outside, offering her your lighter is a staple of my youthful attempts to chat up a girl to the point where she would allow me to disappoint her sexually.

Today I decided to read up on yoghurt. I bought some today in an attempt to be healthy. I much prefer ice cream to yoghurt and I bought it just hoping if I pretended hard enough that its just warm ice cream it may trick my stomach into not making me go get a McFlurry in a rage.

I learned a few things that I never knew such as it was introduced to Europe because the French king Francois I was bucketing out of both ends and needed something to make him feel better. I think that his doctors may have been early descendants of my mum as whenever someones feeling unwell my mums first go to is a yoghurt. One can only presume that if the yoghurt hadn’t have worked the king would have then been given some daytime TV to watch, a Lucozade and some eggs chopped up in a cup.

Apparently in Hindu worship, panchamrita is a dish considered worthy of the gods and is derived from yoghurt. The dish was presumably eaten by the gods, Shiva not sure which of his many arms to get the pleasure of peeling the lid off and all of the demi gods having a laugh at Ganesh for getting yohurt on his trunk, but he can lick it off much easier presumably by just putting his large elephant nose in his gob rather than get a napkin.

I also learned that I am part of a small percentage of men who are buying yoghurt. It’s mainly women buying yoghurt. I cant wait for the adverts to try selling yoghurt to men. The amped up sexuality and masculinity that will be applied to yoghurt:

‘This yoghurt is not for girls, it might as well have nails in it. throw out the instruction manual, not that you were going to read it anyway because you are a bloke! This Yoghurts got meat in it, thats right with each pot get one of your 5 animals killed a day. listen to this heavy metal music whilst we pour this yoghurt on a naked girl who would totally have sex with you if you ate this yoghurt, we put the hurt in Yoghurt… by Muller a family company’

I have been reading up on cats today, I have a long history with cats having a pet cat since I was very young.

My current one is also my favourite one he is called Mickey. Named after the mouse. He has a very loud purr and is very gentle but does not look like that due to how large and chunky he is. He gets scared easily which I think is unexpected due to his size. I think I see a lot of myself in him especially when he washes his balls for far too long.

I think cats are a gamble as kittens because almost all kittens are uniformly lovely. But when they grow up its a lucky dip as to whether or not your cat will turn out to be a dick. I have 3 cats and whilst 2 are decent 1 of them I lost that lottery with. Her name is Katy. She is a little fat dumpy cat, always in a bad mood yet always up for playing but I always get the feeling that she’s only playing because if she humours me the playing will ultimately stop and she has a chance to rip some skin off my hand.

I learned that Cats have a brain that is 90% similar to a humans which I think may explain why they can be such dicks. That not being able to work out whats behind their eyes. The want to be able to just do nothing all day. It’s all very human.

I also learned that Cats were once used as part of a scheme in Finland to deliver post. It failed, I am not at all surprised at this. I can’t trust any number of packaging companies so I certainly wouldnt trust the company that delivers with cats. I’d only expect the package tracker app to show my parcel going around in circles, rolling around on hot tarmac and lying under a vehicle for 6 hours before ultimately being squashed at the side of a main road.

I also was amused to learn that some cats can get addicted to tuna and these cats are reffered to as Tuna Junkies. Which I think would make for a cracking film remake of requiem for a dream with all cats! ‘Yo dog (literal dog) you got any more of that John West stuff?’