This week has been absolute murder.
We had an audit in work which I had to do all the leg work for. Ended up working 12 hour days and then going straight to bed because I was fucked. The auditor came in yesterday and spent about three hours going through everything. Finally, about half four, she says "well everything seems fine. In fact, this is the best place I've been to in a long time". Huge sigh of relief from me and straight down the pub. Bump into my mate who is all dressed up and as soon as I see him I remember his missus Dad died last week and it was his funeral. End up getting totally bladdered.
Played golf this morning and scored 48 points. Worst thing was I played quite crap. I even managed to four putt one hole.
Couldn't believe how poor Man Utd were on Wednesday. If anyone can explain to me how Anderson is in that team then now is a good time.
Would quite like to see Everton lift the cup today. Not sure how much of it I'll see though as the Lions opener is on at two.
Just going to cut the grass then off out on the piss. Meeting up with a couple of boys who have talked me into going to Liverpool in a couple of weeks time for a stag do. We're off to Aintree on the Friday night so anyone with a couple of tips fire them this way.
Will hopefully have a bit more time on my hands this week so will drop in on everyones blog to see what's happening.
Later.
Saturday, 30 May 2009
Monday, 25 May 2009
I'm officially a bandit
I've just joined a Golf Club after a few years away from the game. I was quite decent in my teens and had a single figure handicap. I've played three times this year and put cards in for pretty crap scores. I'd been striking the ball well but my chipping and putting were abysmal. Went to the club on Saturday and found they had given me a 28 handicap. Took an eight on the first and on the second discovered my ball was out of bounds and couldn't be bothered to walk back to the tee so scratched the hole. Then played the next seven holes to one and the back nine to four. Two blobs on my card and I still managed fifty points. Playing in the monthly medal next week and cannot see how I can fail to do anything other than win.
I'm going to get lynched.
Talking of Golf, missed a trick this week when my mate who is a Golf Journo told me that Casey was looking good and to get some money on him. Had two really busy days in work and totaly forgot. By the time I looked on Friday night he was 2/1, started at 16's. Oh well.
Commiserations to UK Gatsby, Soap and Team Dobbs after Newcastle were relegated yesterday. Four Managers in one Season tells it's own story I suppose and if ever there was a way to not run a club then Mike Ashley should write the book.
Where there are losers though there are also winners and LittleAcornman is probably recovering today after Rangers won the League in dramatic fashion. Congratulations fella.
Had a good day on Saturday. Went out early, had a few beers then watched the Heineken Cup Final. Headed into Cardiff after and got slaughtered. Spent yesterday recovering and watching sport. Stayed away from the tables has I'm going through one of those spells where I can't win a race. Might fire up a few hands later.
Last two episodes of 24 are on tonight. Will Jack die? Can't see it somehow.
If Dani C is reading, what the fuck is happening with your blog? Can't get on it at all. Have you changed your URL or something? Let me know.
Later.
I'm going to get lynched.
Talking of Golf, missed a trick this week when my mate who is a Golf Journo told me that Casey was looking good and to get some money on him. Had two really busy days in work and totaly forgot. By the time I looked on Friday night he was 2/1, started at 16's. Oh well.
Commiserations to UK Gatsby, Soap and Team Dobbs after Newcastle were relegated yesterday. Four Managers in one Season tells it's own story I suppose and if ever there was a way to not run a club then Mike Ashley should write the book.
Where there are losers though there are also winners and LittleAcornman is probably recovering today after Rangers won the League in dramatic fashion. Congratulations fella.
Had a good day on Saturday. Went out early, had a few beers then watched the Heineken Cup Final. Headed into Cardiff after and got slaughtered. Spent yesterday recovering and watching sport. Stayed away from the tables has I'm going through one of those spells where I can't win a race. Might fire up a few hands later.
Last two episodes of 24 are on tonight. Will Jack die? Can't see it somehow.
If Dani C is reading, what the fuck is happening with your blog? Can't get on it at all. Have you changed your URL or something? Let me know.
Later.
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
Life on Mars
After yesterdays plug which I was nicely recompensed for, here’s one I’m doing for free.
I absolutely love http://www.amazon.co.uk/. For the past three months I’ve been buying DVD’s non stop. I’ve got all the 24 box sets, most of the Sopranos, a couple of Lost and some of the Wire amongst others.
Last week I bought Band of Brothers which must be one of the greatest programmes ever made for TV. I also bought Life on Mars which I had never seen. What a really good programme.
I watched the first series on the weekend and on Monday bought the second series from Amazon. Lo and behold, it turned up this morning. Wicked service.
Whilst watching the first series there were two moments that reminded me of my teenage years. I’ll just point out that I wasn’t a teen in 1973 but you’ll see why they reminded me of those days when I was young, dumb and full of cum.
The first one was a scene with a couple of hippies and in the background “Silver Machine” by Hawkwind was playing. I haven’t heard that song for years but when I was about fifteen I used to hear it every night. I was going out with this girl at the time who I suppose was my first real girlfriend. Her Mum used to work evenings and her Dad was always down the pub so we used to adjourn to her bedroom and shag like bunnies. Her brother, a real pot head, used to be in the next bedroom and would play “Silver Machine” over and over again, sometimes for a couple of hours. Fuck knows why. I’m not sure if he could hear something in that song that no one else could.
As soon as I heard it I immediately thought of her, something I hadn’t done in a very long time.
The second scene that reminded me of my younger days was when Sam Tyler woke up, handcuffed to the bed. I think I was seventeen at the time and going out with this girl who was taking her A levels. It must have been about June and has she was off school and I had a day off, I went around her house. It was quite early in the morning, 10 ish, and I was pestering her to have a potch about. She wasn’t having any of it has she was trying to study for her exams so finally she asks if I fancy getting tied up. I indeed fancied the idea and was bollock naked faster than Jordan in a photo shoot. Five minutes later I’m tied to the bed and she gets up and walks out. One minute later I hear the front door close.
Luckily, in my younger days, I was like an hamster and could sleep for twenty three hours on the trot. After trying to free myself and failing, I closed my eyes and crashed out. A while later I woke to hear the front door close. I then cringed as I heard her Mother call up the stairs. Oh fuck. Maybe a minute passed and then I heard her Mother start climbing the stairs still calling her name. I looked down at myself tied to the bed and thought “why me”?
Her Mother must have been two thirds of the way up when I heard the front door open again and my psycho girlfriend walk in and start talking to her. She slowly walked back down the stairs and I breathed a sigh of relief.
I then lay there for another couple of hours before the front door opened again and in walked her Dad. It was only then that I realised it was gone six and I’d been there for eight hours. Furthermore, I was busting for a piss. The more I thought about it the more I was convinced that I was going to piss all over the bed. Finally she walks in and puts her finger to her mouth and starts to untie me. I tell her I have to have a piss and she says no, you’ve got to climb out of the window. I get dressed and shimmy down the drain pipe before pissing like a Stallion for ten minutes all over her Mums prize Roses. I got my own back on her though but that’s another story.
Later.
I absolutely love http://www.amazon.co.uk/. For the past three months I’ve been buying DVD’s non stop. I’ve got all the 24 box sets, most of the Sopranos, a couple of Lost and some of the Wire amongst others.
Last week I bought Band of Brothers which must be one of the greatest programmes ever made for TV. I also bought Life on Mars which I had never seen. What a really good programme.
I watched the first series on the weekend and on Monday bought the second series from Amazon. Lo and behold, it turned up this morning. Wicked service.
Whilst watching the first series there were two moments that reminded me of my teenage years. I’ll just point out that I wasn’t a teen in 1973 but you’ll see why they reminded me of those days when I was young, dumb and full of cum.
The first one was a scene with a couple of hippies and in the background “Silver Machine” by Hawkwind was playing. I haven’t heard that song for years but when I was about fifteen I used to hear it every night. I was going out with this girl at the time who I suppose was my first real girlfriend. Her Mum used to work evenings and her Dad was always down the pub so we used to adjourn to her bedroom and shag like bunnies. Her brother, a real pot head, used to be in the next bedroom and would play “Silver Machine” over and over again, sometimes for a couple of hours. Fuck knows why. I’m not sure if he could hear something in that song that no one else could.
As soon as I heard it I immediately thought of her, something I hadn’t done in a very long time.
The second scene that reminded me of my younger days was when Sam Tyler woke up, handcuffed to the bed. I think I was seventeen at the time and going out with this girl who was taking her A levels. It must have been about June and has she was off school and I had a day off, I went around her house. It was quite early in the morning, 10 ish, and I was pestering her to have a potch about. She wasn’t having any of it has she was trying to study for her exams so finally she asks if I fancy getting tied up. I indeed fancied the idea and was bollock naked faster than Jordan in a photo shoot. Five minutes later I’m tied to the bed and she gets up and walks out. One minute later I hear the front door close.
Luckily, in my younger days, I was like an hamster and could sleep for twenty three hours on the trot. After trying to free myself and failing, I closed my eyes and crashed out. A while later I woke to hear the front door close. I then cringed as I heard her Mother call up the stairs. Oh fuck. Maybe a minute passed and then I heard her Mother start climbing the stairs still calling her name. I looked down at myself tied to the bed and thought “why me”?
Her Mother must have been two thirds of the way up when I heard the front door open again and my psycho girlfriend walk in and start talking to her. She slowly walked back down the stairs and I breathed a sigh of relief.
I then lay there for another couple of hours before the front door opened again and in walked her Dad. It was only then that I realised it was gone six and I’d been there for eight hours. Furthermore, I was busting for a piss. The more I thought about it the more I was convinced that I was going to piss all over the bed. Finally she walks in and puts her finger to her mouth and starts to untie me. I tell her I have to have a piss and she says no, you’ve got to climb out of the window. I get dressed and shimmy down the drain pipe before pissing like a Stallion for ten minutes all over her Mums prize Roses. I got my own back on her though but that’s another story.
Later.
Monday, 18 May 2009
My Deal with the Boss
You've probably seen a few of these write ups recently but I've actually seen these guys in action. So much so that I dropped them a line and they've paid me a few quid to write about my experience. Here it is.
A few weeks ago I was invited by my boss for a works Poker tournament. Being a Poker player and knowing that he knew this I half expected him to ask me to deal. Even more so when he told me that he had invited several big clients as well as a few of the movers and shakers from our sister companies. In fact, I was the lowest of the low there but my boss, being the competitive guy that he is, insisted that I was there to play and we were in shares. No pressure there.
My boss had hired three professional dealers and boy could they deal. Their fingers were faster than a blender and all their cards landed in precisely the same position every round. All the while the guys had a polite and authoritative demeanour which only increased the intensity at which everybody bet and played their cards.
There was about thirty of us and my boss bombed out pretty early. I made the final table as chip leader but two sick beats saw me go out in third for £600. He was made up with his share, even more so after we clinched a couple of contracts worth about £500,000.
After the night had ended and everyone was making their way to the
exit, I asked the boss where he knew the dealers from. It turned out
that one of the dealers used to work at a local casino for four years but only works freelance now as it pays a lot better. The boss didn’t know him personally but he had found him at short notice on a site called Dial A Dealer. I was interested and so took a closer look.
At http://www.dialadealer.com/ , dealers and fun casino hire suppliers from all over the world list themselves and divulge their skills and experience to create a mini CV online that lets them get hired by clients around the world. All dealers are asked to provide their cost per hour and can also optionally talk about their additional services and list any awards for tournaments they have participated in.
Most have dealt in casinos and so are quite apt at most of the common
games like Poker, Black Jack, Texas Hold-em and non-card games like
Roulette. A fair few of the dealers on the site can bring all the
equipment like chips and decks with them for a fee and others can
arrange private parties or corporate events. The site is very easy to
use and hits all the necessary web two-point-zero buttons that we
expect from sites today.
To educate and inform readers, http://www.dialadealer.com/ dedicates a section for
full length articles discussing in depth issues like how much to tip
dealers, how to spot a good dealer and where to get casino equipment
yourself. The blog section of the site keeps close contact with the
site’s users and dispenses valuable updates from the gaming industry
as well as industry information, trends, tips and advice.
My boss was rather pleased with himself that he found the site and the evening did go rather well, so I try to recommend it to as many of my friends in home and pub games and to players at the tables in my local casino. So I suppose that’s why I’m writing about it now! That and the wheelbarrow full of cash they are paying me!!!
Check it out yourself now at http://www.dialadealer.com/.
A few weeks ago I was invited by my boss for a works Poker tournament. Being a Poker player and knowing that he knew this I half expected him to ask me to deal. Even more so when he told me that he had invited several big clients as well as a few of the movers and shakers from our sister companies. In fact, I was the lowest of the low there but my boss, being the competitive guy that he is, insisted that I was there to play and we were in shares. No pressure there.
My boss had hired three professional dealers and boy could they deal. Their fingers were faster than a blender and all their cards landed in precisely the same position every round. All the while the guys had a polite and authoritative demeanour which only increased the intensity at which everybody bet and played their cards.
There was about thirty of us and my boss bombed out pretty early. I made the final table as chip leader but two sick beats saw me go out in third for £600. He was made up with his share, even more so after we clinched a couple of contracts worth about £500,000.
After the night had ended and everyone was making their way to the
exit, I asked the boss where he knew the dealers from. It turned out
that one of the dealers used to work at a local casino for four years but only works freelance now as it pays a lot better. The boss didn’t know him personally but he had found him at short notice on a site called Dial A Dealer. I was interested and so took a closer look.
At http://www.dialadealer.com/ , dealers and fun casino hire suppliers from all over the world list themselves and divulge their skills and experience to create a mini CV online that lets them get hired by clients around the world. All dealers are asked to provide their cost per hour and can also optionally talk about their additional services and list any awards for tournaments they have participated in.
Most have dealt in casinos and so are quite apt at most of the common
games like Poker, Black Jack, Texas Hold-em and non-card games like
Roulette. A fair few of the dealers on the site can bring all the
equipment like chips and decks with them for a fee and others can
arrange private parties or corporate events. The site is very easy to
use and hits all the necessary web two-point-zero buttons that we
expect from sites today.
To educate and inform readers, http://www.dialadealer.com/ dedicates a section for
full length articles discussing in depth issues like how much to tip
dealers, how to spot a good dealer and where to get casino equipment
yourself. The blog section of the site keeps close contact with the
site’s users and dispenses valuable updates from the gaming industry
as well as industry information, trends, tips and advice.
My boss was rather pleased with himself that he found the site and the evening did go rather well, so I try to recommend it to as many of my friends in home and pub games and to players at the tables in my local casino. So I suppose that’s why I’m writing about it now! That and the wheelbarrow full of cash they are paying me!!!
Check it out yourself now at http://www.dialadealer.com/.
Friday, 15 May 2009
Quick question?
There's a song which I suppose you would classify as a soul record. It's really famous and I'm sure Lenny Kravitz has covered it. I cannot for the life of me remember the title or the artist. The first line goes something like this:
Baby here I am I'm a man on the scene, I can give you what you want but you have to come home with me.
Someone help me out because it's doing my head in. I've tried googling the lyrics with no success.
Later.
Baby here I am I'm a man on the scene, I can give you what you want but you have to come home with me.
Someone help me out because it's doing my head in. I've tried googling the lyrics with no success.
Later.
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
Moms blog prompt Tuesday
San diego mommas blog which is on the Moms blog list does this writing thing where she starts off and you finish. I'm bored and thought why not, so here's mine. It didn't take long to write because this actually happened to me last year.
“What are you doing here?” I hadn’t thought to knock.
Aaron raised his head from the table. His eyes wouldn’t meet mine. “We need to talk.”
Fuck me I thought, why is Aaron Spelling in my kitchen and more to the point isn't he dead? He was dead and so was Adolf Hitler who was cooking a Chicken Super Noodle in my Microwave. "Guten Morgen", Adolf waved a cursory greeting in my general direction. Ghengis Khan was less pleasant and he was eating my wheety bangs and drinking my finest Columbian. "Call this coffee" he spat, "tastes like Yaks piss". Marilyn Monroe pinched JFK's bum and giggled. JFK pinched Adolfs bum and whispered "Ich bien ein Berliner" in his ear. Marilyn giggled some more. Henry VIII was stood in front of the fridge eating all my chicken drumsticks. Fat bastard.
I rubbed my eyes in disbelief and when I reopened them they were all gone. Had I dreamt it. They all looked so real.
I immediately rang my mate who is a part time exorcist and he came straight over. After recalling the events of the previous hour my mate opened my fridge door and gasped. I peered over his shoulder and a shaft of light pierced through the iceberg lettuce and two day old milk.
"What is it" I whispered. He slammed the door and grabbed me by my shoulders.
"You've got a portal to the afterlife in your fridge and ghosts are coming through it at night to do fuck knows what".
"Shit" I thought and then I said it. "Shit, what can I do"?
My mates eyes widened and he did that thing with his hands that Plumbers do when they're about to quote you for a burst pipe.
"Hmmmm, well it's quite a tricky job and it's going to cost you but there are two things that I can do, one is quite expensive the other isn't".
"Go on" I said.
"Well, I've got a book of ancient incantations in the house and I could summon Thor the Norse God of Thunder who will stand guard with his mighty hammer and dispel all intruders. It would take me all weekend to do and you'd have to pay me up front".
I stood there looking at him in astonishment and wonder. Finally I astonishedly wondered out loud how much that would cost.
"£500,000 grand for you mate and that's a price for a friend".
"Oh" I said, "and the cheap option"?
"Well, I could knock a bit of plywood up which would cost you a tenner"
Bad night on the table yesterday but a good night on the Footie after I backed Newcastle at 1-0 down. Layed some off about a minute before they scored their third which was a bummer.
Should make my next intremental bonus on FT tonight and might play a couple of STT's on Betfair.
Later.
“What are you doing here?” I hadn’t thought to knock.
Aaron raised his head from the table. His eyes wouldn’t meet mine. “We need to talk.”
Fuck me I thought, why is Aaron Spelling in my kitchen and more to the point isn't he dead? He was dead and so was Adolf Hitler who was cooking a Chicken Super Noodle in my Microwave. "Guten Morgen", Adolf waved a cursory greeting in my general direction. Ghengis Khan was less pleasant and he was eating my wheety bangs and drinking my finest Columbian. "Call this coffee" he spat, "tastes like Yaks piss". Marilyn Monroe pinched JFK's bum and giggled. JFK pinched Adolfs bum and whispered "Ich bien ein Berliner" in his ear. Marilyn giggled some more. Henry VIII was stood in front of the fridge eating all my chicken drumsticks. Fat bastard.
I rubbed my eyes in disbelief and when I reopened them they were all gone. Had I dreamt it. They all looked so real.
I immediately rang my mate who is a part time exorcist and he came straight over. After recalling the events of the previous hour my mate opened my fridge door and gasped. I peered over his shoulder and a shaft of light pierced through the iceberg lettuce and two day old milk.
"What is it" I whispered. He slammed the door and grabbed me by my shoulders.
"You've got a portal to the afterlife in your fridge and ghosts are coming through it at night to do fuck knows what".
"Shit" I thought and then I said it. "Shit, what can I do"?
My mates eyes widened and he did that thing with his hands that Plumbers do when they're about to quote you for a burst pipe.
"Hmmmm, well it's quite a tricky job and it's going to cost you but there are two things that I can do, one is quite expensive the other isn't".
"Go on" I said.
"Well, I've got a book of ancient incantations in the house and I could summon Thor the Norse God of Thunder who will stand guard with his mighty hammer and dispel all intruders. It would take me all weekend to do and you'd have to pay me up front".
I stood there looking at him in astonishment and wonder. Finally I astonishedly wondered out loud how much that would cost.
"£500,000 grand for you mate and that's a price for a friend".
"Oh" I said, "and the cheap option"?
"Well, I could knock a bit of plywood up which would cost you a tenner"
Bad night on the table yesterday but a good night on the Footie after I backed Newcastle at 1-0 down. Layed some off about a minute before they scored their third which was a bummer.
Should make my next intremental bonus on FT tonight and might play a couple of STT's on Betfair.
Later.
Sunday, 10 May 2009
Finally
I've finally won an MTT on Full Tilt. Not only an MTT but the Brit Blogger one no less.
Been watching the Players all night. Stenson has been absolutely awesome shooting a final round 66. Bet he wishes he could win the blogger tourney though.
Later.
Been watching the Players all night. Stenson has been absolutely awesome shooting a final round 66. Bet he wishes he could win the blogger tourney though.
Later.
Saturday, 9 May 2009
Poker and bets
Been a pretty shit week off the tables but on them I've done okay. Five out of six cashes in MTT's with the best being a 2nd for $240. Was a bit gutted with second has the first hand of heads up was a QQ9 flop with me holding 910. Opponent bet $4k, I call. Turn Q. He bets another $4k and I go all in. He calls and turns over the other Q. Fucking typical.
I've also been playing $0.25/0.50 on Betfair and have won approximately $500 this week including MTT cashes. Spunked £100 of that away on the Footie when I had Sparta, Shakhter and Hamburg to win. Never bet on the UEFA Cup.
I've got Gossen in the Golf who is in contention. I've also had some on Angel at 15s. Can't see Cejka staying in front and Poulter could do anything. When I say anything I do mean that. I wouldn't even blink if he shanked one on the 17th today.
Had £40 on Anderlecht, Brescia, Dortmund, Hertha and Raith today. Fingers crossed.
Had a big one last Sunday for the Heineken Cup Semi. The Blues were dead and buried with twenty minutes to go but two late trys and Blair landing both conversions from the touchline meant extra time. Both teams played the extra twenty minutes on the half way line, not wanting to give anything away and we then had the absurdity that is penalty kicks.
Now, I've got no problem with a penalty shoot out in Football. It doesn't matter what position you play, you should be able to kick a ball. Not quite the same in Rugby though and when Martyn Williams, an open side and probably one of Wales' best players over the last five years, walked forward to take what turned out to be the decisive kick, my heart sank. Martyn Williams has probably not even taken a penalty before in his distinguished career, he probably hasn't kicked a ball for three years. He of course missed and Leicester won. Absolutely gutted.
At least one of our crew was happy has he had played for Leicester in the early nineties. Wanker.
Several ciders later and we bumped into a couple of mates. One of them told me a story which absolutely stunned me.
A few months ago I went to Glasgow on a stag weekend. The stag was a guy I knew quite well through Football although he wasn't one of the boys I would normally go on the piss with. He knew a few of my mates really well as they were from the same village. On the stag weekend he told us that he was going away for a month after the wedding. We all assumed he meant on a honeymoon. He actually went to the Priory. Turns out he has a really bad gambling problem. Worst still, he's been caught stealing from his Employers. His case goes to Crown Court this Summer and he's fully expected to go down for 2-5 years. I'm stunned because I have never seen him placing a bet. By all accounts he's done £200k. How the fuck can you lose that amount of money. Amazingly his wife knew all this before marrying him. I suppose he's got that going for him although Fuck knows what he'll do for a living when he gets out.
Later.
I've also been playing $0.25/0.50 on Betfair and have won approximately $500 this week including MTT cashes. Spunked £100 of that away on the Footie when I had Sparta, Shakhter and Hamburg to win. Never bet on the UEFA Cup.
I've got Gossen in the Golf who is in contention. I've also had some on Angel at 15s. Can't see Cejka staying in front and Poulter could do anything. When I say anything I do mean that. I wouldn't even blink if he shanked one on the 17th today.
Had £40 on Anderlecht, Brescia, Dortmund, Hertha and Raith today. Fingers crossed.
Had a big one last Sunday for the Heineken Cup Semi. The Blues were dead and buried with twenty minutes to go but two late trys and Blair landing both conversions from the touchline meant extra time. Both teams played the extra twenty minutes on the half way line, not wanting to give anything away and we then had the absurdity that is penalty kicks.
Now, I've got no problem with a penalty shoot out in Football. It doesn't matter what position you play, you should be able to kick a ball. Not quite the same in Rugby though and when Martyn Williams, an open side and probably one of Wales' best players over the last five years, walked forward to take what turned out to be the decisive kick, my heart sank. Martyn Williams has probably not even taken a penalty before in his distinguished career, he probably hasn't kicked a ball for three years. He of course missed and Leicester won. Absolutely gutted.
At least one of our crew was happy has he had played for Leicester in the early nineties. Wanker.
Several ciders later and we bumped into a couple of mates. One of them told me a story which absolutely stunned me.
A few months ago I went to Glasgow on a stag weekend. The stag was a guy I knew quite well through Football although he wasn't one of the boys I would normally go on the piss with. He knew a few of my mates really well as they were from the same village. On the stag weekend he told us that he was going away for a month after the wedding. We all assumed he meant on a honeymoon. He actually went to the Priory. Turns out he has a really bad gambling problem. Worst still, he's been caught stealing from his Employers. His case goes to Crown Court this Summer and he's fully expected to go down for 2-5 years. I'm stunned because I have never seen him placing a bet. By all accounts he's done £200k. How the fuck can you lose that amount of money. Amazingly his wife knew all this before marrying him. I suppose he's got that going for him although Fuck knows what he'll do for a living when he gets out.
Later.
Thursday, 7 May 2009
Stop crying your heart out
In my adult life I can only remember crying four times.
The first time was when my Daughter was born. I'm sure Pud and Rossi will agree has they have just become Fathers, that being present at your childs birth is one of the most nerve wrecking moments a Man can endure. The feeling of helplessness hits you like a sledgehammer. You're in a room with Doctors and Midwifes running around, your Missus is in obvious discomfort/pain and all you can do is hold her hand and whisper "push" in her ear. Nothing seems to go right and you're just stood there like the preverbial spare prick at the wedding, praying for everything to be allright. Finally, you're handed a baby and the feeling of relief that everything has gone to plan and your Daughter/Son is alive and kicking sweeps over you like a tidal wave. One of my best mates girlfriend was the midwife and the pair of us just stood there crying like a pair of babies ourselves.
The second was a year later in my Grans funeral. My Dad died two months before I was born and both his parents were already dead. My Grandad on my Mothers side was dead as well so my Gran gave up work to bring me up and let my Mum carve out her career. I never fully understood the sacrafices my Gran had made until the day of her funeral. I was stood in the crematorium and it was only then that I realised that all the mourners were mine or my Mothers friends. There were a few neighbours who knew my Gran but no one that I would have said was a friend of hers. I guess, after I was old enough to look after myself, my Gran was too old to return to work or couldn't be bothered. She didn't drink or do bingo or anything like that and I suppose she just outlived people she knew or grew apart from work colleagues and the like. I shed a few tears then and still think about her every day.
The third time was probably the saddest day I care to remember and one I hope I never have to experience again. My Daughter went to creche when she was six months old and continued in the same group of nurserys until she was old enough to go to school. There was a girl there called Megan who started at the same time and when she was old enough, used to come to our house for tea twice a week. They both went to the same school and were in the same class. The pair of them were inseperable. One day my Missus is picking my Daughter up and her teacher asks how Megan is. My Missus says she knows nothing and the teacher tells her she's in hospital because she had fallen out of bed. We both thought she had maybe broken her arm or something so my Wife goes to the hospital where she bumps into Megans parents, crying their hearts out. It transpires she had an inoperable brain tumour. For the next year I watched this lovely little girl deteriorate until she couldn't go to school any longer. About 18 months after the initial diagnosis she died in her sleep. Her funeral was the worst experience of my life. There wasn't one person there not crying and I include the Priest in that. I still see her parents now and feel guilty about not being able to do anything for them. I hope anyone who reads this doesn't have to go through what they did.
The last time I cried was an hour ago when I cuddled my cat in my arms as the vet put her down. I've had cats for as long as I can remember but strangely can never remember any of them dying. Some I was probably too young to register what had happened. Others, I had moved away and had visited my Mum and there was no cat there. Some just never came home one day and that was that. Today was different. I have had Rascal for twelve years and she was a beautiful cat. Her kidneys packed in for no apparent reason and there was nothing the vets could do. I've got another cat, her sister and I guess I'll cry like a baby when she passes away as well.
Depressing post but that's how I feel at the moment.
Later.
The first time was when my Daughter was born. I'm sure Pud and Rossi will agree has they have just become Fathers, that being present at your childs birth is one of the most nerve wrecking moments a Man can endure. The feeling of helplessness hits you like a sledgehammer. You're in a room with Doctors and Midwifes running around, your Missus is in obvious discomfort/pain and all you can do is hold her hand and whisper "push" in her ear. Nothing seems to go right and you're just stood there like the preverbial spare prick at the wedding, praying for everything to be allright. Finally, you're handed a baby and the feeling of relief that everything has gone to plan and your Daughter/Son is alive and kicking sweeps over you like a tidal wave. One of my best mates girlfriend was the midwife and the pair of us just stood there crying like a pair of babies ourselves.
The second was a year later in my Grans funeral. My Dad died two months before I was born and both his parents were already dead. My Grandad on my Mothers side was dead as well so my Gran gave up work to bring me up and let my Mum carve out her career. I never fully understood the sacrafices my Gran had made until the day of her funeral. I was stood in the crematorium and it was only then that I realised that all the mourners were mine or my Mothers friends. There were a few neighbours who knew my Gran but no one that I would have said was a friend of hers. I guess, after I was old enough to look after myself, my Gran was too old to return to work or couldn't be bothered. She didn't drink or do bingo or anything like that and I suppose she just outlived people she knew or grew apart from work colleagues and the like. I shed a few tears then and still think about her every day.
The third time was probably the saddest day I care to remember and one I hope I never have to experience again. My Daughter went to creche when she was six months old and continued in the same group of nurserys until she was old enough to go to school. There was a girl there called Megan who started at the same time and when she was old enough, used to come to our house for tea twice a week. They both went to the same school and were in the same class. The pair of them were inseperable. One day my Missus is picking my Daughter up and her teacher asks how Megan is. My Missus says she knows nothing and the teacher tells her she's in hospital because she had fallen out of bed. We both thought she had maybe broken her arm or something so my Wife goes to the hospital where she bumps into Megans parents, crying their hearts out. It transpires she had an inoperable brain tumour. For the next year I watched this lovely little girl deteriorate until she couldn't go to school any longer. About 18 months after the initial diagnosis she died in her sleep. Her funeral was the worst experience of my life. There wasn't one person there not crying and I include the Priest in that. I still see her parents now and feel guilty about not being able to do anything for them. I hope anyone who reads this doesn't have to go through what they did.
The last time I cried was an hour ago when I cuddled my cat in my arms as the vet put her down. I've had cats for as long as I can remember but strangely can never remember any of them dying. Some I was probably too young to register what had happened. Others, I had moved away and had visited my Mum and there was no cat there. Some just never came home one day and that was that. Today was different. I have had Rascal for twelve years and she was a beautiful cat. Her kidneys packed in for no apparent reason and there was nothing the vets could do. I've got another cat, her sister and I guess I'll cry like a baby when she passes away as well.
Depressing post but that's how I feel at the moment.
Later.
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
Shit day
Was going to write a post about the weekend. I had an absolute blast but today I had to take one of my cats to the vets. Bottom line is they don't think she will make it through the night.
Just to top that off Arsenal are getting stuffed.
Can't be bothered now.
Just to top that off Arsenal are getting stuffed.
Can't be bothered now.
Friday, 1 May 2009
POA (plan of attack)
Wrote this in work at 11ish when I was bored shitless.
Plan of attack for weekend is as follows:
Tonight, take Daughter to ballet then cook tea before disappearing down pub for a couple of ciders.
Up early Saturday for Golf. Place a few bets followed by snooze in afternoon. Early evening, disappear down pub for a few ciders.
Sunday, take Daughter to Church, cook Sunday dinner then disappear into City to watch Blues v Leicester followed by lots of ciders.
Monday, disappear and do fuck all.
As you can tell I disappear with alarming regularity. I’m like David fucking Copperfield.
My best disappearing act happened several years ago. I was living with my now wife but at the time we weren’t married. One Friday night I got home from work and popped out at 5ish to get a pint of milk. As you do, I nipped in the pub for a quick one and whilst there my mate rang and the conversation went a bit like this.
“Where are you”? “Pub”. “What you wearing”? “Suit”. “Good, I’ll be there in ten minutes”.
Sure enough, my mate turns up all suited and booted and hands me a ticket for the boxing that night. Steve Robinson, who was then World Champion, was having his last fight before meeting Naseer Hamed. So we have a few beers and head into town. After the boxing we meet up with my mates brother and head off to this dodgy club he’s a member of. Several hours later I wake up in the VIP section with this blonde sitting on my lap kissing my neck. I swear, when the three of us left this club with three girls in tow, not only was it light but it was fucking hot as well and there were hundreds of people out and about doing their shopping.
We head back to my mates brothers house for a party and then, after the girls have left, go to Rugby. My mate and I turn up absolutely bollocksed, borrow some boots and play. I make a break in the first five minutes, run twenty yards up the line and with no one near me, step into touch and throw up. It wasn’t the best game of Rugby I’ve ever played.
The pair of us then go straight back out on the piss with all the boys, still in the same clothes and end up in some party.
We finally get back to my mates house about 13.00 on the Sunday afternoon and his long suffering girlfriend gives me a lift home, with my mate in tow for moral support. When I walk in the house my missus doesn’t bat an eyelid although the first thing she asks is “where’s the milk”?
Doubt if I could get away with anything like that now but I might try it next weekend.
Later.
Plan of attack for weekend is as follows:
Tonight, take Daughter to ballet then cook tea before disappearing down pub for a couple of ciders.
Up early Saturday for Golf. Place a few bets followed by snooze in afternoon. Early evening, disappear down pub for a few ciders.
Sunday, take Daughter to Church, cook Sunday dinner then disappear into City to watch Blues v Leicester followed by lots of ciders.
Monday, disappear and do fuck all.
As you can tell I disappear with alarming regularity. I’m like David fucking Copperfield.
My best disappearing act happened several years ago. I was living with my now wife but at the time we weren’t married. One Friday night I got home from work and popped out at 5ish to get a pint of milk. As you do, I nipped in the pub for a quick one and whilst there my mate rang and the conversation went a bit like this.
“Where are you”? “Pub”. “What you wearing”? “Suit”. “Good, I’ll be there in ten minutes”.
Sure enough, my mate turns up all suited and booted and hands me a ticket for the boxing that night. Steve Robinson, who was then World Champion, was having his last fight before meeting Naseer Hamed. So we have a few beers and head into town. After the boxing we meet up with my mates brother and head off to this dodgy club he’s a member of. Several hours later I wake up in the VIP section with this blonde sitting on my lap kissing my neck. I swear, when the three of us left this club with three girls in tow, not only was it light but it was fucking hot as well and there were hundreds of people out and about doing their shopping.
We head back to my mates brothers house for a party and then, after the girls have left, go to Rugby. My mate and I turn up absolutely bollocksed, borrow some boots and play. I make a break in the first five minutes, run twenty yards up the line and with no one near me, step into touch and throw up. It wasn’t the best game of Rugby I’ve ever played.
The pair of us then go straight back out on the piss with all the boys, still in the same clothes and end up in some party.
We finally get back to my mates house about 13.00 on the Sunday afternoon and his long suffering girlfriend gives me a lift home, with my mate in tow for moral support. When I walk in the house my missus doesn’t bat an eyelid although the first thing she asks is “where’s the milk”?
Doubt if I could get away with anything like that now but I might try it next weekend.
Later.
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