Fergus K Beansprout's blog

CHRISTMAS IS COMING

One_Angry_Man — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 13:47:56 UT

I went to the Post Office at lunchtime, to buy a stamp for my Christmas card. No, not a card for myself - don't be silly! No, for the one card I send to my only friend. Is that a problem for you?

As usual, the queue was a mile long, full of customers killing some "dead" time by phoning friends, doing the Metro sudoku, eating their lunch, growing a beard....the P.O. is also a convenience store, selling confectionery, foodstuffs, cigarettes and magazines. When I say "convenience", I mean that the prices they charge for some items are convenient if you want to be ripped off, but then again, as people point out, they are paying Central London rates.

Anyway, the queue runs alonside the magazine racks, and my eye was caught by the variety of headlines and front page comments on the mags. And so I looked at the mags (didn't pick one up to read whilst in the queue for fear of the owner shouting at me from behind the till "are you going to buy that magazine sir? That'll be £2.30. This isn't a library you know" whereupon everyone looks round and stares, accusingly. The owner is really on the ball - he knows the prices of each mag, their original position on the rack, when the next issue is out, which "celebrity" features on which page, who they claim to have shagged recently.....I want to catch him out in an off-guard moment when the prices go up....when he shouts "are you going to buy that magazine sir? That'll be £2.30. This isn't a library you know", I want to shout back "actually, its gone up to £2.50 this month, and no, I'm not buying it, so ner-ner-ner-ner-ner" ). Men. Kids, eh?

So there I was, reading the headlines, waiting for the shout from behind the till "you can window shop in Selfridges, sir....costs you nothing there too...." when I spotted a trend among the mags.

All of the Heat/Closer style mags had front covers featuring a scantily clad Jordan, with comments like:
"I STILL PINE FOR PETE",

"IT WAS EITHER GO TO THE JUNGLE OR TOP MYSELF WITHOUT PETE",

"I COULDN'T BARE MY BAZONKAS FOR ANYONE OTHER THAN PETE" (I suspect that was anyone other than someone named Pete) , and

"PETER'S PIPE AND PECS PERKED MY PLUMPISH PAPS"

Then, all of the Take A Break/Chat style mags had headlines saying "ARE YOU READY FOR CHRISTMAS", along with sub-titles for stories like:
"I DIDN'T MIND HIM EATING MY MOTHER FOR XMAS DINNER, BUT I FORGOT TO GET THE HONEY-GLAZED PARSNIPS OUT OF THE FREEZER",

"HE CALLED ME HIS CHRISTMAS PUDDING, BUT I DIDN'T KNOW HE WAS GOING TO DOUSE ME IN BRANDY AND SET ME ALIGHT", and

"I FORGOT THE CRACKERS, SO HE PULLED MY SISTER INSTEAD".

And all of these mags under a huge banner which said "GET YOUR FUN-FILLED FESTIVE READING HERE"

You couldn't make it up could you?
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GRAVE HUMOUR

One_Angry_Man — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 10:05:03 UT

Being a practical sort of bloke, a year or so ago, I rang up the local cemetery to book a plot. Knowing that burial space in London was at a premium, I wanted to make as many arrangements now, rather than leave it till after I had shuffled off this mortal coil.

So I made the telephone call, and a very sombre man, ironically named Mr Smillie, answered.

Mr Smillie: “North London Crematorium and Halcyon Days Eternal Rest Home….Smillie speaking….how may I assist you?”

Angry Man (suppressing titter): “Jim mellowdew here. I hear there’s a waiting list for spaces in Halcyon Days, and as a long-standing resident of the borough, I would like to put my name down now, before it’s too late.”

Mr S: “Very forward-thinking of you sir. Are any of your nearest and dearest already, er, residing at Halcyon?”

AM: “There are, but the plot is full. We are a family of very healthy eaters, and even when we are dust, there is a lot of dust to inter. Its not that I haven’t made alternative suggestions….”

Mr S (in the background is the sound of shuffling papers and the crashing of filing cabinet drawers): “Ah yes….Mellowdew….I thought i knew that name…..”

AM: “….my great-grandfather was a prisoner-of-war in Colditz. When his time came a few years ago, I suggested that he was cremated and that at the interment, we men wore trousers with holes in the pockets. We could have walked around Halcyon with his ashes in our pockets, and let the ashes fall onto the ground in a trickle….”

Mr S “Yes, I remember that suggestion….not very dignified, if I may say so”

AM: “No, but economical and environmentally friendly. Makes the whole process a little less solemn….”

Mr S: “So anyway, Mr Mellowdew, I'll put your name down. It seems that you are, er, 39th on the waiting list, so I'll give you a call when you move up.”

AM: “Thank you, Mr {chortle} Smillie.”

Mr S: “Have you given any thought to how you wish to be, er despatched Mr Mellowdew? Buried or cremated?”

AM: “No idea. You surprise me”

At this point, Mr Smillie gave out an extremely loud sigh, told me he would be in touch and put the receiver down.

As I say, this was about two years ago. I hadn’t paid any more attention to the situation, but was secure in the knowledge that Mr Smillie was a trustworthy chap of high integrity, and that my fate was secure in his black-gloved hands.

And so it was a complete surprise that I took a call on Friday, which went like this….

AM: “Jim Mellowdew speaking….”

Mr S: “Ah, Mr Mellowdew…….Smillie here…….just ringing you up to say that you are now top of the waiting list, so….it’s time…….”

AM: “You mean….?”

Mr S: “Yes, the time has come……”

AM: “No, you can’t mean that. I mean, I’ve just bought 100 credits on Netlog. That’s 20 blogs. That’s about 12 weeks….. “

Mr S: “…the time…..”

AM: “And I haven’t finished the “Are You Being Served” box set my niece got me for my birthday last year. I need to find out who wins “Strictly” this year. I’ve just filled the tank on the car……”

Mr S: “….has come….”

AM: “….and I haven’t even taken the labels out of the Burton suit I bought in the sale last year, let alone worn it. And I’ve just booked a holiday in Majorca….no, I’m not ready!”

Mr S: “….to pay the £50 deposit to secure your plot at Halcyon Days. Cheque or debit or credit card will do…”

I swear he was laughing his gloves off all the while.

Nearly gave me a heart attack….

WHERE I'VE SLEPT

One_Angry_Man — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 13:52:17 UT

I don't have narcolepsy...I'm just a sleepy person! I think I inherited it from my dad, who used to read me stories at night when I was but a lad of 5 or 6...and he would fall asleep mid-sentence! Well it was better than him falling asleep at work....bus drivers aren't very popular if they announce that "the next stop is Trafalgar Square....alight here for ZZZzzzzzzzzzz!"

So, apart from on public transport - including airplanes and as a passenger in cars - this is a list of places and occasions when I've just, er, nodded off (sometimes with good reason!)

SPORTING OCCASIONS
* Watching a football match (No goals, no thrills)
* Watching a snooker match
* Whilst waiting to bat in a cricket match (I lasted one ball while batting, then back to sleep!)

SPECIAL OCCASIONS
* At a New Years' Eve party (drink assisted)
* At the office Christmas dinner (also drink assisted)
* At a rock concert
* At the annual pre-Christmas Departmental Review (we thought it would be a laugh to wear silly Santa hats to the meeting, which was held in a lecture theatre.Everyone bottled out, except yours truly. We were told on entering the theatre that we should turn off our mobiles. As nobody ever rings me, I didn't bother. And so, halfway through the big boss' talk, not only did my mobile ring - loudly - but I was heard to snore - also loudly - and of course drew even more attention to myself by wearing a hat in the shape of a Christmas pudding!!! I liked that job too!)

ALMOST ACCEPTABLE
* In the doctors' waiting room
* In the hospital waiting room
* In the cinema (Most expensive nap ever)
* Sitting at my desk in work (Nobody noticed until I started snoring)
* In the bath (Rubber ducky was most offended)

UNUSUAL
* Whilst clearing out the "junk" room (I was lying on the floor trying to see what was under the bed, and the next thing I knew....)
* At the tube station on a seat (drink induced)
* On the loo (Bad case of DVT when I woke up)

INEXCUSABLE
* In a team meeting at work (there were 4 of us present, so it didn't go un-noticed)
* Whilst visiting someone in hospital (The next bed was occupied, and it was warm in there)
* On the phone (I'll never ring a chatline again - cost me £98.75 for 10 minutes....)

UNBELIEVEABLE
* During foreplay (Thankfully the sheep didn't mind.....)

PLACES AND TIMES I'VE NEVER SLEPT
* In the shower (Close a couple of times)
* In a job interview (although if I ever went for a job as a mattress tester, my skill would be invaluable)
* Riding a bicycle (I suspect freewheeling down a long hill might tempt me though)
* In the frozen food aisle in Morrisons
* On a traffic island whilst crossing the road
* In Cadbury World (Impossible...too much good stuff going on!)

WOUNDED

One_Angry_Man — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 07:24:58 UT

Anyone else watch Wounded last night?

Shame on you if you didn't.

The next time someone who manages to stop a ball going in a net is called "a hero" and gets an obscene amount of money for doing so, or a z-list nobody is called "brave" for spending a couple of weeks out in the jungle and being asked to eat a few insects just to prove what a "celebrity" they are, think back to those whose stories were told in Wounded.

Then reconsider the definition of "bravery" and "a hero".

NURSERY RHYMES

One_Angry_Man — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 13:40:28 UT

TOMMY TUCKER
Little Tommy Tucker, Sings for his supper….
(More pushy parents. Poor Tommy won’t get fed again till he wins X-Factor)

WEE WILLIE WINKIE
Wee Willie Winkie, Runs through the town
Upstairs, downstairs, In his nightgown,
Rapping at the windows…..
(Who does he think he is? Eminem???

THERE WAS AN OLD WOMAN OF LEEDS
There was an old woman of Leeds
Who spent all her time in good deeds….
(I didn’t know Mother Theresa was from Yorkshire)

THE OWL AND THE PUSSYCAT
The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat…
(But when the boat docked, there was just the Pussycat picking his teeth with an owl feather…)

PETER PETER PUMPKIN EATER
Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater…
(Needs to vary his diet, and make sure he gets his 5-a-day)

OLD MACDONALD
Old MacDonald had a farm….
(But the authorities shut it down because of an outbreak of EColi)

OH WHERE HAS MY LITTLE DOG GONE?
Oh where, oh where has my little dog gone
Oh where, oh where can he be…..
(Any Korean restaurants nearby

LITTLE MISS MUFFET
Little Miss Muffet, sat on a tuffet
Eating her curds and whey
Along came a spider, and sat down beside her….
(But the spider didn’t realise that she had had a course of hypnotherapy to cure her arachnophobia, and so he went away, disappointed)

Little Miss Muffet, sat on a tuffet
Eating her curds and whey
Along came a spider, and sat down beside her….
(But this time, she’d brought a rolled-up newspaper….poor spidey….)

LITTLE BO PEEP
Little Bo Peep, has lost her sheep
And doesn’t know where to find them….
(On the one hand, looks like there’ll soon be a vacancy for a shepherdess…..on the other hand, unemployment figures look like they’ll increase by 1)

JACK BE NIMBLE
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick….
(Cos Usain Bolt doesn’t half motor!)

THE GRAND OLD DUKE OF YORK
The Grand old Duke of York, he had ten thousand men…
(The Guinness Book of Records classes this as the largest gay orgy ever)

HICKORY DICKORY DOCK
Hickory dickory dock
The mouse ran up the clock…
(Last time I use one of those 99p Shop mouse traps)

HUSH-A-BYE BABY
Hush-a-bye baby, on the tree top
When the wind blows the cradle will rock
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all….
(And Social Services will say that they were “aware of the family and their living conditions” and were in the process of moving them to safer accommodation)

AS I WAS GOING TO St IVES
As I was going to St Ives, I met a man with seven wives….
(Just think of that! Seven mothers-in-law! Ouch)

CRY BABY BUNTING
Cry baby bunting, daddy’s gone-a-hunting…..
(Stop snivelling child. Shit happens. Get over it. You want to eat don’t you

DIDDLE DIDDLE DUMPLING
Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John
Went to bed with his socks on
One shoe off and one shoe on
Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John
(Bit young for an all-night bender isn't he?

EARLY TO BED
Early to bed, early to rise
Makes little Johnny…..
(A GMTV presenter)

TWINKLE TWINKLE
Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are….
(A star, you moron. A Star!)

REASONS WHY I’M ANGRY, PART 2

One_Angry_Man — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 08:03:02 UT

My job is extremely boring.

In a world of dead-end jobs, I should have my work station in a crematorium.

My job description specifically states “arranging paper clips into size and colour”, “sharpening the office pencil”, “stapling one piece of paper to another” and “any other tasks deemed appropriate by the supervising officer”.

Most employees dread any tasks falling under this last category. I positively loathe them, because it usually means helping out the Education Department during their busy periods, simply because I used to work there full time previously. The fact that I went to a school that was approved probably helps too.

“I know, seeing as we’re inundated with idiotic phone calls from people wanting information, we’ll get old Jim back…he’s always helpful, tolerant, polite, knowledgeable, punctual, efficient, he scrubs up well and he buys biscuits….” I always say that they’ve got me confused with someone else, but they say differently.

So off I go every year, abandoning my paper clips to the haphazard approach of the temp, leaving my pencils to blunt, my papers unshuffled, my numbers uncrunched, and my clean “Counterfeit Stones” mug to the mercy of any Tom, Dick or Harry who’s too lazy to wash their own cup. I’ll never see it again, I know.
This year, I tried to pre-empt this request for assistance by recording my own, er, pre-recoded message, complete with menu…..

“Hello. You’ve reached the Education Department. If you wanted another department within the council, please re-dial and speak slowly and in English to our highly trained switchboard staff, who will probably display their own unique work ethic and considerable customer care skills by putting the call straight back to me. After speaking to me for the fifth time, you may wish to reconsider whether your call is necessary.
Alternatively, if you wanted the Education Department…congratulations! Please tell everyone how efficient, helpful, tolerant and polite we are, and specifically mention the name “Jim Mellowdew” because that way I may get the bonus I so richly deserve.

OK. Please press the number on your keypad that corresponds with the most likely scenario of your query or statement that sums up your present circumstances and the nature of your call to the Education Department. If you didn’t understand that sentence, please hang up, because you sure as hell won’t understand anything we have to say about getting a student loan.

Now, press “1” if you are going to start your first sentence with “well, what it is, right…” or “basically”, because that means you are going to tell me your life story before we get to the bit where you say that you haven’t got the money to pay your course fees or accommodation costs. Please state clearly and concisely the reason for your call in your first sentence, so that I can decide quite quickly who to pass you on to, so I don’t have to waste valuable time and energy.

Press “2” if you think that we will actually give you the money for your course up front and without you having to do anything silly like enrol, or attend. Your call will be diverted to the Benefits Agency or the local Mental Health Trust, both of whom would like to ask you some simple, yet pertinent questions.

Press “3” if you just want to know if your application has been received. If that is the case, your name is Nemesis Fotheringay isn’t it? Nemesis – you handed your application to the Education Department Officer yourself. She stamped your receipt with the date and exact time, and passed your application to the Assessment Officer, who also gave you a receipt. She also posted a copy to your home address and a photocopy of the duplicate to your mother’s address. YOU TOOK A PICTURE OF THE WHOLE TRANSACTION ON YOUR MOBILE!!!! And besides, it was only yesterday. Your call is being diverted to a random call centre in Mumbai where they speak only the language of the late great Stanley Unwin.

If you are sure you know the answer to your query, but wanted some stranger at the other end of the telephone to agree with whatever you say, press “4”. This is one reason why I am good at this job - because I was once married and learned to agree with whatever the old battleaxe said.

Press “5” if you aren’t sure if I’m the right person to speak to. Trust me – I’m not. Do yourself a favour and try dialling 8 numbers at random. The odds are better.

Press “6” if you are going to start your conversation with “Hello, it’s John here….” And expect me to use my phenomenal psychic powers to not only know who you are but your reason for calling and the answer too. I’m good, but Derren Brown I aint.

Press “7” if your first word is going to be “yes”. Are you a footballer doing an interview on Match of the Day? I think not. You haven’t been asked any questions yet…unless you are replying to the question: “then you are Nemesis Fotheringay, aren’t you?” in which case you’ve chosen the wrong option again. Redial and press option 3, Nemesis.

Press “8” if you are ringing up with that old chestnut that, in your day, the government paid your tuition fees for you, so why does your son/daughter/the twins have to pay? Yes, you pay your taxes. Yes, it IS unfair, but sh*t happens. Deal with it. Your call is being re-directed to Alistair Darling.

Press “9” if you want to know what time I’ll be home for dinner. Mother – I’m a grown man and I don’t live at home any more. And how many times have I told you not to call me at work?

And you wonder why I'm angry?

YOU WONDER WHY I’M ANGRY?

One_Angry_Man — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 10:44:42 UT

Yes, people ask that quite often. They say: “Angry Man, why are you angry?” Now that makes me angry to start with. But let me give you an example of what has made me so angry….

4a.m. this morning. All is quiet in the Mellowdew household. Apart from my snoring that is, and only Dizzy the spider is bothered by that, and he can hide under the bath panel.

It has been a muggy night, and I have slept with the windows open slightly. Risky, that, especially here in the badlands where an open window is an invitation to a multitude of possible crimes, and a welcome mat to numerous creepy crawlies.

4:03a.m. and I am awake. My bladder has been complaining of being full to the brim for a while now, and I have just been to the loo, flushed the chain (economy setting), and ruined Dizzy’s beauty sleep. Do spiders need beauty sleep? Anyway, I have just returned to my comfy bed, hoping to cram in another two hours of much-needed beauty sleep myself before I have to throw the alarm clock at the wall.

And in the distance, beyond the comfort of my pillow, outside the windows, and in the wild environs of north London, I can hear the dulcet tones of The Nomadic Wombats on a car stereo. Loud. The song that goes: “Gonna wake you up, yeahhhhh, gonna shake you up, yeahhhhh, then I’m gonna stake you up, oh yeahhhh, And sacrifice your soul….” You know the one. Their love song. Forget what its called now. Something like “I’ll Never Find Another You, But I’m Gonna Keep Looking Anyway”.

I digress. I know from that noise, and the way that the clutch is crying out for a visit from Social Services that it is the impending approach of my neighbour, Clarence Clump, on his way home from the night shift. The Nomadic Wombats get gradually louder until the reverberations cause my prized picture of the dogs playing poker to fall from its nail in the wall.

Not only does Mr C use the “I’m in this gear and I’m not changing for anyone” method of driving, but the car’s exhaust has a hole in it. The hole is roughly the same size as that in the average Polo mint, but the noise cannot be drowned out, even by the Wombats at volume 11. Of course, it gets worse the more his leaden foot applies pressure to the accelerator, and as he cannot park a car for love nor money, he applies lots of pressure to the right pedal.

He is such a bad parker, and a typical male, i.e. no real awareness of size or accuracy. He spent 15 minutes trying to manoeuvre his small hatchback into a space roughly equal to a golf course. During this time he hits the kerb several times, resulting in a squeal of pain from his radials who pleaded for him to stop. It is at this point that he runs over a discarded Lucozade bottle – the plastic ones that make the satisfying noise when you run over them. He likes the “crack” so much that he does it again 4 more times. Did you know that even on the 5th occasion, a Lucozade bottle will still make a loud crackling noise when run over at 4:15a.m? Possibly, this is due to the acoustics and the lack of alternative noise at that hour of the day.

And just when the cacophony of Nomadic Wombats, popping exhaust, cracking plastic, tyre squeal and clutch grind seems to have reached its peak, Mr C opens his door to check the distance from the kerb, the angle that he has parked at and the Health & Safety Regulations regarding the proximity of the nearest parked vehicle, i.e. is a car parked on the driveway of a house in the next borough too close? As he opens the driver’s door, it becomes clear that he hasn’t been to the garage to buy some WD40 or lubricating oil to fix that really annoying, loud creaking sound that the door makes when it is opened.

And he doesn’t just do it once..oh no – he has a routine: drive car 4 yards forward, drive car 4 yards in reverse, don’t turn steering wheel either time, open door, walk around car, shake head as if to say “I could have sworn it was perfect that time. Somebody must have moved the road…”, get in car, close door, and do the same again. Or, imagine you are lying in bed and you can’t see Mr C…what you would hear would be:
• High revving of an old engine
• Plastic bottle cracking
• Exhaust splutter
• Crunch of gears
• Plastic bottle cracking
• Squeak of door
• Nomadic Wombats music increasing in volume as door remains open
• Footsteps of Mr C walking around car
• Sound of Mr C scratching head (think sandpaper on wood)
• Squeak of door
• Sound of car door slamming
• Thankfully, volume of Nomadic Wombats music falls as door closes

And the same again…and again….imagine listening to Radio 1 loudly in one ear, and the magnified sound of Rice Krispies in the other. Get the picture?

And he sees me motioning to him from my half-hidden location behind the curtains that I am in the process of getting dressed and grabbing a 7-iron with which to beat him and his rent-a-wreck and the Wombats into the next world. And what does he do?

He waves at me, and says “ah, morning Mellowdew. Didn’t expect to see you up so early in the morning… Glorious day, isn’t it?”

You wonder why I’m angry?

KIDS WRITING ABOUT THE OCEAN

One_Angry_Man — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 09:19:47 UT

This was emailed to me yesterday, and I haven't stopped laughing since....apparently they are all true, and taken from children's essays about the ocean.....

1) This is a picture of an octopus. It has eight testicles. (Kelly, age 6)

2) Oysters' balls are called pearls. (Jerry, age 6)

3) If you are surrounded by ocean, you are an island. If you don't have ocean all round you, you are incontinent. (Chris, age 7)

4) Sharks are ugly and mean, and have big teeth, just like Emily Richardson. She's not my friend any more. (Kylie, age 6)

5) A dolphin breaths through an asshole on the top of its head. (Billy, age 8)

6) My uncle goes out in his boat with two other men and a woman and pots and comes back with crabs.
(Millie, age 6)

7) When ships had sails, they used to use the trade winds to cross the ocean. Sometimes when the wind didn't blow the sailors would whistle to make the wind come. My brother said they would have been better off eating beans. (William, age 7)

8) Mermaids live in the ocean.. I like mermaids. They are beautiful and I like their shiny tails, but how on earth do mermaids get pregnant? Like, really? (Helen, age 6)

9) I'm not going to write about the ocean. My baby brother is always crying, my dad keeps yelling at my mom, and my big sister has just got pregnant, so I can't think what to write. (Amy, age 6)

10) Some fish are dangerous. Jelly fish can sting. Electric eels can give you a shock. They have to live in caves under the sea where I think they have to plug themselves in to chargers. (Christopher, age 7)

11) When you go swimming in the ocean, it is very cold, and it makes my willy small. (Kevin, age 6)

12) Divers have to be safe when they go under the water. Divers can't go down alone, so they have to go down on each other.(Becky, age 8)

13) On vacation my mom went water skiing. She fell off when she was going very fast. She says she won't do it again because water fired right up her big fat ass. (Julie, age 7)

14) The ocean is made up of water and fish. Why the fish don't drown I don't know. (Bobby, age 6)

15) My dad was a sailor on the ocean. He knows all about the ocean. What he doesn't know is why he quit being a sailor and married my mom. (James, age 7)

I don't want to be Millie's uncle, and I certainly know how Kevin feels!

WHY I AM WHAT I AM

One_Angry_Man — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 09:14:15 UT

I was a war baby. My parents took one look at me and started fighting. They were surprised when I was born – they were expecting a boy or a girl. They fed me onions so they could find me in the dark.

I’ll skip over my childhood….suffice to say it was sad. At school they called me teachers pet because the teacher couldn’t afford a dog. I used to play for a football team called the Scrambled Eggs but we were always being beaten. Whenever I got some birthday money, my parents made me put it in a special money box….it was years later that I realised this was the electricity meter.

But it was in later life that the troubles began and made me what I am today. And, sad to say, it was my ex who is to blame.

I wasn’t always angry. I used to be easy going and mild mannered. And then I met Lucretia. She changed my life and took over. We were engaged for 6 months before I even knew about it. It started off as puppy love – at least that’s what I thought when I felt her cold nose. But I loved her for what she was…rich! She had such a pretty chin. She quickly added two more. She tried dieting, but it was just wishful shrinking.

We married, and there was a shower for the bride. It was curtains for me. She made little effort on our wedding day. In fact, she looked so unappealing all the men kissed me. Her family clubbed together to buy us a 50-piece dinner set – a box of toothpicks.

Her heart belonged to me, but the rest of her went out with other men. I kept giving her going away presents but she never did. Truthfully, she was very dear to me. She cost me a fortune. Having said that, during our entire time together, we only had one argument. It lasted 21 years.

I was married for 5 years without telling anyone – because I prefer to keep my troubles to myself. As a wife she lacked that sympathetic touch. Whenever I hurt myself, she proved what a lousy nurse she was. She couldn’t put dressing on a salad. However, she was like a wild animal in bed…she snored liked a hippo.

Towards the end of the marriage, she would disappear for long periods. Once, she went missing for four days. I didn’t know if she’d left me or had gone shopping. She was always proud of her appearance. She dressed to kill. She cooked that way too. As I used to say “where there’s smoke – there’s my wife’s cooking”. But she didn’t miss me much. In fact, she had a remarkably accurate throw for a woman.

We tried to introduce some of the old magic back into our relationship. Unfortunately, we’d sold our conjuring set at a boot sale in 1998. She turned down my advances in the bedroom, claiming headaches. She refused phone sex, saying she had earache.

I drank to her health so often that I ruined my own, and now I only drink when I’m alone or with someone else. I thought “the sooner I never see her face again, the better it will be for both of us when we meet”. I’ll never get married again. Instead, I’ll just find a woman I hate and buy her a house; it’ll be much quicker and less painful. The problem is that I love women so much I must be a lesbian, but I have to face it that my wild oats are now shredded wheat.

To get over these disappointments, I tried a career change. I took a stiff exam to be a coroner. I joined the navy to see the world. Four years I was stuck on that submarine. In conflict, I lost my left arm, my left ear, my left eye and my left leg. I’m all right now.

Of course, there are the mental scars, but a psychiatrist is helping me. I never used to answer the phone because I was afraid. Now I answer it whether it rings or not.

NETLOG NURSERY RHYMES

One_Angry_Man — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 12:11:14 UT

OK OK I admit - I've got too much time on my hands, but here are some children's songs and nursery rhymes adapted for Netlog and other social notworking sites.

MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB
Mary had a little cam
Some thought her white as snow
But every night on MSN
Tune in to see her go!

HUSH A BYE BABY
Hush a bye baby on the tree top
Daddy’s downstairs – he’s writing a blog
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
When mummy comes home, she’ll cut off his balls.

JACK AND JILL
Jack and Jill went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water
Jill confessed she was a bloke
And Jack was a roadsweeper’s daughter.

RING-A-RING-A-ROSES
Ring-a-ring-a-roses
A pocket full of posies,
Atishoo, atishoo
Bugger – swine flu!

LITTLE JACK HORNER
Little Jack Horner sat in the corner
Laptop on his knee
He entered his name and swiftly became
Sexy_Legs73.

OH WHERE, OH WHERE HAS MY LITTLE DOG GONE
Oh where, oh where
Has my little blog gone
Oh where, oh where can it be?
I wanted it in the Spotlight so much
But my credits run out – silly me!

TOM TOM THE PIPERS SON
Tom Tom, the pipers son
Put “bum” in the shoutbox and away he run
The Moderator became over heated
And Tom came back to find his profile deleted.

MARY MARY QUITE CONTRARY
Mary, Mary, quite contrary
How does your friends list grow?
“Well, I upload pics of me in my knicks
The pink ones from Primark, you know”.

RAIN RAIN GO AWAY
Fake, fake – go away
Find another site to play
Fake, fake – go to Spain
Don’t come back on here again.

LITTLE MISS MUFFET
Little Miss Muffet, sat on her tuffet
Chatting on Netlog all day
She then changed her filter, and all went off kilter
She’s now called Miss Muppet, OK?

YOU ARE OLD FATHER WILLIAM
"You are old, father William” the young man said
“And your hair has become very white,
And yet you incessantly chat to young girls
Do you think, at your age, that is right?”

“In my youth” Father William replied to his son
“There were no social networking sites.
But now that I’m old, I would like to have fun
Before my libido takes flight”.

“You are old” said the youth, “as I mentioned before.
You can’t play on Netlog all day.
I’ve got to do something you dirty old man –
I’m taking your laptop away!”

Any more?

CHECK OUT

One_Angry_Man — Fri, 14 Aug 2009 09:37:01 UT

A man approaches the empty Reception desk at an accommodation establishment, and rings the bell for attention. The Receptionist pokes his head out from under the counter, and slowly rises to his full height before addressing the guest.

Receptionist: “Ah yes, you’re leaving us today aren’t you sir? I hope everything was to your satisfaction?”

Guest: “Well…”

R: “Sorry to interrupt you sir, but we would be grateful if you could spend a few moments longer with us to answer a few questions about your stay here. Customer satisfaction. Continuous improvement, you know what it’s like sir? It’ll only take a few minutes..”

G: “OK. My driver isn’t here yet, so I have some time. What do you want to know?”

R: “Well, firstly, your room. Was it to your satisfaction?”

G: “A bit sparse. The bed was hard. The view from the window was of an industrial plant. No greenery anywhere. The wardrobe nearly fell apart when I put my shoes in it. The en-suite toilet was always blocking, and the sink was dirty. Having to go down the corridor for a shower was inconvenient. And there was no mini-bar.”

R: “OK sir. Moving on, how about the room facilities…”

G: “I requested the Independent be delivered daily – I never received it once during my time here. I had to borrow the library copy on all other occasions. Tell a lie – I got the paper delivered twice…but both times there were words and letters missing out of the headlines…”

R: “Anything else?”

G: “ I also left my shoes outside the door every night to be cleaned, but they were never touched. Well, apart from the three occasions when I opened the door in the morning to find that they had been stolen. A bunch of criminals you have in here….”

R: “Now, sir, I think you’ll find they are ALL……”

G: “No, don’t stop me now. Room service was non-existent, and the emergency buzzer was never answered. I was in serious trouble that night when you’d double-booked the room and I had to share it with that guy from Hull with the strange personal habits and unfamiliarity with personal hygiene….”

R: “An oversight, sir….”

G: “An oversight? Not once was my bed made for me, in fact on more than one occasion I came back to find that it had been completely upturned and the bedclothes were on the floor. I was never provided with clean towels, and quite frankly I didn’t like the idea of guests having to take turns at doing the laundry. I’m a 44 regular – you try squeezing that into a 38 long.”

R: “You mentioned towels, sir. Have you any comments on the shower facilities?”

G: “I know I got this room on the cheap, but the least I would have expected was to have had bathing facilities in the room. Instead, I was forced to take turns with the rest of the people in the communal shower. I’m all for getting to know people and I have no real axe to grind with those more, er, feminine members of the male gender, but shower-sharing just isn’t my thing, especially as it seems that every guest is encouraged to shower at the same time every day. I also found it shocking that I was never provided with shower gel or soap, and I had to borrow some from other guests, some of whom were very blunt about the fact that they expected something in return. And I was only provided with one shower cap for the whole of my stay.”

R: “Well I’m afraid that only those guests in the more “exclusive” rooms have en-suite bathing facilities sir. And by not providing shower caps on a regular basis, we are saving not only money but the occasional unfortunate incident. “

G: “Hrumph…. occasional unfortunate incident?”

R: “I can’t go into details, sir, but the incidents incurred so much additional expenditure on latex gloves….anything else, sir?”

G: “I requested a smoking room…”

R: “Health and Safety I’m afraid sir..”

G: “Health & Safety? Four people sharing a shower is ok, but you can’t have a fag in your room?"

R: “You could have had a fag in the shower. As many as you liked, sir….just not in your room…” {sniggers salaciously}

G: “On the plus side, the library was well-stocked. Mills & Boon aren’t my personal choices of late night reading material, but then again, the nightly “power cuts” at 10pm meant that I slept well. You want to get a new postman too – all of my letters looked as though they had been steamed open before they got to me. And he has an intimate picture of my good lady wife in a scarlet basque which I would like returned. The food was atrocious….indescribable…the only good thing is that I have lost several pounds during my stay here. The leisure facilities are quite primitive and at times, resemble a school playground…”

R: “And the staff sir…how did you find them?”

G: “Unco-operative, no sense of humour, aggressive, vindictive, rude, arrogant, blinkered, judgmental, officious little Hitlers…..”

R: “Thank you sir, we do our best. Well, thank you for taking the time and trouble to complete our questionnaire. We hope you enjoyed your stay, and you comments will be taken on board should you care to stay at Her Majesty’s Prison Wandsworth again. And don’t leave it so long next time, Mr Biggs…..”

Inspired by Ronnie Biggs, and also a report in the Metro this morning that prisons are asking inmates to complete “customer satisfaction” surveys….ridiculous.

WORDPLAY

One_Angry_Man — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 12:31:56 UT

A few new words, phrases, and meanings.

CURRY FAVOUR
To perform a service for someone who will prepare a chicken tikka masala in return, as payment.

EPAY
To settle one's bills online. Also EPAYER One who settles bills online.

METRO GNOME
A person of small stature who hands out the freebie newspaper at the station in the mornings.

SCREEN SHOP
To purchase items from QVC, Ideal World or other tv shopping channels.

VIBE RATER
A person whose job it is to assess the success of an event.

SQUALORSHIP
Financial assistance given to university students who come from very poor areas.

BEADOPHILE
Someone addicted to crafting.

TEETERY OIL
A colloquial term for alcohol or strong liquor. As in "Jim's plastered - too much Teetery Oil..."
Literally - oil which makes one teeter. Not to be confused with Tea Tree Oil.

OK, there must be many more. Over to you fellow Netloggers....

THE MADNESS OF JIM MELLOWDEW

One_Angry_Man — Fri, 31 Jul 2009 08:26:12 UT

I suppose it all started about a year ago. That was when I first heard “The Voices”.

No, not the indie rock band. The subliminal voices, the ones which force you to do things you’d never even considered before. You must have heard them…or is it just me?

The first time I heard them, they said “Sign up to Netlog – we dare you…” And so I did. I haven’t regretted it since. Well, just the once when I violated the Code of Conduct by uploading a picture of a peanut on a pedalo..but anyone can make a mistake, can’t they?

So the next time I heard “The Voices”, I welcomed their suggestion. If it was as good as being a Netlog member, what could I lose? I lost my stapler, that’s what. The Voices said “lend your stapler to your colleague Ginger…” So I did. Ginger said “I’m working from home tomorrow, Jim. Can I take your stapler with me. I’ll return it on Wednesday.”

Being a kind sort, I agreed. Well who wouldn’t? I just didn’t know at that point that Ginge was going to perish in the only recorded quad bike/jumbo jet collision in Essex. And what was Ginge doing riding a quad bike and carrying my stapler at the same time? Its no wonder there was an accident. Let that be a lesson to you all…never run with scissors, and don’t carry a stapler whilst quad biking on the runway at Stansted.

I miss that stapler.

Then, a couple of months ago, I noticed my concentration span getting shorter and oh I can’t be bothered…my tolerance level was too. I began losing my temper. Even when I lost my temper, I still had a temper. Yes, it was that bad.

Another colleague was telling me about her cat, and how it wasn’t well. She went on so long that the cat could have walked slowly to Skegness from London on only three paws and using only B-roads and still arrived before the story finished.

I kicked off. I said that I hoped the cat was recovering as my life wouldn’t be the same if anything happened to it. I also said that I loved animals – as long as there was room on the plate for the vegetables and chips. She called me “callous” and slapped me.

I did apologise the following day, and added that I thoroughly enjoyed my meal in the Filipino restaurant that night….

Then, earlier this week, one of my colleagues found me cowered in a corner of the staff kitchen. I was complaining that I would never be able to cook as well as Delia Smith, and I was listening to the “Best of Grand Funk Railroad” on my iPod. I even argued that Grand Funk had made some of the most influential rock music of the 70s, so I was clearly not right. (Even though “Inside Looking Out” is nearly 10 minutes of the finest droning guitarwork ever…..see? Insane)

And so, dear reader, I am having a little break from Netlog – just a week in a special hotel….I get to walk in the grounds with a burly male nurse, take lots of tablets (they call them Smarties but I know the truth….), I don’t have to wear a belt, shoelaces or a tie, and every mealtime is like a picnic, due to our having to use plastic cutlery…..

See you in a week or so, fellow Netloggers!

ANSWERS TO SONG TITLE QUESTIONS

One_Angry_Man — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 13:10:12 UT

1 IF I SAID YOU HAD A BEAUTIFUL BODY, WOULD YOU.....
- Hold it against me
- Sue me
- Invite me to cam on MSN when you were home alone and bored
- Send your four burly brothers round to encourage me not to voice my opinions so freely in future
- Advise me to go to SpecSavers immediately.

2 IS THIS THE WAY TO AMARILLO?
- You're not even in the right solar system, friend
- Isn't that on the Jubilee Line? Yeah, sure it is. Change at Charing Cross.
- Find yourself a Halfords and buy a sat nav, pal
- Google it
- Amarillo? Isn't that a kind of anteater with a hard shell? Not an armadillo then? In that case, I haven't got a clue

3 SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO?
- We'd really like you to stay, Jim, and wear this special nightgown. Those? Yes, they do look like restraints on the side of the bed....
- Not much bothered, but if you go, I want to see if the smell goes with you
- Go! Walk out the door! Don't turn around now, cause you're not welcome any more
- Well I can't make your mind up for you can I?
- Maybe THIS will make up your mind....

4 I'D WALK...
- 500 miles
- You to the bus stop at the top of Dawkins Road if you'd promise to catch the 266 and never come back here again
- From the sofa to the tv to change channels if the batteries on the remote were worn out, but only till you came back from Asda with a new set, mind
- A million miles for one of your smiles, my Mammy
- To the bar to get a drink but I'm using your skateboard to make the return journey

5 WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?
- The Animal Liberation Front
- I don't know officer, they was all wearing balaclavas and they threatened to come back and crush me skull if I grassed
- It was an accident....I never meant to open the gate, honest......
- This is a greyhound stadium - those are traps and the greyhounds need to be let out of them so that they can race....do you understand?
- Well? Was it you Philip? No? How about you Charles? Well, I'm not going to knight anyone else till I find out...

6 WHO'S THE DADDY?
- Probably Silvio Berlusconi - he's quite active at the moment...
- If the DNA test says its me, then I'll be the best father that child could ever have, Jeremy
- If the DNA test says I'm not the father, I'm having nothing to do with you or the kid, right? I'm walking away...
- I don't really know - I was two-timing you with the USA Olympic squad at the time....
- Well, the baby's got your cousin's eyes, your cousin's nose, your cous......oh no....

There have got to be more out there!

I HAD A HEADACHE TO START WITH

One_Angry_Man — Thu, 23 Jul 2009 14:04:03 UT

Instead of visiting my local supermarket on the way home from work, I decided to get what I needed on the way to work.

Mistake.

I wanted one item. I thought I could pay for it at the “Cigs & Lottery” kiosk where they allowed you to buy a maximum of three items unless you looked hard, and then you could buy as many as you liked.

Wrong.

All change. I could either queue up at the only staffed till with the rest of North London and risk not only being late for work but also missing out on my summer holiday and Christmas, or use the new “self-service” tills.

Well, they couldn’t be too much trouble, could they? The instructions were quite simple really….

SCAN THE ITEM LEFT TO RIGHT {L – R} -------->

FOR THOSE WHO AREN'T SURE, IF YOU ARE RIGHT-HANDED, YOU WEAR YOUR WATCH ON YOUR LEFT WRIST, AND IF YOU ARE LEFT-HANDED, YOU WEAR YOUR WATCH ON YOUR RIGHT WRIST. OF COURSE, THIS DOESN'T REALLY HELP IF YOU DON'T KNOW LEFT FROM RIGHT.

MAKE SURE SCANNER BEEPS

MAKE SURE SCANNER BEEPS ONCE PER ITEM

DID THE SCANNER BEEP? YES / NO

DID THE SCANNER BEEP ONCE PER ITEM? YES / NO

Short pause….

YOUR ITEM WAS……NO FRILLS PARACETAMOL.

IF THIS IS CORRECT, PRESS “CORRECT”. IF IT IS NOT CORRECT, PRESS “INCORRECT”. IF YOU WANTED NORMAL STRENGTH PARACETAMOL, PRESS “BACK”. IF YOU WANTED NUROFEN, PRESS “BACK” TWICE.

YOU MAY ONLY PURCHASE A MAXIMUM OF 2 PACKETS OF THIS PRODUCT, OR ELSE YOU WILL CONTRAVENE HEALTH & SAFETY REGULATIONS. IF YOU AGREE, PRESS “YES”. IF NOT, PRESS “NO”.

DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE WORD “CONTRAVENE”? YES / NO

DO YOU KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO YOU IF YOU TAKE TOO MANY NO FRILLS PARACETAMOL? YES / NO

PRESS “CONTINUE” TO CONTINUE SHOPPING, OR PRESS “CHECKOUT” TO END.

“CHECKOUT” PRESSED. ARE YOU SURE? YES / NO

NOTHING LEFT IN YOUR BASKET THAT YOU THINK YOU COULD JUST, ER, “FORGET” TO SCAN? YES / NO

FINAL CHANCE – REMEMBER OUR SECURITY GUARDS ARE EVER VIGILANT.

HOW MANY OF OUR CARRIER BAGS DID YOU USE? {ENTER NUMBER}_______

IF “NIL” HOW MANY OF YOUR OWN BAGS DID YOU USE? {ENTER NUMBER}_______

DID THEY ALL DISPLAY THE LOGO FROM THIS SUPERMARKET CHAIN, OR ONE OF OUR RIVALS?

PLEASE SCAN YOUR LOYALTY CARD, LEFT TO RIGHT {L – R} YOU DO HAVE A LOYALTY CARD, DON’T YOU? YES / NO

IF “YES”, WHY ARE YOU NOT USING IT?

IF “NO”, WOULD YOU LIKE TO APPLY FOR ONE? THIS PROCESS WILL ONLY TAKE APPROXIMATELY 10 MINUTES. YES / NO

OK. YOUR LOSS. THIS TRANSACTION WOULD HAVE EARNED YOU 0.005 LOYALTY POINTS OR 2 FEET 8 INCHES IN AIRMILES.

YOUR TOTAL BILL IS £0.79 PLEASE SELECT YOUR PAYMENT METHOD:

[CASH] [CHEQUE] [CREDIT CARD] [DEBIT CARD] [VOUCHERS]

PLEASE NOTE THAT:
• WE NO LONGER ACCEPT CHEQUES
• THERE IS A £5 SURCHARGE ON CREDIT CARD USE
• MINIMUM PURCHASE FOR DEBIT CARDS IS £5
• VOUCHERS ARE ONLY REDEEMABLE BY CUSTOMERS WHO USE THEIR LOYALTY CARD. SORRY, TOO LATE TO CHANGE YOUR MIND NOW.
• THIS MACHINE DOES NOT GIVE CHANGE
• THIS MACHINE ONLY ACCEPTS £5 NOTES.

PLEASE TAKE YOUR RECEIPT.

THANK YOU FOR SHOPPING AT MORTESBURY’S.

SUMMER TV

One_Angry_Man — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 13:22:30 UT

More old/new TV programmes for the summer....

The ScAvengers
John Steed and Mrs Peel fall on hard times in their efforts to quell subversive activity, and finally resort to begging and bin-diving.

The Metallist
Our unorthodox police consultant solves crimes by listening to his "Hammer of the Gods" cd box set and interpreting the subliminal messages between the Judas Priest tracks....

Call My Fluff
Popular quiz game where men suspected of playing away are confronted by their wives, who threaten to phone their man's "bit on the side" to get them to confess. The value of the prize increases the longer the husband can prevent the wife from picking up the phone.

Danger Mousse
Our cartoon hero investigates the unfortunate death of a man who had eaten a dairy product which was well past its "sell by" date.

They Think Its A Pullover
Quiz show where a celebrity's auntie knits something, and the panel have to guess what it is.

Come Whine With Me
5 contestants....10 faces. The dinner party guests tell their hosts that their food was delicious, but behind their backs, and on-camera, inform the viewing public that the meals were totally inedible and fit only for the ScAvengers.

Knuckle Vision
2 moustaches. 2 big noses. 2 GI Joe haircuts. 2 men who should know better, but still try to amuse people in an extremely irritating way, and get beaten up for their troubles. Serves them right.

New Trucks
This week, the old-age detectives investigate the case of the man who was knocked down by an entire Eddie Stobart fleet, much to the disdain of their younger, blonde, busty boss. Also in the series, there is "New Tracks" where the old boys investigate the death of an old hippy who apparently dies of listening to remastered versions of Grateful Dead songs, much to the disdain of their younger, blonde, busty boss, and "New Trikes" where the pensioners investigate the death of old people who apparently die after being run over by a procession of 2009 pavement scooters, much to the disdain of their younger, blonde, busty boss.

Dislocation, Dislocation, Dislocation
This week, Kirsty and Phil look for a home suitable for a man who plays cricket and keeps wicket for his county.

All Creatures Grunt and Smell
A hilarious look at the life of a vet in the Yorkshire dales, paying particular attention to both ends of the animals he encounters. You can also buy the accompanying guide to this series, which includes the free cd of animal noises, and the exclusive "scratch and sniff" index cards which enable viewers to identify the animals by using only a fingernail and your nose.

Cash In The Arctic
Contestants rummage around the North Pole in an effort to finde something of value to sell at an auction or boot sale. Frozen assets?

Emmanthal
More from the cheesy soap.....

DEAR PEACHES GELDOF

One_Angry_Man — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 14:50:30 UT

Dear Peaches,

Thought I’d write to you as I noticed that you now had a column in a glossy supplement, where you advertised yourself as a “lifestyle counsellor”. This is an adult supplement, and not a girls’ comic, or Heat.

Now, in my day, they were called “agony aunts”, and they acquired their job because of their wealth of experience and knowledge of everyday life, and because they were of an age where they could be considered old enough to be your mother’s sister. I believe a person of your tender years dispensing such advice can only be termed as an “agonising niece”.

Your column – “Peaches Teaches” – really does need to be re-titled “Geldof Grates”, a characteristic inherited from your father’s side of the family, without doubt. But lets not judge without hearing all the evidence. Lets look at YOUR life qualities and experience, and see what you bring to the job.

Firstly, you are 13 years old. OK, OK. An exaggeration. But at 20, you are hardly likely to have experienced everything that someone of, say, 25 or even 27 would have done. I know your father was a “rock star”, but to be honest, the ability to sing in an Irish accent (his natural accent at that) and the inability to comb his own hair are not qualities that guarantee you legend status that you can pass on to your kids as an “access all areas” pass.

Look at Val Doonican – his follicles were beautifully arranged, and he had the added bonus of being able to wear a sweater which looked like his granny had knitted it blindfold, AND he could croon from the comfort of his own rocking chair, but did any of his offspring make the big time in the world of media? No.

Oh, little Daisy-Dingaling Doonican spent a fortnight on work experience as the chief tea-maker of the Bunty comic, and Honeybee Horace Apricot Truffles Pipsqueak Doonican sold the Big Issue successfully for a couple of years in Donegal High Street until the terrible Di Sotto ice cream van disaster of 2005, but I think that daddy’s debatable multi-tasking talents of being able to sit, rock and sing simultaneously with perfectly groomed hair were unable to help promote the kiddies’ careers.

In addition, Daddy Geldof’s songs were not exactly original in the ideas department. “Looking After Number 1” appears to be the family motto. “I Don’t Like Mondays” – well, nothing new there. Yes, he did share the plaudits for the Live Aid gig and asking the question “Do They Know Its Christmas?” every, er, Christmas, but Sir Bob’s only other claim to fame was to knock out ridiculously-named kids with Paula Yates. Not only that, who is your grand-daddy? Oh, Hughie Green, well known tv personality of the 1960s. Nuff said.

On the subject of names, yes, I agree that with a monicker of Peaches Honeyblossom Michelle Charlotte Angel Vanessa Geldof you may have some experience of having the Michael extracted, but it certainly doesn’t give you the right to lecture others on their lifestyles.

I acknowledge that you have some considerable experience of wedded bliss, but I debate whether your 30 minutes of marriage gives you the right to lecture a couple 30 years your senior on the delicate subject of erectile dysfunction, even if you and your husband did spend the entire time of your marriage at the tattoo parlour having each others’ names inked onto your hands as a sign of your everlasting partnership. Has the decree nisi come through yet?

And finally, I do not for one minute believe that your “career” in the media elevates you above anyone else when it comes to life experience. Being a panellist on 8 Out Of 10 Cats doesn’t give you a comprehensive insight into male depressives in their 50s; a brief report on the Size Zero Trend aired on the Tonight With Trevor McDonald show does not prove an incisive knowledge of cutting edge fashion, and appearing on Big Brother’s Big Mouth is quite frankly not something I would want to see on an applicants’ CV if I was interviewing for the post of “lifestyle counsellor”, unless you were applying to counsel MPs on their lifestyles and spending habits.

Needless to say that I will not be reading that particular supplement next time I'm in the doctors' surgery..

Yours,
Jim Mellowdew
(Angry Man)

PS….While I’m writing, I thought I’d ask…..as a man approaching 50, do you think it is normal to want to write complete drivel on a social networking site in the hope of entertaining people, or do you think that my life is sadly lacking…….

DEAR PEACHES GELDOF

One_Angry_Man — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 14:44:00 UT

PEDAL RAGE

One_Angry_Man — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 13:00:20 UT

Had to share this....

I was walking along Oxford Street at lunchtime. I heard the sound of raised, angry voices and car horns, and I saw a crowd of people watching a scene in the middle of a road junction. Some were laughing, some were shouting as if encouraging a fight. I thought an unwitting tourist had not read the Green Cross Code and had paid the price.

On the ground, lying at curious angles, were two bicycles. Standing toe to toe were two helmetted cyclists, jabbing each other in the chest with their index fingers, shouting obscenities and both displaying the scars of a recent meeting with tarmac, i.e. torn lycra, scrapes to their knees, helmets at jaunty angles etc.

Apparently, one of them had jumped the lights at this junction, while the other had tried to cross from the road to the right after the lights had turned red. Both were so busy giving the finger to pedestrians who had nearly been run down that they weren't looking where they were going, and so collided with each other.

Both were blaming the other.

Pot, kettle, black?

Qantas Airlines: Repair Division

One_Angry_Man — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 09:52:22 UT

Just received this in an email...haven't stopped laughing yet!

In case you need a laugh: remember, it takes a college degree to fly a plane but only a high
school diploma to fix one.

After every flight, Qantas pilots fill out a form, called a 'Gripe Sheet' which tells mechanics about problems with the aircraft. The mechanics correct the problems; document their repairs on the form, and then pilots review the Gripe Sheets before the next flight.

Never let it be said that Aussie ground crews lack a sense of humour.

Here are some actual maintenance complaints submitted by Qantas' pilots (marked with a P) and the solutions recorded (marked with an S) by maintenance engineers.

By the way, Qantas is the only major airline that has never, ever, had an accident.....

P: Left inside main tire almost needs replacement.
S: Almost replaced left inside main tire.

P: Test flight OK, except auto-land very rough.
S: Auto-land not installed on this aircraft.

P: Something loose in cockpit.
S: Something tightened in cockpit.

P: Dead bugs on windshield.
S: Live bugs on back-order.

P: Autopilot in altitude-hold mode produces a 200 feet per minute descent.
S: Cannot reproduce problem on ground.

P: Evidence of leak on right main landing gear.
S: Evidence removed.

P: DME volume unbelievably loud.
S: DME volume set to more believable level.

P: Friction locks cause throttle levers to stick.
S: That's what friction locks are for.

P: IFF inoperative in OFF mode.
S: IFF always inoperative in OFF mode.

P: Suspected crack in windshield.
S: Suspect you're right.

P: Number 3 engine missing............. (I love this one!)
S: Engine found on right wing after brief search.

P: Aircraft handles funny
S: Aircraft warned to straighten up, fly right, and be serious.

P: Target radar hums.
S: Reprogrammed target radar with lyrics.

P: Mouse in cockpit.
S: Cat installed.

P: Noise coming from under instrument panel. Sounds like a midget pounding on something with a hammer.
S: Took hammer away from midget.

THE GAME OF THE NAME

One_Angry_Man — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 14:12:07 UT

I suppose it all started with Jennifer Lopez, who shortened her name and became J-Lo. I wonder how many other people have ordered a J-Lo in a pub instead of a J2O….

This trend has been followed by Lindsay Lohan (LiLo), Boris Johnson (BoJo) and now BGT runner-up Susan Boyle, SuBo.

So, I got to thinking, how many other well-known people could have their name shortened in such a fashion to provide a) cheap entertainment at their expense, and a blog. Well, quite a few actually….

Let’s start with history, so Galileo Galilei would become GaGa and Guy Fawkes GFaw.

The acting profession is where this trend started, so let’s go back to Charlie Chaplin (ChaCha), Humphrey Bogart (H-Bog), Doris Day (D-Day or DoDa), Emily Watson (E-Wat), Bob Hoskins (BoHo) and Wesley Snipes (We Snip).

Music gives us a few more: Roy Harper (R-Har), Gareth Gates (another GaGa), Pete Doherty (P-Doh), Jonathan King (JoKing), Joe Cocker (J-Cock) and Nik Kershaw (NikKers). Elton John used to be named Reg Dwight, so he could conceivably become RedWig.

On TV, surprisingly few, but they include Simon Cowell (SiCo), newsreader Natasha Kaplinsky (not cat nap but NatKap), and the BBC London weatherman Peter Cockroft, who becomes PCock.

Sport gives us rich pickings….Ian Botham sounds like the latest device from Apple (IBot), Tim Henman becomes the sound that we all used to make when someone suggested that he might actually win Wimbledon (T-He), snooker player Dennis Taylor ends up as DTayl, and golfer Luke Donald becomes LuDo.

Jenson Button is now J-Butt, while footballer Rio Ferdinand has a name change to R-Fer. Ex-champion jockey Lester Piggott now appeals to the Gallic meat-eaters as “Le Pig”. The current England manager Fabio Capello becomes either FabCap or FaCap, while those of you wanting to shorten the name of West Ham’s Mark Noble had best look away now (Ma Nob). Ex England defender Terry Butcher becomes a fishy TerBut.

But it is cricket which provides the most….the great Viv Richards could be V-Rich, Andy Caddick probably isn’t A-Cad, only for the purposes of this blog. Ex-cricketer and now dancer Darren Gough could be a DaGo. Are we allowed to say that word now? Oh well, its done. Sue me. And which cricket match could take place if the weather forecast is for it to P-Down (Paul Downton)?

Three Sri Lankan cricketers complete my list….Suresh Perera is SuPer, there’s a touch of the north of England about Eric Upashantha – E-Up, whereas it’s probably best not to call Prabath Nissanka by his shortened name (P-Nis).

Finally, to politics, and two very appropriate nicknames…..how about Harriet Harman (HaHa), and our unelected PM Gordon Brown, who should take the country’s advice and Go Bro!

There MUST be some more!

FOOTBALLERS' NAMES

One_Angry_Man — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 12:04:56 UT

Now, you know me...100% serious. So straight-faced that nobody wants to play poker with me. I only blog original stuff. Well today, I blog something from somewhere else, and am I ashmed? Not a chance. These are all genuine footballers' names. And they are brilliant!

1.Danger Fourpence
Danger, a Zimbabwe international defender brilliantly plays alongside such men as Method Mwanjali and Heavens Chinyama.
Current Club: Caps United, Zimbabwe

2.Johnny Moustache
Striker Moustache is currently clubless, but is a genuine international who represents tropical outfit The Seychelles. He’s available on a free transfer.
Current Club: Seychelles

3.Jan Johannes Vennegoor of Hesselink
The Dutch striker with the longest name in football currently plies his trade in Glasgow. Only the fat can currently squeeze his name onto a shirt.
Current Club: Celtic

4.Ice-Cream Osa Guobadia
Nigerian Ice-Cream currently bosses the midfield for Austrian club Schwanenstadt.
Current Club: SC Schwanenstadt

5.Stephen Sunny Sunday
The Nigerian starlet has been likened to a young Claude Makelele and very nearly joined Liverpool in the summer. Sunny now holds a Spanish passport and has represented them at under 21 level.
Current Club: Valencia

6.Naughty Mokoena
Naughty has to have the greatest name of any player to reach the World Cup finals. In 1998 the Ama Zulu player represented South Africa but alas currently does not have a club.
Current Club: Nope.

7.Gregory Playfair
The Dutch midfielder whose name sounds like a referee’s instruction has tragically been booted out of PSV and has retired.
Current Club: Retired

8.Creedence Clearwater Couto
Brazilian playmaker Creedence Clearwater Couto or Creedence Clearwater Revival Couto to give him his real name regularly bangs the goals in at the top of the Belgian Jupiler League.
Current Club: Lierse, Belgium

9.Bongo Christ
Bongo from The Congo…you couldn’t make this up! Striker Bongo has reached the Congo national squad but alas has never made the starting line-up.
Current Club: DR Congo, The Congo

10.Segar Bastard
Not only is Bastard retired, he’s dead. However he is the greatest named striker ever to represent England, and he also once refereed an FA Cup final.
Current Club: Retired

From the site: shortlist.com

REVISED PROVERBS

One_Angry_Man — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 13:31:36 UT

Those who sleep with dogs… are very strange, and likely to be locked up for bestiality…

When the cat’s away…. there is no smell from the litter tray

Having a siesta is….as good as a rest

One good turn….doesn’t make you Lewis Hamilton

All the world loves a lover….although the husband of the woman who is playing away might disagree

You can lead a horse to water…. but he hasn’t got the manual dexterity required to fill the kettle and make a nice cup of coffee….

You can’t make an omelette without….eggs

Never judge a book by its cover….although WH Smiths object if you read it in-store. You just can’t win can you?

A MacDonalds chocolate milk shake….is thicker than water

Do my job for a week = a penny earned

Two heads are….great for a Channel 5 shockumentary

Familiarity breeds contempt…my brother breeds dalmations

1760 yards….is as good as a mile

Don’t bite the hand that feeds you….especially you, Lecter….

11 pints….come before a fall

Faint heart….never survived the Playboy wet t-shirt competition

A woman’s work is….generally far superior to her male counterparts

The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach….although the quickest way is with a knife through the chest, but you can also experiment – a sword up the jacksy can be quite effective…
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Every dark cloud….makes the possibility of an abandoned Test Match even more likely

Charity begins at home…and so does my journey to work

There’s no time like…66 minutes past 28 o’clock

Easy come = premature ejaculation

There’s more than one way to skin a cat….just don’t let the RSPCA know

Its an ill wind that blows….from the incineration plant

Don’t listen to an MP….and you’ll hear no lies

If you can’t be good…..come and see me

A place for everything and everything in its place….makes you an obsessive compulsive

Possession is….a criminal offence

It takes a thief to catch a thief….although DI Gene Hunt would be my choice

Flattery will get you nowhere….especially in my knickers

If at first you don’t succeed….delegate

Procrastination is…er….um..well, I’ll think of one later…
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A fool and his money…are likely to fall for the old email from the Nigerian with money to move

An AK47….is a dangerous thing

A course of antibiotics….is the best medicine

Its not worth crying over spilt milk….sulphuric acid, however….

My boss…finds work for idle hands to do

A stitch in time….saves the public indecency charge

Life begins at 40…..just don’t start wearing nappies to work

A little of what you fancy…leaves you wanting more of what you fancy

The cobbler always wears the worst shoes….so he’s not promoting his business very well, is he?

Necessity is the mother of invention….I thought that was Frank Zappa….

SHOPPING

One_Angry_Man — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 09:57:31 UT

Don't you just love shopping....not!

I know that you have used each motor skill and every ounce of your concentration to move the “next customer please” bar to the end of your shopping, but I refuse to bow and scrape in your presence just because you turn and smile at me and expect me to acknowledge how clever you are. Next time, don’t do it, and pay for my shopping.
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I agree…it was a sorry day when they stopped giving out Green Shield stamps because it put paid to those wonderful Sunday afternoons where everyone had to sit round the table sticking the stamps into a book….now pay for your cat food and move on, there’s football on the telly.
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Now let me get this straight – you’re suggesting that because I am a man, I am unable to cope with the logistics of fitting all of my shopping – a can of air freshener and some Kraft Cheese Slices – into one of your capacious carrier bags without some assistance…..
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In the olden days, it was popular to make a list before going to the shops, then walk around the supermarket selecting the items on the list, arriving at the checkout, paying for the goods and going home to the delights of trying to find room in the larder for all the food. My family used to swear by this method. I really don’t care for your “scattergun” approach, where you arrive at the checkout with three items in your basket, deposit said basket on the conveyor belt in a “place-saving” gesture similar to that which a German would do with a beach towel over a sun lounger in Ibiza, then you and your three children all make off in different directions, gathering numerous more items in several visits in a frenzied version of a Dale Winton game show, thus holding the queuing public to ransom.
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So the job description of your security guards includes:
- making personal phone calls on their mobiles, pretending that they are liaising with the security guards in another store about potential terrorist threats and gangs of dangerous shoplifters “steaming” through other stores in the area;
- vetting the content of all of the newspapers, particularly those with “arty” photographs on page 3;
- boosting the confidence of all of the young female shoppers carrying baskets by telling them that they are “fit”;

- being able to tell that the shopper who sets off the alarm has not shoplifted anything, even without looking in their bag. This is achieved by a combination of x-ray vision and years of experience, presumably.
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Now its quite simple…one…two…three. Got it? Hardly rocket science is it? So when the sign with large letters above the checkout says “3 items or less”, then 3 items or less it is. Obey this. Unless you want me to lobby for each packet of Hobnobs to be counted as 15 items, or each tin of garden peas to be 560 items. Do not plead that “3 items” means “3 different grocery items”, i.e. loaves (12), soup (18 cans) and yoghurts (12 in total, one of each flavour), or else next time I shall make sure I’m in front of you in the queue and I’ll try and pay with a Scottish £20 note, or ask why Green Shield stamps were phased out.
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My friend, there is nothing sadder than a man standing in front of the display of tinned fruits, on the phone to his wife, asking if she wants pineapple chunks or pineapple rings. You have already displayed your total lack of masculinity by being told to do the shopping while she sits on the sofa gorging herself on Dairy Box while watching the Jeremy Kyle Show – don’t compound the error any more.
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In my youth, when I played my mother up while we were out shopping, she said “wait till I get you home” , and when she did, I was beaten to within an inch of my life and made to eat anchovy sandwiches for a week. A perfectly acceptable way of dealing with the problem. So please don’t feel obliged to knock seven bells out of your child in the frozen food aisle in the supermarket just to prove what a fine example of a modern parent you are.