Tuesday 15 May 2007

A Medical Examination - 'Put Your Phone Away'

I had a medical exam for my new job as a trainee air traffic controller. I passed all the little exams and interviews they gave me. This is because I'm both intelligent and personable. Maybe. Probably not. Definately not. I had to travel to Southampton. The train took me across Englands green and pleasant hills.
I felt like singing Jerusalem, but I didn't. Instead I read Private Eye magazine. Haha Tony Blair will fill his boots, its funny because he will cash in on the lucrative after dinner speech circuit in America, thats the joke.
After reading my magazine, I spotted this on the floor. Someone had a free ticket to an award ceremony. Why can't I have one? Was it a spy award ceremony? If so then I'm greatly annoyed my years of service have been overlooked.
I passed Royal Leamington Spa, the beautiful buildings were eclipsed by the scrawling of 'BJ' on a wall.
The journey went on, time passed, I grew older, my bones were weary, at Southampton Airport, I saw Father Christmas. He must have been flying to Lapland after an extended break on the English South coast. I couldn't help but think he looked slightly disillusioned with life out of his work clothes.
Lunch time, cheese and bacon baguette with a bottle of oasis. A meal fit for a king, or at least a traveler. Apparently my baguette is French. Did you know the French for bacon is bacon. This is so English hooligans don't get mixed up when they order their English breakfasts.
I finished my food and waited for my train. An interesting fact about me - I often heed security notices.
I got on the train to the place where my medical was to be conducted, Swanwick. Here is the face of a spy. Remember it well, if you want to foil my plans.
This was my view out of the window, it was set against a soundtrack of German Eurodance purveyors Cascada. The journey was emotional.
I am a landlubber and rarely see the sea. This is a river.
After the bleak but beautiful scenery it was time to get off. I checked my bag. This bag is the most maligned item in my existence. Kim hates it and has offered to buy me a new one. I turn her down. I like it.
Swanwick station.
I got to the medical facility and was quickly told to put my phone away by a burly security guard, here is a glimpse.
There were complications. Amongst the others my left ear stopped working. This is the offending article.
This was the cuisine on offer in Swanwick. (Not the bike, I don't eat bikes)
I wasn't impressed with my ear. It let me down, as did the burger van.
I indulged my hunger by buying Kim some Monster much as a present. They are her favourite.
I got the train to Reading where I spotted this chameleMAN. Trying to blend in to his surroundings in escalator coloured trousers. Cant spy a spyer.
I met Kim and we went to the pub.
You know you are in the South when you see this.
What is this. Blackadder!?
I needed to get going back to Manchester, my homeland, in the morning. Not before a dose of Shipwrecked. They lead the life of Riley. If Riley was a woman in a bikini.
On the train back I treated myself to a can of Blackthorn. I deserved it. This is NOT my urine sample. It is refreshing cider.
Will our protagonist pass the Gatwick medical? Will he buy a new bag? Will his left ear resume normal service. All will be told soon.

Monday 7 May 2007

Hangover Recovery

After a nights drinking in the Northern Quarter tanking vodka shots and water I was feeling very ill in the morning. The world was dead to me.
My room was a mess which was making me feel more ill. I could see my deodorant can near my computer but I knew this morning would take more than a quick spray to rectify. I am no tramp.
I decided a bit of guitar hero would sort me out. It involves playing a fake guitar plugged into my playstation and trying to hit the right notes. I was not on best form. It made my head ill.
I knew that if I wanted to stop my drunken brain spinning I'd have to brave the outside world, the jeers, the catcalls, the names. I put on some clothes but still smelt of terrible.
I was hoping to free my mind of alcohol, but this poster brought it all back. 2-4-1 Stella is like saying, if you give me £20 I will ensure you will have to waste half your day recovering tomorrow. I do fancy the cartoon woman though so ill probably go in case I see her.
I felt a little better so thought I would get the bus home, having walked my injured head for about 4 miles. You could say these crossroads are a metaphor for my life, but they are not. They just tell me where to get on the bus.
This is my bus. The 11. It goes all the way to Stockport, but I only need Timperley. Ian Brown from the Stone Roses used to get on the 11. He doesn't anymore.
I had 15 minutes to wait and needed a drink, hangover is caused by dehydration and Calypso cups are specially designed to stop dehydration. This is another example of great British advertising.
The shop was closed. I'm not sure how a police quiz will help Joey Barton sort his anger problems out. His favourite song is message in a bottle, even though Sting was rarely violent.
My head started spinning with vodka again and i had to stare at the floor to stop me from getting dizzy. It wasn't pretty.
Ooo here is the bus. The driver decided to have a cigarette before he drove it back towards Stockport, making me wait longer.
I got his reg plate though, the dirty schemer.
Still no sign of the driver putting his cig down. This is the calibre of person who boards the 11.
Finally the driver decided he wanted to do his job for a bit so I got my shrapnel out, at £1.40 its cheap at twice the price, maybe if it was twice the price then I wouldnt have to sit next to Wythenshawes answer to Leonardo Di Caprio and Kate Winslet above.
I needed to look down to anchor my twirling brain again, but the floor was so messy it made me even more sick. I'm not sure how or why, but Id put money on that bag being involved in some drug escapade.
I decided to look out of the window, maybe outside would be more pretty.
Thats it. Time to get off the bus. Bye Bye.
I set off for the 5 minute walk home, recovering a little again, but wary of a relapse. I put my headphones in and listened to the theme tune from Pokemon to calm me. Once again i blacked myself out in case the East realise my spying credentials and torture me. I have a low pain threshold and will squeal in seconds.
Almost home, I walk past the green cable box where i used to drink as a 13 year old whippersnapper. Now i drink in pubs and clubs, I have moved up in the world since those heady days.
I couldn't help but think that its gone full circle, walking past the place of my first binge. The squalor mixed with what seemed like glamour of having our own Carling 4 pack.I felt a tinge of nostalgia, then I went back to bed.

Friday 4 May 2007

GUEST BLOGGER - Death Of a Mole

Sorry about the delay in posting, its due to illness, not much happening, and me not getting myself organised, I hand you over to Paddy once more.

Hello readers. Today we are going to stamp out a vermin that plagues every honest good soul that tends their lawn – that’s right, moles! Moles are an underground movement that are politically motivated to destroy stripes, neat borders and play yards. It is all part of a small mammalian commie plot to bring us down from the inside.

I am a mole and I live in a hole, phooey, they are not cuddly, try Plague, Pest or Vermin

Well, we declare war on this axis of evil! As President Bush said “ Our war on terror begins with moles but it does not end there. It will not end until every mole group of global reach has been found, stopped and defeated. And we will pursue gardens that provide aid or a safe haven to moles. Every nation in every region has a decision to make. Either you are with us or with the moles! From this day forward, any nation that continues to harbor or support moles will be regarded us as a hostile regime.”

And as Tony Blair said “Tough on moles, tough on the causes of moles.”

Let me give you some facts so you can make up your own minds.

General Mole Facts

Moles are mammals about seven inches long that live almost entirely underground. Using their evil cylindrical-shaped bodies and webbed feet, moles practically swim in the dirt under your lawn, golf course or fields.

Moles are related to shrews and bats, not rodents. Moles have very poor eyesight, and as a result, their sense of touch and smell is very sharp

WHERE DO MOLES LIVE?
Most moles live in underground burrows, in my back garden, where they search for food and tunnel in the dirt. Most researchers believe moles are loners, living and travelling alone for the most part.

WHEN ARE MOLES MOST ACTIVE?
Moles do not hibernate, and they stay relatively active throughout most of the year, breeding in April or May, 45 days after which three or four blind and naked mole babies are born. Lets kill the mole babies!!

WHAT FOODS DO MOLES EAT?
The majority of the mole’s diet is made up of animal matter, such as insects, grubs and worms. Moles will sometimes eat beetles and baby mice,The poor baby mice!! Moles eat up to 100 percent of their body weight every day. Moles use up so much energy pushing through the ground that they have to eat a lot of food to keep going.

I WANT TO TRAP OR KILL MOLES MYSELF. IS THAT OK?
You must have special licensing to use mole poisons or repellents. Live-trapping moles is not a very effective option. We could use the moles Nemisis – the badger, but the vicious little shaving brushes can be just as tough to shift.

1 – A typical selection of essential anti-mole weaponry.

2 – Supplies – A survival kit of rations for this war of attrition


Ok, this is it, I’m going in. I need to keep spirits up with The War Cry

We're all going on a mole hunt,
We're not scared.
We got knives, hammers too!

Uh-oh.
There's tall grass ahead.
Can't go over it.
Can't go under it.
Can't go around it. We'd better crawl through it.

We're all going on a mole hunt,
We're not scared.
We got knives, hammers too!

Uh-oh.
There's mud ahead!
Can't go over it.
Can't go under it.
Can't go around it.
Better go through it.

Uh-oh.
There's a hole ahead!
Can't go over it.
Can't go under it.
Can't go around it.
Better go through it.

A mole!!! Hit it!

Despite being armed with this, Paddy ran away

He had a picture of him running away but my computer has clutzed it up. No moles were hurt in the making of this blog.