Random Conversation Quote:-

"I'm that horny I'd shag someone of any gender!!! "Wait! Race! I meant race!!!" -- Anonymous.

Pet Peeves

With the AFL back, the constant mention of 'excitement machines' and 'live wires' has had me on the brink of randomly assaulting people, and just when I thought that I couldn't take anymore, something worse came along.

And with a bullet.....that annoying fucking 'crazy frog' ringtone! Honestly, whoever put that fella in the public domain needs a bullet. Have you heard that ringtone? It's got to be right up there with Mumps in the list of 'world's shittiest things'.

To make things worse, they've now brought Harold Faltermeyer's 'Axel F' in, and mixed it with the crazy frog. Truly, there is no justice in this world.

Next it'll be a mix of the crazy frog and Bruce McAvaney using the words 'excitement machine'.... that will seriously tip me over the edge.

Celebrity Love Island : Societal Dysfunction

Just over a week ago, ITV released an abomination on us all, called 'Celebrity Love Island', which saw 12 'celebrities' - and I use this term very loosely - being placed on some exotic island near Fiji, all in the so-called name of love. Now I'll throw caution to the wind here, and rate this as possibly the single lamest 'reality television' concept to have ever been aired in the history of television. Sure, if I was producing this abomination, it would be interesting, as the 'celebrities' would be a fine mix of individuals, unlike this mud that ITV is throwing at us. I'm not sure which is saddest; the show, it's following, or the fact that I'm actually spending time bashing out a few lines about it. If I wasn't so angered by the article about the article I read about Rowan Bonson, I would not be writing this, but since angry I am, writing is I, for want of token Yoda-isms and to extend this opening paragraph to even more unwieldy of lengths.

So let's look at the 'celebrities'...if you aren't living in the UK and you have any freaking idea who any of these are, then I'm both surprised, and ashamed at such a revelation....

Apparently there were 12 contestants, but one seems to have vanished, and although it would have been entertaining if she'd been devoured by Piranha or sharks, I'll let the more intrepid and interested reader (how does one spell oxymoron?) do some research on that puppy, because I'm not going into it....but on with roll call....

BLOKES:

Callum Best (George Best's son),

Fran Cosgrove (I'm a celebrity & fiance of some Atomic Kitten chick),

Paul Danan, (Hollyoaks),

Michael Greco, (Eastenders)

Du'aine Ladejo (Olympic Athlete),

Lee Sharpe (Footballer)

CHICKS:

Lady Isabella Hervey (Some silver-spooner),

Rebecca Loos (Some scrag that shagged Beckham),

Liz McClarnon (Atomic Kitten),

Jayne Middlemiss, (TV Presenter)

Judi Shekoni (Model & Actress),

Abi Titmuss (UK's Paris Hilton).

Now seriously, if you're not from the UK - or here now - the chances of you knowing any of these muppets is pretty low, but being the top bloke that I am, I'll give you a quick bio of each of these monkeys.

Callum Best

Can't deny that his old man wasn't a champion footballer, but that gives you no right to tattoo the word 'Best' above your arse-crack, particularly if you're a bloke. Let's face it, it's hot for chicks to have some subtle tattoo in this location, but for guys, it's....it's impossible to convey just how wrong this is.

Fran Cosgrove

I'm not sure what this guy's claim to fame is, but it seems pretty tenuous, to say the least. I would have thought that he's the token 'guy who loves himself', but there's far too many of those going 'round, that I'm at a loss to figure out what's brought him here. He must have been in Coronation Street or one of those shows.

Paul Danan

If this guy doesn't have a batch of Rohypnol hidden in his luggage, then I'll go he. He's a dead set date rapist! He is to being a wanker, what Jordan was to basketball, but having said that, he's more of a certainty to scoop every 'Unintentional Comedy' award of 2005 than Nick Dal Santo is to win the Brownlow.

Michael Greco

The token 'totally uninteresting' participant. The only memorable thing he'll be renowned for is for articulating what everyone in the UK must be thinking; Abi Titmuss is an annoying fucking bint.

Du'aine Ladejo

The token black guy, who is probably the least abrasive person in the group.

Lee Sharpe

One of the greater England footballers of recent years, with 1 cap, and erm, a quickly burnt out career. Rumour has it he was banished/deported to Fiji because of his pathetic efforts in the worlds most hilarious television production; celebrity wrestling (sense a theme here?).

Isabella Hervey

Some silverspooner socialite who was responsible (with the Date Rapist) for possibly the most boring television in British boring television history.

Rebecca Loos

Token bisexual whose claim to fame was being banged by Beckham. Has a magnificent set of cans, and more hair on her upper lip than Merv Hughes. No doubt she'll receive a few of the Best before the end of shooting, so to speak.

Liz McClarnon

First chick to crack due to being 'conscientious of her body' after some lame-arse challenge where weight-guessing was the arduous task engineered by the pioneering team producing this viewing masterpiece. Redeeming point: people being reduced to tears on 'reality tv'!

Jayne Middlemiss

Fair dinkum, how many times can this drama queen be reduced to a blubbering mess in a week? What's the record, surely she must be getting close? Someone? Anyone? We need to know these things! I like Lee, he doesn't like me, I thought he did, I think I'll cry. As Dennis Leary so poignantly said, "Life sucks, get a fucking helmet!"

Judi Shekoni

Perhaps the Date Rapist killed her, put her in a 44 gallon drum and hid her in an old unused bank in some backwater South Australian town? Who knows?!

Abi Titmus

She's got the old 'leaked sex video' credential on the CV, and in true slapper style, she's pretty bloody average. There's no way you'd do her sober, unless of course it was a footy trip, and your name was 'Wes', then maybe you'd hit it.

So yeah, these guys are on an island for 5 weeks together, and 'true love' is expected to be the end result. That's unintentional comedy, particularly given that most of the 'contestants' have all spent considerable time with each other prior to the contest, what a concept.

I'm not interested in what will happen, because the mere fact that this show has gone to air - and I'm chronicling it no less - is bona fide evidence that we're all (apart from me because I'd never watch this rubbish) lemmings for viewing this, and that society is most definitely in decline.

I can safely say that this is the worst reality show that has ever hit any network, and the worst 30 minutes of my writing career. In need of some sagely advice, I turn to Coach from 'Revenge of the Nerds'....

"Well if I was you I'd do something about it. I would get up and redeem myself in the eyes of my father, my maker, and my coach!"

At least I've set myself a low foundation to bounce back from.

No idea why the formatting has gone to shit....but oh well.

Anniversary

Today represents the three month anniversary of having left Australia, and although I don't suffer from being homesick, there are plenty of things and people that I miss, and will continue to miss whilst over here. As there is a touch of melancholy, I've decided to listen to two hours straight of 1980's music, and if that doesn't send me over the edge, nothing will.

Whilst Go West's 'We close our eyes' crackles from the poor-excuse-for-speakers that this craptop has, I will compose a quick list of 20 things that I miss most about Australia. I'm not including people in this, because I know that I'll offend someone, and I'd rather not discriminate, and offend everyone equally. This list is in no particular order, and of little comic value, but hey, I've been tacitly promoting that for a number of years now.

20 Things I miss About Home

1. Decent Steak,
2. Good Fruit & Veg,
3. My House and not sharing with 4 freaks,
4. Clean Water,
5. avoidance of the Mumps,
6. Seeing Collingwood competing for another wooden spoon,
7. A lack of snow and -4 days,
8. 'The Comedy Channel' (Not the TV channel),
9. Good water pressure,
10. Having access to a car,
11. The beach,
12. Decent radio stations,
13. Not being the ethnic minority,
14. Not having to write bulk emails or a blog,
15. Toothpaste for sensitive teeth,
16. My Mp3 collection,
17. The relative comfort of V-line,
18. Not looking out of place because everyone else is fat,
19. Them Cats,
20. James Boags.

To be fair, it's not all bad.

I don't have to put up with seeing Eddie McGuire every 15 minutes, and only 30% of the newspapers over here have reported Del Santo winning the Brownlow!

I'm sure The Ashes will be a redeeming feature, and when I finally get myself to the continent, I'm sure I'll have a greater appreciation of what this place has to offer!

Now, I'm contemplating which of the following songs to listen to;

• Toto - 'Africa',
• Steve Winwood - 'While you see a chance', or
• Nik Kershaw - 'Wouldn't it be good'.

These after the veritable feast that was;

• Mister Mister - 'Broken Wings',
• Murray Head - 'One Night in Bangkok' &
• Womack & Womack - 'Teardrops'.

And no, I'm not gay! Even though it could easily be argued that I'm heading that way......

It could have been worse, I could have opted for 'The Tears of a Clown' by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles...but mentioning it was sad enough.

I did briefly consider listening to Pseudo Echo's 'Funky Town', but that has been forever ruined, from my trip to India, when we (Newman, Vinnie & I) were walking through Siliguri and Vinnie starts singing, 'Wont you take me to........a shanty town!'

Anyway, this is a short post, I'm saving up for the long weekend, where I'll endeavour to do something that merits posting, and if - on the off chance - this doesn't happen, then I'll just create some fictitious tale and pass it off as reality.

One last thing:-

GO YOU REDS!!!! CHAMPIONS LEAGUE FINAL!!!!

Still can't believe S-Rob is flying to Turkey for that puppy!

Take care all! I miss a lot of you some, and some of you a lot! Others, well, I've dedicated eight words to you!

Journalistic Excellence

In no way is the title of this post meant to be linked to any mud that I post, which masquerades as a poorly written blog, rather it is a tribute to the writers of www.afl.com.au, which is surely the last bastion of excellent journalism.

Earlier on, I posted a quote about that fat Essendon aboriginal bloke - whose name escapes me now - and although I was beseiged by some lazy public servant pulling the race card on me, I went on to - in my estimation - accurately portray the portly abilities of Dean 'the podgey one' Rioli, as opposed to those that were posted on the aforementioned web-site.

Now fancy my total exasperation as I was checking out the AFL website today and I came across this pearler...

"Essendon coach Kevin Sheedy has lauded the performance of excitement machine Andrew Lovett, who booted five goals in his side's 35-point victory over Fremantle at Telstra Dome on Sunday."

Read that again... 'excitement machine'!!!

Guess what race Lovett is?! Someone answer me this, why are aboriginals always either 'excitement machines' or 'live wires'? Please explain this to me! I need to know theses things! For once, would it hurt for the media to use another label (unless it's 'Dean Rioli' and 'classy')?

And why can't white guys be excitement machines? Is it a physiologial thing? Does it require a higher level of fast twitch muscle fibres? And if this is the case, why is it not documented?

40th Follies!

Last weekend I was fortunate to have been invited to a 40th birthday, which was to take place near Putney in south London. The slight difference with this party was that it was a 'wig party', which not too surprisingly, a number of us less-than-hirsute individuals approached with a little too much gusto, but for the purpose of this medium, we'll put it down to the fact that we were just getting into the spirit of the celebrations.

Because it was a wig party, we thought that it would be fitting if we found some type of 'fancy dress' to go with the wigs, and although DJD was keen as mustard for us to wear either leather gimp suits or tight fitting latex, including full hood, I was not too sold on the idea. For the record, my reticence was mainly due to the allergic reaction I have from tight-fitting leather and/or latex, much to DJD's chagrin.

Without the leather/latex thang a-happening, we needed something else to wear, so we headed up to Camden to give the well-known market a bit of a spin!

We'd heard from BTLC that there was some excellent 70's clobber to be found in Olde Camden Town, but we weren't able to find anything of particular interest - aside from some knee-high 3 inch heeled leather boots - so we became desperate in our search for something 'retro' that might go with the hideous wigs that we'd picked up from the local wig shop, which incidentally DJD had a Gold Membership card, affording us 15% discount.

Our desperation led us to a 'Hawaiian' theme, and the only two 'decent' (always a relative term when discussing the abomination of clothing that is the Hawaiian shirt) shirts cost a paltry £70 and £150 quid each. Read that cost again! And no, there were no Swedish massages, happy endings or outrageous Lez acts included in those prices. That was for the shirt! Sure, they had a 'Made in Honolulu' tag on them, but it still doesn't make it right!

This had a devastating impact on our positivity at this stage, and we needed some success in our search which was by the minute becoming like our own personal quest for the holy grail.

And then we saw it.....

Our salvation.....

Boy scout uniforms!

For better or for worse, I was never a member of the scouts, and although I knew kids that were 'scouts', who spoke of learning to tie strange knots, going to 'jamborees', and indulging in other activities that we ostracized them for, the way of the scout was never something that held much interest for me.

I'm sure Michael Jackson would have enjoyed scouts, but that there is a whole other entry, for want of some really bad pun.

Anyway, we both warmed to the idea of donning scout uniforms and wigs and heading to a 40th, as is the average want on a typical London saturday afternoon! Little did I know when we decided upon this tact, but DJD was actually a scout as a kid. Funny thing was, he wasn't familiar with the DYB DYB DYB DOB DOB DOB credo, nor did he know who Robert Baden-Powell was. Actually, that wasn't funny, it was disturbing! How do I know these things, and why doesn't a former scout? Am I a closet or wannabe scout? Is the choice of the scouting uniform a manifestation of psychological issues which have been bubbling under the surface since I became too old to be a scout, and realised I'd missed the boat?

Am I being melodramatic and ridiculous? Absolutely!!!

But scouts we were, and onward bound we were to meet our other three comrades for an assault on the 40th.

Edgeware Road tube station was our destination, where Scams, Blinkers and BigStu were pretty much wigged-up and also ready for some 40th action! Pity we had to wait 15 minutes for the freakin' Wimbledon tube, and we then got incorrect directions in Putney and ended up at Upper Richmond Road, as opposed to Lower Richmond Road, but karma has it's place, and our random direction-giver will undoubtedy have a shocking bout of colon cancer, and the gods will mock him from above for his cruelty!

Arrival at the 40th was like entering the wigged twilight zone. There were wigs of all shapes and sizes, colours and types! It was a good start! It was a mixed crowd, but is there a better type? Aside from a crowd of liberally minded naked glamours intent on fulfilling your every fantasy, I think not!

The night itself was relaxed and funny, with a good mix of folks, some piss funny transvestite performer, some retro 80's classics and far too many digital cameras for DJD's liking.

Some random observations about a 'typical' 40th wig party

• Sambo looks like a 'hooker' with a blond wig, according to DJD.
• Drunken Kiwis are easily convinced that 28 and 30 year old Australians living in London can be members of 'The Boyscouts of America'.
• Beer prices can randomly fluctuate by 5 pence at any given time.
• If you take on a Six Footer in the paint, a digical camera is sure to catch you.
• Our host had been seemingly shopping for high heeled shoes in Camden!
• 'Private Cabs' can make serious calculation errors, mistaking your longer destination for shorter ones.

Good times!

The Mumps

Chances are, with so few people bothering to read this abomination, no-one noticed the month-long absence of new content, but it wasn’t because I’m being particularly lazy, nor due to living life to the fullest and having no time to poorly construct a few sentences or paragraphs, rather the impact of a really shitty virus, commonly referred to as ‘The Mumps’.

Now, I don’t want want to sound like the sissy crybaby that I'm more than likely to be, but the mumps is a horrendous affliction, and if you haven't had the misfortune of suffering it, then get your arse down to the doctor and get an MMR shot, stat! It's a fucking awful virus, and there is quite simply no other way to put it.

Yeah, you read about how it's 'worse as an adult', but that is grossly misleading. In actual fact, the warning should be, 'If you get mumps as an adult, ready yourself for up to a fortnight of constant agony', because that's precisely what the mumps has in store for the average punter.

My experience started with an aching jaw, and when I chewed, it felt like my jaw-bones were dissolving, and I had a constant pain similar to having been punched in the side of the head, which suffice to say, was not the most comfortable of starts on a two-week journey.

A day or so after my initial aches and pains, the glands near the top of my jaw decided it was their turn to gain attention, ballooning to Billy Brownless proportions, and making it fairly obvious that there was something wrong with me. The excrutiating headaches, loss of balance and appetite, strep throat, fever and full body aches was also a bit of a give-away.

Because I'm stuck in the UK, and it's almost impossible to get a National Insurance number, I hoped that the local 'doctor' would have mercy on me, and I struggled into the local clinic, and after having 4 different conversations with 2 'administrative assistants' I managed to wrangle an application form, and a doctors appointment.

I walked in to the 'office', told the Indian 'Doctor' why I was there, he examined my glands, checked my temperature and calmly stated, "You have the mumps! The mumps often attack the testicles!"

Now don't get me wrong, I think it's a good thing when a medical practitioner can confidently diagnose problems, however, when they make mention that said affliction will 'often attack the testicles', it doesn't go a long way to ease any trepidation one may have.

It would have been different if I was at the Playboy Mansion, and Heff, in all his finery was pointing to a potential Bunny suitor and gave me a wink and a nod and said, 'she'll do you well, she's been known to often attack the testicles'. Hell, it would have been significantly different.

When questioned as to whether I should have a day or two off work, Dr TesteApprehension ordered me to have 1-2 weeks away from work. What the??? Just how bad can this thing be? I was soon to find out.....

Later that night I found myself in a foetal position, with a rampaging fever, chronic migraine and throbbing gonads. Surely the boys could hold off a bit of a virus, the Mumps hype must surely be that, hype. PLEASE MAKE IT HYPE!!!

The problem was, there was no hype at all, things got steadily worse. Things got much worse.

If you're a guy, and you've been kicked/kneed/hit in the gonads, then you know of the sharp pains that are often resultant, and the feeling of nausea that can engulf you from such impact. Now, with the mumps, it's kind of like that, except a helluva lot more painful, and frequent.

My 'nads started swelling, and they just kept on expanding. Eventually, they were literally the size of a - pardon the pun - softball. Seriously! A softball! Have you ever seen a set of balls that large? The call of 'leave the size, but take away the pain' never crossed my mind, because every time I moved, some unseen assailant stabbed me in the 'nads with a razor sharp knife, and this literally continued for days.

The problem was, because I was suffering from some heinous fever, and I would have hot sweats, followed by cold sweats, I had to keep the fluids up to stop me spiralling down into the abyss, but the water, paracetamol and electrolytes made me want to piss, and the ritual of taking a piss must have been one of the most feared things I've ever had to face. The first part was getting out of bed, which although not usually an arduous task, became a nightmare. I had no balance and no strength, but I had to ever-so-gently move inch-by-inch into a sitting position, trying to ignore Jack-The-Ripper slashing my poor lads to pieces.

Once in a sitting position (which usually took 3-4 minutes), I had to stand up (1-2 minutes) and then walk upstairs (including mandatory rest, 2-3 minutes) where I'd then have to face my demons. There's a phrase that's sometimes used, and it's known as 'pissing razor blades', few phrases ring more true than this. Having finished the biz, you'd think there'd be some respite for our intrepid adventurer, but alas no, finishing going to the toilet usually resulted in chronic stomach cramps, and at one point I found myself writhing on the bathroom floor, where I ended up sleeping for an unknown length of time. I woke up, needing to take a leak....only karma can explain this, seriously! Fortunately, I didn't need to walk up stairs, so there was some anciliary benefit.

Two words can aptly describe the mumps: NO GOOD!

Nearing the end of the first week, things got worse! Not only was I suffering from the aforementioned problems, but because I couldn't eat, I started hallucinating and often found myself shivering on a saturated bed (sweat), totally unaware of where I was or what time it was. Things were not good!

In the first week of the Mumps (Mon-Sun), I ate the following, literally:-

• 1 bowl of cereal,
• 1 tomato,
• 3 mandarines,
• 2 slices of toast,
• 1 bowl of ice cream,
• 1 bowl of fish pie (I don't think I was hullucinating),
• 2 bananas.

You don't get to my size with a diet like this, so to say I was somewhat weak and lethargic, was like saying that my mate Az pisses alot when he's on the turps.

I was indeed overlooking the abyss for a while, and there was a time where all I wanted to be was laying on my massive green couch back in Hamlyn Heights, watching DVD's.... oh what I would have given for that!

I'd outline the 'highlights' of the mumps, but there weren't any, just a steady stream of excrutiating pain and suffering, punctuated by bouts of the following:-

• Migraines,
• Swollen & Painful testicles,
• Nausea,
• Fever,
• Dizziness,
• Lethargy,
• Anxiety,
• Loss of Appetite,
• Hullucinations,
• Aches & Pains,
• Mindnumbing boredom.

It didn't help that I couldn't watch television, look at a computer or read for more than 2-3 minutes at a time, nor the fact that most of my friends and family were 21 hours away, and with no transport I was at the mercy of the mumps, but now that we (my testicles and I) have overcome the mumps, let the good times roll!!!!