This is me!

Hi All,

Hearing that your balls are abnormal isn't the best thing to hear.

I mean, everybody at some point looks at their junk and thinks to themselves

"Is this it? Is this what other people have"

Sometimes your mates might take the piss out of you, but to have a medical professional tell you you're abnormal is something else.

Not only that, but he has a machine to help him prove just how abnormal you are. It. Has. Error. Bars.

I've read these magazines saying you should "Be happy with the way you are." and "Ignore the comments other people make" and "Just be happy with yourself".

I was tempted to burst out into song..."This is me" from The Greatest Showman or something.

I needed validation. I needed other opinions on my meat and 2 veg. Unfortunately for me the only people at the hospital were either pregnant women, who wouldn't want to know,

post-natal women, who really didn't want to know, a nurse, who would be bias and my wife who, after many years of speculation, now had proof.

Short of dashing through Romsey with my bits out there was nothing to be done. So I did the only thing I could do.

Stood there cupping my balls in my hand, looking down at them like the last available veg in Morrisons on a Sunday Evening.

The Doctor asked me if I had any questions.

Well, yes.

How bad is it?

Will I still be able to have sex (or whatever)?

Would there be more people in later on that I can get a second opinion about my nads from?

I didn't ask any of those. I went home instead, fighting the urge to google image search "normal testicles" or if I could buy my own UltraSound, with or without error bars, from Gumtree...

Thanks for reading

5 Minute Rockstar

I've got a normal car
I've got a normal house
got a normal wife
got some normal kids
but I want my 5 minutes of fame

If I can get 5 minutes on xfactor
or some other tv show
I could rip up the stage
make some corporate sponsor cry

I need to get out of this normal life
I'm not ordinary, I'm a super-ego
with a head bigger than the fame I crave
I need bright lights and people shouting my name

Will trade my soul for 5 minutes of fame
or maybe 10, I've got plenty to sell
sell my morals, my thoughts, my life
For another 5 minutes of a rock star life

I've got a normal car
I've got a normal wife
got some normal kids
and a normal life

I'll trade it all for 5 minutes of fame.

You were my one night stand at comicon

You Were My One Night Stand at Comicon

one night stand at comicon

In the hotel lobby on my own
checking out at 10
I'll be coming back next year
maybe I'll see you again

you were my one night stand at comicon
how was I to know that itd go wrong
I should have known you were insatiable
you laughed at my Thor hammer inflatable
I thought I was stringing you along

you were my one night stand at comicon
I didn't know where you came from
I was first attracted to your tan
you had a head like Iron man
and the light reflected nicely off your tongue

you were my one night stand at comicon
and I thought that all romance had gone
You said I was attractive, which is nice
thats not something thats happened twice
but you had eyes like Nick Fury, what side were you on?

you were my one night stand at comicon
I bet you thought you'd stayed too long
It was a shame you left so fast
I thought that our love could last
after all I went and wrote you this song

You were partially disguised as the hulk
the only part you got right was the massive bulk
oh and you were green.

Old people - why?

Hi All,

Why is it the nearer to the end of your life you get, you slow down. Well, you do, you old bastard at Asda today. Why are you and your kindred wrinkly brethren queuing up in Asda at lunchtime? You can go at any other time of the day. Where else are you going to go?

Here is the problem, I had 20 minutes out of my busy schedule (being young and having fun) to run down to Asda and get some baccy. Travelling around by car at lunchtime is absolutely fine. Everyone under the age of 50 are all haring around at 50mph because they have better, more interesting things to do. I had no problems today and managed a mile a minute in the roads where I work, so I reached Asda in very good time.

I arrive at the store and find a massive queue.

"It's ok." I thought to myself "They will all be Yuppies and we'll get through in seconds"

BUT NO!

The queue consisted of the kind of aged monstrosities that adverts in the back of the Daily Express are aimed at. People so wrinkly even facial features are lost in the caverness crevaces. People who have the whiff of Werthers Originals and bodily fluids about them. These...people were in the queue and they all had to have a 5 minute conversation with the cashier. After all, even though there are a coachload of people behind them of the same age, they need to have conversations with younger strangers who have no desire to speak to them, who have nothing of any joint interest and no need to see how many teeth they think they have left.

What annoyed me wasn't that they decided to all turn up at the same time, but it was the aged Yoda-ite in front of me.
He was wasting my time standing in a queue, having his time wasted, so he could buy a magazine that was purely designed to waste time. Not a crossword mag which at least may keep the old synapses firing, but a wordsearch magazine!

He was wasting my life, and his, deliberately, so he could go home and waste even more of his time.
For the love of smeg granddad, this could be your last 20 seconds left alive, and you are stood in a queue behind people, some of which are older than you and you are buying something to waste more of your valuable time.

Here's a tip for you old people.
Don't go shopping at lunchtime and the weekends, that's when we go shopping as we have to work. Go at other times during the day.
3 reasons:

1. The magazines turn up in the morning so there will be plenty of puzzle books.
2. If there is a queue, the only people there will be as old as you will, and if they die, that's one less person to serve before they get to you, and that may save your life.
3. Someone younger may save you all the effort of wasting your life on magazines and stab you.

The older you get, the faster you should move so you can appreciate the time you have left.
When I get old I am planning on plunging into the Sun at a million miles an hour. Why? Because it's a lot better than rotting in an armchair while looking for words joined to other words in a grid of words going nowhere at all.

Thanks for reading,

Marriage and Girlfriends

Hi all,

It's been awhile hasn't it? I've had a busy little life outside of this here blog recently what with one thing or another. One of things things was to get married.

Yes that's right, Trev is hitched.

No more dating for me, no more wierd women, no more odd girlfriends, no more playing the field. Ah well, what doesn't kill you makes you strong I suppose.

There are some strange women out there guys, some real wierdo's. Some are nuttier than a fruitcake, some are mental.
Let me take you back a few years to one of my strangest girlfriends. She was attractive and funny and quite good in her way, we went out for a while, and we got on quite well. Then the time came when she took me back to her place and to cut a long story short we ended up in her bedroom.

Awesome! I thought as we both ripped our clothes off. All my hard work has paid off! All that effort stalking her and going through her bins to see what music she liked and what films she was into and how much money she has, has been worth it.

It was when we hit the mattress that the problems started. You see, it was then that my eyes adjusted to the room. It was pink.
Very, very pink. Around the bed there was a pointless lacey thing that is only really suitable for beds in Africa.

Ok a bit girly, I thought, but then a problem arose. I won't ask you to picture the scene, I like to keep my dignity even in your warped imaginations. As I was "getting it on" I noticed a hundred beady eyes all watching me, all around me, every move I made was being observed by those cold shining eyes.
It put me off.

Well I say it put me off, if the words "put me off" equate to someone shouting "Arrrgh! The eyes!! THE EYES!!!" and jumping off the bed quicker than a homosexual with the shits. Of course she wondered what the problem was. She thought I was mental.
Apparently though standing there stark bollock naked, repeating the words "C-C-C-Carebear Stare" is not adequate proof that you aren't.

Thanks for reading,

Childrens Stories 2!

Hi All,

Due to the success of the last one, I have written a new one!

Childrens Stories 2!

Once upon a Tuesday, around 10am, there was a boy called Jack who lived in a council estate in Peckham. His mother didn't work at all and spent all their benefits on Gin. Occasionally on Vodka, but mainly on Gin.

One day she slurred

"Brian, Brian, Come here"

"It's Jack, Mum. I was named after my father"

"I think I know who your Father was, boy"

She sighed, and several of the house plants that were on their last legs dissolved. Even the cat decided he'd had enough and stumbled out of the door

"Listen Brian, errm, Tony? err, Martin, Roy..."

"Jack"

"Jack, I know who your Father was thank you!" She breathed angrily,
"I want you to sell the old rusty Ford Fiesta down the car market"

"Not old Bessy mum?"

"Yes, Bessy. Take her and sell her, I need some more Gin, now piss off"

So Jack grabbed his hoody and got into Bessy. The car wasn't taxed, and he wasn't insured, apparently the insurance companies take a dim view of 12 year olds driving, and off he went.

15 miles away, vertically, the Giant was in "The Grimm brothers brothel and ale house"

"Hey Guys, check this out, a Magic Harp, watch this"

"It's bloody clockwork mate, we saw you wind it up"

"Nah it's not, look it's playing all by itself"

"It's fake mate, this is as bad as that 'Goose that laid golden eggs' you brought in. How you got that much gold leaf up its ass I don't know, and you didn't have to squeeze it that hard either"

"Bugger off then, I'll have a pint of 'Old Beanstalk'"
he said to the barman.

Jack was doing a ton down the M1, the bald tyres screeching down the road. Smoke was pouring out the engine bay, but he had to sell the car. He was listening to some R&B his cousin, or his brother, or one of his many suspected fathers had left in there. All of a sudden there was a flash of blue lights behind him.

"Shit, Police"

Jack floored it but it was at that moment the clutch gave out and the car came to a grinding, rusty, halt in the fast lane (causing all 3 lanes of the M1 to be closed and 13 miles of tailbacks which weren't cleared for another 6 excrutiatingly long hours).

The Police took him down the Nick. They immediately threw the book at him. Banned from driving for 2 months and a £20 fine. Then they crushed Bessie.
Jack was angry. He hadn't managed to sell the car, and all he got was a lousy piece of paper telling him how shit he was at driving. He went home.

"Where's my fucking Gin you useless wanker"
Shouted his mum, killing next doors dog with her alchoholic facial eminations
"I got arrested and they crushed the car"
"Get out of my house!" She screamed

When Jack had come round after his body had recovered from the toxic fumes, he found himself in the garden. He threw his ASBO into the bushes and climbed into his room through the open window and went into a troubled sleep. Little did he know what surprise would await him.

The Giant was well into his cups, the barman had kicked him out and he stumbled back to his castle in the sky. He found the going really difficult, pissed, weighing in at nearly 2 Tonnes, walking on a cloud. He got to his castle and tried to get his keys in the door. He failed. Then he placed a fat digit just underneath the lock and ran the key along his finger. The key went straight in. The giant fell into his castle and into a deep slumber.

Jack(Brian?) woke up very, very early in the afternoon. He looked out of his window and was greated with a magnificent sight. The ASBO must have picked something up at the station, because greeting him was a massive plant, with leaves of a very particular shape. Jack jumped out of his window and climbed up the plant. After just 10 minutes he was really high, but still only 15 feet off the ground. He kept going until he reached the top.
There was cloud as far as he could see apart from this huge castle that seemed to dominate this misty landscape. He ran towards it, then, when he was out of breath, walked towards it. Then he stopped for a bit. Then he carried on.
When he arrived at the castle the door was open. Jack walked around the giant and then stopped. He heard a strange noise. It was like R&B but with an actual tune. He saw the Harp and slipped it out of the Giants pocket. Then he went into the kitchen.

"look at that Goose!" he said to himself, "Think how many turkey twizzlers I could get outta that"

Jack hadn't really attended school much, which explains a lot. He only went to school when he was hungry, which was every Thurday before the benefits were paid in on the Friday.

He grabbed the Goose and ran, kicking the Giant on the way out.

"OI! thats my bloody harp and goose that is!"
The Giant, rather coherently shouted and ran groggily after Jack.

He caught him, took him down to ground level and called the police.

The police were amazing, little more than a week had gone by before they turned up. The Giant handed Jack over to them.

"He bloody burgled me, the little bastard"

"Allegedly, sir, allegedly"

"There's no allegedly about it, I know he's a bastard, have you met his mum?"

The police looked at each other, for slightly longer than either of them were confortable with.

"I bloody watched him burgle me!" the Giant said, getting back to the matter in hand

"Allegedly, sir, allegedly watched him. By the way, where are you from exactly?"


"Up there" said the Giant, pointing upwards.

"And have you got any ID or a British Passport?"

"What? No, course not, I'm a sodding Giant. It's not as if you can miss me is it?"

The police went back to their car and made a call. They came back.

"Excuse me sir, how did you enter the country? Gatwick?"

"No, I climbed down a massive cannabis plant and ended up here"


"There's no need to be like that, sir"

The Giant protested that it was true

"Right that'll do, you are coming with us, section 53 of the being overly sarcastic to a police officer while he is attempting to do his duty....act, law"

2 weeks later Jack and the Giant were at court.

The Judge stood and addressed the crowd:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I hereby declare that Jack (or Tony) is innocent of burglary. As the Giant cannot prove within the laws of physics how, not just himself, but a whole castle, can be held up in the sky by nothing more than a poxy cloud, there cannot physically be any place of residence owned by said Giant that can, in actual fact, be burgled"

The judge took a deep breath in, praying that his next sentance was better punctuated.

"Furthermore, we are going to jail said Giant under the charge of entering the country illegally"
The crowd gasped at this; surely that is a seperate charge and should be dealt with seperately by the immigration officials?

The giant screamed "He nicked my bloody Goose that lays golden eggs!"
"Ah yes," said the Judge "The RSPCA also have an interest in speaking to you, case dismissed"

We return to Jack 5 years later. He is now living in his Mums house on his own. He has done wonders with it. The cat is back and he has new houseplants. He wears a suit most of the time, and he barely has to lift a finger for a generous income. The plant in the garden? Well it got a lot shorter when he wanted an extension on his house and a new BMW.


Thanks for reading,

B&Q: The Dream Catcher

Hi all,

It's getting dark and cold out there now isn't it?

I mean, it's November, the temperature is dropping and we've put the clock back an hour so Scottish farmers can have a lie in. This has always confused me to be honest. The number of farmers is Scotland cannot be that great in comparison to people who work in call centre's in Hull. Why can't Scottish farmers try this:

Get up an hour later! Stop making life a sodding pain every bloody winter!

Anyway, back to the plot.

Because you are indoors a lot more than in the summer months your eyes are drawn to all those little niggly things that get you down about your house. All those bits you had promised your partner you would do about 6 months ago. You know the kind of thing, putting up shelves, changing the cupboard doors, putting the handles on things, washing up, that kind of thing, and in a moment of madness you think to yourself

"Yes, I have become DIY man. I will now achieve in 1 day what it has taken me 6 months to avoid"

A dangerous thought at the best of times.
Now I was sitting in my lounge, because if I sat in the garden I would be cold, and I remembered that my partner had asked for a TV in our bedroom (apparently Most Haunted is more entertaining than me in that respect, I disagree and ask her to put the heating on) so I thought about it for a moment or two and decided the time had come. Armed with nothing but a badly thought out, malformed plan in my mind I headed straight for B&Q.

B&Q is the emporium of badly thought out plans. If you go in there, any day or time of the week during winter, you will see the sight of 100 men, with dreams in their eyes. They walk around with bags of screws, bits of MDF and fibreboard and they all look purposeful. They have a purpose, a plan, and they know exactly how they are going to do it.

I, along with them, carried my timber and MDF and nails knowing exactly how my TV stand for the bedroom was going to go together. It would have made the chippendale brothers weep at the beauty of my construction. The flowing lines, the carefully guilded edging, the way the drawer would open with the slightest whisper, and the contents organised by size and usefulness. The Tv itself would rest on an inlaid circular piece of wood, with grooves cut into it, and bearings, so the TV could be rotated without any physical effort. That was my plan, and you could see it in my eyes along with every other man who had entered the store.

So I got myself back home, and described my plan to my partner with emotion and vigour and how it would be awesomeness personified in wood. She, however, was incredulous.

After 3 hours I had made something that would be accepted by Tate modern as a piece of art, and enough injuries to make a Chippendale weep. I threw it in the garden with the rest of the failed projects, the pizza box fountain, the paper mache newspaper rack and the dreaded kitchen knife dispensor.

My partner was horrified. How could I have done such a thing? So we headed to Ikea, and it was there I had my revelation.

Women, you see, have grandeous ideas. They are just as good as ours, but they do something we don't. They look it up in a fucking catalogue. Us men, we have grandeous ideas too, but in our minds, is not this office dwelling muscleless clueless idiot, but a God of Furniture. A veritable superhero of dovetailing.

What I noticed as we walked around Ikea, was the sad mens faces all lined with the same thought...

I could have made that.

Thanks for reading,