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,

Those who can, do...

Hi All!

It turns out that chemistry teachers are having to show videos of experiments to students instead of letting them actually do it.
I'm not talking about explosions and stuff but really basic chemistry like putting lithium in water. This is because although all the risk assessments have been done and given to them, teachers do not have the confidence to either perform the experiments themselves, or allow the students to do it.

To this end they even have a sodding helpline for the teachers to ring, probably crying, saying how they just don't understand the experiments and cannot teach the class. Even though, and this is the shocking thing, they have just spent the last 4 years in teacher training camp and the previous 8 years of study to be able to teach.

What is more shocking is that these incompetents are actually allowed to represent the science that they are claiming to be confident enough to be able to teach. I'm sorry, but do fuck off. If I wanted that, I'd bloody teach my kids myself.

It is no wonder to me that kids in this country are not interested in science. If you see a teacher, as a kid, looking nervous and umming and ahhing, and they are supposed to be your mentor, and they are supposed to be teaching you, you would quite honestly say:

"Blow this for a laugh, even my teachers can't do it, and most science is watching some expert from the 60's having all the bloody fun."

I had a great time in science, I had an awesome teacher. He knew what he was doing, he blew shit up, and then taught us how to blow shit up. Then we did the real work. And I tell you something, you show kids the magic, and they will all want to know how you did it. You show kids a video...they kick each other under the desks. I want to see a return of experiments to the classroom, health and safety to sod off, and the return of the apprentice system. Those who can, do. Those who can't, can't possibly teach it.

Thanks for reading

Kids Stories, so how hard can it be?

Hi All,

I was sat reading some crappy kids stories the other night, when I thought..how difficult can it be to write a story for a 6-9 year old? So, here it is.

There was once a fairy princess.

Her name was Emily.

Well, she wanted to be called Emily, but her real name was Jessica

She had 3 legs, and one arm, which stuck vertically out of her head.

This made it very awkward to get her crown on in the mornings.

One day, she left the Castle in search of the Great Chicken, who had the power of seeing rhubarb at a great distance.

She knew he lived in the forest of Niggy Niggy Noo. Just past the old tree stump. On the A303.

She entered the dark, dank forest. She came out of the forest and went back in again, it was still dark and dank. It was an enchanted forest, that had the ability to induce amnesia in people. The local townsfolk who entered the forest often forgot where they parked.

She crept through the undergrowth. Her dress caught on twigs and brambles and badgers.

After a while she reached the old tree stump. There was a mushroom on it. Suddenly, the mushroom jumped up. It was a magic mushroom. And it said:

"OI! what is a fairy princess doing out here, in a forest, just off the A303?"

"I am a fairy princess," said the fairy princess

The mushroom stared at her. "Really?" it said.

"Yes and I am seeking the Great Chicken, who has the power to see rhubarb at a great distance. Now stop looking at me fungi"

"Blimey," said the magic mushroom, "Well he's over there, but he's asleep"

"Cheers mate" said the fairy princess and off she went. Dragging several bushes and a confused badger behind her.

She saw the Great Chicken. He was lying down, snoring.

"Yoohoo!" Said the fairy princess.

The Chicken didn't move.

"YOOHOO!!!" shouted the fairy princess.

The Chicken didn't move

"YO! DICKHEAD!"

The chicken jumped up

"Help me wok a noodle!" he screamed.

"terribly sorry old chap" said the fairy princess "But I need to find some rhubarb for tea."

"I'm afraid you've got the wrong chicken" said the Chicken, "the one you want is over there, I can't do anything right. I always get everything wrong."

"Fantastic" the fairy princess said. "I've walked all this way and I've found the wrong chicken, and he keeps putting himself down"

So she took the axe from her pocket and chopped his head off.

then she stuck him in the oven for an hour and a bit on gas mark 6. It turned out he was self depricating.

She tore the mushroom from the tree stump. Removed the great chicken out of the oven and ate him with the mushroom, as there was no cutlery available.

She went home to the castle. Smelling of chicken grease and badgers.

If you sniff carefully in a forest, around lunchtime, you can still smell the faint whiff of worried badgers. Often you will also find people who have forgotten where they have parked.

The End.

Thanks for reading

My Blog: One year on

Hi All!

My blog is one year old!

So to celebrate and to mock in some fashion all those other blog type, video, tv efforts, I have decided to do some recaps, quotes and outtakes from the last 12 months.
Hope you enjoy them as much as I did writing them.


"...as the human body is 80% water, I can be anywhere between 4'3 and 6'2 depending on where the moon is."

"Now thats the body that I want! I want to look like that, and I'll do the dvd every day for a decade to get it if i have to, if i have to cycle to the moon and back I'll do it" Now I've been doing this
dvd now for fucking months, and i still havent got Davinas tits.

"I wear glasses and I've got a stupid goatee\beard thing going on. I am the geeks geek."

"Luckily we have something in our arsenal that Mexicans do not....Yakult"

"Muslim women don't have to wear that black royal mail letterbox outfit, it's just that they are also highly trained Ninjas"

"I am to biscuit barrels, as Harold Shipman was to old peoples homes."

"T = (Q + A) / B"

"Half the people are average meat, and have no intelligence."

"A guy was released in Hampshire after being wrongfully imprisoned for 27 years...the first show he saw on telly when he came out? You've been Framed"

"Quick tip for you, open your front door, go outside, turn around. See that? See that building? That's your fucking house. It's been there all along."

To them I say..."YOU TRY IT WITH 14 LEGS, SEE HOW FAR YOU GET!! YOU'D GET TRAPPED IN THE BACK TOO!"

"He-man....What a complete and utter Gaylord"

"There was a guy who ended up sleeping on the streets and he spent most of his life searching for his real father. He was a poor bastard"

"ok Trev, this is a TV job, so have you got any experience appearing on camera"
"you are kidding right? This is London you prick, I've been on camera 300 times just getting here"

"god doesn't exist sweetheart."
"yes he does, he's slightly shorter than you and wears a dress."

"If you drink tizer, your urine will look like this..."

"A satelite Navigation system...for trains!" - Actually additional to this...what if the train-driver goes on holiday, on a canal boat?

"I know! We'll cut them into squares! Shit it's been done"

"I spend the whole of november training squirrels for this very reason"

"Why not have a Large Monkey Collider (or LMC)? It's not the colliding bit I'm interested in really, but I am interested in the noise they'll make as they go round."

"...so I thought if I'm gonna break my resolution, I'm gonna do this properly I've held it for 2 years. There is no way I'll break it over something trivial, but now is the time. Look at her eyes Trev, you know that this is the time
so I looked deep into her eyes, and saw the love in them, and I took a deep breath and said "I resolve, from now until the end of time, to the end of my life, to the end of the universe, to stop drying my socks in the microwave"

"All things fall over if you hit them hard enough. Apart from Weebles."


Thank you to you all for reading over the past year, or if you've just started reading them, cool, but where the fuck have you been?

Trev

The TV tax. What does it do for me?

Hi all,

There is absolutely nothing on telly. Well, nothing worth watching anyway, and as I am a resident of the UK I pay the BBC tax, the Television License.

I subscribe to Sky too, so I get approximately 5 billion channels. All of these broadcast total shite. Or if it's not total shite, it's the total shite that was offered to you in the previous hour.
What I will be doing though is going to one of these "+1" channels when the clocks go back. Just to see if it creates a hole in the space time continuum.

But anyway, scanning through the seemingly endless screens offering the equivalent of piercing my eyeballs with a spanner for an hour I discovered "Street Doctors". This is a tad scary.
Basically the BBC has paid for some real GP's to go out stalking and hunting for ill people on the streets of our towns. Once they have pounced on them they promise to fix them up, and send them to hospital or whatever they need.

Street doctors. You can tell by the sign.

What a stupid idea. I'll tell you why.

"HEY! YOU! STOP A SECOND! HAVE YOU GOT ANYTHING WRONG WITH YOU THAT YOU HAVEN'T SEEN YOUR DOCTOR ABOUT? WE CAN DO IT ON NATIONAL TV!!"
"I...I....I...Suffer...fer...fr...fr...anxiety....at...at....attt....acks....attacks"
"YOU POOR GUY! STEP THIS WAY, AND WE'LL SORT YOU OUT! oh, you've collapsed. Ah well"

I would like to raise the issue about me paying National insurance for the NHS to pay for GP's, and paying the TV tax to the BBC so they can pay for some GP's, but I can't be fagged.

No matter.

What seems a little odd that GP's themselves thought it might be a good idea to jump out on unsuspecting people who may have unknown medical conditions. What if they are deaf for crying out loud? Having some dude in a doctors outfit jump in front of you mouthing that you're sick and there are camera and sound men surrounding you. My reaction would be to run screaming.

I personally think that the producers of this show are so stupid that they will do a one off called "Street Doctors: Agoraphobia Special"

However. This might not actually be a bad idea in essence. Why can't we have a service where we get a couple of GP's in a van that parks up in the city centre for half a day to pounce on people? Or maybe even get the local businesses to get a GP in for a day. The NHS could pay for the GP, the business provide a room.
This would solve the whole day off work for an hour to visit the doctor. It would solve the whole "haven't got time" thing. You don't need to worry about drugs on site or whatnot, because GP's don't carry any.

It would probably reduce the amount of out of hours appointments GP's have to do, and reduce waiting time.

Maybe we need these shit TV programs to test some really crap ideas, before we actually try them for real. Now that is worth paying the BBC tax for.

Thanks for reading,

IT and Dating....Possibly not a good partnership

Hi All,
Dating is a scam. Honestly.
I have been incredibly lucky. I have a partner, 1.5 wonderful kids and 0.5 fucking noisy little bastards.

It didn't really take that long for me to find my ideal partner, who made me laugh and all that other emotionally fulfilling shit. But this isn't why I'm lucky.
It didn't take me that long to conceive, 3 times, unlike these other unlucky people out there. But that's not why I'm lucky.
I didn't have to go to Africa and import one, or buy one off ebay. Or smuggle one in from Sumatra. But that's not why I'm lucky.

I've got a house, that wasn't that hard to get, and it's just big enough for me and my family. But this isn't why I'm lucky.

I've got 2 cars, full of petrol, that tend not to try and kill me every time I start them.
I have everything I feel I need to live my life to the full, and nothing is a struggle. But no, that's not it either.

The reason why I am lucky to have all of the above?

My name is Trevor, and I work in I.T. That is why.

Can you imagine what my success rate on that lovematch.com or whatever the sodding site is called? I couldn't even supply a good picture.
I wear glasses and I've got a stupid goatee\beard thing going on. I am the geeks geek. If it's two things that women hate it's train spotters and IT geeks.

Imagine if I had a blind date though. Introductions.

"Hi I'm Kate"
"Hi I'm Trevor"
"What do you do?"
"I work in IT"

NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!

I would rather say that I was in charge of shaving the ball sacks of Gay actors. But even that sounds exciting in comparison doesn't it?
Maybe this is the wrong way of going about it? Can I make IT sound exciting? No.

"I've got this virtual host in a datacentre and one of the disks in the RAID 5 array went nuts, I nearly lost 1.5 TB of data and 9 virtual machines"
"....yawn, sorry...what happened?"
"well luckily for me, haha, I managed to order another Hard Drive and everything was ok."

See?

So I've explained this dating thing to my partner, she said I had better stay with her then. So I will.

Thanks for reading

The Banana Effect

Hi all,

How much do you value a banana?

Actually stop and think about it.

Ok, so lets hear your answer....
Nope you're wrong.

Try £20,000.

Yes that's right £20,000. The Crown Persecution..sorry Prosecution Service took a man to court for stealing a single solitary Banana, and then failed to convict him.
The total cost of the trial to the tax payer was £20,000. The actual Banana? The actual physical Banana, still in mint condition, with original packaging, and manufacturers label is.....

25p

I'll work this out for you. There were 26 million taxpayers last year (real numbers on this blog, I got them from Yahoo! answers and everything). Not including self employed dudes. So lets share the 20,000 out between us. So now we have the cost to each one of us.

I'm going to shrink the number down a bit. 7.69230 E-4.
For those of you who don't do maths: that is 0.000769230 quid.
Ok now, I pay tax over a year. And all this Crown Court, CPS, bullshit is worked out over a tax year too. So lets divide that by 365.

so now we are at 0.00000210748 quid. As you can see this number is small. Incredibly small. In fact it is about 2 ten thousandths of a penny.

So now lets work out how many days it would take me, on my own, to pay for a banana. Just using my tax money that has been allocated by the government to take this guy to court...

0.25/0.00000210748 is....you know what? If he wanted a fucking banana that badly I'd have fucking bought him one.

Thanks for reading,


(it's about 351 years by the way, so it would take 351 of us 1 year, and 124956 of us one day. Talk about the butterfly effect huh?)

Source: http://tinyurl.com/ok6mk7

Yes I know it's bloody Sky News as well, gits

ERROR: PLEASE INSERT CORRECT MEDIA

Hi All,

Have you seen the obesity figures recently? You'll have to move your arse out of the chair to see them apparently because over 40% of people are nearly fat to the point of death. I don't mean that your fingers are so fat you can't actually dial 999, I mean that you are that fat that your heart will implode with the power of a 4 megaton cheese burger.

But it's not your fault.

I know who's fault it is. The fucking media. Again.

Because we are British we love our TV shows, and we aspire to do the things shown to us on the box. Primarily because we believe everyone else is doing the same, and there is that pressure to keep up with the Jones'.

In the 90's the media were behind the fad of Do It Yourself. Who could forget shows like....errrm, DIY SOS, Changing rooms, 60 minute makeover, and Pimp my Lounge (OK I made that last one up). All of a sudden shares in B&Q and Homebase rocketed. Everyone was doing DIY. Look at how successful handymen were, repairing all the walls, doors, floors, kitchens that we had destroyed. All because we wanted to keep up with each other.

So, guess what the TV schedules are full of nowadays?

TV Chefs and foody people all showing us how to cook, what to eat, what not to eat, what we should try, what we need to eat before we die. Thing is there are so many food shows we, as a nation, are doing the equivalent of eating our fucking house.

Listen, media. Start a fad of exercise regimes and healthy living or something. In fact, what we British need right now, is a healthy balanced media.

Thanks for reading,

Clubbing hasn't changed...or has it?

Hi All,

When you see something everyday, you often don't realise that things change.
Take my hamster for example. Actually don't, just leave him where he is, but I only realised how old and wrinkly and hairless he was getting when a friend of mine came round and asked me why I was keeping my bollocks in a cage and feeding them dried fruit.

Speaking of things that don't change, I decided to give clubbing another go. Now I should at this point give you a little bit of background. I fucking hate clubbing. The tunes are dull, repetitive and noisy and always have some woman shouting in them. I can't stand it. My idea of a good tune is something with down tuned electric guitars, drums and some blokes with enough hairspray, bleach and styling products to officially ban them from internal flights.

So, anyway, off I went into town to find where the beats were. I found a suitable venue got myself a drink and decided to go where the action was, down by the DJ. Man it was noisy. But it's not like Rock, or Heavy Metal where you get 4 minutes of intense ear shattering, bone vibrating noise and lyrics that make you wish you were smoking the joint of the man next to you. It's 4 hours of bass, and the kind of drum beat that sounds like a bloke with sleep apnea using a road drill.

I got to the front and I was trying to have a good time, I was jumping up and down and "pushing the ceiling" and all that crap, but the club atmosphere was still the same, some woman was screaming over the music; "Wooo!" "aaaaaah!", over the hideous and repetitive beat, I was being shoved around and people were shouting at me and all sorts. After about 15 mins, I got tired, and bored. The woman was still screaming, but I took a moment and realised it wasn't coming from the speakers. I looked down and there was this woman crying.

I shouted over the speakers "yeah, I know, I've come here to see if clubbing has changed too, it's boring, and loud but it's not that bad"

She looked up and through teary eyes she said to me

"It's not that *sniff* you've been jumping on my feet for the last 10 minutes"


Thanks for reading,

Bumps in the night

Hi All,

God is it hot! Even if you don't move you end up sweating like an MP in the middle of an expenses scandal. Night times are the worst. I have had to take to sleeping stark bollock naked.
Too much information? Maybe, but you will need that vital information, so remember it well.

So there I am, tucked up in bed with a fan on desperately trying to sleep, and all is quiet. Until I hear a strange noise.
So I lie there, trying to think of what could possibly make the noise, and then it happens again.

Now I'm not paranoid, but I wasn't going to sleep, it was 3am I was hot and slightly pissed off so I thought I'd go and check it out. It was late, but that's no excuse for what I did.

I have in my possession a rather crappy air pistol, and for some reason I really wasn't thinking. I put my glasses on so I could see better in the complete darkness that pervades my house grabbed my pistol and carefully went out onto the landing.

I don't know how you are supposed to do this. Creeping around your own house holding a pistol. I mean, I've played FPS's and even watched some James Bond films, so I know roughly what you are supposed to do, so I start covering corners and doing judo rolls across the landing.

No-one there. I stand there on the landing for a second listening. Nothing. I hear some scratching.

Ok, so there is something downstairs scratching around. Time to look around.

I creep slowly down the stairs, and I can see a light flashing through the glazed doors to my lounge. I creep some more, until I get to the bottom of the stairs.

So there I am, breathing quietly, trying to be just another shadow in the hallway. Timing my moment. Ready to take on anything that is in the lounge. My lounge.

I take the safety off my pistol, and I'm ready.

I wait...

Then...

I burst through the door, looking for the light source that was shining through my lounge doors. I find it and fire. Once, twice 3 times, aiming slightly lower so I don't accidentally kill my target.

That's when I realise that I had changed the alert on my msn. That's when I realise where the flashing and the light is coming from. That's when I realise I had just put 3 metal ball bearings into my coffee cup. Smashing it completely.

And now I feel stupid, and I just stand there, stunned.

My partner comes down the stairs and asks what I am doing standing, stark naked, in the lounge at 3 o' clock in the morning, doing terrible James Bond impressions, shooting coffee cups?

I didn't have the heart to tell her. I told her I was just filled with hate and needed to take it out on something.

She asked, why the coffee cup?

I said, I hate the cup.

She went to bed then shaking her head in a "We'll have to put him in a home sooner than we think" kind of way.

And the scratching noise?

That was the hamster.

Thanks for reading,

Flouridation, mass medication...for the masses

Hi all,

Look, I know its been a while, but it's not like I can write every week is it? I mean, I go to work, come home, drink beer, have a wank, go to bed, get up, go to work, realise it's Saturday, go home....etc...but to be honest all the news stories have been along the lines of "Dog bites man". There's nothing there I can write about, it happens all the time. "Man bites Dog" stories are cool, but unfortunately are a bit obvious to be remotely interesting to write about. What I look for are stories that can be quite interesting. So I found one.

In the Southampton area (in England this is) they are going to be introducing fluoride into our water supply so our kids can have impeccable teeth. Not a bad thing in essence, the UK has an international stereotype of bad teeth, but what the idiots in charge don't realise is that this is a bad thing.

On the back of every toothpaste tube is a warning about not swallowing the actual paste if we can help it. We are told that in sufficiently high doses it is fatal. We are told to only use a pea size amount so to avoid this. But, with their new scheme they are going to introduce a poison into our water supply. We have had the public meetings and things but we have been ignored.

Weirdly I am not saying we should not have something like this introduced to our diet. What I am going to suggest is a slight modification.

The kids who really need this tend not to drink water unless it is carbonated and mixed with a vegetable syrup and a rather potent acid. What we should be doing then is quite simple.

The kids who don't drink thing like bubbly acid, or have a controlled amount tend to be the most...cared for kids. They don't require the extra fluoride. The kids who do drink something that looks like it came from a bottle in Frankensteins castle do. So why can't we put fluoride in Pepsi, Cola, 7up and all the other horrific drinks out there.

Problem solved really. No-one is getting the "medicine" for no reason. The kids who need it are getting it, and they'll never notice due to the huge amount of saccharine in the drink, and the kids who don't, won't get it at all, and neither will I.

Thanks for reading,

In fact that's lame.

Why don't the government just Fuck off?
I'm fucking fed up about trying to make the mediocre interesting, and that's all we are being fed by the government.
They spend our money on shit, we didn't vote the bastard in charge in, and he's Scottish, he's got his own sodding country to run now, you don't see an Englishman in Scottish parliament do you?
Leave our lives alone. We have nothing to be proud of in this country any more.
Instead of spending stupid amounts of cash on toilet seats, CCTV and other bullshit, why can't we have something really nice to go and visit?
Not the millenium dome, that was crap. But a really nice building that echo's the thoughts of the nation. Why not fill that building with everything that it means to be British? Maybe even a tribute to the garden shed, where all the best things are invented. Fill it with IK Brunel, fill it with railways, fill it with the Royal Navy, the Army and even the RAF. Fill it with Concord the Harrier Jump Jet and Aston Martins. Fill it with tea and strawberries and cream. Fill it with the Union Jack and late night curries. Fill it with patriotism and the need to expand our horizons. Fill it with euphamisms and talking over the garden fence. Hell even fill it with Tim bloody Henman.

Make me proud to be a Brit. Don't make me feel like I have to admit it.

Thanks for reading,

pre-school play pictures, the decision is mine

Hi All

Well I don't know what to say....I need some advice.

Some twat has complained to OFSTED about a picture that was taken at one of the pre-school shows that was on a few months ago.

Why does that bother you Trev? Was it your kids?
No. But I am a committee member at that pre-school, and now we have to make a decision on having a blanket ban on all photos and videos taken at the pre-school or re-writing it so we effectively single out particular types of people who don't mind having photos taken of their kids.

Here is some background. Currently the contract does cover certain parts of this privacy. But we are being asked by OFSTED to police the internet. Basically the contract asks the parents to promise not to put piccies up on t'internet. In return for which we'll ask you if we can use the photos for promotions etc...

What we also do, which is kind of unique, is that we take piccies of the kids while they are playing or doing something and we put the piccies into their "home record book". Parents miss out on what their kids do at the pre-school and this is a good way of communicating with the parents.

With a blanket ban, all this would stop. we would have to hand-pick kids to use for photo ops and things, and we wouldn't be able to film or take piccies of the kids in plays or productions or events or anything. We can't exclude the kids from taking part in the plays because that is against the law. So we cannot record any of it for prosperity.

If we say no to a blanket ban, then the parents who are concerned about privacy in this way will leave. But we will still get the benefits and FREEDOMS for the parents to video their children in a play.

In my view I say no to the blanket ban. But can I as a committee member possibly put kids at risk by having their pictures on the internet?

If a kid falls off a swing or something we can put a crash mat down can't we? If a kid gets a picture taken and if that picture is grabbed out of thousands available by a peado, then...what? Do the kids become a target? Or not? If not, as distateful as it is, no harm has come to the kid. If so, then by allowing the photo to be taken we are partly responsible.

That is my quandry. And one that schools all over the land will have to face now, and all because of 2 miniority groups.

Those who demand that no-ones takes pictures of any children
And those who want to fuck children.

Thanks for reading,

Something-Flu, Victory is ours!

Hi All,

Media Hype, is it all it's cracked up to be? Sensationalising every tiny little thing. Basically newspapers and the media are in love not with the story, but with prefixes. Flu, is dull. But "Bird Flu" is exciting. "Pig Flu"? does it have a prefix? Yes, so its exciting. Pig flu has killed under 200 people, and yet it is splashed all over papers. "Normal" Flu has killed 5000 people so far this year.
why are the papers not going mental about that?

I actually believe it is because it has the mystical prefix. Of course, you know what the next one is going to be:

Bird Flu, killed less than 100
Pig Flu, killed less than 200
Normal Flu, Kills 38,000 per year

and now I reveal to you the next big influenza:

MAN FLU: It feels like it's killed 500,000 people already!

Luckily we have something in our arsenal that Mexicans do not. While they are alone fighting evil pig influenza, we have the mightiest weapon known to man. The good bacteria in a pot of Yakult. We have a limitless supply of these mini friends to defeat our evil curly tailed microbiotic foes. Unfortunately, our doctors have not realised this. They give us so called antibiotics. These are probably invented by the Americans. After all, it is friendly fire they can get away with. So if you do get ill, here is your choice. Eat Yakult or take medicine, but don't do both otherwise you may as well eat Ski and die.

Thanks for reading,

"I want my privacy!" Screams man with blog

Hi all,

So, there I was. Sat at work without a care in the world. Actually that's a lie, there were several cares, but that's work for you.
Anyhew, there I was sat at work with...some...cares in the world when I read a story about some group of people who are trying to protect my privacy.

Now these people are supposed to be fairly intelligent as they spotted that the government are trying to create an uber-database with all our personal details, all our medical history, all our tax/benefits information, all our beliefs and what we do in our spare time, absolutely everything, on.

Now I have always supported these pro-privacy people, not financially, just in spirit, because I like the idea of me having a private life that the government doesn't know about. Why should a bunch of unelected (yes, I said it, and it's true) arseholes have the ability to see what I do on a Saturday between 9 and 10pm? Hell, half the time I don't remember what I was doing between 9 and 10pm on a Saturday night.

But anyway, I was invited by these pro-privacy people to fill in a petition against a national database and ID card system. Not a bad idea, until you realise what this involves. They wanted me, to write my name, address, and put my signature on a form saying "I like to keep things from the government", which they were going to send...to the government!

These pro-privacy people obviously think that irony is a description of a 10oz rust steak served in an iron bru gravy. Whoever thought of that petition idea needs shooting, but unfortunately I can't seem to find their details anywhere.

Thanks for reading,