This December I have not been able to write a blog due to snow!
Have a belting festive period everyone. I will hopefully write an extra good blog in the no man's land week between Christmas and New year.
Fingers crossed I get a book token from a stingy family member....
Wednesday, 22 December 2010
Friday, 10 December 2010
29 Nov- 3rd Dec: Christmas moments
This week I did a talking head spot for Channel 5’s Top Christmas Moments. If you’re at home on Christmas Eve, check it out.
The brevity of this post is symbolic of how long I will be on that 3 hour show for.
This post is very post modern…nothing to do with me being lazy and not in the mood to write lots of words…
The brevity of this post is symbolic of how long I will be on that 3 hour show for.
This post is very post modern…nothing to do with me being lazy and not in the mood to write lots of words…
22-27 Nov: Massive Boobies
Possibly the most immature title to a blog post ever but it’s for a reason.
This week I ended up filming an online advert for something that none of you will ever see. It was something that I thought would take 30 minutes but somehow took 6 hours. By somehow, I mean I couldn’t say a two-word sentence correctly, so we had to re-film it 200 times. The only good thing about the unnecessarily long day was I got to work with 2 very attractive girls.
It turns out one was a model and when I asked if I would have seen her in anything, she said “maybe”…turns out she’s a page 3 girl…so the answer was actually “no”…but now the answer is definitely “yes”. Her name is Rosie Jones and as the kids in the street would say, she’s well fit! As soon as she told me, I got out the Iphone and googled her. I can see why she was sheepish about revealing this info because presumably men view her very differently once they are made aware of this information. I was genuinely surprised because she didn’t seem that dopey/ image conscious like most glamour models.
Having said that I did manage to make her believe I owed 3 pet donkeys. Make of that what you will.
This week I ended up filming an online advert for something that none of you will ever see. It was something that I thought would take 30 minutes but somehow took 6 hours. By somehow, I mean I couldn’t say a two-word sentence correctly, so we had to re-film it 200 times. The only good thing about the unnecessarily long day was I got to work with 2 very attractive girls.
It turns out one was a model and when I asked if I would have seen her in anything, she said “maybe”…turns out she’s a page 3 girl…so the answer was actually “no”…but now the answer is definitely “yes”. Her name is Rosie Jones and as the kids in the street would say, she’s well fit! As soon as she told me, I got out the Iphone and googled her. I can see why she was sheepish about revealing this info because presumably men view her very differently once they are made aware of this information. I was genuinely surprised because she didn’t seem that dopey/ image conscious like most glamour models.
Having said that I did manage to make her believe I owed 3 pet donkeys. Make of that what you will.
Thursday, 25 November 2010
Nov 15-20, Dead Cats, New Flats and Arsenal being Crap
As you can tell by the title of this post, it really was a great week. We got told on Tuesday morning that our previously lovely landlady wants to move back in. This is completely fair enough as it’s her prerogative but it now means I have more unwanted admin to sort therefore as a stroppy twat I’m annoyed at her. I’m already dreading packing boxes, cancelling bills, starting bills, changing address even learning the names of my new neighbours who we will not speak to. More than anything, the prospect of dealing with estate agents makes me want to be sick in bin. One rang me yesterday and this is exactly what he said, “hello Mr Martin, I think I have a flat for you…hang on you wanted a 3 bedroom flat…this is a 2 bedroom one…no worries…see you later”. Prick.
If I thought moving home was annoying then hearing that my 16-year-old cat needed to be put down was really annoying. By really annoying I mean heart breaking. This is a cat that has been fully knackered with heart disease and kidney failure for the last few years so we’d been expecting his death for a while. This meant I was happy to go with my massive dad to the vet for the inevitable. As soon as we both stepped into the vet’s office and she told us she was going to ‘terminate’ him, we both started crying like schoolgirls. I guarantee anyone would blub at this exact moment; with the exception of that woman who put a can in a bin, she’d probably do a little dance.
One thing I didn’t realise about this morbid process is you have to watch your pet die in front of your eyes, which is as horrific as it sounds. The other is that you have to pay the person to do it. I know this information is well known but something about turning a vet into the world’s crappest assassin seems weird to me. If you’re going to pay them to kill your pet at least make an effort: maybe sneak into my house dressed as a ninja and shoot him with a silencer. In tragedy therein lies moments of comedy and this situation was no different. When we walked out of the vet’s office there were two schoolgirls waiting to collect their dog. They looked so happy about the prospect of getting their healthy dog until they saw two grown men crying, holding an empty cat cage. It didn’t take Columbo to work out what had just happened: their faces dropped. It was like a wake up call to them about the real world, after seeing us their fixed dog was going to seem like nothing more than a panting parcel of inevitable sadness.
The funniest thing about this whole debacle was when me and the big man got back in his car we didn’t talk for 2 minutes. The silence was broken by me saying, ‘did you see those girls?” and my dad laughed and said, “yup, we totally ruined their weekend”. So the moral of this story is, if you’re feeling sad upsetting other people will make you feel better.
Also Arsenal made me cry by losing to Tottenham. Lots of crying this week.
If I thought moving home was annoying then hearing that my 16-year-old cat needed to be put down was really annoying. By really annoying I mean heart breaking. This is a cat that has been fully knackered with heart disease and kidney failure for the last few years so we’d been expecting his death for a while. This meant I was happy to go with my massive dad to the vet for the inevitable. As soon as we both stepped into the vet’s office and she told us she was going to ‘terminate’ him, we both started crying like schoolgirls. I guarantee anyone would blub at this exact moment; with the exception of that woman who put a can in a bin, she’d probably do a little dance.
One thing I didn’t realise about this morbid process is you have to watch your pet die in front of your eyes, which is as horrific as it sounds. The other is that you have to pay the person to do it. I know this information is well known but something about turning a vet into the world’s crappest assassin seems weird to me. If you’re going to pay them to kill your pet at least make an effort: maybe sneak into my house dressed as a ninja and shoot him with a silencer. In tragedy therein lies moments of comedy and this situation was no different. When we walked out of the vet’s office there were two schoolgirls waiting to collect their dog. They looked so happy about the prospect of getting their healthy dog until they saw two grown men crying, holding an empty cat cage. It didn’t take Columbo to work out what had just happened: their faces dropped. It was like a wake up call to them about the real world, after seeing us their fixed dog was going to seem like nothing more than a panting parcel of inevitable sadness.
The funniest thing about this whole debacle was when me and the big man got back in his car we didn’t talk for 2 minutes. The silence was broken by me saying, ‘did you see those girls?” and my dad laughed and said, “yup, we totally ruined their weekend”. So the moral of this story is, if you’re feeling sad upsetting other people will make you feel better.
Also Arsenal made me cry by losing to Tottenham. Lots of crying this week.
Thursday, 18 November 2010
8-12th Nov: airports, Ireland and Immodium
I spent most of the week over in Galway and Dublin, which was really fun but would have been a whole lot better if I wasn’t petrified of soiling myself.
It was my first visit to Ireland as an adult and I was excited because it involved me flying there. Whenever I fly anywhere I can’t help but feel like I’m on holiday. Even if I was flying to a prisoner of war camp, I’d still be excited about it once I browsed electrical goods and was shown how to use a seatbelt; incidentally If you need to be shown how to use a seatbelt, you deserve to drown. The security at the airport has become ridiculously over the top. 10 years ago you could have walked straight onto the plane for a domestic flight with just a driving licence and a sack of dynamite on your back. At the security scanners I saw an old lady walking through in front and heard the 2 girls working there have this conversation:
“Getting that old is really sad”
“It happens to all of us eventually”
“Yes, but it just depresses me”
That was right in front of this wrinkly woman’s face. Right in it! Let’s hope she was so old she was deaf.
Ireland itself is an awesome place. I hardly had a chance to see Galway due to my flight and train times but I really want to go back as everyone is so friendly, even after they find out your English. I was in Dublin for 3 days and I was supposed to visit loads of things with my friend Shona, who I met in Bali. I, however, had proper gastric flu and so spent a lot of time trying not to follow through. Therefore I just walked within a few hundred metres radius of my hotel room and more importantly the toilet. I nearly cried when I had to eat Immodium then managed to rip one of my sneakers when putting it on, if I’d split my trousers I prob would have jumped out of my first floor window. Dublin has just as many nutters as London and a lot of homeless people: probably because it’s £6 for a pint. They probably think, ‘I can either afford rent or booze…and if I’m drunk the fact I’m on the street won’t bother me’.
Get yourselves to Dublin if you get a chance. It’s a beautiful city and even better if you’re minted and you’re bowels are working properly.
It was my first visit to Ireland as an adult and I was excited because it involved me flying there. Whenever I fly anywhere I can’t help but feel like I’m on holiday. Even if I was flying to a prisoner of war camp, I’d still be excited about it once I browsed electrical goods and was shown how to use a seatbelt; incidentally If you need to be shown how to use a seatbelt, you deserve to drown. The security at the airport has become ridiculously over the top. 10 years ago you could have walked straight onto the plane for a domestic flight with just a driving licence and a sack of dynamite on your back. At the security scanners I saw an old lady walking through in front and heard the 2 girls working there have this conversation:
“Getting that old is really sad”
“It happens to all of us eventually”
“Yes, but it just depresses me”
That was right in front of this wrinkly woman’s face. Right in it! Let’s hope she was so old she was deaf.
Ireland itself is an awesome place. I hardly had a chance to see Galway due to my flight and train times but I really want to go back as everyone is so friendly, even after they find out your English. I was in Dublin for 3 days and I was supposed to visit loads of things with my friend Shona, who I met in Bali. I, however, had proper gastric flu and so spent a lot of time trying not to follow through. Therefore I just walked within a few hundred metres radius of my hotel room and more importantly the toilet. I nearly cried when I had to eat Immodium then managed to rip one of my sneakers when putting it on, if I’d split my trousers I prob would have jumped out of my first floor window. Dublin has just as many nutters as London and a lot of homeless people: probably because it’s £6 for a pint. They probably think, ‘I can either afford rent or booze…and if I’m drunk the fact I’m on the street won’t bother me’.
Get yourselves to Dublin if you get a chance. It’s a beautiful city and even better if you’re minted and you’re bowels are working properly.
Friday, 12 November 2010
Nov 1-5th: Getting sick sucks, especially when you don’t remember the 5th of November.
Comedians’ football aside, this week was spent feeling ‘under the weather’. It’s such a mum’s phrase but so accurate. Not fully bedridden but not 100%. When you’re feeling a bit ill you start telling anyone who will listen what percentage you’re at. I was going up to strangers saying, “I’m only feeling 70%” but turns out no one in Tesco cared. The benefits of living away from home far outweigh the negatives yet when you’re feeling like a bag of rat droppings all you want is a mum to put the palm of her hand on your forehead and bring you treats; I do mean ‘a’ mum because any mother will do when you’re below par. I’m looking into founding a rent-a-mum business for sick people: you get waited on hand and foot without getting nagged about tidying and washing.
When my percentage rose to an acceptable level, I managed to do a podcast with Carl Donnelly. After we’d talked nonsense we met up with Richard Mills to find a Chinese lantern for Fireworks weekend. The approach of fireworks night had completely passed me by because it is a holiday that has no appeal to me. It may sound miserable but my theory is once you’ve seen one firework, you’ve seen them all. The day a firework spells my name or shapes a penis in the sky is the day I get excited about bonfire night. Since there isn’t much money in spelling my name or displaying a massive sparkly cock at an event primarily more kids, I’m out.
Despite my apathy, I still helped Carl and Rich try to find a lantern because it was better than killing time alone. We went into a shop in Wimbledon that sells fireworks, guns and darts. I cannot believe that shop exists: all it’s missing is topless women staff to make it the most blokey shop in the world. The man who sold us the merchandise was also the biggest giggling geezer. When we went “have you got any Chinese lanterns?” He went, “no…apart from those massive one right in front of you”, then he laughed a lot. This also cheered me up and made me feel better. Therefore, I’m thinking of creating a rent-a-geezer business to be the sister company to my rent-a-mum and basically cure illness all around the world. Screw Oxfam, send mums and happy geezers to Africa and the world will be fixed. On that completely unexpected and odd note, laterz
When my percentage rose to an acceptable level, I managed to do a podcast with Carl Donnelly. After we’d talked nonsense we met up with Richard Mills to find a Chinese lantern for Fireworks weekend. The approach of fireworks night had completely passed me by because it is a holiday that has no appeal to me. It may sound miserable but my theory is once you’ve seen one firework, you’ve seen them all. The day a firework spells my name or shapes a penis in the sky is the day I get excited about bonfire night. Since there isn’t much money in spelling my name or displaying a massive sparkly cock at an event primarily more kids, I’m out.
Despite my apathy, I still helped Carl and Rich try to find a lantern because it was better than killing time alone. We went into a shop in Wimbledon that sells fireworks, guns and darts. I cannot believe that shop exists: all it’s missing is topless women staff to make it the most blokey shop in the world. The man who sold us the merchandise was also the biggest giggling geezer. When we went “have you got any Chinese lanterns?” He went, “no…apart from those massive one right in front of you”, then he laughed a lot. This also cheered me up and made me feel better. Therefore, I’m thinking of creating a rent-a-geezer business to be the sister company to my rent-a-mum and basically cure illness all around the world. Screw Oxfam, send mums and happy geezers to Africa and the world will be fixed. On that completely unexpected and odd note, laterz
Monday, 1 November 2010
25th-30th Oct: Didier Drogbear bruv
At the start of the week I invited my friend Max Garth over to play Fifa but mainly because he wanted me to mention me in this blog. I’ve no idea why his name being read by 8 people is appealing to him but I thought I’d oblige.
Having said that, he is the most hilarious man to play a computer game against. He genuinely thinks it’s a real match. He slags the ref off for the whole match whilst claiming that I have bribed him. Unless there is a cheat I’m unaware of, I’ve no idea how you pay an imaginary person to fix an imaginary game. His competitiveness is actually more entertaining to watch than the game itself. I once played in a 5-aside team with him and when we conceded a goal he got on his knees he started slapping the ground like it was a naughty girl and he was a notorious porn star. The fact he’s a bit of a geezer makes it all the more amusing. He at one point, paused the game to shout “Ref, how did you not see that foul…owwwww….you just made me swallow me gum!” after he restarted it, the ref had in fact given him a free-kick so his gum swallowing was in vein.
“Can you do me a favour and hang with me at Chelsea and I will pay you 60 quid to dress as a bear”
The above sentence was a message I received from my friend Joe Williams on Wednesday night. I naturally replied with “What in the name of Jesus’s left testicle are you on about? “ Turns out Joe was organising a promotion for a new kids bear and to do so he needed someone to join him in dressing as a massive bear. I obliged, a bit because I love hanging out with Joe but mainly because I got to dress as a massive bear. The way he sold it to me was “mate, this is proper bear suit with a speaker in it and everything.” My main concern is the novelty would wear off after 10 minutes. I was correct. It was sweaty and heavy and I now have new found respect for anyone who dresses as a massive toy at Disney Land: that is a sentence I never thought I’d utter.
It was only between 11am-4pm and we shared the time out but as I haven’t had a proper job for 18 months, my lack of a work ethic was highlighted. I was ready to knock it on the head by lunch time. The low-lights of it were, the sweating, the fact it was a Chelsea scum bear and constantly fearing a kid hitting you in your buried treasure. The funniest thing was how everyone, adults or children just wanted to hug you, it made me feel really happy collecting over 300 hugs. The other messed up thought that jumped into my brain was: if you were a sex offender and you wanted to touch children get yourself a bear outfit. It also baffled me how stupid most kids were. 8 year old boys were saying, like they were mini Columbos, “I swear bruv, that ain’t a real bear, there’s a man in dat suit. I swear.” Whilst I was inside the suit shouting, “of course I’m not a real bear you moron”.
A lot of kids also thought Didier Drogba was inside the suit. They should not be allowed outside the house or in public.
In summary, make someone's Christmas and buy them a bear outfit...unless they're a pedophile.
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