Only 10% Guano!

It's been another period where I haven't updated this in a while. What have I been doing? Next to nothing. I suppose I'm making the most of things until I actually have to do work again. I'm going to miss rising at 3 in the afternoon thinking that I really did well getting up early, and not having to wear socks for the entire day unless I need milk or food. But since yesterday, my love for something in particular has re-awakened. If you are a regular on my blog, you'll probably realise that I'm obsessed with TimeSplitters 2 and Future Perfect. But I decided to re-visit something I hadn't played in a very long time - Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.

You might be lucky enough to find a feather!

Some people say they were born at just the right time to grow up with the Beatles. I was born at just the right point in time to grow up with the Grand Theft Auto series. Introduced to GTA 3 by my older cousin in 2002, I was completely grabbed by the freedom in the game. Things like the AI in the game were highly advanced for the time, but I didn't have a clue about that. I just wanted to shoot anyone I wanted in the head with a sniper, throw a helpless pedestrian out their car, and obtain their vehicle. And then Vice City came, which I got a year or so after it's release. I completely fell in love with the gameplay, the humour, and the music. And then of course, 2004 we had Gran Theft Auto: San Andreas. You couldn't go somewhere in the playground without hearing about the game's rumours. 
"I've heard you have to fill up your car with petrol!"
"There's a mountain that takes a whole day to get up!"
"You can get a plane which drops nuclear bombs!"
And then it was actually released in October. I had to wait until Christmas to get my copy. But it was the longest, most painful wait of my life. And despite not having all the things the rumours said, I've yet to meet a person disappointed by the game, which can't be said for many other hyped games. By that point, just about every single game developer wanted to imitate the GTA series' sense of freedom. Game magazines wouldn't shut up with rhetorical questions such as 'GTA: Jak & Daxter?' or 'GTA: The Simpsons?'. And although many games got equally as good reviews, for me they just couldn't match the actual Grand Theft Auto games. Besides, who still plays and loves Driv3r, or True Crime?


So throughout today and yesterday I've been loosing all my money in a casino, suffocating people with a fire-extinguisher, escaping jet fighters in a fertiliser plane, and throwing old ladies out their car and blowing their heads off with a sawn off shotgun. Oh, and spending half an hour choosing an outfit for the game's protagonist CJ (I eventually settled on a garish 'leisure suit' and a stylish red beret).


To round off, one thing I fell in love with aside from the gameplay, music, style, etc etc, was the game's storyline and it's characters. Here's a selection of some of my favourites -

Officer Tenpenny - His greed, lack of mercy, tendency to be an absolute bastard and his corruption of the police force not only pisses off CJ, but the whole of San Andreas in scenes echoing the real life
LA riots of 1992. The ultimate villain you love to hate, and voiced by none other than Samuel L Jackson.
I can shit on you from such a height, you'll think God himself took a crap on you


Mike Toreno - Omniscient, powerful, paranoid, government agent that somehow survives being blown up in a helicopter. Whether he has finally grown a heart, or whether he has no use for the protagonist, he pulls some strings to release CJ's brother Sweet.
Got you again, Carl! You're half-asleep, I coulda killed you in nine different ways!
Your brother's getting a new cell mate tonight ? Horse Cock Harry. And I'm sending a present, little wedding present - a big tube of lube.
The Russians got bigger things to worry about than your genitals, believe me.


Maccer - What was Maccer for the nineties Madchester scene? A piss-take of it? A celebration of it? A summary of all that happened? Who cares. The masturbation and drug loving Englishman was undoubtedly the game's funniest character, voiced by Shaun Ryder of the Happy Mondays.
I've decided to get breast implants!
KP- Control yourself Maccer, think of Margaret Thatcher!
M - [Continues masturbating even more furiously]Ohhhh Maggie!
KP - You shouldn't be choking the gecko in the first place! Remember what happened at that gig in Hamburg? 
M-That groupie loved it!
KP-That wasn't a groupie, that was a roadie! 
M-But she had great tits!
KP-Man-tits! They were MAN-TITS! 


Thanks for reading!

Warm, Reekin', Rich

Ah, Burns night. I don't envy US citizens who have had Haggis banned from their country. Pretty ridiculous that people can still eat ridiculously unhealthy, heavily processed, barely legal 'meat' in the states, but are still excluded from the wonder that is Haggis. I wondered if there were any rebellious families in the US that decided to break the law in order to celebrate Burns night properly. But then I realised that was a tiny bit over-optimistic of me. Anyway. Tonight I had the traditional Haggis, Neeps & Tatties (Sheep guts, turnip, and potatoes), like many other Scots, to celebrate the life of poet Robert Burns.

You know it's going to taste great if it resembles pig shit 

I was reading a Guardian article today about how we should have something else as opposed to Haggis to become our so called 'national dish'. It went on to ask that saying as how we (apparently) have the best some of the best shellfish/grouse/marmalade in the world, and we should focus on something like that. As opposed to Haggis which was once only eaten by peasants. And also there is that question flying about that people are quick to try and ignore that the dish isn't 100% Scottish. But anyway. The thing that I love about Haggis, aside from it tasting good, is that it is not pretentious in any way. While you may get it served in 5 star restaurants, people living in council houses can still afford it and eat it. It's not the sort of thing you'd normally see Jamie Oliver grinning inanely over and plonking a bit of rocket in. It tastes good, it's filling, and absolutely anybody who isn't put off by the contents can eat it (unless you are allergic to one of the ingredients). That's not to say that it should be 'the national dish'. In my opinion, we don't even need one. With the tourism board never shutting up about the traditional Scotland, a lot of tourists are surprised to see that we don't all wear kilts and live in tiny hamlets overlooking lochs. It's nice to see that sort of thing sometimes, but we shouldn't be sold as some third world country.

I saw Four Lions today, and I have to say I was not disappointed. I've decided not to do a review because it doesn't really fit in with my blog. You really have to possess a strange sort of humour to laugh at an amateur terrorist tripping over a sheep and blowing himself up. But I highly recommend it.

Also, another plug. Sorry, but this guy really deserves it. Robert, (or Boaby as he prefers to be called), is a fellow writer. He's really struggling just now, he has to keep working on his parents farm in order to make ends meet. He's only recently convinced them to upgrade from dial-up to broadband. But he's written a few really cracking poems. Okay, a few of them are about girls he has a thing for, but he's got a real way with words. I highly recommend looking at some of his stuff. Thanks for reading!

Pulling Teeth (part deux)

So in keeping in with the great Scottish/British/whatever stereotype of having a mouth full of rotting enamel, I had to go to the dentist yesterday for a couple of fillings. I'm great at brushing my teeth twice a day, but I never really bother with flossing, which has caused a problem. That and an incredibly sweet tooth. I'm terrible for thinking, 'what can I do? I suppose I could eat a chocolate bar.' And then another one after that. I'm very lucky that I burn up calories easily, otherwise I'd probably have a weight problem (I'm stick thin for the record). But alas, my teeth have not been so lucky, suffering for my gluttony.

Too cool for the dentist

I could take another stance and blame the human body. Of course, the human body is a miracle. It can do incredible things, as you've probably experienced. But there's also silly things that still need to be corrected. If there was a god, my conclusion is that he created us while drunk. I've done some of my best work when drunk. But if I take a closer look the next day, I'll find a couple of sentences that don't make sense, and I'll see a typo or a missing word. For example, if I was a shark, I wouldn't have to worry about not eating crap (although aside from the occasional mars bar dropped into the ocean I can't imagine there isn't much chocolate in Jaw's diet). Because when sharks break their teeth, or if they rot away, a new set just grows into place! They are also immune to all known diseases which I can imagine is quite nice. And I've always found it a bit odd that we have one airway. I mean if it gets blocked then we are buggered. But maybe god wasn't drunk. Maybe that's just what he's like all the time, and drinking a little makes us more like him/her/them. If that's the case then I don't fancy being a passenger in God's car.

I have another appointment booked for next month, so there's going to be a part three. Probably. I also purchased a couple of dvds yesterday, both were films recommended to me that I have never seen before. 'Four Lions' was recommended to me by a drug loving, metrosexual ginger, and 'Dr Strangelove' was recommended to me by a reincarnated, maple syrup loving D.Boon. I don't know that much about the films plot-wise, but that could be a good thing. I mean if you've seen a trailer for a film about 20 times before you see the actual film, your viewing pleasure is probably reduced somewhat.

But I'm optimistic. I'll probably do a blog review of the films when I get round to watching them. And one quick mention I've been meaning to do for a while. If, unlike me, you are pretty knowledgeable about the stuff that goes into making a website, then you take a look at the angst andy blog. He has an entertaining and enlightening view on different things around the internet. So check him out. As usual, thanks for reading!

And I was a Boy from School

I was talking to a friend from school yesterday. Now if someone approached you and said "I'm from the Western Isles" in some odd dialect, then you probably wouldn't know how to react. But that is the beauty of school. When you get with someone from the past and start talking about Mr Mackay's obsession with watching political broadcasts into the early hours of the morning, Mrs Rankin's very obvious reliance on alcohol, and the Owl Lady's inability to grasp reality and the concept of people, it tends to exclude or piss off newer friends who aren't in on all the hilarity.

The debate society was BS, I mean great
 (sorry, another unfunny in-joke)

I always find meeting people you knew from high school an uncomfortable experience. For some reason people that barely spoke to you, and even people that loathed you suddenly act like they were once your favourite deputy (no I'm not referring to you Tam/Ross). I've had a couple of meetings like this, and I wasn't quite sure what to do. But despite this charade, people barely really change from the school days. Whether they were hell or the best days of your life, school was a very influential experience. Well, it was for me. Oddly, it usually wasn't the educational curriculum that affected me most. Despite the important placed on sciences and mathematics, I can guarantee I will forget most of the stuff in a couple of years time (despite my mother hiring a tutor I still managed to fail higher maths). Mr Mackay, my Modern Studies teacher at the age of 15 is the reason I vote, the reason I watch political interviews, and the reason I sit on the edge of my seat during Prime Minister's question time. Despite his tendency to constantly remind the class where he was from, his enthusiasm was unmatched as he thrust his hairy hand out in a fist to represent Margaret Thatcher 'grasping the nettle', gazing at you with a fierce passion in oddly positioned eyes

Mr Stuart got me into Progressive Rock. And Mr Wilson was highly quotable. And if I had never gone to Johnstone Highschool, I probably would have turned into an annoying, middle class* (god I hate using that expression) twat. 99% of my sexual education came from playground obscenities and insults. People can rant and rave about badmouthing gays in the playground, but I wouldn't have discovered the whole thing until a decade or so later if it wasn't for school.

But by now there isn't really a strong point to this entry. I'm reminiscing like an old git in a care home. I just liked to remember that for every time I was insulted or pushed into a wall or asked to do work which had no relevance to me, there would be a time where I watched Kevin McGrady's face as he saw the unpleasant caricature I'd drawn of him, or a time where I'd thrown a 10kg weight against a treadmill in the PE department going at full speed. Oh christ, not another preachy end to a blog entry. I've already been told off for this.

*Not 100% sure if I'm middle class, or working class, or middle-working class or whatever. It's all a bit funny. I mean I don't even have a job just now, so I don't suppose I'm any class.

Pulling Teeth

I was taking my brother into Glasgow for the dentist today. I absolutely love Glasgow as a city. It doesn't compare to cities size-wise like London, obviously. But it's bigger than Aberdeen. And Glasgow has just about everything you'd really want out of a city. Bar something like Big Ben or the Washington Monument. But I don't usually care much for those sort of things. I mean, you are taken with the view for about 30 seconds, and then you can take a picture or something. I've never really bought that idea of there being '7 wonders of the world' either. I personally think that the best natural sights in the world are out there, and don't necessarily have some massive tourist baiting tag. But what was I talking about? Oh yes. The quest to escort the sibling to the doctor of teeth.

Cups beware

I have nothing but respect for those that work to make people better health-wise. Another career that I'd be absolutely hopeless at. My brother had a further appointment for 3 o' clock apart from his 9 o' clock one. But the dentist just said "she may as well finish it there and then" so I didn't have to wait about for hours which I appreciated. It was fine until there a was a cry of "WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?!" - a young girl had decided to get a close-up view to the goings on. The girl's mother was outside the room, casually chatting to one of the dentists. Of course, the other dentists were trying to stop her, but they weren't really supposed to touch her. She flapped around and elbowed the nurse (who was using a drill at the time) in the face. How are people like that allowed to keep kids? I'm not going to go on about the morality of gay adoption or surrogate mothers (I'm going to pride myself on being a blogger that doesn't discuss over discussed subjects!). But I occasionally wonder how I'd raise a child, in the unlikely event of that happening. Would I be strict? Would I be a hippy and let them get away with anything? It's all very well thinking about what you do, but in practice it's always a little different. I mean, I'd like to think I'd be strict when necessary and that I'd be loosey goosey other times. But when I was patrol leader for a group of scouts I encouraged them to throw litter in the rival patrols tent, and  I let them off the hook when they burned cups owned by the scout association on the camp fire. If I look after a child, it looks like they are going to be a spoilt little bugger.

I've been a little dry for ideas recently, so apologies for the late blog. Although it's quite nice that I actually have an audience I can say that to! I've recently got into the habit of reading musician's biographies, and I've seen that no matter how interesting someone's life was, it can be made dull by their writing skill. I was going to do a blog on that, but I remembered that the guys that do the 'A Beer for the Shower' blog did a post about a similar subject a lot better than I could. But anyway, I have a few ideas in my head now, so I'll try to be a little less hesitant (hoho) to post. Thanks for reading!

Live and Dangerous

I was floating about different websites today, and I decided to check up on the websites of a few bands I've got into recently. Now, please, don't get me wrong. I'm terrible about keeping up to date with the folk that have wedged themselves into the charts and the bands that are 'hotly anticipated' for this year. But I've broken the trend recently. Somewhat. Maps & Atlases released my favourite album of 2010 (and aren't that well known apparently) and the Vaccines (one of those hotly tipped bands that haven't released an album yet) are a couple of my favourite bands just now. I was sceptical about the Vaccines. But their live performance was great. So much energy, and the lead singer performed without shoes, just in his socks. And I got their set list. But anyway. Maps & Atlases are yanks, and not that popular, so I thought it would be a while before they came to the UK. But lo and behold, they have a date in Scotland this month! I'm very pleased.

Let's face it, everyone paid the fee for Glastonbury
in 1995 to see Jarvis dancing like a daddy long legs

But around about this point, I've got to decide what music festival I'm going to in the summer. I only really have enough money for one. A bunch of my friends are going to Benicassim in Spain, and my usual festival, Download, has some good headliners. T in the Park, Isle of Wight, Glastonbury, and the festivals a newly reformed Pulp are visiting look promising. But what is it that motivates us to go in our thousands and pay hundreds to go and camp in a mucky field in order to see a few bands drunkenly mumbling into a microphone? What is it that makes me pay an amount equal to my weekly shopping bill in order to see a band for a couple of hours? It's not just me either. Have you seen how much Led Zeppelin and The Smiths have been offered to reform, when let's face it, they are very far past their best. Morrissey's voice is still great, but his performances of tracks like 'This Charming Man' or 'A Rush and a Push' in his solo performances are extremely dull. I suppose this goes back a little to my entry I made about our love for the past and groups gone by. But I disagree with those who say live music is a waste of time. Of course, it can be a gamble, a lot of reformed (and new) bands are shit. But it's well worth that gamble to see the bands that really do put on a spectacle.


I'd never really properly listened to Rage Against the Machine's discography before seeing them live. 'Testify' began, and I didn't really expect much because AC/DC had only been okay the day before. But everyone around me surged. The crowd turned into an ocean in a particularly unforgiving storm. The mass of bodies jumping up and down. Going below would only result in injury or suffocation. And the people were only half of the experience. The bass fought with the guitar, the drums provided a primal back-beat and the vocals were delivered like an armour piercing bullet.

I could use every cliché in the book to describe my experience at my favourite gig. But really, I'm just trying to sell the idea that live shows are an experience to the poor souls that read this blog. It's a chance to see your favourite performers proving that they can meet your expectations, fail them or exceed them, compared to their studio recordings which you originally fell in love with. Try it. It's not an atmosphere you'd want to die without experiencing.

Drunk blog #3. Thanks for reading!

Hot Charity

In these days where I am unemployed, and when I am waiting for the university term to resume, there isn't a whole lot that I can do. The furthest I went today was my local Co-op. It's probably the worst run shop I've ever been to, and it just so happens to be the nearest one to me. Despite it being a fairly big shop, I'm lucky if they have bread. I'm lucky if they have milk. I'm lucky if any of the food items are in date. I'm not even exaggerating. I once went in for cough syrup. They didn't have any, but handily, they had plenty of instant bread sauce in place of it, tucked in between the plasters and nail clippers. But I shouldn't complain. I mean it's not like anything could be done about it. I've never really seen a manager despite him/her being asked for many times by annoyed customers. And today I didn't really have any problems.

Another obscure reference for a title.
One of my favourite albums!

The only thing that really made me think was when I turned around to leave was a guy holding out a bucket, shaking it. Slightly surprised, I deposited my 20 pence change, and he gave me a nice grin and a sincere thank-you. Of course, although it was probably for a good cause, I didn't really ask who I was giving to. For all I knew, I could have been funding Nick Griffin's new jacuzzi. And that's the thing. Do people ever think, hey, I'm giving a homeless person a bowl of soup or whatever when they give to charity? I'd imagine so. But I do also imagine that people will shove some change in to make themselves feel a little bit better. Otherwise they'll go through a little guilt trip later as they buy some posh sausages in Marks & Spencer. And that was what happened for Live Aid, wasn't it? Everyone was quite happy to watch Freddie Mercury strut his stuff on live tv without bothering their arse with a donation. But then Bob Geldof turned from a lovable Irishman throwing a nice little event together into a drunken thug you'd meet in a dark alleyway somewhere in Dublin. "People are dying NOW. Give us the money NOW. Give me the money NOW" (not give me your fuckin' money as some incorrectly remember it). And then everybody felt a little bad and the donations rolled in. 

But I suppose if you give money, at the end of the day, you've done something to help. The only thing that really gets me is when people are given the opportunity to help others and don't bother.  Like people that don't bother giving blood despite having no real reason not to. I remember one time, having to phone for an ambulance for someone who was completely unconcious and had a bad head injury. The person that was with him kept asking people who clearly had phones to help. But of course they had a bus to catch. 

So, I suppose I'm coming across as an angsty student again. But I do get a little annoyed when people really do just care for themselves. Maybe help up that grumbling old git that's fallen over? Donate old clothes to the charity shop? Give blood? But at the very least thank me when I hold open the door for you and five of your pals. Christ.

Vacuum cleaner sucks up budgie

I suppose some of you may groan when reading this post. Or you may agree with me. Or you may just have heard 'London Calling' and 'Should I Stay or Should I Go', and feel indifferent. But today I feel the urge to discuss a group once billed as 'The only band that really matters', The Clash. It isn't anything like the 30th anniversary of London Calling, none of the members have died recently (until you count 2002 as recent), and there hasn't been a statue of Joe Strummer erected or anything like that. But I was just listening to their first album today, and it brought me back to when I first heard the album. Flashback time!

Bye bye!

It was one of the very few times where no idiot had influenced me in listening to the album. I hadn't looked at some stupid list on some website, telling me what the greatest punk/debut/rock/ albums of all time were. And no-one had told me to LISTEN TO THE ALBUM QUICKLY  BECAUSE IT'S SO GOOD. I'd heard the U.S version of White Riot, which I'd obtained from Limewire (this was about 5 years ago, okay). And so I visited a proper record shop and bought The Clash's debut album. As soon as I listened to it at home, I realised I hadn't heard anything quite like it before. I'd heard some pop-punk stuff before, sum41 and Blink 182. But nothing like those military drums in Janie Jones. It's an exciting album, musically and lyrically. The Pistols may have talked like they were trying to shock your granny and that there was some sort of upcoming anarchist revolution. But when Joe Strummer snarled like a rabid dog, he didn't want to kill the Queen, he wanted to 'join the ping pong club'. On the album The Clash also sung songs about how they were sick of the USA's culture becoming so popular in the UK, London's abysmal traffic system, and the race riots that were going on at the time. They weren't making up some shocking fantasy situation, they were talking about what was going on.

My love for the band isn't really for their punk stage (although good god I love it), it's for the fact that played just about every bloody genre there was. They had many reggae covers and reggae style songs, they did punk, they did rockabilly, they dabbled in dub, they did ska, they did folky stuff. Joe and Mick were early followers of rap when it was emerging at the tail end of the seventies, which is very apparent in the very cool bass driven opener of Sandinista!, The Magnificent Seven.

But even now I'm struck by how feeble and inadequate words like 'electric' are to describe their live performances which I can only see on youtube and listen to on 'From Here to Eternity'. I've never seen them live, and of course I never will. But as stupid and clichéd as this sounds, their energy and music will always motivate me. Joe Strummer's words in an interview ("we're not particularly talented, we try hard") are words I can live by and can very much appreciate. Thanks for reading!

Killed by Death

I was going to start off today's entry by saying that a lot of people died last year. But that's stupid, millions of people die every year, and that's a lot anyway you look at. But out of those millions of people, a certain percentage can be classed as celebrities.  Leslie Nielsen of Airplane! and The Naked Gun. The author of Babe, Dick-King Smith. A former heavyweight champion of the world. All of whom died recently. And whenever these celebrities die, you can expect a large obituary in many newspapers, and countless articles telling everyone how important  they were. People that have died abroad, giving their lives for us never get such a privelige, because, in all honesty, the public doesn't want to hear about a soldier they know nothing about. It's much more interesting to find out which 60's actor died and how many times poor Cheryl Cole was cheated on.

Only real men have mutton chops!

Recently, I read Lemmy's auto-biography, White Line Fever. Many claim he is a living legend. Many also remain confused as to why he is alive, after having countless life threatening injuries, and of course from the fact that he still takes ridiculous amounts of speed, cocaine, and alcohol at the age of  65. He made the point in his writings that people suddenly become "five times better when they die", after seeing  countless  fellow musicians bite the dust. I agree, because people seem to wait until someone is dead to talk about how great they were. Macolm McLaren, for example. What exactly had he done that was note-worthy for the last 30 years? Nothing. He managed the Sex Pistols for two years, yet after his death last year he became a 'visionary' and a 'genius'. Even though he took no part in the song writing process, and even though the pistols turned shit the moment Mr John Lydon left. I'm not saying sneer at the dead. I'm going to feel a lump in my throat when someone like Jon Anderson dies. But if you think someone is great, let them know when they are alive so they actually appreciate what they've done. Don't put someone on a pedestal just because they have maggots crawling out of their eye.

Well, that's my 'heavy' blog post out of my system, hopefully I'll feel as fresh as a daisy tomorrow.

People are coming back to Aberdeen! Yes! This means that I'll actually be able to socialise properly! It also reminds me that I never bothered doing a blog post for my birthday (it was back in the 30th), because I didn't meet up with a mass of people. That sounds depressing, but it really wasn't. I watched Evil Dead, Evil Dead 2, Dawn of the Dead, and also played TimeSplitters with another guy while getting really drunk. It was groovy. Ho ho.

Magic Bus

When I can find a seat, when I have change, and when I don't need to get somewhere particularly quickly, I really like public transport. It's one of the best opportunities to look into someone else's life without actually living with them. On the seats to the left of me on today's bus journey, there were four who looked like they worked at a more 'hands on' businesses. Some of them had oddly shaped teeth, some had bald heads, and some were either extremely skinny or had hearty beer bellies flopping over the front of their belts. They were discussing a new type of plug, and the advantages it offered. You can say about you want about these people, but at the end of day they build, furnish, re-wire, and carpet our homes, which is more than a sneering, cynical, skinny little student such as myself can hope to offer.

I looked up electrician on google images and this came up.
They looked a little different to the ones on the bus

Do you remember the bus at school, where anyone who was anyone got the back seats? I was nearly always at the front, which said a lot about me. But now, the so-called cool people are a lot smaller and more annoying. They tend to have a habit of sharing their terrible music taste with the whole bus, along with sharing conversations which are loud and peppered with the word 'fucking'. Although I suppose that old lady in front can hear 'Pink Glove' from my headphones alone, so maybe I'm not one to talk. If I'm bored on public transport I can play a variety of games.

1. Spot the Junkie
Maybe it's just me going on the particularly bad buses, but there always seems to be one. Look out for a an ashen white face that looks like somebody has turned on a vacuum inside so that their skin clings to the skull as tightly as possible. Vacant, unmoving eyes are also a common feature.

2.Listen to another person's conversation
More fun than it sounds. You can hear about all sorts of things, or just something that is stupidly hilarious.

3.Pull a face, wave, or give the finger to pedestrians
The bus is moving, and that gives you the opportunity to express yourself to the public, and get away with it. Just make sure there the bus isn't about to stop. That could make it awkward.

I also always thank the driver when I get off the bus.

I haven't done a blog in a wee while, but I always think it's better to wait for inspiration rather than force yourself to write something crap every other day. I was going to do something about death today, but I'm not in a particularly heavy mood. Thanks for reading!

Ladies and gentlemen, it's too much for Mr Incredible!

Do you ever watch the film credits and see someone like the 'set production assistant' or the 'secondary grip' and think of them smiling somewhere, thinking about their 1.2 seconds of fame? No? Just wondered. Besides, not everyone wants to be in front of the camera. There's always good honest, blood, sweat and tears that work behind the scenes, and many are happy to stay like that. I'm of the belief that there's a job for everyone. Even for those that literally clean up other people's shit. I mean, once you've got used to the smell I can imagine it's a relaxing routine, with plenty of time to think about stuff. As long as you don't drop your watch.

My reaction upon finding out his sexuality

Talking of careers, I have to start thinking about continuing my driving lessons in order to have any hope of getting a career in Journalism. According to my lecturers anywhere decent won't employ you if you are without a license. I've been putting it off for quite a while, partly because of money, and partly because of my previous driving instructor. I'm a slow learner, and if someone shouts at me when I get something wrong, I'm not going to improve, I'm going to get nervous and bugger up even worse. So needless to say, we didn't get on so well and I only got about halfway there. He was a bit odd though. You know that clear sticker you get on watch faces and laptop screens that you are supposed to peel off? He kept them on everything. His watch, his satnav, his phone. They had been on for years and they were all grubby so that you could barely see the screen. One time he accidentally touched my hand when he was correcting the steering wheel. He immediately threw his hands up in the air and said "I'M SORRY I DID NOT MEAN TO DO THAT, THAT WAS YOUR PERSONAL SPACE AND I'M SORRY". And he said he hated Queen, I've never met anyone that's hated Queen. But I am an overly sensitive person, and he was a pretty decent guy that taught me a lot. I think it's time I manned up and thought about getting lessons sorted. If I have enough money after I've paid for all my summer shenanigans.

If you're wondering about my post title, it's because The Incredibles is on while I'm typing this. I'm not a massive fan of Pixar or Disney productions, but I love this film. The animation, the time period, the plot, the concept, the characters and the humour is all great. And it's very highly quotable. I hope they don't make a terrible sequel after that slightly lazy ending.

For anyone that cares I had a great new year. I went out and got talking to some guy I'd never met, who was really sound. On the table next to us some girls left two massive pitchers of some pink cocktail, and so that helped get us a bit more drunk for free. After a few laughs and some terrible dancing on my part we got separated at one point. Which was shame because he was a cool guy. It's a shame he was straight. I hope he had some fun with those girls we met that night.