Now VH1 is one of my favourite wastes of electricity.
However, I do question where they get their data to create all these "top 10s" from. It's currently "I do! Top 10 Proposal Songs."
And as such I challenge you to find me a single (well, potentially engaged) person who has got down on one knee to Tina Turner's ear-rapingly under-evolved version of "Let's Stay Together".
Because that comes in at number 7.
I am tempted to turn off but kind of hope number 5 is "Guns don't kill people, rappers do" by Goldie Lookin' Chain.
I'd SO say yes to that.
Sunday 1 May 2011
Sunday 21 November 2010
Great Christmas Gift Idea
While driving this afternoon, I happened upon a roadside banner outside what I am hoping was a vets.
"20% OFF NEUTERING"
I think I know what my flatmate's getting in their stocking. Just next to the satsuma.
"20% OFF NEUTERING"
I think I know what my flatmate's getting in their stocking. Just next to the satsuma.
Sunday 14 November 2010
The other biscuit speaks...nonsense
Hello one and all, it's the silent, nearly always sleeping partner, the broken biscuit if you like from the tin of funny. Or the one that doesn't live in a lodge. I had fully intended on filming my masterpiece "The hunt for T'Pau" in the Dolphin Centre in Poole this week just gone, but I got a cold. It wouldn't have worked.
So instead, I will have to consider a new filming location. One place off my list is Bluewater. It seems to have been carved out of Dartford's weary anus. Not even the free parking and cheap petrol round the corner, or the two Nando's (which normally redeems most situations) made the trip to the 'Water any fun.
Perhaps T'Pau will turn up on I'm a Celebrity later in the series.
So instead, I will have to consider a new filming location. One place off my list is Bluewater. It seems to have been carved out of Dartford's weary anus. Not even the free parking and cheap petrol round the corner, or the two Nando's (which normally redeems most situations) made the trip to the 'Water any fun.
Perhaps T'Pau will turn up on I'm a Celebrity later in the series.
Sunday 7 November 2010
and a star to steer her by
Well hello from the Solent.
This week I’ve abandoned the Travelodge and am on a sailing course in Dorset. Soon I will know my port from my starboard, my keel from my ship’s cat and my arse from my elbow.
For the last two days we’ve been in the classroom, but soon we will be seeing what kind of weather La Manche can throw at us. Apparently it will be flinging some gale force winds and freezing temperatures. Oh goody! I may as well drown myself at home where I can at least use warm water.
Anyway, the rest of the course seems to be made up of police officers. It is an interesting position to find oneself in, being surrounded by the filth. I’ve always found police officers an unrewarding group of people to argue with, as the power balance and verbal reasoning skills is all skewed, but off duty they seem like normal human beings. No one has beaten a confession out of anyone else yet but it is early days. One of them even used to be in the armed response unit, which has to go down as the coolest job of anyone I’ve met. Imagine taking a gun to work! I said I longed to take a gun to work and he explained that the armed response unit exists to stop exactly that sort of thing from happening.
So far I have learned plotting things on graphs, tides, and the rules on crashing into each other. Tides are hard man. I think I might destroy the moon to make life easier. I was planning to just write my name on it with a giant laser, and it seems a shame not to do that. So I’ve decided to compromise: Write my name on the moon and leave it up there for a week, then destroy the moon. Kind of like when men grow beards and then shave them off in phases.
This week I’ve abandoned the Travelodge and am on a sailing course in Dorset. Soon I will know my port from my starboard, my keel from my ship’s cat and my arse from my elbow.
For the last two days we’ve been in the classroom, but soon we will be seeing what kind of weather La Manche can throw at us. Apparently it will be flinging some gale force winds and freezing temperatures. Oh goody! I may as well drown myself at home where I can at least use warm water.
Anyway, the rest of the course seems to be made up of police officers. It is an interesting position to find oneself in, being surrounded by the filth. I’ve always found police officers an unrewarding group of people to argue with, as the power balance and verbal reasoning skills is all skewed, but off duty they seem like normal human beings. No one has beaten a confession out of anyone else yet but it is early days. One of them even used to be in the armed response unit, which has to go down as the coolest job of anyone I’ve met. Imagine taking a gun to work! I said I longed to take a gun to work and he explained that the armed response unit exists to stop exactly that sort of thing from happening.
So far I have learned plotting things on graphs, tides, and the rules on crashing into each other. Tides are hard man. I think I might destroy the moon to make life easier. I was planning to just write my name on it with a giant laser, and it seems a shame not to do that. So I’ve decided to compromise: Write my name on the moon and leave it up there for a week, then destroy the moon. Kind of like when men grow beards and then shave them off in phases.
Tuesday 19 October 2010
On the edge of the ledge
I haven’t been blogging much lately. Mostly because I’ve kind of got used to the Travelodge life. And not being filled with wild goggling horror makes for not very interesting posts.
But this week I decided on a change. So I booked a room in a pub in a small town called Towcester. Pronounced Toaster.
On first glance Toaster is a fairly cutesy little town. On second glance it is a cutsey town filled with wrong uns. The third glance is thrown over the shoulder as you run away screaming, to check no one is following you with a lighted pitchfork.
Anyway the pub I stayed in was, I would say, the joint worst place I’ve ever stayed in my life. I’m not certain where to start. Perhaps that on showing me up to the room, the admittedly very pleasant proprietor asked if anyone had told me about the flood. Fortunately my room was not underwater but the stench of death has seeped in.
Onto the room. It had a shower in the corner. But no bog. I mean there was a bog but it was away down the corridor. Far to far to nip during the night, especially if you’ve forgotten your jammies and are sleeping naked. Can you imagine what might have been the result? I mean we’ve all surely weed in the shower at some point or other. But how many of us can honestly say they have weed in the shower when they were not actually taking a shower at the time.
There was also no heating, or double glazing and the room was above a pub and on a main route for haulage firms it seems. Net result – no sleep. This morning I was a woman who had been on the edge, but had crawled over it and found a ledge over the edge and was on the edge of that. I was so furious that I kicked over a “Caution Wet Floor” sign on my way out. That’s sticking it to the man!
Anyway I called the place this morning and told them I wasn’t coming back and they couldn’t make me. They were actually very nice about it and let me off paying. So I got a night in a hell hole, but a free one. I feel a bit bad about repeatedly weeing in the shower now.
Back to the safety of the lodge tonight!
But this week I decided on a change. So I booked a room in a pub in a small town called Towcester. Pronounced Toaster.
On first glance Toaster is a fairly cutesy little town. On second glance it is a cutsey town filled with wrong uns. The third glance is thrown over the shoulder as you run away screaming, to check no one is following you with a lighted pitchfork.
Anyway the pub I stayed in was, I would say, the joint worst place I’ve ever stayed in my life. I’m not certain where to start. Perhaps that on showing me up to the room, the admittedly very pleasant proprietor asked if anyone had told me about the flood. Fortunately my room was not underwater but the stench of death has seeped in.
Onto the room. It had a shower in the corner. But no bog. I mean there was a bog but it was away down the corridor. Far to far to nip during the night, especially if you’ve forgotten your jammies and are sleeping naked. Can you imagine what might have been the result? I mean we’ve all surely weed in the shower at some point or other. But how many of us can honestly say they have weed in the shower when they were not actually taking a shower at the time.
There was also no heating, or double glazing and the room was above a pub and on a main route for haulage firms it seems. Net result – no sleep. This morning I was a woman who had been on the edge, but had crawled over it and found a ledge over the edge and was on the edge of that. I was so furious that I kicked over a “Caution Wet Floor” sign on my way out. That’s sticking it to the man!
Anyway I called the place this morning and told them I wasn’t coming back and they couldn’t make me. They were actually very nice about it and let me off paying. So I got a night in a hell hole, but a free one. I feel a bit bad about repeatedly weeing in the shower now.
Back to the safety of the lodge tonight!
Tuesday 14 September 2010
Monday 13 September 2010
I hate spiders
Well hello,
Today I’m going to have to take back a lot of things I have said previously, and tell you that the Travelodge on Upton Way is a wonderful place full of light and laughter and staffed by giants among men and women.
As I was packing to escape my Lodge on Thursday I crossed paths with a gigantic spider who had taken up residence in my dirty laundry (which I was carefully keeping in a heap on the floor). God alone knows how long it had been there, watching me sleep, watching me shower, touching itself with its eight revolting legs.
I tried spraying it with hairspray, cause I thought this might slow it down. It just made it run around fast. I briefly considered lighting the stream of hairspray, but then I thought “No, no, then I will just burn to death.” However allowing it a free run of my room was not an option so eventually I told it to stand still and went off to get the lass from reception to deal with it. Surprisingly enough, she was well up for it.
Obviously when we returned to my room the beast had not listened to me and sloped off to hide in my pants. Fortunately Ms Reception very gamely went through my pants and hunted it down while I leapt about shrieking and, I’m ashamed to say, put a towel over my head to avoid seeing anything that might distress me further.
So you see some Travelodges are not all bad.
Spiders though, they are bad. I hate spiders. I don’t really understand why we have to have them. And I’m not buying this eating flies business either. Flies don’t bother me, and they certainly don’t scare the shit out of me and make me put a towel on my head.
Please don’t tell me that some spiders are good. They aren’t. Especially this one. It was a total prick and a waste of chitin.
Today I’m going to have to take back a lot of things I have said previously, and tell you that the Travelodge on Upton Way is a wonderful place full of light and laughter and staffed by giants among men and women.
As I was packing to escape my Lodge on Thursday I crossed paths with a gigantic spider who had taken up residence in my dirty laundry (which I was carefully keeping in a heap on the floor). God alone knows how long it had been there, watching me sleep, watching me shower, touching itself with its eight revolting legs.
I tried spraying it with hairspray, cause I thought this might slow it down. It just made it run around fast. I briefly considered lighting the stream of hairspray, but then I thought “No, no, then I will just burn to death.” However allowing it a free run of my room was not an option so eventually I told it to stand still and went off to get the lass from reception to deal with it. Surprisingly enough, she was well up for it.
Obviously when we returned to my room the beast had not listened to me and sloped off to hide in my pants. Fortunately Ms Reception very gamely went through my pants and hunted it down while I leapt about shrieking and, I’m ashamed to say, put a towel over my head to avoid seeing anything that might distress me further.
So you see some Travelodges are not all bad.
Spiders though, they are bad. I hate spiders. I don’t really understand why we have to have them. And I’m not buying this eating flies business either. Flies don’t bother me, and they certainly don’t scare the shit out of me and make me put a towel on my head.
Please don’t tell me that some spiders are good. They aren’t. Especially this one. It was a total prick and a waste of chitin.
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