Tuesday, 8 September 2009

Attic Attack, No Kids Please and Madras Gas

London in early September...hmmmm.

Never would have thought I would actually enjoy staying in my decaying country's forcibly rainbowed capital but against all expectations I found that the experience was relatively pleasant.

First of all the weather wasn't half bad, in fact it was 3/4 good with blue skies and enough heat to venture past the front door without a jacket or even a sweater. Secondly, provided you actually purchase an Oyster card and travel using virtual money, the normally cuntishly dear public transport in the Big Smoke is sometimes less than half what it is using paper tickets (£4 single on the Tube becomes £1.20, go figure).

My mate lives in a big fuck off flat in Islington and much to my great delight has a pet boa constictor named Esmerelda who lives in a glass cage in his lounge. When I rocked up she was approaching her monthly feed of a whole, ungutted, boiled (very dead) albino rat and was slinking about the cage, hungrily glaring at anyone who ventured past. I have to sleep in the same room as her, so I aim to get her fed before the weekend, mainly so I can film it but also the fear that I’ll wake up to to find her wrapped around my midriff attempting to swallow my face.

I went to stay briefly with a friend of mine, a very cute woman who lives in London and has three kids aged 4, 5 and 7. I'd never met the children before and they were strapped into child seats in the rear of her car when she came to pick me up, staring mutely at me with eyes as big as saucers. Ever since being embarrassed a couple of Christmases ago when I was invited to a party at the last minute and had no pressies to reciprocate the generosity of other guests, I always keep a few "stand by" presents for similar situations, in this case three bags of Jelly Belly jelly beans from my sojourn to the US. The kids were well impressed and proceeded to eviscerate the bags and get sugar highs as soon as we got home, pausing only to show me their pet iguana (Pugsley), dog (Moocher) and rabbit (Daisy, although the boy told me it was called Pissface until his mum shouted at him).

The 7 year old girl then wanted to draw a picture of me, which was very touching particularly as she drew a massive head with my bandana on the top and even got my waist sash into the frame. The icing on the cake was when she said “I’ll draw a stick body because you’re skinny” and then proudly presented me with what looked like a pirate version of Mr Potato Head with a bright orange face.

The kids were packed off to their dad’s for the weekend and me and my pal ordered a curry which was pure heaven after 12 months travelling in Europe and the USA as I haven’t had a take-out Madras in fucking ages.

Next night I went to stay with my ex girlfriend in Middlesex and a wonderful night in was marred only by her insisting we watch Confessions of a Shopaholic which is to Chick Flix what what the Godfather is to gangster movies.

Another curry was ordered over the phone while we watched Isla Fisher hamming it up and a bottle of wine or two later, we ventured to bed. Being a gentleman I kept my boxers on even though we were sharing a bed just in case we were only going to sleep. That is until she arrived, stripped down to her birthday suit and got in next to me.

“Don’t you remember, I always sleep naked?” she purred before nuzzling up to me and then assuming a spooning position, squealing loudly as I entered her from behind and began playing the guitar solo from November Rain with my hands (you work it out).

I actually thought she was going to wake the neighbours, she was kicking up such a din and had visions of cops banging on the door and leaving embarrassed after utilising the one Police power that actually has some teeth in the UK (the Positive Intervention policy), after finding out that we were indeed only shagging and her cries of “NO, NO...YOU BASTARD...YES!!!” were orgasmic rapture and not me trying to hold a pillow over her face.

I was asleep in the early hours of the next morning when I woke myself up by farting. Fortunately I was on my back so my arse was against the bed and it came out as a muffled “blat” and even more fortuitously didn’t stink. I remember a Billy Connolly sketch from years ago where he warned about eating curry if you plan on doing anything romantic with a woman that night and wished I’d heeded the advice. I went back to sleep, confident I could hold it in and an immeasurable amount of time later woke myself up again, this time on my side, so it was a long trump. Against all the odds it still wasn’t whiffy so I tiptoed to the bog, dumped my load in the carzy and washed my bum thoroughly with soap and water and then snuck back into bed, glad that my involuntary flatulence hadn’t woken my lover from her post coital slumber.

While typing this blog on Sunday evening I got a Windows Live Messenger friend request from someone called Marjorie Voom. Turned out to be one of those bitches that want you to enter credit card details to see them naked. To prove that this is a purely automated scam (OR they don’t give a shit what you type), we had the following rather surreal chat until I blocked “her”.

Lance says:
remind me how I know you
Marjorie says:
hi how are you today?
Lance says:
I'm fine, I've lost my credit card though.
Marjorie says:
my name is paris I'm doing great today I'm 21 yrs old how old are you?
Lance says:
Marjorie says:
listen hun, I am just about to start my webcam show with jen, come chat me there in my chat room? We can cyber, I will get naked if u do..lol!
Lance says:
got any other photos? you look fairly grotesque in that one
Marjorie says:
I can show u how to watch free if u promise not to tell anyone else how to do it???PLEASE
Lance says:
as long as you can play "Land of Hope and Glory" on a flute with your pussy
Marjorie says:
well since its free the law that u gotta be 18 (nudity involved), u have to sign up with a credit card for age verification! BUT .. Once you are inside, just clikc on "Webcams" let me know what name you use to sign in with so I know it is you babe! http://www.delraypartying.com/alina2 fill out the bottom of the page then fill out the next page as well and u can see me live for free!
Lance says:
like I said, you look pretty fucking ugly to me. Got any cute pics?
Marjorie says:
Please dont mention anything about that in the chatroom once u get in ok?
Lance says:
errr...I don't fancy you so why would I waste my time looking at you perving out on a webcam?
Marjorie says:
OH SHIT.. k I am late to start my show, I gotta get off msn...I will see ya inside my chatroom babe.. remember not to mention that I am upgrading u for free... You can use your msn name to sign in so i know it is you..
Lance says:
fuck off cunt, go and find someone less gullible. You're probably some hairy arsed bloke anyway.

Fun for all the family eh?

Talking of family, my mother announced that for the first time in 2 years my step aunt and uncle were going to have a barbecue. I wanted to do this last year but two of their three sons had separated from their wives meaning the bad blood and depression circumvented any attempt that might have been made to grill a few sossies and burgers on the charcoal. This year things have calmed down somewhat so I eagerly went up to Warwick to touch base with the new relatives I’ve earned since mumsy tied the knot with a new guy three years ago.

Got there to find the garden awash with about 8 screaming kids aged between 3 and 9, playing Tig and trying to throw water over each other. The littlest one was an adorable toddler (my step second cousin, yes that did cause a headache to work out) who’s only 3 but bright as a button and as I later discovered, incredibly outspoken for someone who, the last time I saw her was waddling around in a nappy and could barely enunciate properly.

I was making funny faces at her and hiding behind a wall in the lounge while the wretched X-Factor was being oggled by four of the children and depressingly about 5 of the parents (all women) including my own mother.

The 3 year old was giggling at my rubber faced antics for a few minutes until she became bored, fixed me with a stern expression and went “you don’t want to do that any more” and diverted her attention to the TV. A short time later her uncle said “do you think I should go now?” as he was putting on his coat and she replied after a moment’s contemplation “yes, I think so”.

I asked her mother where her daughter gets her huge self confidence and she replied “she’s got two older brothers. She’s not taking shit from anybody”.

Two of my new female relatives (step sister and step cousin) then remarked on how I looked like a pirate. I pointed out that I seem to get much more attention with long hair, stubble and a bandana and noone seems to like nice, sweet guys any more. They both concurred and one went “yeah, nice men are boring”.

The children then proceeded to fight and make each other cry. The sight of a fear stricken 9 year old boy running in circles round the garden, chased by a pissed off 6 year old girl is something that will probably make me giggle for days. She finally cornered him against the French windows and proceeded to try punching his lights out until four of the parents shouted at them to calm down and play nicely. This only served to remind me that as endearing as it is to see some of them at Christmas and all of them about once every 24 months, I have NO desire to produce any of my own just yet, or in fact ever.

Monday morning Job Seeker’s interview. True to form these fuckwits are still a mismatched bunch of incompetent arseholes. I filled in an application online on 29th August and was provided with a reference number and a promise of a call back within 2 working days. As this was Tuesday or Wednesday due to the Wank Holiday weekend I wasn’t that arsed that noone got back to me straight away. When I finally called up I got some flippant Hairy Highlander in a Glasgow call centre who, after 10 minutes of listening to some helium voiced bint giving me automated options, said that their system had crashed and to call back in an hour. Later on the system had crashed again but Hamich McHamish assured me that the claim would eventually drift through and not to fret.

Interview this morning and surprise, surprise they had only dated my claim from 3rd September which is when I finally backed it up by making a second submission over the phone. Had to fill in a poxy J5 form to apply for backdated benefits which may or may not be approved by whichever horrible cunt assesses the claim.

Rifling through the attic I came across some photos. A fairly normal occurence but these were from about 3 months after my birth up to about 3 years ago. The fashion senses of the 1970s have made me realise just HOW undyingly grateful I am that my mother dressed me and I had no choice over wearing a tank top, flared trousers, Concorde sized shirt collars and a big kipper tie.

Then again the 1980s weren’t much better as I am (aged 16) in 1987 dressed proudly in a pair of pastel blue slacks, white slip on shoes (no socks) and a baby pink shirt. My hair is short but gelled with hi-lights.

1990s and it’s University time meaning I am scruffy as possible, even though my folks were Middle Class. The trend back then in Further Education was to “dress down” meaning white teenagers who lived in the Home Counties would wear 2nd hand German para boots, Cargo pants and a t-shirt saying “Anti-Animal Testing”, “Bungle for PM”, “Mandela is God” or some other such PC shite.

I have put the best on Facebook, so I can vanquish my demons.

Thankfully I now dress like a pirate so I can look back in 20 years and be proud that.....hmmmm.

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