Mr. John Watkins and Simon both came to mine last night. The evening was a relatively uneventful one. The lack of any violence, wine spillage and flatulence from John, were all welcome however.
Instead, we just watched Friday night television. I’m not normally a fan of the kind of entertainment shown on such evenings, but this week there were two shows starring David Mitchell, who is funny and always worth watching.
After TV, I set up the Nintendo 64 and we had a game of GoldenEye. Unlike last week, I was able to get the sound working, so I could actually hear the bullets from my Walther PPK entering Boris Grishenko’s chest, breaking his ribs and organs.
Boris is John’s character of choice and to be fair, he killed me a lot more than I killed him. The normally grey suite of my Siberian Special Forces guy was red and bloodied. If GoldenEye was real life though, I would have won. My buddies in the KGB would have just poisoned his fish supper.
I’m off to Plymouth shortly, daawn saafh (I believe that is how they talk on the south coast). As a member of the Leeds United Faithful, I am making the trip to watch the Giants of Yorkshire take on the Titans of Devon (making both teams seem normal size).
As you probably know, Leeds have been somewhat disappointing of late. Instead of winning games like they did last year, the players seem to have taken the attitude that losing 3-0, 4-0 or 5-1 is acceptable, much to my frustration.
Still, I am sure today will be different and when the Leeds players walk out on the pitch and notice the efforts I have made to make the trip, they will give 110% and beat Plymouth 6-0. Yeah right…
I have been informed recently, that the England national side will be playing in a cricket competition, known as “The Ashes” over the next few weeks. I know very little about “The Ashes”, let alone the cricket, I know it is played with a bat.
As a patriotic Englishman, I would like to wish very best of luck to the whole national side – Rooney, Lampard, Neville, Sven, go and do your country proud.
I believe you can watch the whole tournament on Sky Sports. After watching a bit of their coverage today, I was rather amused. Can anyone confirm whether this clip is a blooper or the presenter just taking the piss out of a man called Sean Pollock?
As you probably know, I have been off work all week and have had a particularly pleasant break. I saw two entertaining football matches, watched a hilarious show from David Mitchell & Robert Webb, did lots of Christmas shopping (as well as making the odd buy for myself), enjoyed various James Bond movies and socialised with friends, including Dan, who came to Bath for the weekend.
Now the fun is over and it’s back to work tomorrow. My bank balance is looking rather unhealthy, all the recent activity has made me very tired and I’m not overly enthusiastic about going back to the office, or having to get up at some god forsaken hour.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my job, but I enjoy living a life of leisure more. These people who say that if they won the lottery, they would carry on working are either very dull or very big liars. If I won the lottery on Wednesday night, I wouldn’t be in work on Thursday morning.
Still, no need to get depressed, I’ll be back in the swing of things in a day or two. Before I know it, I’ll be having a laugh with colleagues while drinking coffee and surfing the internet when I should be working. Shortly after that, I’ll also have been paid, my bank balance will look healthy again and my next annual leave break will be just weeks away. Then the whole process will start all over again…
Sunday morning. Quiet, peaceful, serene. Dan and I are drinking coffee from my new coffee maker. Only the slight hum of a fish tank and the tapping of my laptop keys as I blog can be heard.
It has been busier and noisier in previous days. Only the previous morning, an attempt to make coffee ended in disaster. Firstly, my bedroom fridge which stores milk, fruit, Coca Cola and (to Simon and Dan’s disapproval), cans of lager beer, decided it would be funny to piss itself all over my carpet. Either that or it became defrosted due to being unplugged. An accident, possibly on my part.
That same morning, my new coffee machine decided it would try to commit suicide by blowing itself up. It failed, although scorching hot, black coffee did end up streaming down my fridge (which the coffee machine as resting on) and onto the carpet – just like a black waterfall of molten lava.
In my attempt stop the emergency, I became very badly burnt. Dan became very angry due to the fact his coffee was delayed. I did suggest he suck the coffee from the shag of my sodden carpet and clothes, but he declined – fussy bastard.
Yesterday afternoon was also eventful. Mr. White, everyone’s favourite village drunkard, came to see Dan and myself. He was rather perturbed to see us playing various retro videogames, but after being threatened with various weapons I had lying around, he agreed to complete the whole of Lemmings for our enjoyment. If you are interested in seeing the various torture methods used on Mr. White, check out Dan’s blog. Maybe you too know a drunkard that you can use these methods on.
Everything comes at a cost though. Mr. White always wants more. He comes to my flat, eats my food, drinks my drink, shits in my toilet and this time… get this… he wanted to use MY electricity to charge his mobile phone! I don’t think that it would be too harsh to call him a cheeky cunt.
Reluctantly, I agreed to let Mr. White use my electricity to charge his mobile telephone, although warned him that should the charger be left behind, as it has on previous occasions, it will be donated to Oxfam.
Well Mr. White, after you left, I found your charger. If you want it back, I suggest taking a trip to the Bath branch of Oxfam. I believe they are only selling it for £1.50.
Dan and I did inform Mr. White of this, by leaving him a message on MSN. He ignored it and only took notice at 1am, on his return from a typical nights boozing. Upon logging into my MSN this morning, I was greeted my the following note:
Jono sent 19/11/2006 01:06:
what pics ? and wtf oxfam ?>
Jono sent 19/11/2006 01:09:
ive left my charger at yours again ?
Bless him. He sounds very confused. That’s what 10 pints of Stella does to you kids.
If incidentally, anybody else is reading this blog and needs a new mobile phone charger, the offer is not exclusively available to Mr. White, so why not pay Oxfam a visit and buy it before he does.
As you may be aware, it is Children In Need on television tonight. Are any of you thinking of making a donation to a child living in poverty in the third world? Have you ever considered giving money to people who don’t even have clean water to drink or enough food to eat? Do you want to provide medical equipment, which will transform the lives of millions of children? Well think again…
In Britain today, thousands of useless domestic pets have a bit of a miserable time because of owners who, for whatever reason, cannot stand the sight of them anymore.
For the money it costs to educate and inoculate a seven year old boy in Mozambique, this weird, panicy Spaniel could spend the rest of his life in a hotel.
For the price of a cataract operation which would restore a child’s sight, you could fund months of trawling up and down motorways looking for kittens.
For the cost of equipping an Ethiopian farmer with seeds and tools, you could provide a lifetime’s doggy biscuits for this Labrador which wees itself every time it hears the hoover.
Please, give what you can.
About Me
So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
