Yesterday was Valentine’s Day – a day hated by those without anyone, who are looking for love; a day treasured by those in a loving relationship; and for those married, just another day.
I am in the “loving relationship” category, although I am sure both Claire would agree with me that it’ll be “just another day” after 10 years of marriage!
As it was Valentine’s Day and I was feeling romantic, I was willing to try some new things – two, in fact. Not in a Fifty Shades of Grey kind of way, involving whips, handcuffs and goodness knows what else. No, my adventurous side is far tamer.
When it comes to drinking alcohol, I have cider. I’ll also try beers and lager. If you offered me a Smirnoff Ice, I wouldn’t chuck it back at you either. Wine, however, is a no-no.
Claire has forced me to drink wine in the past and I have given her sips of Thatcher’s Gold and Sheppys. Both of us reacted as if we had been given a glass of urine.
Last night though, I was feeling romantic, so bravely took on a small bottle of pink cava. I have to say, it was nice – very nice, in fact. Does that make me a wine drinker? I now feel I should try and find a house with a cellar, and import thousands of bottles of the stuff, drink it my the bucket-load, including with lunch, yet deny I’m an alcoholic, telling people instead I’m a connoisseur. That’s what all wine drinkers do, right?
I must add, the wine was drank alongside a lovely meal (yes, it was from Marks and Spencer), consisting of vegetable bake, cheese croquettes, chocolate tart and lots of strawberries.
After the meal, we sat down on the sofa and tried the second new thing. While in town on Thursday, I was drawn into HMV by massive posters for a new romantic comedy, available on DVD. The film was called About Time. A rom-com. Something I don’t do.
I think the last rom-com I watched was Notting Hill. This was back in 1999, when I got a brand spanking new DVD player. DVD was new technology back then and you couldn’t buy many films on that format. I seem to recall visiting Our Price (now deceased), and buying The Matrix along with Notting Hill for something like £30, which was a great deal at the time, especially for a teenager with a student loan burning a hole in his pocket.
Notting Hill was impressive on DVD, but I would have enjoyed watching Manchester United The Movie, such was my admiration for the DVD quality.
To cut a rambling story short, I had not properly watched a rom-com since.
I did enjoy the film. It was basically about a man who could travel back in time to put right things he messed up or wished he did differently. Cue him falling in love, getting married, having children, saving his alcoholic sister and visiting his dead father to play ping pong. I did question Claire why he didn’t go and buy a lottery ticket. This was lightly addressed in the film, in something of a cop-out excuse. Crickey, this is turning into a film review!
As a side note, we suffered a bit of a scare in the evening. As everyone in Britain will know, there have been fucking storms for what seems like forever. I honestly can’t remember the last time it didn’t rain in Bath, I really can’t! Anyway, we were happily watching the rom-com, when we heard a bang. My instinctive reaction was to yell “what the fuck was that?”Despite the fright, my bowels didn’t loosen to the extent that I soiled myself, although had I been greedier with the strawberries, we could have had a messy accident on our hands.
The porch was investigated for the cause of the disturbance. We found nothing. I told Claire not to go outside. Despite my fear and avoidance of horror movies, I’ve seen enough to know what can happen in this situation! We then traced where we believed the source of the clatter to have come from – the boiler cupboard. Claire tried to open the door. It was stuck fast. I tried and it opened with ease. Now I’m not Mr Muscle, far from it, so how the fuck did it open first time for me, but not Claire? And what was that bang? Whatever it was, it shat me up. Any more strange goings on and I know who to call…
This evening I watched Sharknado. The plot of the film is simple. There is a tornado. It goes over the sea and picks up thousands of blood thirsty sharks. The tornado comes inland. The sharks eat people. I don’t know if it is based on real life events, but suspect it almost certainly is.
Yes, the acting may not be up there with Robert De Niro’s portrayal of Jake La Motta in Raging Bull. Nor are the special effects as mind-blowing as The Matrix. It would, however, be unfair to criticise a film, proclaimed by many as “so bad, it’s good”. The Internet Movie Database rating of 3.3/10 is also grossly unfair. That stupid Lord of the Rings film got 8.8/10, for fucks sake – almost top marks for a trilogy, over 9 hours long, about people walking! Some people have no taste. If I wanted to spend an entire day watching something like that, I would have turned on UK Gold and watched Last of the Summer Wine.
Love it or hate it, whatever you think of Sharknado, I think we’ll all agree on one thing – it’s better than Avatar. What a pile of shit that was.
“Mummy, I have an owie”
I received an email yesterday afternoon from Sky Bet. Not being a regular gambler, I would normally mark such correspondence as ‘spam’, deleting it from my inbox. However, in this instance I opened it. Inside was some waffle about a new online game I could play on my iPad. Blah blah blah. I read on. After lots of guff, I was informed I had a free £5 bet to use on this new game. Despite not knowing anything about it, I downloaded the application from the App Store and entered the promotional code for my free bet.
Having launched the application, I stared blankly at the game. It meant nothing to me. All I could see were some cartoons of jungle animals and strange symbols. The only button which looked like it did anything was one labelled ‘spin’. I pressed it. After a few flashes on screen and a roar of a lion, I was told I had won £41.25. Blimey. It felt like I had mugged an old aged pensioner. Considering Rupert Murdoch owns part of Sky, I suppose in a way I did.
Surely making over forty pounds is harder than that? I quickly deposited the money into my bank account. There was, however more of my free bet remaining. Again, I had no idea what to do, so I pressed ‘spin’ again. After another bizarre animal noise and onscreen animation, I was told I had won £14. This time I had taken candy from a baby – £14 worth of candy to be precise. Before the online police could catch me, I moved my latest winnings into my bank, before returning to the game for more money making enjoyment. This was getting fun. Alas, my free bets ran out. I had, however made £55 from Sky.
To celebrate me screwing over Rupert the Bear, I went to Bristol with Simon and John. Simon invited his friend along. He supports Tottenham Hotspur.
The first stop was Nandos where I had an adequate meal. Not shit. Not that nice either. Nandos is always good, but my chicken was a bit dry. Simon complained that I took too long eating it. I prefer to chew my food and not devour it whole, like a duck eating bread. The way Simon and John moaned about my speed of consumption, you would have thought I had taken a month to eat my chicken. While I ate my meal, and my friends moaned, the Spurs supporter sat quietly, presumably worrying about the future of Gareth Bale.
We left Nandos shortly after, although Simon and John would tell you that it was hours later, before driving to Showcase cinema. There is a Vue right next to Nandos, but that is overpriced and often overcrowded with smelly Bristolians.
It had already been decided we would go to see The Worlds End. I had no objections, so did what I was told and paid for my ticket. Simon had snuck a couple of bottles of Sheppy’s cider into the cinema. Considering they sell alcohol at the snack bar, I didn’t think there was anything morally wrong with this. It was just that we were getting a far superior drink for a greatly reduced price. Simon and I had two bottles between us, and had drank all but a few drops before the film even started. A stupid advert with David Beckham drinking espresso and wandering around in just his pants is enough to turn anyone to drink.
The film was OK. It had Simon Pegg and his fat mate in it. I forget the fat man’s name. I could look on IMDB for it, but meh. If you’re that interested, and you’re probably not, you can look for yourself… I just remembered… Nick Frost.
I thought the film was going to be primarily about a load of middle-aged men going on a pub crawl, with predictably hilarious results. It started off that way and yes, I found it rather funny. Then things got a bit weird and robots got involved, some sci-fi shit happened and I got bored.
My review of The Worlds End in just five words… “It was not Hot Fuzz.”
Cleethorpes Beach. The Worlds End.
On Friday I blogged about the fucking brilliant news that Ken Bates had left Leeds United. This morning I read the hilarious news that he had been sacked. I was lying in bed at the time, reading it on my iPhone. So amused by the story, I nearly wet the bed. According to the report, he was relieved of his “honorary president duties” for ordering himself a private jet costing £500k. Apparently he may now to sue us. Bring it on, I say. Leeds United’s managing director, David Haigh is a trained lawyer. Of course, if the matter can’t be settled in court, there’s always The Jeremy Kyle Show.
“Pull my finger”
Jaws
A few weeks ago, I noticed to my extreme excitement that Jaws was being re-released at the cinema. Jaws is my favourite film of all time. Sharks are cool and any film which involves a child being eaten alive in a brutal, gory death is always worth watching at least 50 times. Jaws was originally released in 1975, meaning I was born too late to see it at the cinema. Sadly, I also missed out on Manchester United being relegated the year before, not to mention the invention of the food processor.
I managed to persuade John to accompany me to the Showcase, bribing him with pre-movie visit to Nandos. After eating chicken, we went to the cinema, where tickets were purchased along with Ice Blasts. £3.60 each. Three pounds AND sixty pissing pence! It was only a few years ago, John and I would visit Showcase and be able to buy TWO Ice Blasts for a fiver. How things have changed. Bring back Tony Blair and affordable ice drinks.
Despite Jaws being by far the best film being shown in the entire multiplex, it was shamefully relegated to the crap screen at the end of the corridor. The floor was sticky, the room smelt of toilets and everything I moved on my chair, it squeaked. The screen was also very small. I could have just watched the DVD at home and sat close to my telly. I am sure a crap film written by Katie Price, featuring Miley Cyrus and a talking egg was being shown on the bigger, premier screen. Sigh.
So the movie. Without wanting to spoil it for you, it’s about shark. It eats a naked drunk woman. Then it eats a skinny child on a waterbed. Still hungry, Jaws, as I have named the shark, eats a man, but spits out his leg. A policeman, scientist and drunk sailor then go out to sea on small boat to kill the big shark. The drunken sailor gets eaten, no doubt saving on a future liver transplant, before the policeman shoots Jaws, who explodes while munching on an oversized tin of deodorant. You can see why it’s my favourite film ever?
There was a very scary bit in the middle where a head appears from a sinking boat. Having seem Jaws about five thousand times, I knew to the frame that the head as about to appear, yet still jumped out my skin, almost soiling myself in the process. The whole cinema knew I jumped too, as the squeaky chair I was sat on made an extra loud squeak as I bolted upright in fear. Apologies to my fellow cinema-goers for the noise…. and the smell.
England
I was planning on writing this blog on Sunday afternoon, before the quarter final against Italy. In the blog I would praise the effort, commitment and passion shown by the England team. A sharp contrast to the 2010 World Cup, where England players performed so poorly, they made me vomit with rage. The fact Italy dominated the entire match, apart from the first 10 minutes, and eventually won in the most typical of fashions – on a penalty shootout – means this blog is a little irrelevant now. Even so, my feelings towards the national side are a lot more positive and optimistic than they were two years ago.
I think John, who can’t stand football, summed up last night with his text message to me at full time. It read simply “Lolz”.
Crazy Italian
No, this isn’t a racial slur following England’s defeat to the vastly superior Italians last night. This is to celebrate the fact John, Simon and I returned to Bath’s finest pizza takeaway outlet on Saturday night. I say “returned”, I went there last week with Claire. In past weeks, the need was felt, not by myself, but by friends, to visit a nearby competitor. A vastly inferior pizza takeaway restaurant.
So why the “Crazy Italian” heading? Anyone who needs to ask that question clearly has not visited Pizzerella when it’s owner has been present – which is all the time. He’s a great man and a fantastic chef, but his staff must fear him. One piece of pepperoni out of place and he explodes. Passionate, but crazy. A great recipe for a good pizza.
A new member of staff was working in the takeaway. A woman behind the till. She didn’t know how to use the till and had to keep asking for help. My pizza cost £7.10. I will have to check my bank statement to ensure I wasn’t charge £710. I also asked for chilli on my pizza. She didn’t know what chilli was. I pointed to a notice board with the word “Chilli”. She said I would get chilli on my pizza. When I got home and opened the box, there was no chilli.
QUIZ
Friday evening was the Bath City Quiz Night and Twerton Park. I begrudgingly decided that I sacrifice watching Autumnwatch and go along. Rather noble of me as Autumnwatch is such an interesting show – watching foxes and a badger rummaging through people’s bins live on TV really is fascinating.
The Bath City quizzes are a laugh, although this one was really hard. The first round was political history. They may as well have asked me to translate Shakespeare into Cantonese as I had absolutely no idea. We did educational quizzes like that on Friday afternoon in school, with Mars bars as prizes. However those questions were generally much easier, such as “what colour is a fire engine?” I did get one question right and was apparently the only contestant to do so – “What country does Robbie Fowler currently play in?” The answer being Thailand. If I ever go on Mastermind, my specialist subject will be scouse footballers.
BOGEY SIDES
‘A bogey side’ is a term given to a football club which another club finds impossible to beat. I’ve always found this term confusing and don’t know why it is named after a bogey. To me, a bogey is something that lives up your nose and can normally be released by blowing, or if in your own company, picking it out before enjoying it as a snack (optional). Why is it given to a football club who generally causes annoyance and discomfort? Surely it should be ‘Itchy-scab-on-your-back-which-you-can’t-reach-side’.
Anyway, as a Bath City fan I cant really say we’re anyone’s bogey (or scab-on-your-back) side. Until yesterday. I think we can now safely say that we’re the team that Grimsby Town will never, ever beat. We’re having a rubbish season, were trailing 2-0 to ‘The Mariners’, yet somehow managed to salvage a 2-2 draw.
When I was a kid I could never roller-skate. It was impossible. However hard I tried, I couldn’t get to grips with it. Having wheels on your feet isn’t natural. It shouldn’t happen. I think my failure to roller-skate is very much like Grimsby’s inability to beat Bath City. It’ll never ever happen… ever.
MORE FIREWORKS
Getting home from football yesterday was an adventure. Every single house in Bath seemed to be letting off fireworks. There was so much smoke, flashes, bangs and explosions. I felt like Ross Kemp in Afghanistan, although feeling a lot colder and with more hair. I have no problem with Bonfire Night. I accept people want to celebrate the death of a man who tried to kill the Prime Minister, or whatever Guy Fawkes did. My issue is why do people keep letting fireworks off for weeks afterwards? Yesterday was November 5th. Today is November 6th. No more fireworks please. You don’t see people giving out Easter eggs in June.
JURASSIC PARK 2
I didn’t go to any firework displays last night. I went to The Rec in town and saw a display a few years ago. Quite frankly, once you have seen one set of fireworks, you’ve seen them all. Instead I spent the night in. With little to watch on TV, I was left with two choices. Autumnwatch on the iPlayer or Jurassic Park 2: The Lost World on Blu-Ray. I went for the latter. The film was shit on VHS in 1997 and is equally as pooh in 2011 in high definition. Mr. Spielberg, hang your head in shame.
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.
