Sean's Stories

Posted by sean on March 31, 2019 at 11:52 pm in Have I Got News For You, Life In Bath with No Comments

When it comes to the whole ‘America v Canada’ thing, I always thought the Canadians were the clever ones. After all, the Yanks voted for Donald Trump – and, yes, I am more than aware that 51% of my fellow-Brits voted to leave the European Union.

I may have to reconsider whether Canadians really are clever, having read this story online today.

According to the report, Canadians are contracting salmonella and falling ill, after… get this… cooking frozen chicken nuggets in the microwave.

Just to clarify – for fans of ‘TOWIE’ and the 51%ers – you CANNOT cook frozen, raw chicken in the microwave – however tasty the breadcrumb batter looks frozen solid. It even states on the packaging, to heat the nuggets in an OVEN.

See, by comparison, the Trump thing doesn’t seem so daft now, does it?

If he’s being “cooked” in the microwave, the uncle will be having the last laugh!

Poor Foghorn Leghorn – he never stood a chance

The whole chicken in microwave story reminded me of a time in my early-twenties. I was still living at home. I must have been writing my blog, under its original name – Heaven knows why I didn’t blog about this…

Anyway, I’m still a young whipper-snapper. My brother is an even younger teenage whipper-snapper.

As far as teenagers go, he was relatively ok. Not as goody-two-shoes as me, but there’s very little trouble you can get into, if you spend the majority of your teenage years, locked in your bedroom, playing Donkey Kong Country and Crash Bandicoot.

The only problem I had with my brother, was the behaviour of some of his friends.

Now, I am sure they have all grown into very kind, caring, respectable young men. However, at the time, they had a habit of winding me up…

I would be in the kitchen, making a sandwich or perhaps just getting a packet of crisps – maybe even preparing a crisp sandwich, if I was feeling adventurous.

While in the kitchen, my brother’s friends would march in from outside, before proceeding to search the cupboards, fridge and freezer, like the police carrying out a drugs raid.

Luckily for my mum, they were not searching for drugs. Unluckily for me, they were searching for food. Food, which I would have probably wanted to eat.

My brother’s associates would perform this search, without permission from my mum, or even acknowledging me, despite the fact I was stood, staring flabbergasted, in the middle of the kitchen. Why, oh why, didn’t someone buy my brother a PlayStation and a lock for his bedroom back then…

This blatant food theft would get to me, as it happened frequently over many months – I would like to say years, but fear that I would be exaggerating.

One particularly bad day, one of the food thieves – let’s just call him “Friend A” – was raiding the fridge, when he pulled out a large chicken drumstick, covered in barbacue sauce. I was horrified. Not at the cheek of the food theft – I had sadly become used to that – but the fact the chicken was raw!

For someone who has always been over-the-top, to the brink of OCD, when it comes to food hygiene, I was mortified. What made things worse, was Friend A started eating the chicken. The raw chicken.

He ate the rare poultry, as if he was an animal on a David Attenborough documentary, about life on the Serengeti. Except this wasn’t the plains of famine-stricken Africa. It was a kitchen in middle-class suburban England. Plus, I am yet to see a hyena, eating a gazelle, marinated in Heinz BBQ Sauce.

I allowed Friend A to eat the chicken. Maybe I should have said something, although it wouldn’t have made any difference.

My next worry was that Friend A might be sick on our carpet – or the stairs! I also had a vomit phobia and if he was sick on the stairs, I would be trapped – unable to pass the scene of the incident, until the entire area had been sterilised and cleaned using the acid of a Facehugger, from the film Alien.

Luckily, there was no puking in our house, and as Friend A returned for more of my food, across the days that followed, I can only assume he had an iron stomach and had not fallen foul of the fowl – sorry!

Wow. I can really digress when I get going. This was only meant to be a short post about stupid Canadians. It’s nearly 1am – I’ve been writing for an hour and a half!

Posted by sean on February 17, 2019 at 5:29 pm in Life In Bath with No Comments

Why is it that our council – BANES – send us binmen – or Waste Management and Disposal Technicians, as they are now known – who frequently leave behind large piles of our recycling?

Their latest ‘epic fail’ (as the kids would say) is to only take half of our cardboard recycling.

Imagine if other professions took this ‘half-arsed’ attitude…

BANES Hairdressers. A rip-off at half the price.

BANES Beer. The drinks will go to your head.

BANES Trains. Taking you all the way to Newcastle. Terminating at Birmingham.

AFC BANES. The most ‘rubbish’ team in the league. Only ever play 45 minutes of the allotted 90.

I was going to include BANES Heart Surgeons, but the accompanying image was too gruesome!

Posted by sean on December 31, 2018 at 9:46 pm in Life In Bath with No Comments

This year, I have blogged for you all 188 times – this will be the 189th. You’re welcome. Feel free to thank me with chocolate, sweets, PlayStation 4 games and money. I accept PayPal.

If you haven’t been following my blog this year, fear not – here is a summary of 2019…

Happy New Year.


  • Like everyone does every year and will be doing tomorrow, I made a New Year’s Resolution. Mine was to blog more. I blogged just 78 times in 2017, so, remarkably, I stuck to it!
  • I became far too excited – or X-cited – about the new season of X Files. Such a geek.
  • A former Bath City player scored against Leeds in the FA Cup. Who hasn’t?
  • We bought something amazing for our new house – a dishwasher!
  • I won the lottery. Kind of.
  • Leeds managed to humiliate their fans on a massive scale (again), with an appalling new badge.
  • I lost and eventually found my prized autographs.











Zero blogs this month – and with very good reason…

I was signed off sick from work in May. I had felt rotten for months and everything came to a head one day, when I decided I could no longer cope, physically or mentally. I initially thought that the stresses of moving, five months earlier, were a contributory factor, with rest and relaxation being the best cure.

It turns out that things were a lot more sinister than just being run down. As the weeks off work continued, my health worsened. Everyday tasks, some as simple as eating, became a huge effort. It was at that point, I was admitted to hospital…













  • My wife joined me in the 30’s Club.
  • We did some cooking, which didn’t involve a microwave.
  • Somehow I was persuaded to visit another supermarket.
  • The country went bonkers over Brexit.
  • I realised that I was taking Red Dead Redemption 2 a little too seriously.
  • Leeds United’s success started to worry me. Don’t worry – they’ve since lost.
  • I finally completed RDR2.
  • Roman dressed up for Christmas.
  • Those pesky spiders continued to terrorise us…
  • … and Roman got a new job.

Posted by sean on November 22, 2018 at 4:55 pm in Life In Bath, Me Vs. The World with No Comments

The pavement was still unavailable this morning, as Virgin Media were continuing to dig up the street.

I therefore had to take another detour to work. My journey to the office was a tad less stressful than my ride home the night before. Firstly, it was daylight. I also knew the route to take, so didn’t find myself lost in the backstreets of Weston.

The diversion did, however, add time to my journey – approximately 10 minutes extra each way.

This may not seem a lot, but considering I can normally make the trip in just 8 minutes, that is a 125% increase!I therefore feel that Sir Richard Branson should have to pay me for my wasted time – a grand total of 20 minutes…

A quick search on Google revealed that Richard earns an annual salary of $6,450,000. This can be broken down to roughly $736.30 an hour. For 20 minutes, he will earn $245.43. I feel I am entitled to this.

At the current rate of exchange, I am set to receive £190.53 – although I’ll just settle for a Hive webcam. I’ll even use Virgin Money to change the dollars into pounds.

If you are concerned that Rich will suffer financially and be unable to feed his family, as a result of my pay-out, consider this – all I am asking for is 0.0038051162790697676% of his annual summary. Needless to say, he wouldn’t be forced into visiting a food bank.

Posted by sean on November 21, 2018 at 11:40 pm in Life In Bath, Me Vs. The World with No Comments

My journey home from work took a little longer than normal, this evening.

Part of the pavement on my route home had been destroyed and was impassable. “Who could have done this blatent act of destruction?”, I hear you ask. “Terrorists? Vandals?”. It was neither of those, although you would have a fair argument if you were to call what had taken place vandalism.

The pavements had been dug up, apparently, fully legally. The responsible party being none other than Richard Branson. Well, not him personally. He wasn’t on Penn Hill Road, bouncing on top of a pneumatic drill. His company, Virgin Media, were laying cables, so we could all enjoy the fantastic services on offer. Cough! It didn’t even appear to be Virgin employees carrying out the work – they had contracted maintenance workers to do their dirty deeds. I call them “workers”, I’ve seen fewer cowboys in Red Dead Redemption.

This blog isn’t one of my “Sean VS The World”, Victor Meldrew rants. As many of you know, I use a mobility scooter. I was unable to complete my regular route home.

Not being prepared to ride in the main road, I took my scooter down a poorly lit side street. While there, I spent considerable time, searching for a dropped kerb, as my scooter cannot simply mount any pavement. When you’re looking for a dropped kerb, it’s amazing how few of them there are! In the end, I located one, after riding up yet another side street, this time in almost total darkness.

I did make it home, safe and well, if not a little aggrieved and upset. I find the whole thing very selfish and inconsiderate by Virgin Media. They will argue that we were warned that highway maintenance was due to be carried out. In reality, a note was put through our letterbox this morning, after Billy the Kid had began removing slabs of concrete.

I am certainly not the only person who would have been affected by Virgin’s appallingly actions – other disabled people and parents with children from nearby schools would have also suffered.

I sent a very strongly worded email to Virgin Media. I fully expect to receive some standard, pre-written spiel back, as a reply. I therefore copied my MP and local councillors into the email. It’ll probably achieve nothing, but I would hope that Richard Branson’s Magnificent Seven are not allowed to continue working in the manner which they have been.

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