Thursday, 26 December 2013

Where's My Comfort Food?

What does the future hold?

This is a question which people throughout our green and pleasant land are asking, as 2013 slowly disappears from our calendars, to be replaced by another year, and another - in most cases - twelve months of what we've just gone through.
You may well want to telephone a clairvoyant, at sixty-five pence a minute, to be told that you've got to keep an eye on your health, or you may already have a gut feeling that next year is going to be YOUR year.
Well, MY guts have nothing to say, and as for Mystic Marion in Basildon...
The future, my friends, is in our hands, and whilst fate can play a part in what's to come, I reckon that all the while I've got my comfort food, my cans of lager and my gambling addiction, life can throw as much shit my way as it likes, because quite frankly, what's to be will be.
Resolutions? Ah, yes! That's a list of things we jot down on the back of an envelope on the last day of the year, knowing there's more chance of it raining chocolate bars in Swindon than there is in us actually sticking to that stupid, bloody list of complete and utter nonsense.
Resolutions for 2014, you cheerfully write, include guzzling vast amounts of Perrier, eating tons of iceberg lettuces and turning your back on the biggest vice of all - the lottery. You may even, you convince yourself, start going to church every Sunday morning and you will certainly not be watching any more porn movies. Your addiction to the internet will be overcome and your use of foul language will be a thing of the past. You will get to like your neighbour, even if you really think he's a bastard and you will send money to charities throughout the land. You will know longer spend hours watching football on television, but instead take up an interesting hobby.
Oh what a joy life will be, you believe, as you wonder why you didn't think of all of these life-changing things earlier.
Perrier and iceberg lettuces? Come on now, a juicy cheeseburger and pint of lager sounds so much better, doesn't it? And no more spending hours on the internet? And stamp collecting instead of Arsenal versus Liverpool? What a load of bollocks your list is, and what a waste of time writing your list has been.
So think again before you give up sex and let Jesus into your life, for whether or not you give up all of those nasty habits, hoping that it WILL lead to a better life, WHAT'S TO BE WILL BE!

Monday, 16 December 2013

5 GREAT Christmas gift ideas

Fizzy drinks have never been so much fun

With the number of shopping days to Christmas rapidly running out, that last-minute search for ideal gifts will soon become a mad rush, before it's too late.
So, if YOU still don't know what you're going to give the love of your life on the 25th December, thanks to Ryman, Cooper and Joy, the problem is solved.
Sir, your wife would appreciate an appliance which puts the fun back into fizzy drinks, and brightens up the dullest of kitchens. A fizzy drink maker gives you the opportunity to make exciting and original drinks, whilst draining your bank account. Yes - it may be fun to make cola which is as appetising as stagnant rain water, but by the time you've paid for the expensive syrup, bought a cartridge of gas and filled the machine with water, the cost of your glass of cola will be fifteen times more expensive than a can of soda bought from your local supermarket.
This is one crap gift that you shouldn't even offer to your worst enemy.
Ladies, how many times has your man complained that your DVD player no longer delivers sharp and crisp images? Hundreds of times, you cry, wondering how such an irritating problem can be solved.
Well, thanks to a DVD lens cleaner, grainy images will soon be a thing of the past.
Simply load the disc into the machine, hit play, and smile as your DVD player is given a new lease of life.
And what's more, this little beauty is cheap and made in China, and if it doesn't work, who cares?
Sir, your wife has been recently complaining about her tired and swollen feet. What, you ask, is the remedy?
How about a plastic foot spa, which massages the feet by sending thousands of bubbles whirling around in warm water, whilst tickling your other half's toes.
This is one gift which is sure to bring a smile to your lady's face, in the same way that constipation always leaves her rolling around with laughter.
In terms of crap, this device is right up there with fizzy drink makers and DVD cleaning kits.
Only if you want a divorce should you choose this as an ideal gift.
With winter on the way, what man wouldn't appreciate a winter car kit, on a cold and icy morning?
This wonderful kit hails from China, and comprises of a can of de-icer, a bottle of winter screen wash, a plastic thing to scrape away at the windscreen and a rectangular sponge. Finally, to make the interior of the car smell like a Norwegian pine forest, there is a cardboard-scented tree, which should be hung from the rear-view mirror, so the overpowering odour of Scandinavia can fill the nostrils of all concerned.
A great gift for the motorist in your life.

And finally, what about a leather passport-cum-credit card holder?

It smells great and allows travellers to keep their passport with their credit cards, so that in the event of being pickpocketed in Turkey, a thief will be delighted to find all he needs to help himself to a poor bastard's life savings.

Never keep your credit cards and passports together, says the warning on the packaging in which this item of useless crap is wrapped!

Enough said!

Friday, 13 December 2013

Meet Boring Peter & His Friends

Boring Peter Doing His Boring Job

Yep, Christmas is almost upon us, and so throughout our green and pleasant land lots of office workers are preparing themselves for their annual office party.

Oh what fun boring Peter from accounts is going to have, hoping that at the table of the local Harvester pub and grill - a fine venue for an office party - he'll be sitting next to shy Jenny from the shredding room. Then there's John from the mail sorting room and Alison from reception. And let's not forget Sarah from the claims department, Paul from the filing room and Tanya from downstairs. The boffins from the I.T. department have been invited, the regional director will be making an appearance and the office manager and the two trainees are also coming along to join in the Friday night fun.

This Will Be The Place To Be

Now, if you've ever stepped foot inside of a Harvester restaurant, you will know that the chance of having a good time - be it at Christmas or in the middle of summer - is slimmer than an anorexic teenager, and that not even sexy Tanya from downstairs will make the evening one to remember.
But smiles on faces and good manners are the order of the day, because even if it is the end of year party, there is no way that the regional director wants to see any of his minions even mildly drunk, and neither does the bastard want to hear Peter's one and only "dirty" joke.
No, No and No! You WILL arrive on time, in an attire which - if you are of the female variety - covers your white and lumpy flesh, and if you're a man you should really wear a shirt and tie - and have a shave.
Peter is upset. Shy Jenny has been placed next to Paul. Tanya is between the guys from I.T. Alison is at the end of the table, and Peter - the sad and lonely Peter - is at the other end of the table, with the two trainees and the bore from security.
But don't be sad, Peter. Sit back and enjoy your exotic cocktail, and share details of your dull and uneventful life with Graham - the former soldier who now spends eight hours a day in a wooden hut, letting people in and out of the company car park.
The roast turkey is shit. The vegetables are cold and the waitress is Polish. None of the spineless bastards at the table dare to ask for a pint of beer or a glass of white wine, until Jenny...
 ...well, until Jenny has the audacity to ask for a glass of Chardonnay.

A look of horror fills the regional director's face. A GLASS OF CHARDONNAY! Jenny has committed a crime worse than child murder - and her career in insurance is surely going to end this very night. But then comes Paul's request for a pint of lager and Tanya's demand for a vodka and coke.

The office manager looks down at the floor, and wishes that the stained carpet would open up and take him down. He knows what vodka and coke can do to a young girl, and he knows that Jenny won't be satisfied with only one glass of Chardonnay.

The director doesn't hang around for the Christmas pudding. He bids his lowly slaves a happy Christmas, and reminds all concerned that if they intend to get merrily drunk, don't forget that Bairstow & Co Insurance is proud of its reputation, and that careers are at stake if the evening at the Harvester pub and grill turns into a drunken orgy.

Once the miserable bastard has gone, and the office manager has slipped away, the rest of the invitees decide to let their hair down, order lager by the bucketful, Chardonnay by the barrel and vodka by the gallon.

Jenny reveals her white flesh to Paul. Tanya slips her tongue inside of Graham's mouth. Alison disappears into the car park with a guy from I.T. John does his fine impression of Adolf Hitler. And Peter...

...well, Boring Peter vomits his Christmas dinner over the Polish waitress, after a double whisky proves to be a double whisky too much.

Bairstow & Co's reputation has been shot to pieces, but in the words of Sarah from the claims department: WHO GIVES A FUCK!

Sunday, 1 December 2013

Cheeseburgers, Kathryn Erbe & ...

Kathryn Erbe: Tough on crime and sexy with it.

Over here in France, where life would be a lot better if the president wasn't Francois Hollande, the natives have always eyed America and the Americans with a certain degree of suspicion.
This dislike of all things from the other side of the Atlantic is hard to understand, but probably comes about from the fact that the French consider themselves to be the finest race on the planet.
Yes, I can hear you all chuckling, and asking yourselves how can a country where idleness is a national past-time and where shops don't open on a Sunday be home to a people who believe they are a cut above the rest.
Well, don't ask me, because having lived here for so many years, I've given up trying to understand the French, and their peculiar habits. After all, if they're happy to work thirty-five hours a week, spend three weeks in an overcrowded campsite in August and eat snails in garlic butter, who am I to criticise them?
Okay, some things over here are good: the food, the wine and the countryside, but some things over here are positively shit.
Our French friends like nothing better to complain about the number of American series shown on French TV, but having watched the dross which French TV producers like to force upon the population, who can blame a hot-blooded male like me preferring to settle down on a Friday night with a bottle of wine and Kathryn Erbe, instead of watching a documentary about road accidents in Paris.
Kathryn Erbe is GOOD - French TV is NOT!


 Then there's the dislike of American cuisine, which the French believe is all about cheeseburgers, pizzas and hot dogs. And after eating the finest fast food money can buy, it can only be washed down with coke, can't it?

The French may detest cheeseburgers and all drinks fizzy, but drive past a McDonalds where I live on a Friday night, and you'll see the youth of today stuffing their faces with all things good to come out of America. And as for me - what can be better way to cure a Bordeaux-induced headache by drinking a can of coke the morning after?

The problem here in France is the fact that most French people believe that if it isn't French, then it isn't good. But as the older generation fades away into the next world - where cheeseburgers, coke and Kathryn Erbe are certainly not welcome - at least the next generation want to break free from the shackles of all things European, and embrace anything and quite possibly everything from the land which gave us good fast food and the sexiest female cop on the planet!