Nando’s: it’s literally just chicken 

(This is a message I sent to Nandos via there website this afternoon).

Dear Fernando (I like to address people by there full god given name, I was brought up not dragged up),  

 I am sure you are an extremely busy man, so I will get straight to my point; after a recent visit to your little eatery I am quite frankly appalled by your establishment and in particular the service I received. Fear not though, I believe, no, indeed I know for a fact, I have what it takes, and the skills required that your small restaurant so desperately needs. You will be pleased to know Fernando that I do not ask for much in return for my expertise, just a chair, some paper, a couple of pens, food and lodgings for my family. I am so confident of my new appointment that I have resigned, with immediate effect from my post as a dog walker for the rich and famous. I told my employer where to shove their job, I then proceeded to set fire to their cockerspaniels tail. But even as I was driven away in a police van, I was on top of the world because I know, soon I will be working for you. Apologies I have not started work with you sooner, the wife and I have just spent 2 weeks lost on the Yorkshire dales, and we had to be rescued by a man with a ferret. 

Here is my experience at your restaurant, and I am sure you agree it was not sufficient: 

 It was a bitterly cold Tuesday afternoon, my wife and I went to the bank for a meeting  with the rather obnoxious bank manager, to try get a loan, unsuccessfully, for my second great business idea. After the gambling den aimed at that neglected area of the market, the under 16s was rejected, I came up with another genius idea. The Great British sewing bee, but for the under 10’s. Apparently, according to my idiot of a bank manager, that’s very similar to something called a “sweat shop”. I think the bank manager misunderstood my idea, as they would be making not just sweaters, but t-shirts, jeans anything that Primark requires! 

We were in the area, despondent and absolutely hank Marvin, and being a serious diabetic, my blood sugar was low, and I was wobbling all over the place like a drunken man with Parkinson’s. We decided to pop in to your establishment. The good lady and I normally go for Chinese, I do love a Chinese, but you will never convince me that a chicken fried that rice! 

  Before I met my wife I never had a problem with saving my hard earned pennies as I simply didn’t bother with it. But now I am more choosey with where I spend my money (the wife is a real drain on my finances), and luckily for you I chose your establishment. I met my wife at the perfect time in my life; I was looking for a nice girl that I could take home to my mother so I didn’t have to talk to her anymore, and just like that, 7 years later, there she was, looking above average, in the line for the job centre. 

Unfortunately for me, little did I know at the time, she is one of those ‘vegetablists’, and as my interest in grass eaters is on par with being molested by a drunk uncle, I just let her get on with it, I don’t ask and she doesn’t bore me with it. She has this habit of mentioning it every time she meets someone new. At home we eat separately. (She was not always abnormal; she became one of those ‘vegetabletarians’ after having a bad experience that involved her dad and a chicken. She refuses to talk about that night in question, but from the little I know, it involves a barn late at night, her father, chicken, loud noises, the police, the RSPCA and a judge. Her dad is now in prison, in a cell on his own for his own protection, and her family had to move away from the local area when she was just 12 years old, it’s all very sad. Her father had his tongue shot off only a year before that in a hunting accident, it was awful, but he never talked about it. I personally, could and would never condone animal cruelty, violence or abuse towards animals. That’s what red haired children are for. On reflection the family were glad to get rid of the farm, after 20 years in the farm industry and realising the only difference between being up to your knees in animal waste facilitating the big supermarkets requests and kneeling on a piss soaked floor of a rest stop bathroom giving £10 blowjobs to men named Barry, is the amount of urine on the floor, it was time for them to give up I suspect and move to pastures new. 

This may explain why, more often than not, the old ball and chain can be such a sour faced cow (It could be the fact that unfortunately she can’t have kids, ‘Baron Karen’ she is known as round our way, which is odd because she is not even called Karen! Such is life. I always thought when I was 41, that I would be married with kids, well to be honest I thought I’d be married with weekend access, but hey such is life)  

 I flat out refuse to be in the kitchen when she is “cooking”; the site of that meat free stuff positively makes me heave my guts up. Once I was in the kitchen making myself a bacon sandwich, and as we can all agree, it is the king of sandwiches, and the old ball and chain said with a smug grin “why don’t you try this Quorn bacon? It’s just as good as normal bacon” with a swift back hander, I put a stop to that nonsense. Have you honestly ever seen a Quorn piece of bacon? It looks like the inside of an old ladies’ flip flop. I mean what is Quorn mince? It looks just like cat litter. I love my cat, Sir Henry Chumlington, but I wouldn’t want to eat his shit! 

 You have to understand Fernando, My lady wife gets very tetchy from time to time (just this morning my wife and I argued about gardening, despite neither of us being in our late seventies.) I would say it’s because she is going through the “change”, but I am afraid to say that moment has long since past. Between you and me Fernando, everything picked up and moved south long ago, the phrase “spaniel’s ears” often comes to mind when I talk about my wife, I can’t go in a pet shop anymore. 

Sometimes I am utterly perplexed by my darling my partner. One moment she will say something really profound, and totally catch me off guard, then within a matter of minutes will say something that makes me think she is mentally handicapped. But despite my loathing of her, I love her dearly and just want her to be happy. You see Fernando, Love is like a fart. If you have to force it, it’s probably shit. Being married is certainly preferable to the dark days before I met my wife, sitting alone watching adult movies in my 1 bedroom flat. The worst adult movie, and there are some truly terrible ones, I have ever seen was titled ‘Debbie and me summer 92’. which was still inside an old video recorder I found when I moved in. while it contained lots of nudity, and very little dialogue, apart from Debbie complaining continuously about cramp and at one point the overdue credit card bill, they were both extremely overweight, breathing like they only had one lung each, and well into there 50’s so I could only handle around 63 minutes or so before ejecting in disgust. 

Anyway, I digress Fernando; Needleless to say I have not been that disappointed with an establishment since I went to a gathering where I thought you could drink in secret, away from your spouses prying eyes. Alcoholics Anonymous really should change their name! Some people seem to think that going out for a meal should be a simple process, but with a little bit of planning and a lot of determination on the part of your staff, you ensure it is a painful process for customers like me. But with my expertise we can change all that Fernando and make this place a success! 

We didn’t bother ourselves with looking at the menu that was placed outside the door, I got distracted by a big poster advertising Mission Impossible 32, and I had a little chuckle to myself, its not really mission impossible if he’s already done it 31 times is it!? 

 We were greeted by a girl with what looked like a bolt, the type a bull would wear, through her nose, she had a big name badge on, I wont tell you that her name was Chantelle for the sake of anonymity, she probably needs the job to feed her 5 kids by 6 different fathers, all called Daz. I, for the sake of hiding her identity will just call her ‘grumpy’. She seemed rather annoyed by my interruption of her ‘standing against the wall looking cool’ time. It is understandable though that ‘grumpy’ would be outraged by this intrusion into her Facebook and looking out of the window time. She spoke in grunts (or Geordie, I can’t tell which), and was dead behind the eyes. 

When I was a nipper, I had a lady friend like that once, she’s in prison now. She was always a bit unstable, and from the reports in the paper, it seems she had, what was termed a ‘psychotic episode’ and went on a rather mad knife rampage through our local Farmfoods. When I say rampage, she screamed a lot of nonsense about how the Farmfoods prawn ring was the main cause of Global warming, and threw a Roll of Andrex at some small child’s head. The knife was just a plastic picnic knife, you can’t even spread butter with those. To be fair to her, she wouldn’t even be in prison if she had not called the judge a “massive hoofwanking bumblec**t’ However it is very satisfying to see that you are an equal opportunities employer. Well done Fernando, if you won’t give these people a chance, then who will?. On a more positive note, the music was very much to our taste, as we walked in Sir Cliffe Richard was playing on the wireless. It brought back wonderful memories of my wedding day, not to my current wife, no that day was truly awful, I mean to my 6th wife Shaniqua, what a woman!!! I love Cliffe, whatever anyone says, he definitely did not touch any of those children. I was worried for him, I was worried that he might pack it all in and kill himself. If he did unfortunately decide to hang himself, would the headline in the paper be “Cliff Hanger”? I should write for a paper, I will do all your marketing Fernando! My lady wife and I strolled in arm and arm and I asked ‘grumpy’ for the wine list, to which the response I received from ‘grumpy’ left me in shock and totally speechless, she called me a ‘dog bothering twatbag’ which I presume is some kind of Geordie slang, but nevertheless her tone suggested it was an insult. 

I do love the Geordies, when I was younger my sister had a friend who I had a huge crush on, she was as you could say my first love. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. When I was younger my sister and the object of my affection, Georgia was her name, would often have sleep over’s, I used to hide in the wardrobe and listen to their conversations. But they were always pretty dull, often about boys. Only a few weeks ago I was in my local B&Q and this girl came up to me and said are you Roger? and I said “depends who’s asking” we had a bit of an inane chat, I explained how if your cat is dirty, it is perfectly acceptable to put them in a washing machine on a gentle spin cycle. She looked at me like I was a retard before telling me that she used to be a friend of my sisters and remembered me. She asked if I was still so annoying, letting out a little chuckle as she did so. I asked if she still touched her nipples thinking of James Thompson. After a long pause, I asked her out, but she said no.  

I did notice a number of your eloquent diners kept saying that your food was “cheeky” Cheeky this, cheeky that, which I have to say confused me somewhat. What is it precisely that makes your chicken “cheeky?” I have personally never seen a cheeky chicken, although I did once meet an arrogant goldfish. He was my first pet. My parents didn’t trust me to look after the puppy I really wanted, so they said we could start at a fish and work upwards. It was a sad day when he died, that was the last time I cried, I did shed a tear at Borat, but that was not a full on cry, I am a man after all. My mother had put him on the window ledge, and the sun heated his water until he boiled to death. Rest in peace little Henry. We had a little funeral in the garden for him that night, my dad said a few words, and we buried him in a hole I had dug with a spoon from the kitchen. 1 year later my father dug him up to make room for a Jacuzzi. He ended up in the bin. 

‘Grumpy’ asked if we would like to eat outside, in the new ‘al Fresco’ dining experience, a sort of street food vibe I believe the young ones call it. But I prefer to eat inside because I am not homeless. At that point she just pointed to a table and said sit over there, distracted by the fact a couple of what I presume were her friends came in. Lets just call them ‘Dwarfy and fatty’, they gave each other an embrace, but then I guess I shouldn’t be to surprised really, if you put fifty children in a room with down syndrome, there’s going to be lots of hugging. The only way ‘grumpy’ could have redeemed herself at this point is to find Madeline McCann. After a few minutes ‘grumpy’ came over and asked if there was anything else we needed to let her know. Well as it happened my car was in for a service that day and I was wondering if, seeing as we were good friends now, it would be OK to borrow hers for the day. I hate catching the bus; they are full of poor people who do not own cars. She said ‘no’, what sort of customer service is this? 

 Sorry to say Fernando, You seem to run an entirely hope based system at your establishment, your processes seem to consist of hoping nobody notices, hoping someone else gets blamed, and hoping the managers have enough servers to meet demand. Unfortunately after waiting 30 minutes for our tap waters, which were at the same temperature Henry died in, it seems your system has failed. 

 Your menu is chicken, it is literally just chicken. The menu needs expanding, you are showing no ambition! This is not indicated clearly enough on your logo! My wife was in total shock. The first thing I will do in my new job is to change the logo of your establishment; I will bring my designs with me on my first day, I have a very artistic streak! 

Luckily, my wife always carries a Linda McCartney (one of the Beatles ex-wives, not the one with one leg, I don’t like her) sausage with her, I don’t know where she keeps it, and I do not want to know. But all I do know is that it’s always half cooked when she gets it out. I asked grumpy if she would kindly do me the honour of cooking this for my lady wife, as she was famished. I was met with a firm ‘no’. So much for customer service Fernando, your little establishment will never expand with an attitude like that! 

 In the end, my wife watched me eat half a chicken, and some soggy chips. The poor love nearly passed out from hunger. In hindsight I could have given her one of my chips, but I had paid for them, she could have brought her own! I tried one of your hot sauces, in the rather futile attempt at giving your chicken some flavour. Now I like hot food, so I was thoroughly enthused to try your hot sauce. Oh my Lord, I have been to Africa on safari where the seasons there basically consist of ‘shit its hot’ ‘can you believe how pissing hot it is’ ‘ I wont be into work today its too pissing hot’ ‘ its so hot even the camels want to come inside side.’ But this was hotter than the sun. My mouth was on fire, I had to sit with an ice cube in my mouth for 7 hours! Incidentally while we were there I read a headline that said ‘pink hippo spotted in Kenya, and in my head I was thinking that this is the last time I take the wife on holiday.

 But in your defence Fernando, chicken is a very healthy food, and with all the fat kids around, we need to help them shift that fat, being fat makes it easier for paedophiles to catch them! I myself am also on a bit of a health kick at the moment. I joined a local gym just down the road from me. To be honest I originally joined the gym with full intentions of attending every few days, but after waiting in vain for someone to offer me steroids, I began to suspect that this was not going to happen, and the realisation that I may have to exercise instead, was frankly, horrifying. I myself am a fabulous cook; my chocolate covered fish fingers are a particular favourite at dinner parties. I know all foods from all across the globe. But strangely during my visit to your restaurant I did taste the most interesting of foods. From what I recall from your menu, its name was ‘brocley’, it looked like a small tree. It was rather unusual, but nonetheless, delicious. I would very much like to get hold of some of this ‘brocley’ and would be most grateful if you could provide me with a list of stockists. 

Your food was a good 4/10, but with the service, and not so warm welcome we received, that could possible drop to 3.7 out of 10. I tucked into my chicken and my wife chomped on a big half cooked (vegetable) sausage. My other half also drank a coconut water, which again she had smuggled from somewhere about her person. I went to my nanas funeral the day before and I can safely say that id rather drink what’s left in her lifeless bladder than coconut water. Decisions like this are reasons to break up. 

 We had had enough, the day was a total washout, and like any girl dating Tom Cruise, we desperately wanted to escape. I tried in vain to catch ‘grumpy’s’ attention so we could pay our debt, but she was too busy hitting a small child. So in the end we just gave up and left, without paying, thoroughly unsatisfied with our afternoon. My wife was so unhappy that she has fallen into a deep depression, from which she may never recover. 

 Overall Fernando, lots of areas of improvement and I look forward to the challenge, 

starting early next week! 

 See you Monday! 

(Just to prove I did send this  )



My former employer

I got bored and decided to send an email to my former employer Kaplan, pretending to be a rambling old man making a complaint: (all company email addresses I have erased)

———- Forwarded message ———-

From: <>

Date: Wednesday, 20 July 2016

Subject: Fw: Mislead!
On Wednesday, 20 July 2016, 18:50, “” <> wrote:

Dear Kaplan (If that’s what you are really called)


I would like to formally lodge my displeasure with your company.

 Recently the wife and I have been having certain marital problems; I won’t bore you with the full details, but suffice to say it is in the bedroom department.

 Anyway to fill the long lonely nights, the wife suggested we get a kitten. I wasn’t overly keen at first, I mean, the reason that we didn’t have children is because we didn’t want faeces and vomit all over the house (My stomach turns just thinking about it). But the old ball and chain slowly wore me down and reluctantly, I agreed.

 Anyway, my good lady wife had heard your name mentioned somewhere, so we popped into town to see if we could find a feline we liked. Suffice to say you could not  begin to imagine our disappointment when we arrived after travelling almost 8 hours from the total paradise that is Nuneaton , only to find you supplied books for accounting nerds. My wife had sworn on her grandmas eyes, that your online ad had said ‘cat land’

 My wife was inconsolable at the news. It was particularly hard when you consider the fact that my wife is disabled, she has uncontrollable narcolepsy. I find her condition is particularly bad when it’s time to go see my mother, for her famous Sunday roast (I particularly love her carrots, roasted in butter and chocolate spread, delicious. I had lunch with her recently, during which I tasted the most interesting vegetable, from what I recall its name was ‘sellary’. It was rather unusual, but nonetheless, delicious. I would very much like to procure some of this ‘sellery’ and would be most grateful if you could provide me with a list of stockists)

 I myself, also have a serious medical ailment, I have one foot bigger than the other, and I don’t just mean half a shoe size, I mean one is a 5, the other is a 10, The ‘yoof’ of today stare at me, but I am used to it now. It makes it extremely difficult to get life insurance both Lord Telmer and Lady Pelving are at a loss.

 I had to take her for a very expensive lunch at ‘restaurant’ called Nando’s just to calm her down and stop the mild panic attack she was having, luckily I always carry a paper bag for such a crisese and I had not budgeted for such an eventuality.

In hindsight, taking her to a chicken restaurant was not the greatest idea as she is one of those vegetabletarians. This ‘Nando’s’really should be more clear in their signage, but that is an argument I will take up with them another day.

 Suffice to say I will be sending a bill of expenses in due course. Also suffice to say although my wife’s emotional distress may never disappear fully, thanks to your poor branding; the introduction of Shaniqua the Chinchilla has helped to take the edge off somewhat. 

It also gives me space to partake in my passion, table tennis; I am a table tennis nut! I play about 4 hours of everyday of the week, every month of the year (except November), every year. I just love it! It’s such a wonderful little game don’t you think?

 I am also looking to go into business. I am planning on setting up a gambling den at my premises within the next few months. I am aware that competition is strong, and have been thinking long and hard as to my ‘way in’ and now I have it! I plan to open a very first gambling den that will corner one area of the market that has been, until now, completely untapped: the under 16s!

 On a side note, my cousin Larry is looking for some ‘snazzy’ head gear for his first trip away with scouts. He is utterly convinced that you are a retailer of so -called baseball caps and you are called ‘Cap land’. He has promised to pop in this week. Please let him down gently.

 I look forward to hearing from you,


Best wishes



Jack Annoff 


No matter what I write, I could never do it justice

No matter what I write, I could never do it justice

So ladies and gentlemen, Something was keeping me awake last night, was it the the thought of world hunger? the plight of the Panda? or the Double Vodka and Redbull i had before i went to bed? (I find alcohol solves all the worlds problems and eases my very small conscience) And so I got thinking about my blog, had I been to harsh on the people I see daily on my commute to work? Then I thought no, they are shit stains on the underwear of life. But I came to the conclusion that no matter what I write nothing could ever do them the true justice they deserve. So I have collected a few pictures, that i believe accuretly represent a good cross section of the people i get on the bus with, so you can make your own judgements ( I am not usually one to fill this ‘blog’ full of pictures, because frankly I am lazy and can’t be bothered, but I decided I would make an extra special effort)…enjoy

The usual dress code #onlyintheUK

The sugarbabes have let themselves go a bit! #onlyintheuk

Sometimes you do not need to say anything! #truelove

she has added a scarf!

Kitty is hungry! #onlyintheuk

awww a very close family


Hands up who is a virgin?!

Weight watchers works a treat!

What a average UK family looks like #onlyintheuk

Good Luck!

For fucks sake! don't

I love my brother too! #onlyintheUK

Bonny and Clyde have nothing on these two!

True Love

Maybe because he killed 6 million Jews??


Another day another dollar


yes blood! from the mean streets of...Barnsley

I do love a good KFC

I would be annoyed too if my wage had not come through...tramp

good old ASADA

photo25 photo26

If only....

British Logic

Daves first POF message

So Dave has sent his first message on Plenty of Fish, wish him luck!

daves first messagejemmyfirst message

‘Dave’ does dating continued….

So Dave is now on the Plenty of Fish dating site…form a queue ladies!

dave the sexy ewok 1 dave the sexy ewok 2

‘Dave’ Does dating

David started at out company a couple of months before I did. He was the first thing I saw when I walked in. I thought he was the janitor, he was dressed like a homeless person, and smelt like a homeless person who had shit himself, then rolled around in a bucket of sweat. After approximately 7 minutes I realised that his actual job was as a potted plant. David or ‘Dave’ as he liked to be known has the personality of a brain Damaged gold fish, he was so far removed from reality I am not sure if he had an active imagination, or he was on meth. We never really got close, mainly because of the stink, but also because we had nothing in common. He was the type of person that wrote his name on all his office stationary, who would be anal about your time keeping, even though he was not the boss. I received a couple of warnings for taunting him, one was Sticking all his beloved stationary down with super glue and laughing so hard I had to open the window for fresh air. Dave’s main skill was wearing shirts the same colour as the office walls, he is also an expert at sitting very still. Before he started working with me he held a variety of positions including standing, crawling lying down and standing on tip-toes.Dave once saw a horse. Dave’s favourite sport is Jenga; His favourite music is that which he creates himself by humming and clapping.

Anyway, Dave is currently single, but hopes one day to marry his mother because she has ‘childbearing hips’.

Dave has been single since he was dumped by his girlfriend, after she ran off with her ski instructor while on holiday in the French Alps. I know this because Dave confided in the office gossip that he was having ‘relationship issues’ so everyone knew with n the hour that she had slept with a sexy French ski instructor.

I have never been skiing. Speeding down a mountain, probably drunk, towards big rocks, while posh people high five each other, while saying woo, is something that surprisingly, has never appealed to me.

Dave has been even more miserable than normal due to the “incident”. I have had enough and decided I have to do something about it. Internet dating is all the rage, so I have signed Dave up to a couple, and over the next few weeks ill be posting conversations I have as Dave. The profiles I set up will go something like this…. He is on Tinder already…

I love American Things

Me and my buddies like to hang out and pretend to be cowboys

Water Skiing

I lead a very active life style, i came 6th in the UK water Ski championships

Punk Days

I used to be a punk, i was the coolest kid in school, but i spent a fortune on hair gel and had to take a second job.


I like to keep fit by attending the Gym regularly

Beach days

I like to relax by going to the Beach and whale watching

I am a mega film buff, my favourite film is  Sex and The City 2. I also love cake

I am a mega film buff, my favourite film is Sex and The City 2. I also love cake

First name: David

Surname: Will not give away that information for security reasons

Star sign:  Glotten, the dyslexic elf.

About: Non-Smoker with cuddly body type

Details:35 year old male, 6′ 1″ (185cm), Religion is stupid

Intent: Looking for a relationship 1 hour a day, don’t be so clingy

Personality: Sith Lord

I am Seeking a: Woman or a woman like Ork

For: Some loving

Do you drink?: Yes I brew my own cider, its the best in Leeds

Marital Status: Single

Do you do drugs? If I have a headache I take some Paracetemol

Pets: A Few spiders in my Basement, named Paul, John, Ringo and Steve. Head lice.

Hair Colour: Labrador blonde

Do you have a car?:  No I have a push bike, with a roomy basket and a bell

Do you have children? Probably

Longest Relationship: Always been a player

How ambitious are you? I want to rule the earth and one day I will, come join me and be my queen

Turn ons:  Vengaboys, Bill Shatner, room temperature, flicking light switches in a smooth motion. Getting my hair ruffled by a cool northerly breeze.

Turn offs: long queues at the post office

Eye colour: Hypothermia blue

 My ideal woman: I am into many different types of women, all colours and races considered. The only exception is Asian women, I find them hot when they are young, but they don’t age well. I am preferably looking for women with 7 piercings in each, a slipknot tattoo between her toes, but I can be flexible with the amount of piercing pers ear. I love toast, I get through around 2 loafs a day. It’s real toast, slightly burnt. I need someone who can make toast, not just warm floppy bread that someone has just sat on. I do not want anyone who just wants to use me for my body!

Weird Crush: Des Lynam

Strangest experience: Being robbed by a pre-op transsexual.

 Favourite sexual position: The risk. Where you look at your porn after your mum says your dinner is ready, trying to climax before she come up stairs because she thought you didn’t hear her.

 Favourite way to relax: Some loud death metal, a bath with candles and Lavender infused bubble bath so help me from a stressful day dragon slaying.

I’m Dave,I love world of war craft, I love the fantasy aspect, I have such a vivid and creative imagination, my favourite character is Dobbie the house elf. But in the free hour a day I have after I have finished slaying the evil Voldermort, I would like someone to stop me being bored.  The photos prove I live a fit and active life style. I am never short of female attention,  I kiss lots of women. Sometimes we eat pizza and debate which is better, Star Wars or star trek?  But as we all know it is Star Trek, only and idiot would like Star Wars, but mostly we kiss. I have been told my beard and moustache tickles when I kiss, which the ladies love, my breath smells of pizza, and who doesn’t love pizza? I love the beach and was probably a jellyfish in a past life. I like to go to the gym at least once a week, as my dad works there stocking vending machines. I love German cinema, my favourite German title is currently ‘Gunter does Dortmund’ I have not managed to finish it yet as my mum does not go out much. I get many offers so you have to do something very impressive to stand out, and many girls becoming infatuated with me so quickly. Often a girl would tell me that she would rather have her arms ripped off than live with out me.

Everyday I go for a hundred mile jog along the beach and swim back.  I have been asked to do male modelling, but I am to busy jogging swimming and having lots of girlfriends who I kiss. I do not want to be responsible for girl buying the magazine and having her boyfriend turn homosexual. I did have a cat named Hermione, but she is no longer with us bless her soul, but her memory still lives on, I had her stuffed, after I took a part time taxidermy course on YouTube. She has pride of place on my mantelpiece.

My ideal first date: My idea first date would be meeting at the KFC of your choosing. We would both be wearing a red rose, so I knew who you were. We would share a Bargain bucket with extra gravy, on a quite table surrounded by candles, I would pay my half. We would get our laptops out and battle it out to the death as Level 52 hobbits. The winner would make breakfast in the morning. If I lost I can safely say my mum will make us the best eggs in town, although you would be expected to wash the dishes after, it’s not a hotel.

Working 9 to 5 ish

i hate work 

So I have not written anything for a while, despite numerous promises because I have been drunk mainly, but also because I am just lazy, I actually won an award for laziness last week, My mother picked it up on my behalf. Lets be honest no one reads my blog anyway, so really I am not sure why I am writing anything, in fact why bother? Oh I may as well carry on with it as I have taken the week off work on ‘sick’ so I may as well fill my time some how.

 A guy phones up his workplace on a Monday morning… “Sorry Boss, I can’t come in today, I’m sick” “Dave this is the third Monday in a row you’re had off. Just how sick are you?” “Well, I’m in bed with my little sister at the moment if that’s any help?

 I don’t usually take many ‘sick’ days but I did once skip work because I had the mother of all hangovers, the next day my boss stormed up to me in the office and said, “You missed work yesterday, didn’t you?” I said “Not particularly,” that was another verbal warning. 

Let me make one thing perfectly clear to you: this is not writing. I have absolutely no idea how this blog or even this sentence I’m currently writing is going to finish. When and if it does, I can only hope it makes some kind of coherent ceramic pineapple. 

Loosely speaking of work, it’s a big commitment isn’t it? It’s 50 years of your life given away to someone else. The only commitments I generally make are concerning events at least a week away, which gives me time to think of a way of getting out of them. I would kill to have David Attenborough’s job, I have to confess that I am slightly in love with Mr Attenborough. Not in a gay way you understand. I just like the idea of visiting all these exotic places, visiting animals in their natural habitat, teaching Amazonian tribes who cant not speak English to say hello, (which is ‘hello’ in English..) 

The problem is I don’t like the general public, I do have a job of my own, but I don’t like it, and I don’t really have a lot else to say about my normal daily routine without depressing myself. However recently I did go over to Afghanistan to entertain the troops. They love a good laugh, the Taliban.

 I have never been good at being told what to do, it really riles me, and I like to almost rebel against anyone that tells me what to do, like a rebellious teenager, but I have never really grown out of it! That’s why I could never be a butler, one arm butlers – they can take it but they can’t dish it out. I loathe being told what to do in general, but I hate being told what to do by a Hitler wannabe who thinks they are better than me just because they get 50p more an hour than I do. One of my old bosses had short man syndrome. I knew my first boss was going to be trouble as soon as I met him. He was small, and short men are almost always angry, horrible things. A woman being short is seen as cute, but a short man will never forgive the world for such a cruel blow. Small men hate normal sized humans. They wish them cancer and car accidents. They dream about being the size of an office block and stomping on all the normal sized people. Small men have fat wives with tight curly hair, and they are angry about that as well. I am sure there are many advantages of being so small. ASDA has and excellent range of boys clothing at competitive prices. If I was small I would buy a cat and ride it. He was a pretty shitty boss in all honesty; he was about as useful as goggles made of bees.boss

 Bad things to hear at work

  • “Well you have shown me the ware house and the restroom, where do I masturbate?”
  • “Sod the tea break, where’s the bar?”
  • “Right, which one of these chairs do I sit in; I have never flown one of these big planes before”
  • “I don’t much like the look of this dump, still ill be moving on soon anyway”
  • “I thought seeing as they are dead, it didn’t matter what we did with them”
  • “And remember, you wipe the old ladies bottoms from north to south”
  • “Mind if I pull the blinds down, the sunlight is going to keep me awake”
  • “And if any chickens come along the conveyor belt and they are still alive, well that’s where the mallet comes in”
  • “My wife can’t make the shift tonight so ill be doing the poll dancing”
  • “Being an electric chair operator does have its fun side as well”

Work, it’s essential to live, a necessary evil. No one really likes it, but we have to do it, and those very few morons that do like it, tend to be the most boring people alive, everyone knows the type, the ones who have about as much personality as swamp water, the type of people that slow down when they see a car accident on the motorway, the type that have pictures of their cats on there office desks, all they can talk about, in any social circle, is what happened at work that day. I had friends like that once; needless to say we no longer keep in contact. Some people have brilliant jobs though, some footballers earn a fortune. 30 grand, 40 grand, 90 grand a week, some of them. And then they say stuff in interviews like “I’m not really enjoying the football at the moment.” Not enjoying the football? 90 grand a week? I’d be fucking delirious with it! I wouldn’t just hug somebody for scoring a goal, I’d shag them. As well as some mind numbingly tedious jobs there are also some strange jobs that you can not believe exist. For example, I could never work in the Jobcentre. Imagine if you got fired!  You’d still have to show up the next day! Who discovered we could get milk from cows, and what did he THINK he was doing at the time? 

I have had a fair few jobs, none I have ever taken seriously and certainly none that I ever considered as a ‘career’. My first proper job I had when I was 16 was in a supermarket. It was my job to hand out samples of things for people to taste. However, I was asked to leave after the little cups of bleach incident. When I was younger I did have some ambition believe it or not, I wanted to be an accountant or a solicitor, but then as I grew up I quickly came to realise that they are some of the worst human beings imaginable! If you ever need a cure for insomnia, talk to either a solicitor or and accountant, you will either be fast asleep or be suddenly wondering if your belt could take your body weight if you tied it around your neck and tied the other end round a tree branch. How many accountants does it take to drill a hole? None, the hole is already bored. 

I once told a joke to a solicitor I knew, and the response sums up everything that you need to know about them… 

Me: ‘why did Emma fall off a swing?’ 

Hannah: ‘who’s Emma?’ 

Me: ‘that does not matter it is a joke, why did Emma fall of the swing?’ 

Hannah: ‘why you asking me? I don’t know anyone named Emma, probably because she was being stupid and not holding on, is she alright?’ 

Me: ‘no she’s dead’ 

Hannah: ‘are you making this up?’

 Me: ‘yes, just say I don’t know ok?’ ‘Why did Emma fall off a swing?’ 

Hannah: ‘I don’t know’ 

Me: ‘because she has no arms hahaha’ 

Hannah: ‘so you think people with no arms and no legs are a joke? Its not! You are not funny!’ 

Hannah was a bellend, don’t be like Hannah. 

I hated the idea of working when I was a kid (and I still do now), I just didn’t see the point; I hated the person who invented the idea of work he must have been a twat bag.  Both my parents were hard workers, my mum worked as an estate agent, including weekends to pay for my brother and I, My dad was a dustman. I didn’t like him coming to collect us from school though. It’s not that I was ashamed he was a dustman; it’s just that you never knew which day he was going to come. When I was young the only work that I did was trying to get my badges in scouts,but unfortunately  I got thrown out of scouts for eating a brownie. 

However I have since reconsidered my stance, I think it’s a brilliant idea to make kids work, they could be so useful for cleaning behind my fridge, with their small hands, I could pay them a wage of Haribo Starmix and cans of Tesco’s own Rolla cola, they could also use this to clean the drains. (its incredibly dusty behind my fridge, to be honest its becoming a health hazard, I really should clean it, but I am scared about what I my find, there is probably a whole new eco system behind there now) 

I had a wonderful childhood, which is tough because it’s hard to adjust to a miserable adulthood. The careers teacher told me I had a clear choice: if I didn’t end up going to university I’d end up robbing post offices, id certainly be better off if I had robbed that post office. I suppose that is still an option, I will not rule it out just yet, although balaclavas are not to flattering on me, I think they make me look at least a stone heavier. I never really new what I wanted to do in all honesty, except not go to work. I hated the idea that I would just turn up at the same place every day and eat sandwiches in the same canteen, with middle aged women moaning about their alcoholic ex-husbands, even though it was clear to see that they were the ones that drove them to drink. I am still not sure what I want to do with my life, apart from have a long lie in. There was one job I was interested in, as it was working with a children’s charity, and I applied for a job at Childline Apparently, “I like listening to children’s rape stories” is not an acceptable reason for employment. 

The sound of your alarm on a Monday morning is like a knife to the gut, it is like having your balls cut off with a rusty spoon. Basically, Mondays suck way more than the fucking girlfriend. Mondays have always been bad luck for me, my granddad died of the blues on a Monday morning. Technically it said ‘hypothermia’ on the death certificate, but it was still a Monday. But the feeling of dread doesn’t start on Monday morning, oh no, the feeling of dread starts round about dinner time on a Sunday. As a kid as soon as Heartbeat came on the TV and you were marched upstairs to have your bath on a Sunday night, you knew the weekend was over. Sundays are a nothing kind of day, as Alan Partridge famously said “Sunday Bloody Sunday. What a great song. It really encapsulates the frustration of a Sunday, doesn’t it? You wake up in the morning, you’ve got to read all the Sunday papers, the kids are running round, you’ve got to mow the lawn, wash the car, and you just think ‘Sunday, bloody Sunday!'” 

As I have got older I have realised that having a job that you loath, is still slightly more preferable that being unemployed. There is nothing worse than being ‘dole scum’; I have suffered a period of unemployment, after I left university, I couldn’t find a job anywhere, although I did learn Going around a council estate on a weekday morning dressed in a suit pretending to be a bailiff is a great way to get free blow-jobs. The biggest challenge I faced when I was unemployed was trying to piss the skid mark off the side of the toilet bowl, I didn’t get dressed for two weeks in a row! My day consisted of Sitting alone watching the shit daytime TV, eating a Pot Noodle for breakfast, and chicken and mushroom Pot Noodle for Lunch and a chow Mein Pot Noodle for Dinner (Pot Noodles. For best results, put back on the shelf). I was trapped in a shitty little flat that was not big enough to swing a dead mouse let alone a cat. I had all the time in the world to clean the flat but had so many things on my ‘to do’ list that I decided to treat them all equally and draw pictures of fish instead. It was a hovel of a flat I resided in, nothing worked the way it was supposed to. The light fitting was the victim of a toy light sabre being swung in a space too small to do the same with a cat. I dodged a leaping double handed overhead attack and the fitting, being fitted, didn’t. The smell people mistook for cigarette smoke was probably just from the fog machine. Each Tuesday I held a disco in my bedroom with strobe lighting and special guest. As my wardrobe door has a large mirror on it, it looks like someone is dancing with you. I once dressed as a lady and it was almost exactly what I imagine dancing with a real lady would be like. Unfortunately, I kept worrying about falling, hitting my head and being found dressed that way so she left after only a few dances and a brief kiss. 

After being unemployed  for a while I had developed a severe case of agoraphobia and residing in a flat where I could reach all four walls while standing in the one spot brought me a feeling of security and the daily culling of plague proportion cockroaches gave me something to do in my spare time. Anyway, I have a job now, and have had jobs previously and it is fair to say that I have been sacked or politely asked to leave from pretty much everywhere I have been, with the only exception being the job that I am in now, and I can assure you that wont be long! There are only so many times you can get warned for making the fat girl at work cry. Every office has the resident ‘fat girl’ the one that all day insists she just eats a salad leaf all day, but you know as soon as she gets home, as sure as night follows day, shoves her face in a large cake. To be fair on her she has a condition that means she can’t lose weight. Laziness. This was the joke that made her cry: I’ve just seen an advert in the lonely hearts column, “I’m a curvy girl with a bubbly personality.” Yeah, the only thing bubbly about you is the Aero in your back pocket, you fat bitch. Ok so it is harsh, admittedly, I admit, but it was just a joke! I can assure you dear readers that In no way was it aimed at her, in fact I was not even talking to her, it was a conversation that she over heard. To be fair she had a voice like a goose farting in the fog anyway, so I won’t lose too much sleep over it. She had been in the office 2 days! 2 whole days and she cried! It is a record I am proud of and that was my second ever warning. The third was making her cry again for rearranging her filing so it was no longer in alphabetical order, And because of this she couldn’t find some form she needed. On a side note, when people say ‘it’s always the last place you look’. Of course it is. Why would you keep looking after you’ve found it? She is a kill joy of the highest order, she has a personality of a wet fish, the type of person who could walk into the best party in the word and kill the atmosphere, just like OJ Simpson did with his ex wife (allegedly). Her eyebrows look like two slugs fucking, so she is quite annoying to look at as well as listen too. I decided to keep my distance after she burst into tears and got me into trouble, never pick a fight with an ugly person; they’ve got nothing to lose. She has the habit of posting everything her and her boyfriend do on Facebook; my theory is its all just to prove he is real, because it is like the 8th wonder of the world that anyone would ever put up with her. She is, to be fair, in the interests of balance, always smiley, but it’s easy to smile when you have a squirrel’s intellect. I am aware of the hypocrisy in what I just said, I can’t talk, if I had a pound for every girl that thought I was unattractive, they would eventually find me attractive. She is also a vegetarian which is an instant dislike from me, I’m a vegetarian, well I’m not hardcore because I eat meat, but only because I like the taste, and I hate vegetables on a personal level so I’m not too good! She finally did say something to tweak my interest a couple of weeks ago, she was talking about the possibility of moving to Wales, which is good news and even better news she is taking her ginger and personality less boyfriend with her. As I said to her, Wales is perfect for gingers as it is so grey and cold, and they can actually leave the house without fear of the sun, in Wales they worship the sun like it’s a god. The last time it was seen in Cardiff was 1982; I got that fact from Wikipedia so it must be true. I would make a welsh joke at this point, but I am above making jokes about sheep, it’s not funny, so I am inflicting silence of the lambs (I am really sorry about that joke, I have been ill)Pam

 Obviously first, before you have the joy of getting to sit in a stale office, where disease spreads like wild fire, you first have to get through he dreaded interview. Ah yes, this is the bit that everyone hates, anyone that says that they like interviews are liars. Big fat stupid liars! No one likes sitting in front of some random strangers, who are sitting there judging you deciding if you are good enough for sitting on your arse 8 hours a day staring at your computer screen, and keeping that smile on your face, even if you hate the people that you are working with, and you stare out the window wishing you were one of the happy people sitting outside in the sun, trying not to catch the eye of the office pervert. My friend recently had an interview with some firm. After an entire 30 seconds he decided the job was not for him, and not one to mince his words, this happened: Interviewer: ‘What would you consider to be your main weaknesses and strengths?’ My friend: ‘Well my main weakness would be my issues with reality, telling what’s real from what’s not’ Interviewer: .And your strengths?’ My friend: ‘I’m Batman.’ Admittedly I made a big mistake when I first left university, I was honest on my CV, I thought that was what you were supposed to do, and I could not have been more wrong. So now I am a qualified brain surgeon, I am learning Latin and on my evenings I fly to China to help save the Panda.

 Real things that have happened in interviews in places I have worked  

  • Said he was so well qualified [that] if he didn’t get the job, it would prove that the company’s management was incompetent.
  • Brought her large dog to the interview…
  • She wore a Walkman and said she could listen to the music and me at the same time.
  • Balding candidate abruptly excused himself. Returned to office a few minutes later wearing a hairpiece.
  • Applicant challenged interviewer to arm wrestle.
  • Asked to see interviewer’s resume to see if the personnel executive was qualified to judge the candidate.
  • Without saying a word, candidate stood up and walked out during the middle of the interview.
  • Said if he were hired, he would demonstrate his loyalty by having the corporate logo tattooed on his forearm.
  • Interrupted to phone his therapist for advice on answering specific interview questions.
  • Wouldn’t get out of the chair until I would hire him. The police were called.
  • During the interview, an alarm clock went off from the candidate’s briefcase. He took it out, shut it off, apologized and said he had to leave for another interview.
  • An applicant came in wearing only one shoe. She explained that the other shoe was stolen off her foot in the bus.
  • He took off his right shoe and sock, opened a medicated foot powder and dusted it on the foot and in the shoe. While he was putting back the shoe and sock, he mentioned that he had to use the powder four times a day, and this was the time.
  • Candidate said he really didn’t want to get a job, but the unemployment office needed proof that he was looking for one.
  • She threw up on the desk, and immediately started asking questions about the job, like nothing had happened.
  • Pointing to a black case he carried into my office, he said that if he was not hired, the bomb would go off. Disbelieving, I began to state why he would never be hired and that I was going to call the police. He then reached down to the case, flipped a switch and ran. No one was injured, but I did need to get a new desk.

My first job was a paper round, ok admittedly it’s not a job as such, but it paid money (not a lot), and it was the first time I had money that my parents didn’t give me. Apart from when I was at school I got EMA, but only because my parents told the council they had divorced (they hadn’t) and so I got £30 a week just for turning up (which I didn’t) who says that crime does not pay?  I got £8 a week to walk with my little trolley and post the free local rag though peoples door… (I didn’t). The paper I was delivering mainly contained articles about missing cats, church bake sales and had a weekly guest columnist who appeared to be a militant feminist who hated men. How many feminists does it take to change a light bulb? 12. One to screw it in, one to excoriate men for creating the need for illumination, one to blame men for inventing such a faulty means of illumination, one to suggest the whole “screwing” bit to be too “rape-like”, one to deconstruct the light bulb itself as being phallic, one to blame men for not changing the bulb, one to blame men for trying to change the bulb instead of letting a woman do it, one to blame men for creating a society that discourages women from changing light bulbs, one to blame men for creating a society where women change too many light bulbs, one to advocate that light bulb changers should have wage parity with electricians, one to alert the media that women are now “out-lightbulbing” men, and one to just sit there taking pictures for her blog for photo-evidence that men are unnecessary. I suppose one day it would be nice to know what I actually do as a job, what my role is, I am sure I will find out one day, but I am too scared to ask. All I know is becoming dumber by the day because of the crowd of idiots I work with. On my first day in my current job and after 8 hours of solid accountancy qualification studying, I could safely say that I still had no idea exactly what my new company actually did. The office was all ‘open plan’ with everyone working from what my boss called ‘workstations’, these are sort of private dens measuring 8ft by 8ft. In my den was a chair (to small) a desk (too high) a pen holder, a phone, with a sticker that said ‘internal calls only’, strangely two waste paper baskets and a computer. There was also a tea and coffee machine which I was to scared to use due to the abundance of buttons (26). I spent the day filling in data forms, what the data forms mean I do not know, maybe it is a complete mystery, but as all the staff were working so hard, I felt that it was unwise to ask them what we were actually doing. I got emails every 5 seconds, but I am not exactly sure what they all meant, and who it was that was sending me them. Many seemed to be spam. I hate those e-mails where they try to sell you penis enhancers. I got ten just the other day. Eight of them from my girlfriend. It’s the two from my mum that really hurt.  I did consider asking my boss what we did, but his moustache had grown considerably since my interview and it scared me. 

Worrying email subject lines  

  • RE: your impending death
  • Re: last night – I’m really a man
  • Could you look at this picture of one of my poos?
  • I’ve given you Chlamydia
  • Re shadow on your lung
  • I think you sexually assaulted me last night
  • That was your last warning
  • Re: those priceless vases you asked us to look after
  • Re: picture of me shagging your mum
  • Re: ooops I hope I am not to late, take one pill, not ten!!!

The rest of the week was spent filling in lots of data input forms (87). I can not tell if that is a good or a bad thing, but I am still in my job, so I must be doing something right what ever that maybe. When I finished on the Friday, I told my mum I had no idea what it was that we did, she told me to just concentrate on not getting sacked (again) 

Bad things to hear on your first day at work

  • I don’t like the look of this dump, still ill be moving on soon anyway

Things not to say on your First day at work

  • I’ve been mashed off my face all week, but I should be able to fly the plane ok
  • Is this how we put holes in donughts?
  • Well, it’s a tricky one isn’t it? I mean, define paedophile?
  • So who’s the office bike then?
  • I’m guessing it’s you who makes the coffee around here then love?
  • I’ve just seen your stationary cupboard and it’s like an Aladdin’s cave in there
  • Hi I’m coco the clown, I expect I have some big shoes to fill
  • It’s the first Monday of the month-how come I am the only person who has blacked up?
  • Just because I am the new boy in the mortuary does not mean I’m having anyone’s sloppy seconds
  • I suppose the perk of working down the sewers is that you can take a shit anytime?
  • Its and easy mistake to make – I had no idea I was meant to be here a pheasant plucker
  • Ten minutes early, but I like to have a really big shit before I start cooking

After 2 weeks I did finally pluck up the courage to use the complicated tea and coffee machine at work, I could not find the tea button so I made myself a cup of hot water with milk, it was surprisingly nice. Things recently have been getting very exciting, as I appear to making a and impression, the boss said I am shaping up to be a fine employee, so I gave myself an imaginary gold star! I remember I was in the car with a colleague, I can’t remember where we had been, something to do with work but it was probably a waste of time, like all trips we take with work. They are mainly for managers and they just take us along to make it look like we are included, we are always promised will get given lunch, which usually involves being given scraps of sandwiches that they didn’t want, and we will all fight over the one sandwich that looks edible, like a group of angry pigeons fighting over bread. However on this journey home, my colleague turned to me and said something incredible. “Ben” she said “yes” “Can I ask you something secret?” “Yeah sure” “Promise not to tell anyone” “Of course” “What does the company we work for actually do?” I could not believe it! There was I thinking that I was the only baffled employee, now I have a fellow co-baffledee! With that we burst out laughing, we laughed so hard that we missed our turn off on the motor way and got completely lost! (NB after that incident with my female colleague, I Started up a website for women drivers only. Bloody thing kept crashing…) When I first started my latest job, we had a really bitchy receptionist called Laura, she constantly had a face like a bull dog licking piss of a stinging nettle, and she was a little troll. Laura had worked for my company since 2009 as a potted plant. Popular with the men, Laura enjoyed knitting scarves for her cats and performing dance extravaganzas for her mother. Her best friend is a dead bee that she found of the windowsill in 2011, which she named Laura. She was a receptionist, but always told people she was a ‘front desk manager’. I often asked what the difference was, but her face just got red and she would storm off muttering ‘you sarcastic c**t’. I once told my colleagues that I had seen her snorting cocaine of a hookers tits, I got an email the next day that just said ‘you fucking liar’ in bold red letters. She was there for a good 6 months after I started, that was right until the ‘incident’. Instead of selecting her boyfriend Steven, she accidently clicked staff. Laura sent a picture of her in just leather boots to the whole building. Being ‘curvy’ as fat people prefer to be called I was surprised with her flexibility. There is no way I could get my legs behind my head, even with a cushion under my back like she had, I have tried. When I was growing up, selfies were accidental Polaroid’s of our thumbs. I understand Laura’s decision to leave without notice after that; however what was more embarrassing than the subject matter was where the picture was taken! It seemed to be in the office buildings own shower room. You could see the lockers and the people’s towels hanging up in there. Who does this? If it was up to me I would be crying as I splashed petrol all over the walls with a lit match in my hand, not taking nude selfies! I was glad when she left, not just because of her prickly nature (she was like a bear with a sore arse) but mostly because she suffered from irritable bowel syndrome. It wasn’t so much the noise, which was like trying to squeeze the last bit of ketchup out of the bottle, but the fact that she would leave the door open after finishing, leaving the toxic dust cloud, similar to that of Chernobyl wafting through the reception area. Now I am sure if I were to look up the symptoms I doubt it would include the inability to shut doors. I am sure that dropping the faecal equivalent of Hiroshima has more to do with diet than disorders. I once saw her eat a whole cake for lunch. Not a cupcake, a whole cake. Of cause I did confront her on this although I admit my wording could have been better ‘Could you close the door and not subject everyone to what smells like a large pile of dead cats, dead cats covered in shit’. The ‘fresh linen’ fabreeze does not mask the odour, it just makes it smell like a large pile of dead cats covered in shit with a dryer sheet stuck on top’. That I am proud to say was my first complaint in that job. It took me 6 weeks, a new record. The stress of this obviously got too much for her when she shouted out one morning “I can’t do this anymore,” and left. Her dramatic exit scene was diminished somewhat when, despite having opened and closed the reception door hundreds of times, she pulled and shook the handle for several seconds yelling, “what the fuck is wrong with this door?” before remembering it swung outwards 

Complaints I have had at work:

  • I stole my colleague diet coke and replaced it with a shot of sambucca, they had no idea who it was until I said, ‘right I think it is time for a diet coke break’.
  • Replacing the line ‘customer service manager’ with horse whisperer on my bosses email. He didn’t realise for a week. – written warning
  • Photo shopping Jimmy Savilles head on to all my bosses wedding photos on his PC while he was on lunch
  • While my boss was in a meeting with the CEO I painted his white iPod black using a permanent marker because he kept complaining that he wanted the black iPod.
  • Changing the picture of my bosses husband to a picture of BA Barracus from the A team.
  • Moving my boss’s desk an inch forward every hour till by the end of the day he was almost in the storage cupboard.
  • Moving the keys on my bosses keyboard so that every time he typed ‘the’ it spelt ‘tit’
  • Changing my bosses home page so instead of Google it loads to that squirrel being kicked of the Grand canyon
  • Sticking all my bosses stationary down with super glue and laughing so hard I had to open the window for fresh air.
  • Talking about Breaking Bad in the office. Not realising my boss was on the phone with a client, I yelled “We should build a Meth-lab in the back room.”
  • Answering every question in my annual appraisal using a magic 8 ball.

Most of these complaints were against one manager at one of my temporary jobs, but not all. His name was Tom (he gave himself the nickname of ‘Thommo’ I refused to call him that) I don’t really have anything against Tom apart from the fact that he likes the band Coldplay and  Never trust a man, who when left alone with a tea cosy… doesn’t try it on. I have no idea what his problem with me is, as I’m pretty sure I am an absolute pleasure to work with. My very first run in with Tom was when he blamed me for stealing pens from his desk, which I vehemently denied. He then proceeded to point out the tiny engraved words ‘Tom’s Pen’ he had done on all eight of the pens currently on my desk. It was so small he had to point them out to me with the aid of a magnifying glass. Each two-millimetre high letter was meticulous. When I asked how he had managed to get the letters so perfect, he told me that he had a headset at home with a light and magnifying glass on it. When I asked why he had a headset with light and magnifying glass on it he replied, “For painting collector figurines.” When I was temping at a local college (yes I passed my CRB check, so I am living proof that police checks cant catch everyone) I always had to fill out timesheets, with my hours that I had worked, although my hours were set and a simple 9 till 5 so I did not see the point in this, most of the time I decided not to do time-sheets anymore. I’m not a robot. There was an old woman who’s token responsibility as time-sheet collector was essentially the office equivalent of placing an OCD child in charge of equally spaced fridge-magnet distribution to keep it occupied while the x-factor is on. It was actually good this year, there were so many applicants that they had to split it into three categories: Dead Dads, Teen Mums and Bullied Kids. While I generally avoided going anywhere near her cubicle of sorrow, lest the lack of atmosphere suck me in and cause my eyes to pop out like in that Arnold Schwarzenegger movie. My time sheets often went like this….. MONDAY

  • 9am Arrived at work. Considered staying home in bed but, with the boss being away this week, there is no real reason to be absent. Checked schedule. Completed my work for the week.
  • 4pm cleaned my mouse.
  • 5pm Left for the day.


  • 10am Arrived at work. Answered the phone on Rita’s (my boss’s name) desk with “Hello, this is Rita speaking. How may I be of help to you?” Told student I would have an email ready to send them “as quick as a flash.”
  • 10.30am Accessed Rita’s computer using her secret password ‘smudge’ (her cat) in order to locate and send requested email to student. Sent. Read Rita’s emails. Replied to her mother regarding her question about what to get Auntie Maureen for her birthday. Recommended bouncy castle.
  • 11.30am Attempted to log into Rita’s Facebook. Logged into Rita’s Facebook.

Changed status to single. Sent Geoff a message saying “Ignore the status change. We haven’t broken up. I just don’t want anyone to know I have a Husband

  • 4pm Left for the day.


  • 11am Arrived at work. Read about wombats on Wikipedia while having a large cup of green tea at the boss’s desk. Drew pictures of wombats. 11.30am Realised the permanent marker I was drawing with had penetrated the paper and Rita’s desk now had 9 wombats saying ‘Hey’ on it. Hunting for something to clean it with, I used the key Rita hides behind the framed photo of her other cat Lady Forteskew to unlock her top drawer. Found Star Wars Lego. Recreated the scene from the movie where, during a light-sabre duel, Vader cuts off Luke’s right hand, reveals that he is his father, and entreats him to convert to the dark side so they can rule the galaxy as father and son. Lost Luke’s hand behind Rita’s desk.
  • 12.30pm Chased and killed a bee in the office with Rita’s mouse pad rolled into a tube while making light-sabre noises. Closed Rita’s window. (I would never condone cruelty, violence or torment to animals, that’s what red haired children are for)
  • 12.45pm Thought about the bee’s family waiting expectantly at home for his return. Gave them names. Imagined Bradley rushing into his mother’s outstretched arms, bewailing, “I miss him so much” and Brenda replying, “I know Bradley, I miss him too.”

Performed ceremony. There was cake. Constructed a small funereal pyre on Rita’s desk out of a paperclip, placed Ben’s small lifeless body on top, mentioned his selfless determination to provide for his family, and set it alight. Unfortunately, I was only into the first verse of Bohemian Rhapsody, the only church song I know, when Ben’s body popped like a corn kernel and flew behind the desk. Unsure if he was still alight, I poured coffee down after him. Realising nobody has ever been behind the desk due to its size and position against a rear wall; I also dropped the remains of the cake and the plate down the back to save me having to walk into the kitchen. Accidently knocked Rita’s pencils down there as well. And then her mouse pad.

  • 3pm Left for the day.


  • 12pm Arrived at work.
  • 1pm Sat in Rita’s chair without my pants on.
  • 2pm Left for the day.


  • Called in sick. Went shopping. Bought a Nintendo DS


  • 9am Arrived at work. I feel it is important to set a good example for the other staff through promptness.
  • 11.30am filled out these time sheets as it is part of the job and allows the college to bill correctly. Finding it difficult to concentrate on job priorities today due to the negative environment Simon has created after accusing me of changing is background on his computer to Justin Beiber in a bikini so will be leaving at lunch time.

I have been dragged to 1 work function that wasn’t my own, it was with an ex girl friend, she worked in a estate agents, but not one of the big ones, a small independent one, and they obviously had no money left for the annual party, where all staff members are made to attend and forced to have ‘fun’. I was my girlfriends plus one, I had never met anyone from her work before, and quite honestly I had no intention of ever meeting them. I was forced to get up really early and take her shopping for a new dress, There are only two other conditions where you’re allowed to wake up a woman on a lie-in. It’s snowing or the death of a celebrity. On this occasion I was forced with a mixture of blackmail and threats of violence, so I went. The only way you can enjoy yourself at work functions and especially other people’s work functions, is if there is a large supply of alcohol, and hoping that someone embarrasses themselves so much that they have to resign stating family reasons. However, being that my girlfriends company was small and, if the rumours were to be believed, on the verge of going bankrupt, the bar had a two drink limit. The bar tender was a weird little man who had retired many years before and had nothing else to do, and no one had the heart to tell him to ‘fuck off’. It was the saddest event that I had ever been to and that included funerals and Christmas at her parent’s house. I was given strict instructions by my then girlfriend to behave, and to ‘just try act normal for a couple of hours’. As they were giving certificates for staff who have given more than 20 years service (yes just a certificate, it was framed though so that’s ok then) my girlfriend left me to use the bathroom, left alone to my own devices I was pounced upon by some old lady. She asked me if I was enjoying the party, I asked her if she had ever seen two fish kiss. When my girlfriend came back I told her about this little encounter and she stayed glued to my side all night, occasionally pinching me in the ribs when she thought I was about to say something inappropriate, not said something inappropriate, but when she thought I was about to say something inappropriate. Later on that evening the same woman approached me and my girlfriend and said to my girlfriend that she thought I would have been better looking to make up for the fact that I was not as funny as I thought I was. I asked if she had ten cats, and when she said no, I mentioned to her that she not judge a book by its cover then. I went to the bar and asked for another beer, where I was told by the little old dwarf that I had already had two and I could not have another. We had an argument for a good few minutes about why it was necessary for me to have some more alcohol. It mainly involved the premise that it was medicinal and that with out it I become a homicidal maniac with a thirst for blood. I got a swift jab in the ribs from my girlfriend, so I excused myself and ran across the road and bought a cheap quarter bottle of vodka that I safely stored in my pocket. 

Ok so I have no ending to this. Here is a picture of a cats

Arguing is healthy in a relationship 



So I was thinking about past relationships, and in general how societies nutters tend to gravitate towards me. As my mum says I “just have one of those faces”, when I remembered a few arguments I had while In the doomed relationships. 



My ex girlfriend Rebecca could not, and will never be able to cook. She was capable of the process of cooking (sort of) but cannot cook in the same way that an octopus cannot ride a bike; it has enough arms to reach the pedals and handlebars but the result will rarely be a successful journey from A to B. She was also a vegetarian. You have to be careful what you say these days, apparently you’re not allowed to call a certain group of people queers anymore. You have to call them Vegetarians. I don’t have anything against Vegetarians, but the way I see it, our food shits and pisses on there’s. 

I once looked over Rebeccas shoulder to discover her crumbling Alka-Seltzer tablets, or the cheaper supermarket alternative, into a meal she was preparing because “they are salty and we ran out of salt.”

 One Friday night, Rebecca stated that she was making nachos for dinner so I was surprised to say the least when she placed a bowl and spoon an hour later. “What’s this? I asked.

“The nachos were a bit runny so I added a few cups of water. It’s nacho soup,”

“Is there even such a thing?” I asked. “And what are these bits in it?”

“They’re the crisps,” Rebecca replied defensively as she sipped a spoon of Nachos and made a long “mmmmmm” noise. “I put it all in the blender so there shouldn’t be any big bits.”

“I’m ringing for pizza,” I said.

 “Typical,” replied Rebecca, “you never appreciate anything I do.”

“That’s not true” I responded, “I appreciate everything you do but if I ordered a hamburger at McDonald’s and they handed it to me in a cup with a straw saying ‘Sorry, it was a bit runny so we threw it in the blender and added two cups of water, it’s Big Mac soup’, I would assume the restaurant was entirely staffed through some kind of special needs employment initiative. If they asked me, “Do you want fries with that?” I sure as fuck wouldn’t reply, ‘Yes, mix them in.'”

“It would probably be quite good,”  “but you would never know because you are too much of an asshole to taste it. Even if the guy at McDonalds spent an hour in the kitchen making it for you and burnt his thumb on a saucepan.”


While I was on the phone to my mother, as it was Mother’s Day, my mum jokingly, knowing full well what I am like asked if Rebecca  found me annoying or amusing. Of course I said she found me a total hoot, Rebecca yelled from the kitchen clearly audible to my mum and no doubt half the street, “Don’t fucking lie.” My mum asked me “Was that Rebecca?” to which I replied, “No, it was the television” and Rebecca yelled out again “No it wasn’t.” On one occasion, I decided we should call in sick, so that we could spend the whole day in bed together, On Monday morning, as I was about to call my boss, using my best sick voice to explain how I could possible of attracted Ebola, Rebecca was watching a program called Breaking Bad in bed while I was making the call in the next room. Not realising I was on the phone to my hard asse boss, she yelled “We should build a Meth-lab in the garage.”


I came over to visit Rebecca after work one Tuesday, to discover a framed photo of our dog on our living room wall. I like our dog but when I am home, so is the dog. I don’t need to see photos of it. Especially if the photo shows the dog sitting on the couch that is immediately below the framed photo and the dog is actually sitting on that couch at the time.

Sitting down next to the dog, I grabbed a magazine from the table and flicked through until I came to an interview with tom cruise. The facing page featured a photo of Tom  in a suit, sitting on a chair with one leg crossed over the other, holding a glass of red wine. Ripping out the page, I replaced the photo of the dog in the frame with it.

When I met Tom cruise in a bar in Los Angeles, I asked him what annoyed him most about being famous.

“That’s easy,” he replied, “It’s all the libellous things that people write about me.”

And then he got down on his knees and sucked my cock. 

Arriving home a short time later, it took Rebecca less than fifteen seconds to storm into the kitchen brandishing the frame and demanding, “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s Golden Globe award winning actor Tom cruise” I replied.

“Yes, I know who Tom cruise is, Where’s the dog?”

“It’s sitting on the couch,” I replied, “It’s always sitting on the couch. And having a photo above the couch of it doing so is weird. We may as well put a photo on the wall of all three of us sitting on the couch and then sit on the couch and look at it. Or put up a mirror.”

As she stormed back out in search of the missing photo, Rebecca said over her shoulder, “It’s not as weird as having a photo of Tom cruise  on the wall.”

“I like Tom cruise,” I replied.

“Well I like the fucking dog,” Rebecca yelled back, “If you love Mr cruise so much why don’t you marry him instead. Then you can put up hundreds of photos of him.”

Which is a ridiculous statement because if I was married to Tom cruise and saw him everyday, I obviously wouldn’t need photos of him on the wall to look at. Also, if I was married to Tom cruise and we had a bare wall, we could probably afford a professional interior designer who knew what they were doing.


About me

I’m still deciding what to write for my next post, in the mean time here is a bit about me.
Hello I’m Ben,

 I read a blog once by someone who had bought a scarf and she went on for about three hundred paragraphs about her scarf and where she bought it and how it made her feel. Penned apparently by throwing a keyboard into a box full of squirrels and running the results through a quick spell-check. The last time I bought a scarf I wore it. End of story. I didn’t write a novel about it.

I keep telling myself that I should get fit but then I see people that I know and work with starting exercise routines and they become boring and talk about ‘reps’ and read out the amount of calories from food wrappers as if anybody cares. A year after going to the gym and becoming experts on the amount of water they should drink in a day, they are just as flabby as when they started but less interesting.

As I am constantly told I am too skinny, last year I paid £35 to join a gym. I attended twice. The first time for almost an hour, the second for only fifteen minutes when it dawned on me that a) the level of fitness of the people attending the gym was inversely proportional to the level of intelligence and that b) my instructor was not wearing anything under his Spandex bike pants and the wet semen spot would, in all probability, brush against me if I stayed there any longer. In hindsight, the money would have been better spent on takeaway food, alcohol and drugs. I am fairly fit due to regularly thinking about jogging and I once performed a jumping jack. It was unintentional and involved a spider on the bath mat but still counts. 

I enjoy cooking,  (except quorn, I refuse to eat something that looks so much like cat litter). My last girlfriend could not cook cook. She was capable of the process of cooking, but she cannot cook in the same way that an octopus cannot ride a bike; it has enough arms to reach the pedals and handlebars but the result will rarely be a successful journey from A to B. I once looked over her shoulder to discover her crumbling Alka-Seltzer tablets into a meal she was preparing because “they are salty and we ran out of salt.”

I like to watch films cuddles up under a duvet eating junk food on a cold rainy day. 

Recently, I was tricked into watching The Notebook which was about geese. Lots of geese. It also had something to do with an old lady who conveniently lost her memory so she could not remember being a whore throughout the entire film.

If I had a monkey, I would teach it to sing Kylie Minogue songs. Then if Kylie passed out on stage again I would be able to save the day by having my monkey finish the concert for her. The concert promotors would probably give me free tickets and promotional gifts. Kylie would be so thankful that she might send me an autographed photo and I could sell it on ebay for fifty pounds. I would buy drugs with the fifty dollars. Not for the monkey, for me.

 I do have a job (surprisingly) one of my old bosses had short man syndrome. I knew my first boss was going to be trouble as soon as I met him. He was small, and short men are almost always angry, horrible things. A woman being short is seen as cute, but a short man will never forgive the world for such a cruel blow. Small men hate normal sized humans. They wish them cancer and car accidents. They dream about being the size of an office block and stomping on all the normal sized people. Small men have fat wives with tight curly hair, and they are angry about that as well. I am sure there are many advantages of being so small. ASDA has and excellent range of boys clothing at competitive prices. If I was small I would buy a cat and ride it.  now I am the highest earner in my office, Except on Mondays when I am the drunkest. Although I spend most of the day playing a game called ‘staring at the wall wondering what happy are doing’ and answering calls by either ending each sentence with ‘over’ like I am talking on a walkie talkie then making the ‘kchssssch’ noise or pretending to be a confused Chinese woman.

Each Tuesday I held a disco in my bedroom with strobe lighting and special guest. As my wardrobe door has a large mirror on it, it looks like someone is dancing with you. I once dressed as a lady and it was almost exactly what I imagine dancing with a real lady would be like. Unfortunately, I kept worrying about falling, hitting my head and being found dressed that way so she left after only a few dances and a brief kiss.