Pavel Olevski

For Sale – FRIENDS, slightly depressive, hardly used.

Not the TV series where they repeat the same tired old catchphrases with a constantly surprised face n droning voice.  I’m referring to the phenomenon of the decade that is facebook, bebo, wayne, myspace and all the other social networking sites – including this one – where people spend time on a website creating lists of people they don’t know.

What is the point of a friends list if you don’t know the people on it?  Well it would make you look popular if everyone lived in your same fantasy but, to be honest, that’s unlikely.  Is it a competition?  If you’ve bet money or forfeit with your real mates that you can collect most people then that’s fine… I’m totally at ease with drinking games (I went to the drinkaware.co.uk website thinking it would tell me which was the best tasting vodka, I was disappointed). 

I was once told that my blog entries were too long and it puts people off reading them, if you are still reading now I admire your perseverance.

Another thing that bugs me is when people give these sites access to their msn list.  Cheers, I really want to be bombarded with emails from Tagged and all the other ‘please tell people you like me’ websites.  And it gets even more annoying when the people none of us know on your friends list do the same.

When I was a kid in the 80’s I was brought up to believe buying friends was slightly odd and not really the done thing.  When did that change? I’m told there’s an application on facebook that allows you to buy people.  I can’t say any more about that because I’m completely unable to understand the concept.  I kinda side with Wilberforce on that one.

Apparently you can also throw buns at people on facebook, if any of you think I will ever share my cake you can f*** right off right now.  For gods sake go out and live some reality.  I love the internet, it’s great for chatting to friends and passing a bit of time and having a laugh but only with real friends and not lists.

I could of course go into great detail about the rights and wrongs of using people as a commodity but if you know me you’ll know that I’m not really all that interested in anything of any real importance and if you don’t know me why are you reading this?...  You don’t know Tony Parsons and he’s a far better social commentator than I’ll ever be.

Do yourselves a favour and delete everyone you don’t know off your friends lists and add all your real friends instead, if you haven’t got any go out and make some, its much more rewarding than pretending.  The other great benefit is that you no longer need to share msn lists because you’ll all know each other already and I’ll stop getting a full inbox every day.

I was once told that my blog entries were too long and it puts people off reading them, if you are still reading now I not only admire your earlier perseverance but I also sympathise with your extreme boredom.

Nice News!!!

I’m turning over a new leaf.  I’ve been accused of, amongst other things cynicism, intolerance, prejudice, inverted snobbery and most ashamedly of all china baiting.  I have taken on board all the complaints and death threats I have received and decided to be nice and tolerant from now on.  To start my new life I will bring you all the nice news from around the world that occurred in the last week. 

This blog entry was originally entitled ‘Good News’ but while searching for news stories I discovered a Christian magazine of the same name and I wanted a title that could encompass followers of all beliefs and non believers too, cos I’m nice like that now.  However, I do deeply regret that I could not think of a name that would also be acceptable to Satanists and for this I would like to sincerely apologise and reassure Satanists that I love them too.

Global Warming – Rate of change slows.  

Extensive studies by Philip at the Department of Pollution Control have shown that the Chancellors policy of high vehicle and fuel taxation as started to have a positive effect on global warming.  Phil said “We are delighted to announce that carbon emissions in the UK have dropped by 0.4% since car owners were forced to buy the Belgian battery powered ‘eco-roller chair 1.1 Wind injection 4 series’.”  Meanwhile the Department of Transport revealed that buses now only run 94% empty, an improvement of more than 24 people on last year.  Phil added “Even emissions from power stations dropped as pensioners used less power for heating their homes.”  He also confirmed that departmental expectations are for further decreases over the next 5 years as state pension payments remain static.

Airline Boss – Feed the starving. 

Once again Sir Rich Saint as smiled for charity as he launched yet another publicity drive.  The all round very rich good egg told reporters that all the people in Africa could be saved from starvation if all we ordinary folk would give more to the Saint Foundation.  To help the campaign he pledge that 1p from every £100 spent on ‘Tramp’ products would go to an advertising agent so that half of what is left could be used to pay for television commercials advertising the ‘Help TRAMP in Africa’ campaign.  Tony Blair was not asked for a quote but would probably have said “Aww, isn’t that well fed multi-millionaire a really lovely chap”.  I asked myself for a quote and I said “I admit this paragraph is a complete lie, don’t sue me you big corporate bully”. 

Cash for Honours – System change announced.

Following the scandal of cash for honours the parliamentary ombudsman as announced strict new guidelines for political donations.  From May 1^st political parties will no longer be able to sell honours and the ombudsman as pledged that decency and honesty will from now on always prevail.  “As of May 1^st only those truly deserving of awards shall receive them” said Sir Cecil. Senior Civil Service employees in Whitehall will be exempt from the new rulings following consultation with unions and retirement fund managers.  A government spokesman said “We in the Government wholeheartedly support this rule change; we couldn’t afford so much as a DCM.”   A leading company director is quoted as saying “Oh fuck.  What am I meant to do now, help retarded children or do something with lepers?”

Kyoto Protocol – Bush signs.

President Bush as signed the USA into the Kyoto protocol following a meeting with representatives of the German Green Party on an opportunist visit to Camp David.  Scientists hailed the event as a major step forward in cleansing our planet and a major boost to their funding and promised that their new, bigger houses would be kind to the environment and their research trips to Hawaii would be made by luxury cruise liner for sure and not dirty planes.  After signing the agreement bush said “So when are you gonna deliver my Kyoto?  It does run on petrol, right?  I hope it’s got heated seats.  I want it in blue with a spoiler”.   When asked for a quote Condoleezza Rice shouted into the office intercom “Who let those fuckin crout nutters speak to our fuckin nutter?”  

Finally - François exquis automobile.

Good news for owners of French cars.  According to the latest survey of French patriotic car owners, 100% say that they rate their cars as good for reliability, good for build quality, good for handling and reasonably priced with lots of innovative driver/passenger luxuries as standard.  So, French cars aren’t crap after all.  When asked for a quote, the chairman of the Japanese association of car manufacturers pressed a button on his desk and a robot entered the room and started giggling.

So there you are five items of nice news.  Its the new nice me and nothing to do with me being slightly annoyed that no one as complained to me yet about sarcasm, even though it is one of my ‘5 a day’ and would help me maintain my balanced healthy mind.

If you would like to receive this blog in brail follow these easy steps:  1. Insert a glue stick in your right nostril:  2. Insert sand in your left nostril:  3. Sneeze on screen.

‘Oh but the book was far better’… and various other bits of ‘look at me’.

This goes back a few years but I have so many things that irritate me it’s taken a while for me to get round to writing about it.  Imagine a very boring meeting in Manchester, (a city I don’t like) with a group of people I don’t like (they were authors apparently but we’ll come to that later).  As you can imagine I was not in a good mood and to make matters worse I’d missed the express train back to Sheffield and was instead forced to get on the stopping service through the no Hope Valley, a place the League of Gentlemen found Ideal for filming.  It is however just urban myth that it was the location for ‘The Land That Time Forgot’ - everyone knows that was Mid Glamorgan.

Also on the train, and sat far too close to me – by this I mean they were on the same planet, just – were a group of students from the Pretend University of Sheffield, Hallam I think some call it. (Not my true opinion of SHU I just like to annoy its students in the hope of getting rough sex).  It was the year that Captain Corelli’s Mandolin was released at the cinema, this group of 19 year olds chose to discuss the film and rave about how great it was when the fat one in the corner decided it was time for an argument.  She said “But the book was far better”.   The other three were having none of this, from what they were loudly saying it seems that those three fancied Nicolas Cage, the ginger haired lad with the strange dress sense seemed particularly keen on him.  Four times the porky one insisted that if they read the book then they would definitely agree it was better, “oh but the book was enthralling” she wailed. 

Once she could be sure that everyone on the train realised she could not only read but had actually read at least one book that wasn’t about Janet and John being good friends, she decided to shut up.  Or to be more accurate fatso decided to sulk once her friends managed to prove she hadn’t read the book at all and they spent the rest of the journey on the more sensible topic of Domino’s pizza two for one offer.

So finally we get to what this blog is really about, literary types and their opinions.  Everyone knows that you should never read a book recommended to you by a pompous twat, but that won’t stop them lecturing you on a book or an author’s merit.  So what started me off on a rant about this?  It was a recent msn conversation in which a friend admitted he had wasted part of his life reading a book that was recommended to him…

Gez.... says (23:10):

just finished some Irish literature from the 19th century

Pavel Olevski says (23:10):

ah, wilde

Gez.... says (23:10):

yes, The picture of dorian Gray

which a big part of the book is about lifes pleasures

Gez.... says (23:11):

but maybe it needs to be updated for the 21st century

Pavel Olevski says (23:12):

nah, it was shite first time round mate

Gez.... says (23:14):

but then i'm not educated like my friends who recommended it so some of the time i was looking in the dictionary at certain words

And so with this my tirade against the literature snobs began.  I argued that only text books are written to be studied and all other books are intended to entertain and no one can give any rating to a book other than a personal one, and it is no more valid if it comes accompanied with a literary degree or a self perception of genius, they understand books no better than you or I.    If you enjoyed reading a book then it is a good book for you, if you didn’t enjoy it then simply leave your book mark in the third chapter and quietly take it to the charity shop.

Next time someone reviews a book to you tell them you too can read and have done so since the age of 3 and you have therefore become quite bored with the whole reading process.  Please don’t bug anyone else with your snobbery, especially some pissed-off-grumpy-bastard on a train or you might find yourself on the internet.

On the subject of literature I must have a go at authors.  Not the real ones that sell books but the ones who write poetry (sorry, I don’t mean poetry do I, that’s something else completely pointless altogether) I mean those who write for a hobby and describe it as their profession.  You see them on quiz shows, Anne Robinson will ask someone “And your job is?” “Author Anne.” “really, what have you written?”  “Nothing Anne, but I’m considering it.”

What they really mean is “I am unemployed but have written a shopping list.” For god sake, just say it!  I write pages and pages of rubbish on this site and many others, it doesn’t make me an author it makes me a moaning gobshite.  Maybe I don’t describe myself as an author because I already have a proper profession and I don’t care what people think of me.  (Don’t bother searching for my other stuff, I don’t use the same name and nothing on this site is ever re-produced on another site by me so, you just won’t know who I am elsewhere).

Do the self imagined authors buy those ‘How to Be a Successful Author’ books out of the newspapers?  Surely they’re dumb enough.  You are not an author until you have been published, and anyway to be an author doesn’t give you any kudos does it?  It’s just a book.  Chubby Brown wrote one, how fucking hard can it be.

To the best of my knowledge Chubby Brown doesn’t call himself an author… unlike those people in the afore mentioned boring meeting who spent a good hour telling me how they were authors who deserved to be published, I read your manuscripts and they were shite.  Just my opinion mind but I bet you’re still unpublished all these years later.

I bet all the pompous book people described above own cats.  They’re the type of miserable people who need a friend… well sorry but even the cat finds you annoying, the little bastard creature from hell just wants its dinner.

The cats have nothing to do with the subject of the blog what so ever, I just promised my mate Andy I’d mention cats and how pointless they are when not in a curry.

I’m Bored so I’ll pretend I’ve been taking notice of you.

It seems I have given you all the wrong impression.  My Blogs so far have been about sex, weirdo’s, porn and the most offensive of all… Liberalism.

This as led people to believe that my only interest in life is to annoy people.  You are wrong.  My other interests include Vodka, Tobacco and Socks.  Well to be honest socks is a little fib, I thought having just two other interests made me sound boring so I thought socks would flesh it out a bit.  More or less in the same way that people add water to teabags to make the whole tea consuming experience last longer. Tight bastards.

Well from now on I promise not to mention Dogging, Porn, Fetishes, Weirdo’s in drag, gays, lesbians, milkmen, sheep, tramps on buses and their passengers, sex toys, bishops and the biggest F****R of them all Margaret Thatcher for at least a week.  However, I have no honour and am unlikely to keep the promise, but then again that could be a little fib too.

Now for the really serious bit, the bit I shall write with absolute insincerity… I’m very, very sorry to all the Chinese people for implying in my last blog that they are all a big bunch of net pervs.  Now please stop bugging me with your protestations of good clean honest living, I honestly don’t care.  I’m not on a moral crusade, if you want to spend your period of economic boom time sat at a computer playing pocket billiards that’s ok by me… I’ve even got some pictures of normal people in my photo section for you to mentally undress.  Be careful of the guy with the tattoo though, rumour as it he’s too hot in bed for you porn addicted virgins.  (Note: would all Chinese people wishing to complain please email me in English this time, I’m very sorry but I don’t speak Noughts and crosses)

I must now address the issue of Liberalism.  This is the paragraph I will find most difficulty in writing.  Just how the hell do I attempt so much as a fake apology at such a set of soft, deluded, pompous pricks?  Don’t misunderstand me, I honestly believe liberal attitudes are admirable (and I mean it this time).  The ordinary average person who believes in ‘live and let live’ and the open minded tolerance that governs their behaviour makes life easier for us all.  The ‘liberals’ I write about are the liberal fascists, the people who just cant stop meddling, the ones who always smugly tell us the difference between right and wrong, the ones that selfishly inflict upon us their own lifestyles and beliefs and, should we dare to say “sod off Herbert and take your lesbian vegetarian wife with you” we are accused of being a direct descendant of Hitler and heir to the throne of a pile of bricks and a roofless shed somewhere in the Austrian alps.  (Note: A-Level students please be advised that Hitler was a ‘ruthless dictator’ and it was his shed that was a ‘roofless structure’… and while I’ve got your limited attention stop wasting time and tax-payers money, skip university and apply directly to McDonalds, they’re not impressed by a 3^rd class social studies degree as long as you can chop lettuce)

If you think that taking cars off the road will solve the worlds environmental crisis you are too dumb to be allowed out alone.  If you think that criminals are to be understood rather than punished and temporarily removed from the society they have harmed you need to be mugged of your rose tinted glasses.  I could get carried away with this so I’ll just sum up by politely asking that all liberal meddlers stop getting f****d up on cannabis and self righteousness and get a grip of reality.  After all, your only liberal for as long as it’s fashionable and for as long as you can get away with describing yourself as a ‘young professional’… Trust me, the time will come when you have to tell the truth and write ‘trainee clerk’ on your mortgage application form.

I seem to remember somewhere at the beginning of this lot I was meant to be apologising.  Well if truth be told you should never apologise as it’s a very blatant admission of weakness.  So get stuffed.

Bugger, I forgot to mention the Green Party, they’re just so easy to ignore.

Sexual Liberation of the Chinese… or… Little Masturbators.

I’m not talking five finger shuffles at the local take-away, I’m talking about the number of hits my blog as received recently from a Chinese search engine… all having the keywords Dogging, porn or sex.

I’m always surprised by the number of people who read this rubbish, Spaces are only supposed to be read by your stalker and I know its mostly my own fault for winding up the dirty mac brigade in previous blogs but over a hundred pervy hits a month from the one country is quite disturbing.

I remember hearing somewhere that the Chinese are restricted to one child per couple but surely they realise that doesn’t mean one shag per lifetime, surely they know they can screw their missus wearing a condom and don’t have to wash their sausage so vigorously all the time.  What is really disturbing is they don’t seem to go limp when they load my space and find out that it’s a piss-take, they just read more entries!  Are they really so devoid of sexual titillation they can hand shuffle over Bird Flu?

I sense a great business opportunity for someone less lazy than myself… selling midget porn to china, or for a extra £50… normal porn and a step ladder for if they have the urge to screw a European doll after watching. Maybe some canny entrepreneur could offer the Chinese creamers the whole package, for a ‘Deluxe DIY Kit’ containing a dvd of Debbie does Doncaster, Step ladder and blow up doll of some minging Barnsley babe complete with scabs and lice.  £200 sounds reasonable + P&P.

(It would be very childish of me to mention lice and crack a joke about flied lice and curry sauce so I’ll put it in brackets here as if I’m an adult pointing out the errors of a naughty schoolboys humour, it also allows me to point out that tits, top bollox and Russell Brand isn’t funny either).  Actually after 2 seconds of shallow consideration Russell Brand really isn’t funny.

Hmm, now I’m thinking about the Chinese at their computers.  How many of them actually own one?  How many are pleasuring themselves in libraries and at work?  Are their offices open plan? Do their colleagues cover their tea cups or do they simply drink up before curdling if they hear a ‘splash/plunk’ and suddenly have coffee with cream.

I did Promise myself that I would stop writing about sexual stuff but if I’m honest I find most other subjects boring and it does stop my local vicar asking me to contribute to the Parish magazine.  Perhaps next time I’ll have a go at doing a blog entry about gardening or cake decorating but if the Womens Institute find it interesting I’ll be seriously pissed off.

If you are observant, or my stalker, you may have noticed that I now have a friends list, I suspect it is just to promote the band ‘The Quarter’ and I’m happy to help if it means I don’t have to listen to X-Factor shite, so go and look at their site and have a listen to their music.

Feel free to join my friends list if you wish but please consider first all the crap I write on here… do you really wanna be associated with it? And what about the Chinese, do you want them to find you?

Holidays!!!... Or if you’re one of them free world fascists, Vacations!!!

You spend the long cold winter and spring months waiting for summer, for the British weather to come good, so you can go abroad to experience a hurricane.  We’re in the middle of a heat wave, hotter than some parts of Caribbean no less, so why the hell are so many people flying off on holiday to face disease, tropical storms and killer insects?  

My biggest pet hate about foreign holidays is flying.  You have to be there early, often in the middle of the night and you pay hundreds of pounds for tickets for your family only for some humourless lemon sucking cosmetics advert to tell you your luggage is over weight (not our fault, we told it not to eat cake) then we are told our passports expire in less than 200 years time… “tut tut, not organised are we sir”.  And then the favoured comment from check in staff “have we been drinking sir”… well no, I haven’t yet and I wouldn’t dare to suggest you had either (even though I’m sure they must have been pissed when they applied their make-up).  Once passed check-in you wait and wait and wait until five hours later your delayed flight is ready to board.

I’m not a big, big man so I was a little worried when I stepped on board and the plane tilted to one side and the floor boards creaked but you daren’t show fear, the cabin crew can sense fear a mile high.  These little gay Hitlers are not the kind of people you want to show fear to, they see themselves as the guardians of air propriety, it doesn’t matter that we see them as waiters and waitresses. They are the little grasses that will tell the captain on you if you don’t kiss their ass.  My advice is to bide your time, hold your tongue and when you arrive at your destination you will see them mincing through the airport with their little trolley bags (my gran had one of those for going to the co-op) that’s when you have your revenge… as they step onto the down escalator just kick their trolley to the side and watch the oh so graceful failed models split in two as they scramble to save the duty-free they’d nicked.  (For further tips look out for my new website, www.dentapride.com coming soon) 

So you’re now abroad, ready to experience different cultures, attitudes and cuisine.  You step out of the airport and see signs for coca-cola, MacDonald’s, Irish themed pubs and all you can eat buffets (local menu’s available on request).  Because I’m lazy I’m going to just use Spain as an example… you have saved and planned to get there, your chosen hotel is over subscribed so you are in the basement with Pedro the porter.  Outside you decide it’s too hot and stay in the hotel complex where its air conditioned and all entertainment is free and stars talent show failures from the 1970’s (ever heard of butlins? Try it next year - it’s easier to get too). You also decide to have an ice cube in your coke and so you get a stomach bug which means you end up in the clinic for 5 days shitting sangria into a nurse’s hand. 

We are told the British love to moan.  Maybe that’s the point of foreign holidays, maybe people just love coming home to have something other than sexless marriages to complain to Dear Deirdre about...  We went to Spain, it only rained for 13 out of the 14 days, it was mostly too hot, my husband shagged a tart from Preston then he had some peanuts off the bar and shat for a week, I got burnt and have no skin left, the hotel had a few Germans in it, the locals were perverts who kept looking at me on the nudist beach every time I waved at them.  But on the whole yeah, we did have a lovely time.  

Why not just stay in the UK?  The Channel Islands are lovely for the retired, Cornwall is superb for the hippies, Blackpool and Skegness are great if you have furry dice in your car, Scarborough is nice if you’re working class, Great Yarmouth is perfect if that’s how far your bus pass takes you, Brighton is ideal if your glad to be gay, Scotland welcomes alcoholic people with beards and Wales is the perfect holiday hotspot for immigrants who are accustomed to desolation…The United Kingdom, something for everyone.

Are you wondering where I’m going this year?  As usual I’m not… I have far better things to do with my time.  I shall however be enjoying weekends away in Cornwall and Scarborough.  I guess I’m just a working class hippy.  Oh, and I’m also a hypocrite as I shall be having weekends in Amsterdam and Dublin too. 

Leave comments if you wish, you will as usual, be largely ignored

Porn, dogging, swingers, lesbian and silf.

Hello perverts, you have found this site by doing an msn search for your peculiar sexual practices.  You switched on your computer and thought ‘hmm what shall I play with myself about tonight.’  

Oh you think we don’t know?  Well, I am slightly retarded and so have only just realised that its possible to see who as visited your site and what they typed into ‘msn search’ in order to find it.  I am slow, so others probably knew it from the start and have been laughing for all of 30 seconds every day at how sad some people are.

Well now I know I’ve decided to provide all you finger shuffle fanatics with something to make you go a little limp.  This blog entry is going to contain not less than 5 sexual activities to get your interest in the search engine and now you are hear I’m going to take the piss and then offer you some practical help with your loneliness.   

Porn.  Seeking porn on the net is just totally inexcusable, you have a passion for watching people with prosthetic penis’s have sex.  I have no idea why some people get a kick out of this but I do know that there are hundreds of sex shops and mail order companies willing to sell you DVDs so why not stop being so tight and just go to the shops and pay for porn when you buy your tissues. 

Dogging.  I can sympathise with you people because I too find car parks and the countryside a little tedious and I can understand your wish to liven up the whole car park experience.  What I do find odd is that not content with having sex in your own car you actually want to have others watching you, you are both smug and egomaniacal about your own sexual performance or you were deprived of praise as a child. (What is dogging etiquette? Should one applaud after a performance or does it depend on quality of delivery? Or does one just zip up and leave?).  What I really don’t understand is why would anyone search for this on the internet surely that’s just net porn and not dogging or are they on their laptops in a car park somewhere… does that count as dogging or net porn? 

Swinging.  My home city of Sheffield as its very own swingers club.  Occasionally I have need to drive past, couples stood waiting for the doors to open look respectable enough and are just out for a bit of fun no doubt.  What puzzles me are all the fat lads at the back of the queue… is this your easiest method for loosing a bit of cream without it being from the wedge end of your cake?  How does swinging work on the internet? Do you swap webcams? Is it all unisex? And if so where are the genitals on my webcam?

Leathers.  Is it the smell? The way the material clings? The way it creeks? Or is it that you’ve always wanted to shag a cow and only have the courage for dead ones?  My only real problem with leather is that it is expensive and not really worth all the money for a quick shag, prostitutes I’m told are cheaper.  So whats the attraction on the net? You cant smell the leather, you cant hear it creek all you can do is watch it cling. Erm yep, clinging leather… fair point, carry on with your internet leather you lucky bastards. 

Silf.  Sheep I’d like to F**k.  Ah well what can I say about this… if you are 14 years old you will grow out of it.  If you are from Derbyshire it’s a matter of county pride that you do it right and raise many little half breeds in your village.

So there you are, 5 things to get the search engines spewing out my site.  If you are an internet pervert and you are upset about what this blog contains, please, please, please remember… I do not care you wan*er. 

If this blog turns you on in anyway then pay me.

Henry, do you have any Pimms?

So is this blog gonna be about poofy drinks or about Henry? It’s actually both, sort of. 

I‘ve been to many parties and hosted many too, I can guarantee none of these parties have been with stiff collars (the stiff party stories are not really for this site).  Rules of etiquette, culturalism and perceived self importance are the topic of this blog.

To start with, if an envelope arrives and it contains an embossed invitation reply straight away, tell them you have checked your diary and are to stay in that night to eat Pot Noodle and watch Eastenders.  Unless of course it’s your brothers wedding and he knows you haven’t got a TV.  Why do we need embossed invitations? Will we forget about the party if it’s written on normal paper, will embossed paper fit better in a diary? In this technological age are we to buy bobbled screen adapters to read email invitations? 

Rsvp, not reply! Some of you thought ‘rsvp tut’ when u read ‘reply’.  Well fetch a mirror and now you see who I’m aiming this tirade at.

The whole business of sending invitations annoys me.  It is all about appearances, are you so dull that you must entice people to your party with nice paper and pompous fonts? (Pompous fonts… did I ever, even in my most drunken moments, tell you that I was an Egyptologist specialising in Hyroglyphics?).  What do I need to know?  Who you are, time, date, venue, reason for party and that’s all. Can’t you just phone me? I can write it down and I won’t forget, promise. Erm ok, some of you know that’s not true but couldn’t you just email me or text me?  Most of the people who invite me to parties are people that I speak to on almost a daily basis anyway, you can just text me and then gently drop a reminder into conversation nearer the time. 

Back to the rsvp issue.  I’m not French, I do not speak the language, I don’t eat amphibian limbs or slugs with a crunchy topping and I’m not sexually aroused by burning sheep (I prefer em kicking n baa-ing).  So why rsvp? What clues did I give that leads you to believe rsvp is more appropriate than respond if you please or, more simply on the phone saying “are you coming” (If you hear baaaaaaaaaahaaahaahaa haaaaa in the background then most probably yes).

Once past the ridiculous invitation stage we are free to suffer the party itself.  I say suffer, my friends are the most lovely fun-loving and generally wonderful people you could ever wish to meet who throw great parties, sadly some of them know people who are so dull or so frighteningly odd that they want to invite strangers to their party… and annoyingly that’s sometimes me.  These are the parties I suffer least, because I rarely go… I simply decline their invitation in French, the only bit of French I know, the bit of French that I had translated purely for the purpose of declining rsvp.  It says ‘sorry I’m not able to attend due to a prior engagement’ (You see, I can be diplomatic) at least that’s what I was told it meant, it could mean ‘burn some more sheep before you shag that German.’ 

The parties I suffer most are those involving family or friends and organised in a bid to support a cause, the ones that I must attend to show solidarity with the people that I am close to, which rarely involves me supporting the cause or even caring that the ozone as a hole in it… my arse as an hole, its never done me any harm.

Black Tie – I have a navy blue one, will that do?  Evening dress – I’m quickly growing a wonderful pair of man tits but I have hairy legs and look a bit of a prick in a dress.  Casual – I consider tracky bottoms, t-shirt and trainers to be casual.  If you want to invite me to a party then do so but please don’t choose my clothes for me or I will reply to your invite requesting deep pile carpets and embossed wallpaper slightly thinner than the invitation. 

Ok, so setting the scene… The party is quite posh and is supporting a cause (I’m not telling you what, I didn’t want to go and I have no wish to advertise the fact that I had to). The people there are quite wealthy or highly paid or important.  I have no importance what so ever but my salary is far from minimum wage and I have a few quid besides… so I’m invited (if you have money those with more of it always want yours too, unusually for the party scene they want the £ and not the obsolete French Franc, which is a bit of a shitter because I’ve still got a few francs left from a holiday I had years ago). 

I mentioned the attendees are people who are well paid or wealthy and almost all of them the biggest cock heads you could meet.  I received my P60 tax certificate a few weeks ago but they forgot to send me the hand book that instructs people of disposable income how to be a complete bastard to anyone considered to be less affluent.  I do of course mean the waiting staff and the token young people, the ones there to help a parent or employer out of the stair lift. 

Please. It’s a lovely word and to a waiter is code for don’t piss in my drink, its also polite.  I personally prefer ‘please mate’ I’m not up my own arse but maybe a little unwilling to conform to the kind of etiquette that is usually displayed by mrs haughty and her enormous husband from the financial sector (there’s no way your fucking him for love, your not fooling anyone).  These are the people who are supposed to be examples of good manners and bred from good solid middle or upper class stock?  Bollocks.  You are the rudest and most self loving people I have ever met and I was embarrassed to be in your company.  That’s why I stayed at the bar talking to the staff and drinking vodka free from wee.

This party was brought back to the front of my mind whilst chatting to a friend who recently attended a similar party where he was treated as a slave and his sister letched on by mrs haughty’s husband… both are under 18 and treated with contempt by the people who should be setting a good example of how a civilised society functions, the people who shout loudest when teenagers display bad manners. 

My advice to my mate… next time piss in the drinks and tell your sister to shout ‘pervert’ every time greasy-lover comes near.

My advice to Art galleries… don’t hold fundraisers.  Sell a painting, you’ve got loads, just take one down and push the others up a bit. 

My advice to political parties… Save money on pointless parties and sit in a pub to tell people what you think, you’ll then find out what they think. (I hope the bleeding stops soon).

My advice to fundraisers who want to save the planet… Put some meat on the buffet and wash your clothes more often… wealthy people hate nothing more than smelling woodchoppers arm pits. While you are in the bathroom comb those lentils out of your beard. 

My advice to religious organisations… You need a new roof? A new mosque? I need a new case for my Ipod… life’s a bugger innit.  Don’t rattle your tin near me and don’t hold a reception for the council n lottery commission.  God created the earth? Well he can fix the bloody roof then.

So, that’s my rant on parties over with.  I shall in the near future be throwing a party.  I shall invite people by phone or email, you don’t have to reply just turn up… it’ll be lovely to see you, you can wear what u like, you won’t need your cheque book and I won’t piss in the drinks. 

I could have gone on forever and in even greater detail, but I thought I’d spare you the pain

The swan’s dead, we’re doomed.

So the newspapers are full of it, Bird flu as reached Britain.  What the papers aren’t telling ya is the swan just had a sniffle, it drowned after sneezing and pumping a gallon of water up its ass. 

Or maybe it was bird flu, my point is that very few people have died because of bird flu and they are mainly the eastern Europeans and Asians who have an habit of getting a bit too close to what is not  normally considered a sexual object.  Either that or they are chicken farmers, I’d hate to cast aspersions.

Obviously the first reported case had to be in Scotland,  it’s where Britain trials everything - expect them to be the first to trial the second coming of Christ too and if it works England and Wales will consider reviewing Christian policy after full parliamentary consultation… Blunkett; ‘Let’s bomb the bastard’ … Blair; ‘Nope let’s wait until Bushy gets home from night school and ask him what his papa says.’ 

Erm, anyway back to the point again.  Bird flu isn’t going to kill us all.  If I was a scientist I’d say its all doom and gloom too… it’s good for business - research grants are a nice little earner and drug companies will make a fortune. There is no such thing as an independent expert as everyone as their nose in a trough or their head in the clouds… it is possible to think too much, we have glow in the dark condoms as proof of that.

It’s all feeding the sensationalism of the press.  A scientist says bird flu could cause an avian epidemic across Britain.  Daily Express headline… ‘Millions face death’.  News of the World headline… ‘Virus: Linked to Bin Laden’.  Daily Mail headline… ‘Tories demand action to save our children’.  Sunday Sport headline… ‘See Lindsey’s 38 DD’s inside today’. 

If you think newspapers are informative and an educational resource then you need to get out more.  Newspapers do have a vital role in our society… they entertain us.  They let us know if our neighbours are into bestiality and occasionally they have some cool exposés on dogging sites with full colour maps and photos.

Oh, and if you think you can trust a report because it appears in the ‘quality broadsheets’ then you need to find other uses for your pound coins.  I’m currently developing a ‘quote for the wine bar’ jukebox… its for the gullible and those that think they are well educated because they passed their 11+ and got a degree in sociology from the University of Sunderland. 

Well I’m no expert but I reckon a lack of sex is gonna kill us all, go read the newspapers and shag for England (Scotland will be doing it already). Those without consenting partners should be doing it hand over fist (buying yourself dinner first is optional but don’t forget your glow in the dark gloves).

Counting down to your holidays.

Why tell us?  The personal message text on messenger can be used for many useful purposes but counting down the days to your holiday isn’t really one of them… we’re not really interested. 

There is someone on my msn list who’s been counting down the days to his holiday starting at 50 and I am quite puzzled as to why.  I can imagine it would be useful to give burglars advance notice so they can plan their diary but why do the rest of us need to know this? Is he expecting a tearful send off?  Best he can hope for I’m afraid is that we mug him on his way to the airport and steal the return portion of his ticket.

We currently stand at 25 days notice.  By now he should have his passport and tickets in an envelope marked ‘don’t forget’ and he should be making a start on his packing always making sure that he ticks every single sock off the 5 page ‘To Do’ list.  He will be phoning the taxi firm every Friday to confirm that they still have his booking for the airport and his milkman will be given a note cancelling his order for 2 weeks… “but shhh, don’t let anyone know I’m away.” 

You just know that anyone who keeps a countdown on msn must be the type to do all of the above.  Maybe he enjoys the preparation more than the holiday, maybe he enjoys talking about it more.  The last man I knew to do this spent a fortnight sat at home with the curtains drawn.

So 25 days to go and then a fortnight of ‘on holiday, back in 14/13/12…. days’ because unfortunately he isn’t going to Afghanistan (my god I so wish) and will have full internet access while he’s away. 

I just hope that when the holiday is over we don’t get a countdown to his ex-wife’s brothers mates’ uncles wedding anniversary.  Please mister don’t bother telling us just **** off.

If you wish to make guesses as to whom I’m referring to in this blog then feel free but don’t expect any confirmation.   

Pulling when pissed… aka ‘the last one in the shop’

Imagine u wake up this morning and the tall, gorgeous, European spunkfest of a girl u pulled last night as become a German Gremlin Granny called Gertrude.  My mate was pissed, I hope what follows does not come as too much of a shock to him… 

I for once was sober and was able to fully enjoy the story as it unfolded. You were at the bar when she walked in just before closing time she had luggage with her and had obviously just stepped off the train looking for a bed for the night.  She sat with a pot of coffee and one cup.  She was looking miserable and old, very old.

We sat watching her, her long ginger hair flowing from her head and under her arms and peeking outta the hem of her skirt, the hair between her toes was a darker shade but that was probably the dirt.  She looked special, special like she’d escaped from the laboratory. 

Her skin was an unusual shade of Daz white, speckled with the pox. The pendant hanging from her neck was inscribed ‘use by 01.01.76’ the reverse side inscribed ‘Bio Hazard, do not moisten’.

Her one redeeming feature were her breasts, dangling around the waist once they were pumped up they woulda gained height and bounce and would have been summat to behold and the freckles once joined up would spell ‘Quasimodo was here’. 

Old men, fat men, ugly men and retarded men all walked passed her quickening their step.  It was at this point we got bored of  talking about her (even at the zoo there comes a time when you must move on to the next cage) and it was at this point that you mate returned from the bar… you should have poured that stella down the front of your pants and gone home singing the greatest hits of the Sugababes, it would have been less embarrassing than having to read this blog 2 weeks later.

You’d missed the warnings, you’d had too much to drink, your eyes were sore from cigarette smoke and you couldn’t see properly.  The next day we heard all the excuses, we drove round the block 5 times just to be sure she’d gone before ringing the doorbell and still u say she wasn’t that bad.  Mate, her grand children were older than you. 

Everyone please be warned… If they are still alone at 1 am there is a reason.  Alcohol is no excuse. 

If you think you have a drinking problem give me a ring and we'll go for a pint.