Well isn’t this a vile, repugnant and sorry state of affairs? Don’t get me wrong, I love schadenfreude and thoroughly enjoy stupid people exploiting themselves for my amusement, but I draw the line at greedy, money grabbing, fly by night assholes doing the same. Over the last couple of nights on television I have seen an advert for http://www.buddy-uk.com , a phone service where for £2.50 a time you can text the name and town of someone to 64433 to find out, “the latest gossip on them.” What is most tragic about this, is that there will be gullible, young and more importantly non bill payers, out there using this service. What can this service possibly answer that you couldn’t find out by texting the person directly yourself? Only that’s not the intended spirit is it? In fact it’s rather more a clandestine, electronic spying service designed for you to monitor, keep tabs on and find out stuff about the people you don’t actually know or like. If you want to do that why not just befriend them on Facebook?! It’s a similarly ridiculous service to one available a few years ago, whereby you could text your full name and the full name of your partner to find out whether the relationship will last?!!! Yeah, longevity calculated using just the alphabet, go figure! Would never have happened in my day. Not just because there were no such things as mobiles but because my Dad would have an itemized bill, only let me use the phone after 6pm and keep pointing at his watch every 5 minutes.

I’m not really sure the service stands up to any kind of ethical principles. Surely all it does is collate information already in the public domain such as electronic footprints left behind from social media; but what other sources of material might it examine? What happens if there are 500 Michael Smiths living in your town? I’m sure any response one might get would be just as vague as horoscopes or, “What does your child’s name mean?” Type in a dozen child names and you’ll see the same word for word answer given for at least 6. Who gives a fuck what Disney Princess or Primary Colour you would be just by taking this ridiculous algorithm? A computer based test can not predict when or how I’ll die. If you’re that bored there are various forms of free activities already available to you to pass the time such as ‘eye spy’.



How completely weird is it that at the end of every single radio advert the narrator, whom has been talking normally up to this point, suddenly speeds up their voice to pack in as many exclusions and restrictions as possible? This doesn’t happen anywhere else in life, it doesn’t happen at the Post Office, when buying a new car or at the supermarket; but imagine if it did. Imagine you have just put your weekly shop through the checkout and then the member of staff turns to you and in 30 seconds says;-

“Can of beans subject to status, cannot guarantee flatulence, restrictions apply to eating them cold from the can, terms and conditions apply, no purchase necessary, cheapest item free, may contain bean juice, limits to 3 cans per customer, no liability will be admitted for dropping can on foot, beans subject to availability, first come first served, beans should only be eaten as part of a healthy diet, produced in a factory with nut products, 28 day money back guarantee subject to credit check, fork sold separately, toast not included.”

How dumb do they think we are in 2015? This “fast talking” is used so it satisfies their legal responsibility but also to try and confuse us. They try to distract us with background music or make what they are saying barely audible or comprehensible. Always check to make sure you’re getting what you think you’re getting.


Yesterday I coined the phrase ‘unnecessary feminist’. I shall explain the scenario and why in a moment, but first I need to state some facts. I am in no way, shape or form, sexist or chauvinistic. I deal with people as I find them and men can be just as pathetic or amazing as women can. I’m a fan of equality, a fan of diversity, a fan of tolerance and a huge fan of minding one’s own business. That’s what life should be all about; winding your neck in, not negatively impacting others with your behaviour, doing the right things and keeping your nose clean. Everybody has a right to live and die the way they want to because they own the meat and bones they occupy. What I cannot stand is ‘political correctness’. It has created ‘offence’ where none previously existed. It has allowed the thinning of people’s skins and made a mockery of free speech. Most of it is bullshit. Words are just noises that your mouth can make, anyone can make them, so why are some noises worse than others? Answer – Because of the meaning petty people attach to them. You can call my Mum all the names under the sun, call her ‘fat’ or a ‘whore’ all you like; it doesn’t mean a thing to me because I wouldn’t value your opinion and it wouldn’t change my feelings towards her.

So today I used the word, “she,” when talking about a girl whom was present in the room and this caused offence. I was taken aback by this unnecessary defence of her gender’s struggle to acquire equal civil rights, voting rights and equal pay, over an innocuous word I used when trying to pay her a compliment. I know there are countries and cultures around the globe where women are suppressed and classed as second class citizens but I don’t live there; I only care about where I live and I can’t change the world, no matter what Michael Jackson said.

There really was no agenda or malice to my using the term ‘she’. I say ‘she’, ‘he’, ‘her’, and ‘him’ all the time and no-one, other than my Mum, has ever pulled me up on it with, “Who’s ‘she’ the cat’s mother?” Needless to say I was immediately pissed off over this needless altercation and told her that her feminism was unwarranted.

The ironic thing was that about an hour later as I was walking through the door to leave, I turned back and saw she was 10 yards behind so held it open for her. So chivalry is alright on your terms only?


The beginning of this annual back-slapping event was bitter sweet. Whilst I was disappointed Sam Fox and Mick Fleetwood did not make a triumphant return, Ant & Dec did, which meant 140 minutes of not having to watch that fat, unfunny cunt James Cordon. He is most likely the reason why Pharrell didn’t show up this time. Bizarrely the O2 stage was made to look like a 1980’s Nanette Newman ‘Fairy Liquid’ advert. Scantily clad women wearing headdresses poured chocolate sauce over each other and shook up bottles of champagne before spraying them. The connotations were obviously sexual, probably to make Taylor Swift feel right at home. She turned up looking like she was wearing no knickers and had on the dinner jacket of her latest fuck-piece.

I spent 99% of the entire show repeatedly asking the same question; “WHO?!” Sometimes I would mix it up with, “Who the fuck are they?” It was the first Brits I can remember where the Arctic Monkeys didn’t turn up or win Best Band. It was also the biggest sign so far that I am old, because all of the artists were barely out of nappies and all their music was safe and middle of the road. Ed Sheeran must give so much hope to bloated faced ginger men all across the world. He looks like what a drowning victim looks like when they get pulled out of the water several weeks later. Rita Ora turned up with another ‘The One Show’ dress on. Wonder how many sad fuckers are gonna ring Ofcom this time? Ellie Goulding’s attempts at making jokes were marginally better than Jimmy Carr’s. Simon Cowell decided to turn up looking like Professor Yaffle from Bagpuss.

The Brit Award itself no longer looks like a miniature Mr Blobby. In charge of design this year was Margate’s favourite ‘bag lady’ Tracey Emin, who decided to scribble her incoherent jumble all over it and dress it up like those knitted lady toilet roll holders. Kim Kardashian, (again “Who?!”), proved she really has no discernible talent by failing to operate a smartphone to take a selfie. It was amazing to see her instantaneously change into pout selfie pose mode. Gary Barlow and Howard Donald then turned up with a trampy looking busker to perform an instantly forgettable song. Misophonia is a neuropsychiatric disorder in which anger and hatred are triggered in the sufferer when hearing certain sounds. I have this with Sam Smith. I literally want to chicken scratch my ears whenever I hear, “Stay with me.”

Business began to pick up when Kanye West showed up with all the London rioters from 2011. People nervously phoned their babysitters asking them to hide their flat screen TVs. They came armed with flamethrowers this time. Taylor Swift was worried he was going to confiscate her award and give it to Beyonce. Some guy called George Ezra then started singing like a pigeon calling down ‘The Dove From Above’.

Of course the best bit of the evening was watching the elderly Madonna wearing Bishop Brennan’s cape from Father Ted being yanked backwards off some large steps on stage, probably breaking one of her brittle hips in the process. I’m sure her yoga saved her from more serious injury. Next year we get to caber toss Elton John off the stage.


1. Waiting for the kettle to boil.
2. Waiting for the microwave to finish heating your food.
3. Being naked and waiting for the bath to finish running.
4. Waiting for the toast to pop up.
5. At a crossroads and the other traffic has stopped but your light is still red.
6. Your takeaway to turn up.
7. Injury time when your team are winning.
8. Your hair to grow.
9. Your partner to get ready.
10. Spurs winning the Premier League.


Lent. I’m fed up of it already and it’s only day two. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not finding giving something up painful and unbearable, I mean I’m fed up of hearing about it and listening to people whinge. The majority of people completely miss the point of ‘lent’. You’re supposed to give up something that you regret or feel sorry about if you are religious, and the non-religious give up something they previously thought they couldn’t, so it becomes a challenge. It’s not there so you can give up something you dislike / can give up / want to give up. The irony is most people round here could do with taking ‘lent’ literally and actually do 40 days of fasting

My Mum has two vices in life; tea and chocolate. She depends on both of them to survive on a daily basis and I never thought she would be able to give up either. She is not religious as such, but she is ‘god-fearing’ if that makes sense. Basically she believes that being good will be rewarded in some way, eventually, somehow. I was really proud of her a couple of years back because she actually managed to give up tea for 40days, surviving on coffee and fruit teas. But then I thought, “Does it count?” Coffee has caffeine in it and herbal teas have the word ‘tea’ in them. That is the equivalent of me giving up smoking but getting by on a pipe and electronic cigarettes.

Lent is a religious practice for Christian denominations to give up something as a form of penitence. Penitence means feeling sorry, regretful and ‘bad’ for a particular behaviour. Whether you give up chocolate or meat or booze for 40 days, none of you actually feel bad about your chosen ‘sin’. Know why? What’s the first thing you’re gonna do on day 41? Yep, that’s right, stuff your faces with chocolate or meat or booze. And as a special bonus, at the end of lent is Easter, so you can stuff yourself silly with more chocolate or meat or booze. Then wash it down with several Easter Eggs and 18 hot cross buns. Anyway, which type of loving god wants to judge you and enjoys making you feel like shit and suffer? Oh, don’t forget to chuck in a few xbox games and iPads for those children who expect more than just chocolate. ‘Gluttony Central’.

I have a suggestion; how about the world gives up religion for 40 days instead? Think about it. No more prayer, no more beheadings or ISIS videos, no more kiddy fucking or religious bigotry and persecution. No more suicide bombings, religious hatred or killing of British Troops. No more slavery, brainwashing or tax avoidance. Wouldn’t that be better than chocolate or meat or booze?

And as for those people who are doing it, whether for religious reasons or just to test their willpower, I have some advice:- KEEP IT TO YOURSELF – just ‘you’, ‘yourself’ and not ‘I’. Pat yourself on the back afterwards quietly too. I am not going to be impressed by any abstinence for an antiquated, fictional, religious observance that covers just 6 weeks. Six weeks is nothing anyway. I haven’t had spaghetti bolognese for over 6 weeks; doesn’t mean that I’ve got greater willpower than you.