A Harem?

It has come to my attention, that some of you may be thinking I must obsessed with women.

I am, but no more than any other guy I know. However, two specific comments have been made, that I would very much like to address.

Firstly, the fact that most of my friends appear to be women is true, but not because I have been exclusively searching out women from across the globe to flirt with.... No, no, no, no, no!

I have believe it or not, been searching endlessly for guys too! However, men, as i'm sure you all know, are a bit wierd! I started off this thing by messaging randomly for 3 women and 3 men each week that peeked my interest. The men, however have either ignored my innocent messages, or at worst told me to go elsewhere in colourful language implying that I am homosexual. I have never seen this as a dating site, however clearly their own sexuality must be in question if they cant make friends with a guy. Im sure if I had breasts, they would have responded in droves.

I have never understood this rather sexist ideal that men have. After all it is relatively easy to make friends with guys down the bar (unless there is a woman with them... duh!!!). Online however it appears to be close to an impossibilty, well for me at least. For that I think you should all send my good friend Josh a hello, he may be religious, but he is the only guy that responded in the spirit intended.

I have had a friends request through from a guy in bournemouth, but as I have a policy of never accepting a friends request unless there is a message to go with it... well I refused it (but not until I sent him a message saying why! I mean come-on, how fair can I be!)

So, with that done, I move on to something which has caused somewhat of a stir amongst all you myspace friends... My ex's.

It has been mentioned to me that placing my ex's on the pics is kind of like showing off, that its intimidating and a little wierd. Hmmm, maybe.

The thing is, I wanted to put my life on here, and bearing in mind that these woman shaped part of my life, the directions I travelled in, the life I was leading etc etc, it seems totally insane to leave them out. I have pictures of my nephews on here, and I have spent considerably less time with them.

Can you imagine a biography of Tom Cruise that didn't mention Nicole, or one of Brad that didnt mention Jennifer, or one of Colin Farrell that didn't mention... well everyone!

No, and thats because they're important. After all would Tom Cruise have made Vanilla Sky, if Penelope hadn't made the original? Would Ben Affleck made Gigli... actually he might have, but you can see my point!

Women are very much a part of my life, and so they should take the stage as much as my new flattie and my brother. May I suggest that you only consider it wierd because, you yourself have chosen to try and forget those times spent. I cannot, because they were all good times, and in the true spirit of positivity, I should hang on to those moments and keep them in my scrapbook of life.

I would suggest that those of you that find it intimidating only do because they are nice photos. Trust me... they are the best of literally thousands. I love taking snapshots, and almost all get thrown away. If you had thousands of photos of yourself, you would find one or two really good ones too.

There might be some of you that consider it morose or mean even, perhaps they dont want their pics on myspace. Well yes that could be true, after all, some didnt end very well, and I appreciate the insensitivity of that, but it's my life too, and they were a part of it. It is why I have only picked out the best of the flattering ones.

Finally, if I am so proud of my past, then why have I not put them for everyone to see... Another good point. I guess because my last relationship finished so recently, and is still quite sore, especially as her dad is a complete arse, that I felt it best not to aggravate too much. I do intend to open it up in time, jus not yet.

Okay, I hope that explains a little of my reasoning. As always I am very open for criticism (as I often deserve it), but I would prefer it to be constructive, and preferably more than 2 words, but I continue to promise not to block anything negative, although you have been kind enough to be supportive. I would actually love to have a few negative comments once in a while. It makes for a lot of fun.

Hope to be chatting to you soon

Eggy

My Offer

I've been thinking about this alot recently. It occured to me that if I am to find a perfect woman for me, then I should at least have an idea as to what I really am after.

Obviously, we make compromises, and obviously there are things that come out from left field that make us think again, and obviously there is still plenty about ourselves that we have yet to discover... but in principle it makes sense to have an ideal, before you start. Something to aim for so to speak, so here it goes... my perfect woman.

Lets start with the most important thing, A smile. I dont care who you are, but a good smile gives even the ugliest gurner a few extra points in the attractive stakes.

..

My girl has to have a smile, and she has to use it often. I have no idea why young women feel its vital to look like they're sucking on lemons, but it tends to be the rule that the slimmer the girl, the more depressed they look, like years of eating rabbit food and jogging has made them all grumpy!

Naturally eyes and a smile go with each other like abbot and costello (whos on first... so funny), so they have to have eyes, preferably 2, in their head and not on a stick, or in their pockets or anything. The eyes must be strong and show expression and emotion easily.

Next they have to laugh alot. A sense of humour is vital. I want the kind of girl that cant stop laughing when i get on a roll, but that can take me in a new direction and fold me up like a piece of paper when im not expecting it. I want the kind of girl that is prepared to be silly, especially about herself.

She needs to be fun, not necessarily singing at the top of her voice at a karaoke bar, but certainly game for trying a round of pictionary or two on a whiteboard.

She needs to understand art... I have been thinking about this alot, and whilst I dont mean she can wax lyrical as to why a disected cow is a profound description of the modern values of our pleural society, she does understand why drum and bass is as important to art as a light turning on and off, or even the latest Batman movie.

As a rule, actually she needs to be up for change, and up for new ideas. I sometimes laugh at the idea of underwear riding higher than trousers like you see in the young guys today, but I have been known to make such fashion statements as jesters trousers at the local restaurant from time to time, and fancy dress parties are a must!

Change is important to me, I have no intention of being here in 5 years let alone 10 so my girl needs to be up and ready for something totally new. Before you start thinking I'm off to India for a 6 month sabatical, I'm not. In fact you're more likely to see me becoming a recluse in alaska. I like a steady move but a move, so she needs to be ready for change. She needs to adapt, and be prepared for just about anything. I have in the past just decided to drive to Scotland on a whim, so my girl needs to be ready to jump, but the fact is my brother lives in scotland so the jump was at least considered, and only lasted a week... Not so much a jump as a hop.

She also needs to be able to keep a secret. I am emotionally private and would never disrespect anyones confidence. I expect that in my perfect girl, cos contrary to what you might think... I have loads of secrets.

As for what she looks like, well I'm short so she should be, and I have never had a thing for rakes. Personally I never understood the argument about skinny women. NEVER when I was at school did I look at the skeleton in science class and think WHOA!!!

No, my girl will have curves! without doubt.

She needs to be adventurous and be forthright, she needs to stand up and say this is what I believe in, even if I totally disagree, but she also needs to listen, be tolerant, and at least try to understand me, as I will her. And she will have ambitions, realistic ambitions and achievable ones. She will be grateful for any help I can give her, and she will try to help me achieve mine.

She will love me totally for who I am and who I want to be, and she will always back me up, no matter how crazy I am getting.

For that I will give her body and soul forever. Without equivication or compromise. I will be there for her with her always. And give her everything I have the capacity to. I will support her and cherish her and be honest to her and never let her go out with her dress tucked in her pants, or with a label showing.

I will spend my entire life trying to make her happy and make her laugh everyday. I will wake up every morning next to her and tell her how much I love her and tell her everyday how much I fancy her even when she's 80 and all wrinkly and saggy.

Im not sure if thats a fair deal, maybe someone out there could suggest more things they demand. But for the moment thats the deal.

Life is for living and I want someone who knows how to live, without trying to kill themselves.

Getting on

So Im driving back from Wareham, open road ahead of me, sun beating down on my shoulders, arm out the window and music blaring out loudly, when Against All Odds comes on the CD.

I start to blast out my dulcet tones as loud as i'm able when he sings "And you coming back to me, is against the odds". With a sudden lurch my voice grinds to a halt.

I realise in horror that I can no longer reach the high notes! Now I know that my smoking has put pay to my headlining at the Apollo, but until that point I still thought I had a shot of a round of applause at the local Karaoke bar. Now the only people liable to pay to hear me sing is my mum and the Hand Bags and Bonnets Society, at the Village Hall, and quite honestly... they're a tough crowd. I dropped a ventriloquist down there a few weeks back, only to find his puppet in shreads and half his trousers ripped off when I picked him up.

Apparently they thought Billy Banger and his Marvellous Monkey was a very different show to the one he was expecting to put on.

I accept that my voice no longer kicks ass as it once did, and that I am no longer a british rival to Bill Withers. It is the fact that depressingly, rather like a dying star getting sucked up into a black hole, I am heading mercilessly into middle age.

Let me give you the best example I can think of. I have a craving to hold a dinner party!

I know

As if its not bad enough that my cooking genes clearly came from my father, and that asking me to cook a three course meal is akin to asking Sweeney Todd for a crew cut, but I am actually thinking it might be fun to play trivial persuit afterwards!

I think back to the days when a great night out was about walking into a bar so tightly packed that skipjack tuna couldn't have done better. Getting a pint thrown over your newly ironed shirt as you wrestle to the bar. Being ignored by the spotty teenager, who is only serving his friends and big breasted women called Sharon. Then its off to a club where the floor is stickier than the glasses, where the toilet runs around the block, where the music is louder than a demolition crew, where the drinks cost more than the nose cone of the space shuttle.

You leave the club for an oily kebab, only to spill chilli sauce down your trousers, making it look like you've soiled yourself. Make it back to the flat, preferably with a semi comatosed leaning post next to you. A quick chat to God on the big white telephone in the toilet then its crawling into bed to attempt an ascent of the sleeping camel that has stolen most of your bed and all of your duvet.

Great Night!

Its not just Nights out though. I drive slower now, No longer the Michael Schumaker that raced through the streets, tearing through red lights, and revving up infront of pretty girls. I have stuff now, wooden statues of african conga drummers that remind me of a time when I didnt care about african conga drummers, Pictures of Nephews that I havent seen for three years.

And then theres friends.

There was a time when finding a new supply of friends was as easy as it is now to find your local drug dealer, but as time goes on and people drift apart, you find yourself left with a very comfortable set of close and very lovable friends that given the opportunity you would rather text than talk to in person.

I think as the sun sets on my younger days, and I enter the quagmire of midddle ages, I may have just one or two adventures left before I start using my real name at hotels, or mow the lawn in lines, or actually compare the prices of wine at the shops, or buy a spreadsheet newspaper, or think that £15 is an excellent price for entrance to the Dinosaur Museum.

Maybe just one more adventure.

The Poo of Destiny

I recently sent this story to my charming friend Amanda.   but it's good enough to blog, so...

I should tell you first, my college years were an adventure, from start to finish. I never graduated, but I fell in love and was such a romantic, that studying was totally left behind.  Her name was Catheryn, she was short curvy, with a smile to die for and she laughed at anything. My kind o' gal!

I studied in Cardiff, South Wales. She was from North wales, so when she invited me and her best mate up north for the weekend to meet the family, I was very excited... ahh young love.

Well, we met mum and dad who were going away til Monday, and it was our charge to look after their 4 yappie dogs. They were to be put in the kitchen when we went out, so they didnt trash the place. That night, we went out to a local pub, where Catheryn got off with her old boyfriend, a guy who clearly was cooler and more heavily endowed than me. AND he had his own caravan, so good prospects all round. lol.

I spent half the night being miserable with her best friend, who I later found out fancied me rotten, in a park on the swings, not that I was ever interested in her except to get back at my now ex. When the two of us finally got back to the house sad and desperate, yes Catheryn had decided to spend the night a-rockin' and a-rollin' with the guy, clearly the unemployment benefits were enough for him to buy her as much canabis as she needed, anyway when Michelle (her mate) and I finally got back, we realised the dogs had not been shut away.

I noticed it first, as when I opened the living room door, the stench of dog poo hit me... I had squidged one under the door, but the entire room had been covered in little deposits.

Michelle carefully tiptoed to the kitchen and let the shamed pooches out the back garden, while I began filling a bucket and finding suitable kitchen towels to clear it up.

Once resolved, remember we were both tipsy anyway, we divvied up the poos, and began cleaning the carpet. As I had squidged the one under the door, that became my area, while michelle cleared the relatively easier ones by the tv.

After a few minutes I had got the hang of rolling the poos into the tissue in one piece, but the smell was unreal. Even though the windows were wide open, I was astonished. I never had dogs, so this was all new to me.

Once the squidged one was cleared, I looked behind the sofa and found another one. This was easily reachable, and so I swept it up in a fluid move, but there was yet another poo hiding in the shadows a little further behind. With a good bit of stretching I grabbed this one and cleaned the remaining mess, but I was starting to gag. Thats when I saw the big poo.

To this day I have no idea how so much poo comes out of just four tiny yappy dogs but there it was. One huge poo out of my reach. I had no choice. The sofa had to be moved...

Carefully Michelle checked that we wouldn't squidge any other rogue poos, before, whilst still on my hands and knees I pushed the couch from the wall.

That's when the true extent of the smell that had been building up behind the couch, like an octopus, hiding in the rocks, waiting for the right fish to strike at, hit me.

Bang

I was knocked out unconscious for a whole 3 minutes according to Michelle, who, in typical female fashion, instead of being concerned with my welfare and comatic state, was laughing herself to tears.

I'm not saying that all women are cruel and viscious vixens when it comes to mens misfortune, not at all. It is my experience that women can and often are very tender and sympathetic to the distress of men,

just not me!

Enough Said.

The Problem with Poor People

I recently had a very nice american lady in my car. I was taking her home from the airport and we got into a conversation about the american dream, well actually we got into lots of conversations, but this was just one of the things she talked about that gave me food for thought.

Oh, by the way, this is going to be one of my heavy blogs, light ones start again later this week.

Anyhow, she explained in her gorgeous LA accent, how the premise of the dream was that you could be anything you want to be if you worked hard enough, and fought long enough, and that because you paid so little comparitively in taxes than some other countries, you could spend your money on you and your demands, re-invest in your business etc.

That the dream promoted success in all areas including business, and achieves an industrious committed workforce.

It's an interesting notion, and it's worthy of note that the US is the most powerful and successful nation on the planet and so therefore deserves every degree of credit.

I have a problem with it though. Surprise surprise. If you ever have read my political and economic rants before you will know I am not the biggest fan of corporatism, or the free market economy.

The thing is, I dont really want to be rich. I know, I know, it's a bit of a thing to say, but like many people in the UK, I never saw myself ending up rich. If I won millions of pounds on the lottery, I already have a plan as to how I will give most of it away.

So, the idea of working hard to achieve my goals is a bit of a misnomer. Dont get me wrong, I'm not after handouts. I like working as a rule, I just work to live, not the other way around.

My ideal future involved a pretty wife, a couple of kids, a house mostly paid for, a job thats secure enough, a little bit of savings for emergencies and a lot of time to spend with my family. I always thought the purpose of life was to enjoy it as best you can and to give my children a good and stable upbringing. I never imagined this would be without struggle or hardship, but I always believed that just like having a badly maintained car, the occasional break down can be a bit of an adventure.

After Hurricane Katrina, we all watched in shock at the pictures of a society shattered, and our hearts went out to the people of New Orleans.

What seemed so surprising about the disaster though, apart from the single biggest contributor to the relief effort being from Qatar (I believe), was that people whose lives were in ruins, who had no homes to go to, who had no income, seemed to be left predominantly to their own devices. Standard grants of $3200 were given, but thats not enough to rebuild a house, re-establish your kids schooling, re-build a business and fight a rising desperate crime wave, thats put New Orleans right near the top of the murder charts in the US.

FEMA even left people deperate for food and water in the football stadium for ages before finally getting there, even though the reporters seemed to find the place no problem.

And yet within days of the disaster, corporations a plenty were divvying up rights to knock down their schools and houses, and build more expensive, more exclusive houses. The fact that the people displaced were mostly black and the people likely to move in were white has very little to do with it. The fact that the people displaced were poor however, and the people moving in were wealthy does bother me.

Now most of the schools are private, the wealthy districts are on their way to be built, water and electricity are all back on, well in the good districts, all with tax payers $27bn (of which only about a third has actually been spent.... what can they actually be doing with the rest of it???), and as for the camps built in Texas and the surrounding areas to look after the victims, mostly paid by charity organisations with donations coming from around the world and not by the government or FEMA, they were stretched to the limit with the influx of refugees, and now have all but gone. People, well poor people in particular will have to look after themselves.

It may be the case that if I were living in New Orleans during those terrible days, I too would have stayed in the camps, my job would no longer be there, my life would have been torn apart, and my meagre savings would never support my small family. Combine that with the insurance company that is fighting to hang on to the money I had invested in insurance policies for 20 years means that, going back to the car analogy, my car would be totalled, which is most definitely NOT an adventure. The help I would get from the government would have been minimal too, but because I didn't subscribe to the american dream, people would say it was my own fault.

Maybe they are right. Maybe there is something about taking care of your own future first and foremost, but what is so wrong with wanting a simple life, and asking for simple things. I dont want to spend every waking hour worrying about work. I want to spend it enjoying watching my future kids run in the public park, that I paid for with my taxes. I want to spend it with my elderly parents who have been given a state pension and healthcare, which they paid for with their taxes.

The biggest problem to me with the american dream however is not the poor that occasionally need a helping hand, but the super rich who seem to take advantage of every situation and make more than a healthy buck out of peoples misfortune.

The biggest problem is responsibility. Whilst americans may well argue that it is everyones duty to be responsible for the safety and security of their own family, when it comes to a multi-national corporation, it's no-one's responsibility. It's all very well to say that if someone owns a river, they are responsible for it, but corporations have never been responsible. Just look at Enron or the AOL business to see how multinational corporations dont own up to their responsibility.

But who takes the blame. Therein lies the problem with the free market. Do the shareholders who have made the profits year on year take any responsibility. As a rule no, especially if they buy their shares through dummy corporations and slush funds. If you are lucky you may get a corporate MD to go to jail, but it rarely happens. And it will never compensate the millions of people who have lost money on the stock market because of the crash, or even worse the victims from the chemical manufacturers who have been spilling their waste products into rivers for decades.

We all know that corporations will do anything to save a buck, and that the guy next door doesn't matter, never matters, particularly if he's poor.

The US government has pretty much given over it's homeland security responsibilty to private enterprise, and clearly FEMA did a bang up job on getting New Orleans back on it's feet.

As corporations begin to take over the US, shouldn't you be asking who are you voting for now, a democrat, a republican, or a leading shareholder from Halliburton (Thank you Donald Rumsfeld, major shares in one of the biggest weapons firms in the world, just at the time you were advising the US president to go war with Iraq over WMD!)

The american dream has its place, for sure. The spirit of enterprise and accomplishment is an important factor to the country's success, but surely more should be done for the people at the bottom of the ladder, or perhaps just the people who were doing fine before a dirty great hurricane blew their houses away.

Perhaps not everything in life should be about the money.

Life with my flattie

So. One week gone, and here's my update...

Krispin, my flattie (find him on myfriends and abuse him as much as you want... no seriously, he likes it) is a pretty good laugh, although we have spent way too much time sitting on our easy chairs and watching DVD's rather than doing anything useful, like getting a pot so we can boil an egg.

The only thing is I cant help getting the feeling people might think, since we're two guys living together, with both of our names on every bill, that people might think, specially since I needed a mattress and he needed a bed, and the guy asked us how long we had been together, that people might think we're a little bit, since my friend PQ asked us when we were getting rings, that people might think we're a little bit, since his GF is miles away and I'm single, that people might think we're a little bit, since I'm on a fitness thing at the mo, and insist he goes swimming with me... Hang on, maybe I am a little bit.... Well i do like musicals!

Na!

My mum asked me if I was the other day. It scared me a little actually. When your mates take the mickey it's fair enough, but when your mum does!!!

Anyhow, the flat's fine, and looks great with no couch or table in it. My bedroom is a little wierd with no wardrobe, but you gotta love the space. We had a choice of a couch, a washing machine or a dirty great TV set. Needless to say our clothes will need a hammer by the end of the month.

And I have spent almost my entire time sitting on the balcony and watching the birds shit on my car, so thats nice!

All in all its been a really good laugh, except when he filmed me playing Guitar Hero, and put it on you tube.

Dont worry, I intend to seek my revenge... any ideas anyone?

A Change of Life Goals, Guitar Hero

So I went down to Weymouth to see my friend Animal today, and I was introduced to Guitar Hero.

For the life of me I have no idea what I have been doing with myself.

Obviously I have heard of the Guitar Hero phenomenon, girls claiming they scored a successful 85 concurrent notes, but I imagined it was a bit like the dance matts and the karaoke singing games. Now I have a soft spot for a little Karaoke singing when suitably imbibed with a laceration of alcohol. At times like that I have a tendancy to sing anyway, so grabbing a microphone in a pop idol styleee is perfectly acceptable, but singing at home to a plastic toy in front of 9 year olds is just not for me, and neither is trying to knock bubbles off the screen by pointing in the air like John Travolta, with an eye toy.

I didnt know!

To be honest, It isnt the first time I have watched a massive trend pass me by. I like to think of myself as so far behind fashion, that I'm retro. I still wear turn-ups, mind you I am short, lol.

This one however I had to try kicking and screaming, but despite an initial reservation of being downright awful at the plastic guitar thing complete with devil stickers and fluorescent straps, I found myself drawn to it like a teenager to a dark cellar in a horror movie.

As the beat hit me, I realised I am in fact Stevie Ray Vaughn's more attractive cuddly long lost brother. My incredibly durable career of taxi driving and the occasional space flight (just dont ask... very traumatic) may have to be forsaken for my budding music god status.

I strutted like Joe Strummer, I pogoed like Johnny Rotten, I went down on my knees and windmilled a la Pete Thownsend and yes I even played the thing with my teeth like Hendrix!

My flattie, nice person that he is, took the footage of me turning into a raving lunatic to the beat of 'schools out' and apparently will be selling it on e-bay next week.

After they pried 'my precious' from my vice like grip and sat me down with a wet towel and a bottle of Valium, I came to realise that this could well be my calling. I'm sorry guys but I have seen God, and her name is ACTIVISION!

If, like me, you have not been on the planet for the last 20 years, and have no idea whats so special about an iphone, or how to read a binary clock, or what you could possibly want a space invader door mat, or WHY ANY SANE PERSON WOULD NEED A GLOWFLOW TAP LIGHT WITH TEMPERATURE SENSOR, then please, take a chance with this ridiculous sounding game. Take a step into the unknown, lower your head and don the strap, hold the plastic phallus in both hands, and get ready when the drums start banging to Lick it like a Les Paul, Goose it like a Gibson, Abuse it like a Universe and F*** it like a Fender.

No rolling, Just Rock!