Matching Pair

Now this has always been a personal pet peeve of mine, alongside women who doll themselves up to go to work and then wear gym trainers (the ugliest of the trainer family), why did they even bother! Now I have always been overly quick to judge (by judge I mean mock) when you see this matching monstrosity coming towards me, until recently when I joined the club.

This was by no means intentional, but on this occasion I had arranged to meet the girlfriend for drinks and as I saw her approaching, I was greeted with a unwelcome realisation that we are pretty much wearing identical outfits. Now if I wasn’t mentally five I would have handled the situation better but I am so instead of greeting the girlfriend I opted to throw a mini hissy fit insinuating that she had purposefully copied my outfit, which is obviously ridiculous as she was asleep when I left that morning but there we were standing together in our desert boots, black jeans, black leggings in her case, some form of white top and barbour jackets, as if we were announcing ourselves to the word, yes this is us and we proud. Knowing full well that I now have to stay out like this and then travel back together like this, suggesting that we went separately probably wouldn’t help my case as I feel I’m already in trouble with my insinuating.

Needless to say some low lighting saved the day, although I have been to the dark side and unlike Darth Vader, there was no untold power or death star just two people unknowingly announcing themselves to the world. Next the day we made sure we were wearing the complete opposite.

My Lost Watch

This week hasn’t been the best as my clumsiness has been going into overdrive ranging from dropping my laptop, my dinner, and my drinks amongst other Mr Bean esc incidents. However none more so than then Wednesday, which resulted in dilemma as I popped to the toilet for a number 1 (I’m calling it a number 1 as I am mentally five) standing as you do plotting world domination in your head because peeing is a pretty mundane necessity, when my watch falls of my wrist into the toilet. This resulted in master class in how to swear and then staring at my watch trying to come up with some form of Baldric style plan but my watch was water resistance so I had time.

Now this particular situation left me with three options, all of which would not result in me keeping the watch. The first option is to just leave it there and walk away but then again someone is bound to use that toilet and come out saying “who’s watch is in the toilet” at which point everyone will look at me because they know it could only be from the Mr Clumsy (and it took me all day to shake off the trauma of the incident from face......i did like that watch).

Secondly, I flush the toilet but the even the slightest possibility of my watch blocking the toilet and flooding the loo was too much to bear, even though the chances of it were pretty slim, as it was Casio and not some b rate rappers watch, which is in fact an alarm clock glued to strap, but what do they care they are too busy learning how to do the slant walk and arse hang out.

Thirdly, man up and get the watch out and that’s just what I did. Just like some sort of Rocky montage before he goes into the fight I pumped myself toilet brush in hand managed to manoeuvre it out like I was playing a game of operation, flipping it into the waiting pile of tissue I put on the floor to catch it. I then threw it into the bin and walked back to my desk slightly traumatised and disappointed my favourite watch gone forever.

When I got back to my desk few people could tell something had happened or I must have had some sort of almighty curry but my face gave it away and so did I after very little probing. So now I’m watch-less and being laughed at but oh well, especially as I milked it a bit when the girlfriend laughed at me so she ordered me a pizza which came to more than that piece of shit watch anyway.

My Throne

Now if you have a penis this will apply to you and to those of you who don’t, it still technically applies but shame on you! So we have all been in the situation where you need to urinate, piss, wee etc there and then, but there is nowhere to go so you have to face that age old choice to hold it or go anywhere. Now I was faced with the particular conundrum the other after a very pleasant evening round someone’s house but seeming as I spilt wine on her within the first two minutes of my arrival (I genuinely am the clumsiest man alive), I then became a mouse and the thought of asking to use her toilet would be a step to far so I defected to the garden immediately until I and the girlfriend left (she was not amused).

Now we are on way back and luckily it’s only 15 minutes way but I really need to go and subsequently do some form of crossed legged lunge walk, whilst eyeing any opportunity to relieve myself without been seen as the girlfriend would be even less amused and hoping she’s going to make me some grub when we get back. I really know that she will pass out on the couch as soon as we get back, while order I take away and scan across the TV looking for a old Stallone style action film, random documentaries or boobies.....who are we kidding just boobies.

So this journey is becoming increasingly worse and I feel like Steve McQueen, plotting my escape but inevitable bottling it because I feel I could flood the whole of South London and partly as I want see if I can make it back because that would literally be my only achievement of the day. I am however now at the top of my road (it’s a long road before you judge) and I can’t take it any more so I find the nearest hedge and go for it like one of those four leg, you know horse’s dogs etc that brazenly go wherever they want, like they are painting the pavement with yellow gold.....well we are not in the Wizard of Oz and it is certainly not the yellow brick road.

So I have done the deed, now I feeling a lot better as I am making my way back to flat pointing out the stream I have created because I’m such a juvenile, which of course the girlfriend is well aware of. I walk through the door, with the toilet starring at me and suddenly realising that I have let myself down opting for the street over my throne. 

Wet Underwear

So there are many lessons you learn on the way adulthood, more so when you fly the nest from things like replenishing the toilet roll, to turning the fridge settings to really cold so that I have icy cold beers will actually turn your fridge into a scene from ice age (at least it gives you an excuse to eat all the food in one go and do it all again......cold beers are worth it). However there are some things that fall in between, which brings me to why I was calling my mum at 8:00am on a Sunday morning asking what to do, possibly with the faintest sound of distress to my voice.

It all began on a Saturday morning when I was getting ready for work, and as you already know I’m not too keen on socks and the same goes underwear but as I was off to work I thought I would make the effort. Now here lies the problem, I don’t really own that many pairs so I had to grab a pair that was drying and weren’t getting any closer to becoming dry, which at the time didn’t seem like a big deal as they were going to dry at some point. This is pretty much where it all went wrong and as the day turned into some sort Ben Stiller style rom-com.

Firstly my thighs and bum became to feel very uncomfortable whilst at work but I just passed it off as underwear bunching (one of lifes most annoying things!) but as the day went on it became unavoidable. Breaking point came as I was having some dinner with the girlfriend at our favourite place, where I gingerly walked off coming back with my pants in my pocket, passing them under the table for her to put in her bag (she protested slightly and called me a few names, until she realised she is dating a man-child and this isn’t that out of the ordinary). Now I am in a lot of pain and in a very public place fidgeting and getting told off, but the next stop is the cinema (pre paid tickets) to see everyone’s favourite emotional vampire saga (let’s be honest he does cry a bit too much).

So I am now heading into possibly the only Odeon which checks your bags as you walk in (probably due to my uncomfortable face and fidgety posture) but low and behold all he finds is my underwear in the girlfriends bag, who is now cutting a very embarrassed figure, which is rapidly turning into my boyfriend is an idiot. None the less we grab some popcorn and head in. The film is painful to watch, I’m in pain and like a fool I opted to try their new lemon and chilli flavour popcorn and said no to a pic n mix (who does that......this rash is obviously effecting my judgement) but the girlfriend ever the wise one in her cinema grub choice choose well so I steal hers........she’s really not happy with me now but I play the sympathy card after watching soppy vampires for 2 hours.

We get up to go and it dawns on me that I can’t actually walk and now I’m walking like 80year old man with the girlfriend looked pretty peeved, so we get a taxi back so she can inspect in affected areas.....it’s not good so some sort of cream is applied and I lay on the woe is me pretty heavy. Next thing I know I’m ringing mum up asking what do I do???? And relaying this onto the girlfriend who has to take time out of her day to get some special cream and bring it to me at work. So the lesson learnt is that don’t wear wet underwear, no one ever said it would have such serious repercussions and oh yeah make it up to the girlfriend. 

Pick N Mix

This week has been absolutely crazy due to a tremendously unnecessary amount of deadlines, so by Wednesday after my third hand in three days, beer was required immediately. So it’s about mid-day, I have handed in my work and now at the pub having a few, which turned into several and so on and so forth, needless to say but by the time I decided to head back to the flat I was semi pissed (certain individuals may say otherwise but they’re not writing this so who cares).

So a half drunken journey across London is next and something that I have managed to perfect over the years but now and then London still manages to throw a few surprises my way, which was most certainly the case. As I stepped off the escalator at my stop I was greeted by some sort of Las Vegas lights style show, fussing seedy Soho bright lights and colours from Josephs amazing Technicolor Dream coat, well not really but a HUGE pick n mix selection will look like this to someone pissed and not wearing their glasses.

Now I’m very excited by this new stall opened up at my stop and the next thing I know is that I have the candy stripe bag in hand shovelling in sweets at a rate that makes alarming look mild, with the end result me standing their with a £14 bag of pick n mix, yep £14! I then strolled home sweets in toe, confident that if anyone wanted to cause trouble I could probably kill them with one hit from my Andre the Giant size bag of sweets. I arrived home some time later and true to form fell asleep on couch straight away, waking later, thinking why hell is there a giant bag of sweets on the side coming to one conclusion..............maturity is still eluding me, and pissed and greedy isn’t a good combination. 

Donor Card

The post man has been very kind to me this week, with numerous packages of clothes that don’t fit and will never get sent back as I’m too lazy and my donor card (yep everything bar the eyes because how am I supposed to haunt people when I’m gone). This instantly makes me feel like a better person (donor card trumps any eco sod who recycle or those who use eco friendly cars), but sadly this is not the case as I’m still a poor excuse for a human being.


My new donor card posed a couple of questions, firstly should I finally decide to take care of myself so someone could actually have a useable organ, most certainly not as my life revolves around Cheerios, Seinfeld and del boy style drinks, so alas there just simply isn’t any time to be active or healthy.


The second being that I personally feel that your donor card should come with a internationally recognised get out of jail free card, I know what you’re thinking but with such a good should come the ultimate perk. Drunk and disorderly, fighting, social faux par and just any form of frowned upon mishaps that you may have committed, flash that little blue card and BOOM instantly off the hook. It should act as symbol to any form of authority that yes I have a tendency to be dick but really I’m A-OK.


Surely if this came as a part of the deal when signing up they wouldn’t need to show those disturbing adverts anymore and maybe the NHS might even have abundance of organs or least enough surplus to create some sort organ Frankenstein to scare small children and nurses.

Always Pizza

Now I love my grub much like most men and today I thought I would cheer myself up after a disappointing day and, with a even more disappointing score line (you know what I’m talking about). It was a tossup between Thai or Pizza and I love them both a lot, Thai won as I wasn’t feeling naughty enough for pizza.

Now I flicked through the menu in my usual flippant manner, ticking about 15 things branding everything I didn’t tick as just one step up from something regurgitated, then I realise that I am just one person and not a small family or some sort of wobbly heffa. So I whittled it down to a couple of dishes but opted for something completely different as I was feeling foolishly adventuress (FOOLISHLY).


Now my point is that when your meal is the last thing to thing to look forward to out of an otherwise rubbish day and acting as some sort of comfort, stick to what you know and you wouldn’t left like me right now sitting the with some sort of tofu thing and some over thing with too much lemongrass and worst of all I hate tofu and have no idea why I tried to convince myself otherwise.


Always pizza, what was I thinking!!!