Monday, 26 September 2011

On The (Essex) Road.

 Having not travelled to London or beyond recently, I’ve forgotten what crap the average driver has to go through when taking a day out on the road. If it ain’t the old granny taking her time in the old banger in front, it’s the cocky boy racer who wants to over take you, and will do so, regardless how close to you they are; or there’s the 'I-Am-The-Big-I-Am' vans changing from the left lane to the right lane without warning; they might as well have a banner hanging out their window saying, ‘Don’t think about over taking me you little cunt, I’ll squash you like a bug’.

I’m sitting here, in what I consider to be quite a decent size van, but that doesn’t stop cars of all shapes and sizes pissing about on the road. Does everyone have to be so greedy, there’s only one road, what makes you think you own it?

Then there’s the 'god help us all' road works that go on for miles and miles.  “These have been going on since last year’ Becky told me. How delightful, you take a day out to get away from the shit that you look at in your own hometown, and then you have to spend 150 miles looking at more shit.. and again once you return home.

On the positive side, there is a rather inviting Burger King sign popping up every few miles, which if it didn’t sell such shit bean burgers might be worth stopping for…. I won't go down that road though, I've had enough of roads for one day!

Tuesday, 6 September 2011

Granny Green Grass

The grass is always greener on the other I once heard, when I was on this side. I hear most things from this side; I see most things from this side, because more often than not, I am on the side which is this one, and I'll tell ya, it don't just look grass green on the other side, oh no, from where I'm standing, it looks like a psychedelic mix of Emerald, Electric, Neon and Spring Green, which if it had a name, would probably be something along the lines of ‘The absolute tits green’! That's what happens I guess when you've been on this side for too long, you get used to your own shade, and you suddenly see  yourself surrounded in the sort of green that your Nan would choose when kindly knitting you a jumper. Or a shade that stares up at you from your very healthy but boring dinner plate; peas, runner beans, that sort of green! Incredibly bland!

Maybe it ain't greener over there though, maybe my eyes are just tired resulting in everything around me looking lifeless and dreary. Maybe I should just get some sleep, and when I wake up, hopefully everything will look like the kind of green one would be wearing at a rave night! Mental and really fun!

Let’s hope so! 

Wednesday, 31 August 2011

Welcome to Apps Anonymous.

Apps are healthy, they make me smile;
If Apps weren't around, life wouldn't be worthwhile
If you don't have an App, you really ain't lived
My apps are my love, and much love they can give!

Hi. My name's Fiona, and I’m an App-oholic!

My addiction came apparent to me not long after I'd purchased The Tooth Brushing App and spent around an hour cleaning the food off a virtual set of teeth. I knew they weren’t my teeth, but some how I couldn't stop myself falling into the trap of believing they really were dirty. I spent so long rubbing the imaginary food off the screen, it made me late for work. I didn't quite know how to explain this to my boss, so I lied and told him that I had problems with my own teeth; he didn't need to know whose teeth they really were and what in fact the problem was!

I know I'm not alone with this obsession; after all, who would they be making this rubbish for but us App-oholics. And I also know that I can work through my problem and will one day go through life without feeling the need to browse the 'Top 25 Apps' every half hour on my phone. It even got so bad once that I briefly toyed with the idea of changing my name from Fiona to Apple. I've since learnt that there is actually a Fiona Apple out there. Lucky cow, she probably doesn't even know the genius behind her surname. Apple....Apple Mac...Appsigale! That could work... Appsigale Jacobs?- This is how bad it's become. It took a long stern talking from my Vodaphone rep to help me realise that Appsiglae is a shit name, and I’d be better off leaving it as it is.

My mobile phone rep is my best friend. I speak to him every week. Nigel his name is. We have the best conversations, all of them Apps related. Sometimes he gets annoyed when he learns it’s me ringing again, I think he's just worried I may have discovered an App that he hasn't heard of yet, which might get him trouble, as he’s meant to be the one that talks about the newest Apps on the market, not me, the customer!

Everyone tells me I've changed so much since having the iPhone..Apparently Apps are all I talk about now. This is why I’ve come here today, to seek help for me to realise that there was life before Apps, and there can be life after. I'm not quite ready to give up downloading Apps yet though, I have however, given myself a limit of downloading just 5 Apps a week. But if I've worked particularly well then I secretly give myself a bonus App!

I'll keep ya posted on my progress! Until then, Appy Days!

Wednesday, 10 August 2011

Fighting your way through an invisible crowd.

This is something that really gets on my tits; when a punter walks in off the street and straight away mimics the actions of fighting their way through a crowded room, when clearly the room ain't crowded. Why do it? 
Obviously the barmaid standing behind the bar knows the place is dead. Christ, they've been here all day; they don't need a prick like you high lighting this obvious fact. And anyway, what the hell are you doing with your arms?  They're aimlessly flapping around, making you look like some kid swimmer that hasn't quite mastered the art of the breaststroke. You call that fighting? Jesus!

What's worse is when the idiot says, on top of his lame imitation, 'I'm fighting my way through the crowd, see?'.. What d'ya say to that? I find myself saying nothing, and grinning with a very tight smile. The pub being this dead is one of the main stresses of our working day; why joke about it? Maybe when you've got a pub mate, that's not doing particularly well, you'll see how fucking irritating it is, having someone walk in and making fun of the fact it's dead. It's as bad as someone walking in and saying out loud to the barman 'Blimey, it's busy in here, innit?'...snigger, snigger. What a lame arse thing to say. With loads of pubs being shut down, it's not exactly what a manager/publican wants to hear right now.  And you'd be surprised how many times a week we have this being said to us.

But like always, we'll wear it, grin and bear it, let these morons think and share it. 


Sunday, 7 August 2011

Welcome to the Reading List, it says..

I once had a reading list; waste of time it was. Still haven't managed to complete a whole book since me teens, but I have waded half way through a fair few good ones though.

At the moment I'm having a bash at Eats, Shoots and Leaves. Very funny; leaves you being a stickler for punctuation. I sitll haven't quite got my head around the semicolon, but i'm throwing it in here and there with me eyes shut, and am hoping that they're placed in the appropriate position...

Other books on my reading list  are:

Oliver Twist (Read the first 2 pages)

The Way We Wore ( half way through it)

The Picture Of Dorian Gray (Read the first 3 chapters )

Dear Boy (2 chapters in )

A Kestral For A Knave (Have read it 3 times over and every time only reach the half way point)

Shout (Half a page)

Peter Cook; A Biography (About 4 chapters)

and The History Of Fashion. (Briefly flicked through)

Bad, innit!
Well, i'll make it my aim to have finished one of the above by January. That gives me 4 months, yeah, that's doable!

On a good note, since writing this reading list (which was about a month ago) I've managed to finish reading the semicolon section in Eats, Shoots and Leaves, and I can say with confidence, I kinda know when to use it now..sort of!

Friday, 29 July 2011

The power of font!


Wednesday, 20 July 2011

The actions of a psycho, and what they mean really....

The word psycho is defined in the dictionary as a person who is 'crazy or insane'. (This is the online dictionary, mind; the Oxford dictionary is much more detailed, I'm sure.)

However, if you look in the Backward Way Of Thinking dictionary, the term psycho is simply known as- 'A person that is just a bit odd’.
Now if you go one step further and look for the term 'alternative psycho' (which is a label usually given to relationship partners, parents and driving instructers),  you'll find it refers to a person who means no harm, would never be violent but may often perform actions that come across as some what hostile, irrational and down right psychotic! This dictionary recommends that you do not get these actions confused for feelings of hate, disgust or despise. 
For a 'normal' person, who is unaware of the traits of an alternative psycho, it may be difficult for them to understand the meaning behind their actions.
  I've read the alternative psycho help guide, so I thought I’d share some passages from it with you; it may be of help for anyone that's experienced  similar actions from a similar 'psycho'

Chapter 3; the act of yanking a quilt!

Ever had the quilt pulled off you at night?
What did you think it meant?

Maybe you thought the motive behind this act was to make you so cold, you froze to death? Or perhaps the pyscho pulled the quilt off in order to take a photo of you naked, with the intention of sending it to the Sun newspaper; thus, making a few bob on the side! Or, did this nutter want to show off their bed making skills whilst you remain in it? And if you end up in the wash, so be it...

No! Far from it...

I've read the quilt yanking chapter, and it actually says that this particular action of pulling the quilt off, in a fit of anger, is merely the unusual way of an alternative psycho saying "Listen darlin, let's talk. Let's talk now, because tomorrow is a new day and I don't want to start a new day with a negative discussion which could have been had the night before."

4am is not the best time to want this talk, I appreciate that, however I assure you, pulling the quilt of a person does not mean you're in danger; you've just got a long chin wag ahead of you, in which case, I recommend you have a large brandy and a couple of fags on the go. 

Chapter 7; the act of hurling ones breakfast at the floor.

This to many will comes across as an act from a pyscho who is clearly spoilt, ungrateful and obviously unaware of a good breakfast when it's staring them in the face!

Wrong again! This psycho is fully aware of how delicious their breakfast is, and is taking a big sacrifice when slinging it on the floor; but by doing this, they are merely expressing an urge for change. This could be change of carpets, could be change of breakfast, but most likely a need for changing the current situation. Frustration can build up in a psycho's head, and talking sometimes isn't the best way of communicating. One resorts to food lobbing...Very strange but quite common amongst the 'alternative psycho'.

This here will be the last example I will give you from this help guide, as it's best to read the whole book yourself, it's quite a good read, you'll only find it in certain parts of Russia though, and it's not cheap, mind!

Chapter 11; Pick popping and name lopping.

This section looks at the reasons behind why a psycho chooses to speak ill of a partner's posture, psychical features or dress sense. The book simply says that if a psycho is reduced to making fun of these areas, it merely means they have nothing else worthwhile to put down. For clearly a person's posture can not be made fun of; a physical feature perhaps, but for this situation, 'this particular person' at which 'this particular psycho' was having a pop at, has no negative physical features, so therefore 'this particular psycho' is a bit of a tit, and has lost the argument straight away!

Alternative psychos are strange creatures, but one thing they have in common with 'normal' people is that they feel regret, and quite often wish to express this regret by saying sorry. Again, in similar psycho fashion, they will probably find unusual ways of saying sorry; helicopters with apologetic banners across the sky, cakes with  smarties placed on the icing spelling out the 5 letter word, or even writing silly little blogs about psychos wishing to say they're sorry!! (I'm sorry!)

So that's that then, a little information about the alternative psycho. Might I add that I believe everyone has a little alternative psycho in them, and it's usually the stresses of life and work that bring them out. Go easy on these psychos, they're grumpy little fuckers but mean well really!

For anyone that wishes to purchase this book, email me and I’ll forward you the Russian link!

Good day!

Tuesday, 21 June 2011

The red room

In an attempt to improve my writing skills, I thought it might be a good  idea to describe exactly what it is that I’m looking at, at this precise moment in time.  Barry Hines did it rather well when writing A Kestrel For A Knave. He, I noticed, went into fine detail about almost everything he was describing.
I thought I’d have a go at this approach and discuss ‘The red room’..

After a quick glance into the room, one would decide it to be a space used merely for a one nights sleep; since only having a mattress and a dresser in it, but, if one takes a closer look into this bare room, one would suddenly see there’s a lot more to it. For example, though the walls are blank, they do have drain pipes running down them. These pipes can get bleeding hot if the boiler's left on over night; I’ve burnt my feet a fair few times when accidently touching them whilst asleep.
The walls leading to the ceiling  don't go directly up and horizontally across like most walls tend to, this particular wall tilts at an angle; I think it might be part of the roof actually. I am on the 3rd floor after all!

The room is red because there’s a red bulb in the light socket. I like it red.  It reminds me of one of the pubs I went to in Amsterdam a few years ago; they've got quite gritty pubs over there, full of smoke and live rock and roll!

There’s a double mattress on the floor, it’s quite comfortable.
Unfortuanely it takes up most of the floor, that’s why the room’s so empty.

There’s a metal dresser thing on the left side of the mattress which has 4 shelves attached to it. It’s quite tall, looks relivitely new.

The first shelf has an old 80’s telly on it. It doesn’t work, I just put it there because I thought it looked cozy and old school. Maybe Paul could take a look at it.

The second shelf has 5 books neatly stacked up; none of them I’ve read, but I intend to.

The 3rd shelf has 2 white mugs on it, one of which is filled to the top with tea, the other is empty.

The last shelf also has mugs on it; 4 mugs in total. Most of them are empty. I should think about bringing them back downstairs soon. I was curious as to where they’d all gone.

There’s only a small patch of carpet left that you can see, since the mattress takes up most of the room. On the carpet are a pair of converse, a teapot, a pair of old winkle pickers and some baccy.
There's also a small window high up on right side of the wall.. I hear pidgoeons outside sometimes. I never seem them though.

That’s all there is to say about ‘the room’.. One day I’ll put pictures and shelves up. But for now it’ll do me just fine.

Sorry, that bit of writing was actually kinda dull.. But I did manage to say quite a lot about a room that only has a mattress and a dresser in it. Skills!

Thursday, 5 May 2011

SOUTHEND- A bloody marvelous seaside town!

Another bit on Southend's history that I learnt about the other day, was that our pier (the longest one in the world) not only had a bowling alley, a pavilion and a pub at one point in time upon it, but It's actually been destroyed on 5 separate occasions. 4 fires and a collision with a tanker.


Although I have a keen interest in Southend's history, I do often find it mocks me, for I can only visualize images in my head from the wonderful tales told to me by family and older mates about what used to go on in this lovely town. And when I see it in my mind, it all looks so good..The Kursaal, the gigs, the cinemas. In all honesty, there's not much about Southend at this precise moment that I feel competes with its history. Maybe I’m wrong, but I very much doubt it. What d'ya reckon?

For all of today's young people, here are a few facts about Southend you may or may not have known.


               We had an Astoria!                                                               
The Beatles played here!

Feelgood started off in good old Canvey Island!

 (Not quite Southend, but near enough!)

 We had a pukka bandstand! 

 We had the shop Nasty (was right opposite the railway!)

And what have we got to offer the next generation of Southenders?..

5 Tesco’s stores
1 very crap Odeon
A bunch of takeaway restaurants
Random useless poles on the Seafront
Way too many pound stores!

There's no comparison really, is there?

The only thing that puts a real smile on my face and makes me proud to be a Southender (almost put Southbender then..), is knowing we have the biggest fuck off pier in the whole world. Bigger than Brighton, Blackpool (central pier) and Clevodon! Who'd have thought shitty, chavvy Southend would be number 1 on the pier list.
And with that I think it's time to unveil the point to this  schnizzle dribble...

This summer, we are putting together what we hope to be in the future, The Southend Pier Festival. With 2 stages and possibly a bar selling booze and food, it'll be a wicked afternoon of live music and a day to get a seaside tan!
Bring your cameras and your beach bags cos we're goin to the Pier! Aug 13th! 

Monday, 2 May 2011

The Goblin family

           “What’s the matter Lager boy, afraid you might taste something?”

I’m sure I’m not the only one that has contemplated this, but my first initial thoughts on Hobgoblin and Green Goblin, were that the two drinks must come from the same company. How could they not be with the word goblin at the end of their title? But I was wrong, they don’t come from the same company, or at least they didn’t originally. Hobgoblin is brewed in Wythchwood Brewery and Green Goblin produced at Thatchers cider. Strange that! (Wychwood brewery have now bought Green Goblin, so they too can sell it under their name!)

I always imagined Hobgoblin to be the older goblin out of the two goblin drinks. It’s probably because our humdrum regular will without fail, every day of the week, drink Hobgoblin, and he’s rather old. I’ve noticed punters slightly younger tend to order Green Goblin. Hence it makes sense in my head to picture the Green Goblin as a slightly mature Steve McQueen character, with the additional massive honker and raiser sharp ears. Let’s say for the sake of an interesting story Hobgoblin is Green Goblin’s father. In my head Hobgoblin’s knocking on 68 odd, he’s got a limp beard, the massive beer gut and a miserable expression on his old leather face. Green Goblin is around 45. Handsome fella is he. Done well in his life, got a nice motor, big house. He’s pretty healthy in general. And then comes The-Scene-Goblin. Green Goblin’s son. (Hobgoblin’s grandson) This drink has yet to be released. It’d probably come in the form of a shot, a fucking strong one. Like Absinth but vintage!
Picture The-Scene-Goblin as a young, sophisticated dandy boy! Sharp dresser, pristine hair, and one hell of a muzzle. And he is 'thee' goblin of the town. All the Gobleneters (female goblins) fancy him when they see him out dancing in Goblin casino. The place where they play the finest soul tunes known to goblin kind.
The shot costs around 4 quid. Worth every penny!

Then comes the ever so sweet Honey Goblin, the innocent maid that cleans the goblin house Mon-Sat. She gets Sunday’s off to visit her family up in Goblin City. This drink could be more of a fruity sparkling water. Comes in different flavours. It’s like your average mineral water, but like all goblin drinks, has a bit of booze added to the concoction. For this case it’ll be vodka.
What Hobgoblin and Green Goblin don’t know, is that The-Scene-Goblin and Honey Goblin are in fact oogly- wooglying ...Like a pair of rabbits, they are! The results of this hubba-wubba was twin goblins which as a drink would come in a form of a 75cl bottle of two-tone piquant chilli wine. Bit pricey but bloody tasty!

The Goblin tree really could be endless. Yet for some reason they’ve stopped at just Hobgoblin and Green Goblin…. You can bet if they release anymore goblin wonders, we’ll be selling ‘em here! Until then, I raise my glass to the two existing goblin beverages and the faithful punters that drink them!

P:S- Since writing this nonsense, I’ve actually learnt that Hobgoblin was in fact created first. That would make Hobgoblin the son of Green Goblin, and not the other way round...

Wednesday, 20 April 2011

The song that evidently spoils dinner.

Why is it, every time I go out for a civilised meal, a familiar song enters my ears? There’s no getting away from it. I’ll be in mid conversation with a person I sincerely want to talk to and then an unexpected interruption will occur from the table next to us. My ears prick up, but not with favoured curiosity. I see a middle aged man at the head of this whaling table, grinning like a tit. What’s so great about this song that makes you want to show your ghastly yellow teeth, I think to myself? Oh, I get it... I see... Oh dear, how silly of me. Of course. It’s that song again, isn’t it? The fucking birthday song. The fucking birthday song, again!

Do people really need to know that you’re one year closer to being a miserable old git; I want to ask this toffee-nosed twat. Do you really need public acknowledgment of the fact that you’re a year closer to having a beer gut and a rather big patch of nothingness on your head? No, it’s not really something to make quite literally a song and dance about, is it? But some people really do, don’t they! Belt it out as loud as their lungs will let them, as if it’s karaoke or something. But it’s not, is it? You’re in a restaurant you thicko, quite a posh one and your singing is putting me off my dinner, thanks. 
My advice, shove a cake under your nose, blow the sodding candle out and be done with it. Bah!

Thursday, 17 March 2011

My faded blue converse

I've decided that I’ve been neglecting my converse. I’ve had them for roughly 6 years now, and they've gone from being an intense shade of blue (see picture above), to what now look like washed out, bedraggled shoes handed down the sibling tree. From oldest to youngest. . But that isn’t the case for my converse, as they started as mine, and remain mine. Even if they do look like they’re my great grandmother’s farming shoes!

 I got them originally from my twin sister’s boyfriend, at the time. They were a lovely strong shade of navy blue. I already had a pair of red and white converse, but these were better. They were boots for a start and the colour I liked, as blue generally goes with any outfit! Red tends to just work if you’ve got red in an outfit, like a hat, or jacket etc..

Plus now I had the 3 pairs of Converse simulating the colours of the Union Jack! I could swap them around sometimes, I thought. Wear a red one on me right foot, blue one on me left, sometimes red and white together….Oooh the fun I had! Shame I couldn’t wear all 3 colours at the same time! Maybe one day they’ll invent a pair of converse gloves...Or something. 

They’ve got many a stories to tell, these converse. Been through a lot. They were with me on my first day of work at the hospital. (The days when you could wear anything on your feet, but now it's strictly black shoes and black shoes only.) They’ve been with me on a few Virgo/Optics/Bunters gigs, stomping away behind the Hammond or mainly now the Rhodes or drums. . But more often than not, these days, they follow me solely through a journey of stale beer, brown water and candle wax. All things to be found in a pub..

 I’m incredibly impressed with how they’re holding up actually. Considering the amount of shit I’ve put them through. A little hole is beginning to emerge at the back, but I can imagine it won't expand too quickly. Even if the odd bit of water does dribbles in, I won’t care. My socks are pretty hard-core. But I won’t bang on about them, I’ll leave that story for another blog.

So with that, I’d like to thank Marquis M. Converse who started up the Converse rubber company back in 1908.. What would the Ramones of worn without them!