» That's me on TV!

Not on TV as such but nearly the silver screen
A few years ago I was down from uni visiting a mate who was studying at LSE. After a heady night out in the East End where much beer and curry was consumed we stopped off at one of his mates halls to continue the party. The fact that he claimed to have the 'finest weed known to humankind' (debatable but it did its job) and Withnail and I on DVD made this a no brainer.

Round about 4 in the morning we decided it was time to leave. Now John's mate lived close to the Royal Courts of Justice while John's halls were down in the west end. The simplest route was to head down the Strand, cut through Trafalgar Square and then home from there.

Somehow along the way I lost everyone else. Not a problem, as even though pissed and stoned this is still my home town and I know my way around. Stumbling on I ended up wandering down a little side street into Trafalgar Square.

As I made my away across my fuzzy brain slowly came to the realisation that there were some people around me. Bit odd for that time of night, especially as it was the middle of October.

But hang on, it's not just a couple of people, there's hundreds of the fuckers!

And not only that they're all in some sort of cult. No joke, they were all identically dressed in black capes, pointy witches hats and had these horrific white masks completely covering their faces!

I was now seriously freaking out but desperately trying to stay inconspicuous lest they spot me and then ritually disembowel me in front of Nelson's Column in some weird phallic fertility ritual.

But it was all to no avail. As if on some psychic signal the whole lot of the fuckers suddenly starts running straight fucking at me!

Needless to say subtlety be damned. I bloody legged it. Straight out the square, round the corner of the National Gallery, flat out for about 10 minutes. I ended up hiding behind a skip, felt like I was about to have a heart attack. I had to have about 4 cigarettes in a row until I was calm enough to move.

Somehow I stumbled back to John's place and crashed out on the sofa. The next morning I wasn't sure if I'd dreamt it or not. There was nothing on the news about some invasion by a devil-worshipping cult tearing up Soho. It was a total mystery.




Then 12 months later V for Vendetta came out, things made a lot more sense and I felt a complete plonker.
(Fri 12th Jun 2009, 10:12, More)

» Will you go out with me?

The N29 (booze did help)
For once I actually have a relevant(and true) story for this.

I met the current Mrs Threepwood on one of Mr Livingstone's finest innovations, the night bus. It was about 2am on a Saturday morning and I'd staggered on around Tottenham Court Rd after a Friday night spent in various less than salubrius Soho establishments.

I sat down next to this attractive petite brunette but the only thing I really noticed was that she was reading a book as that was a bit odd for that time of night even in London.

Anyway we got as far as Camden and a couple of wasted Camdenites (trilbys, skinny jeans etc) got on with their Maccy Ds and started talking loudly about Razorshite or some such while playing something similarly crap on their phones at full blast.

At the start I thought it was quite amusing as they were so pissed they were struggling to stand. But then one fell completely arse over tit and deposited the majority of his coke in my lap.

I was pretty pissed by this, but stayed sitting and conveyed my disgust verbally in a suitably sarcastic fashion. He however jumped up spitting obscenities in my face.

Before I could react, the girl next to me got up pushed him backwards while yelling something along the lines of "Why don't you just fuck off? You're dressed like a cunt and noone gives a monkey's fuck about your shite music!"

He looked a bit stunned by this. Then stepped forwards like he was going to start something further. However she curtailed this by punching him in the nuts (I've since found out she's been doing jujitsu since she was 15, whether this was a regulation move I don't know).

Wisely he left it at this and him and his mate got off rather sheepishly a couple of stops later.

This was quite a good ice breaker so we started chatting and it turned out she lived just a couple of stops before me. We exchanged numbers and it went from there.

I'm still shit scared of her, but that's by the bye.
(Fri 29th Aug 2008, 12:45, More)

» Terrible Parenting

I have twin brothers
Whenever one was acting up my Dad would threaten to send him back to the hospital because they'd got a spare.
(Thu 16th Aug 2007, 11:21, More)

» My Biggest Disappointment

My parents
When I was about 3 my parents told me they had a special announcement. Some time in the future I was going to be getting a little brother.

To me this was all kinds of cool as it meant I'd have someone to play with whenever I wanted rather than having to wait til I got to nursery.

An eternity passed (couple of months) and not much happened except Mum got a lot bigger and started eating a lot of pasta.

My Dad then told me that rather than having one little brother. I was actually getting two. Score! We're halfway to a football team thinks me.

Another eternity later and then one day I was picked up from nursery by my Gran and went back to her house. The next day she drove us to the hospital and I was ushered in to the room to meet the new arrivals.

It was at this point that I realised that the two squalling tiny pink things lying in front of me were not the two playmates I had envisioned.

Apparently I then turned round and asked my Dad, "If she'd only had one would he have been bigger?"
(Thu 26th Jun 2008, 15:45, More)

» Unexpected Nudity

Grey jogging bottoms!
My girlfriend hails from a seaside town in deepest darkest Devon. They do things differently down there.

When she was about 9 she was walking down the beach one morning with her younger sister. They were going past this bloke sat on a deckchair when she noticed that his trousers were round his ankles and he was doing something *ahem* vigorous with his right hand. Yes, rather than taking his morning wank in the comfort of your own bedroom/bathroom as is tradition this enterprising fellow had decided he fancied a change of scenery and would get a bit of a sea air at the same time.

The girls were a bit confused, but knew that they probably didn't want to get too close. Particularly since he then waved at them with his spare hand. So they both ran all the way home and told their Mum, who promptly called the police. A very nice policewoman told them that if they ever saw anything like that again they should just point and laugh (an instruction she's taken a little bit too much to heart in my opinion but that's another matter entirely).

Fast forward a few years and Liz was walking on the same stretch of beach with one of her mates when suddenly this scrawny bloke (not the same one) jumped out in front of them and dropped his trousers. Taking the copper's advice they both started pointing and laughing. The guy pulled up his trousers and ran off.



Slightly shocking you might think, but the weirdest thing about these episodes is something else entirely. Both of the flashers were wearing grey jogging bottoms. This has given Liz a psychopathic hatred/phobia of men in grey jogging bottoms. To the extent that she can't sit facing one on the bus/tube and has left pubs on occasion.

Being the loving boyfriend I am I find this absolutely fucking hilarious.

She's signed me up to do a half-marathon in September. Partly because she thinks I'm slightly unfit (possibly true) but also because training will give us something to do together.

I'm less fussed.

But to try and show my enthusiasm I've bought some new running trousers.

Guess what colour they are...
(Fri 29th May 2009, 9:59, More)