I’m so “sorry”.

Following on from the Evening Standard’s article about a pissed off mother-in-law’s email, I’m dedicating this blog to one of my bugbears, unnecessary rudeness.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m all for rudeness as many of you will attest. But only when it’s funny. Or at least when it’s funny for me.

I don’t have many friends…

But rudeness that is in no way funny, nor intended to be so is just tedious and annoying. Take the article that I’ve referenced. I don’t know if you’ve read it but the tone certainly suggested to me that this mother-in-law is an awful, clichéd nightmare. And I’m sure she is, to an extent. BUT. Many of her comments seemed entirely reasonable! Here’s a selection:

• ·      When you are a guest in another’s house, you do not declare what you will or will not eat, unless you have a severe aversion.
• ·      You do not start before everyone else.
• ·      You do not publicly insult the family you’re intending to join.

I like the last one. I bet it was funny.

I don’t mean to sound like the aforementioned clichéd nightmare but they all seem fair enough and it sounds like the fiancé in question is probably a bit of a dick. I expect that this is a bad example but people who value manners aren’t necessarily stuck up twats and it’s a shame that, certainly in London, they’re often labeled as such.

Now I’m sorry to get all London-centric on you but from my limited experience of UK cities, it is definitely the most condensed bubble of insolence. If you don’t experience some sort of anti-social behaviour everyday, I’d be amazed.

For example, what is it with people holding their mobile phones in front of their face with the volume set to maximum? Why can’t you hold the phone to your ear like a normal person? Why do you think everyone else wants to hear both sides of your shit conversation? Why do you act almost surprised that you’re having to shout down the phone when your holding it two feet from your face?! Idiots.

Also, why do people feel the need to shout down the train carriage, ‘Can you move down please?’ in an exasperated tone when there is clearly nowhere to go? Sorry that I was standing nearer the door than you and got on the train before you, but I’m having to stand as well, so shut the hell up! No one is enjoying the journey and your misplaced indignation is just making it worse. 

I thought that I didn’t mind commuting but it’s starting to get to me. I’m sure some people like the familiar faces every morning but I don’t. The polite nods. The staid smiles. The occasional comment on the weather. It’s just boring. Although I don’t know what I’d talk about if I didn’t commute everyday?! 

Maybe I should get on a different carriage. A change of scene and a whole new bunch of weirdoes to write about! I’m a genius!

Watch this space.

Sick of dating websites filled with ugly, unattractive, desperate fatsos? I know I am.

So I was reading an article online earlier about this dating website, www.beautifulpeople.com. I’m sure some of you have heard about it as well – not because you’re on it mind. But because last month it was hit by a Shrek virus, which allowed anyone to join the site’s books, regardless of their looks.

Now, writing this blog is proving a challenge but I’m going to persevere because I think it’s so funny. My struggle lies with trying to produce something that is (or is at least intended to be) funnier than the articles that are already out there. But Greg Hodge, the managing director of BeautifulPeople, just keeps coming out with utter gems in the defence of his company. In a statement made just after the embarrassing debacle he stated that he felt:

“…very sorry for the unfortunate people who were wrongly admitted to the site and believed, albeit for a short time, that they were beautiful."

That’s not an apology.

That’s the aesthetic equivalent of saying “I’m sorry you feel that way…dogface.”

You have to admire him though. He clearly believes in his product and makes no bones about the potential offense that it can and does cause. And in all honesty, I think I’m inclined to agree. Essentially, if you have any doubt about your ‘beauty’, don’t apply to be on the website. You’re only going to be upset when the current crop of gorgeous gimps click the ‘absolutely not’ button and label you repulsive. See even that I like. The use of ‘absolutely’ completely condemns you to a life of ugly-dom. Why would you subject yourself to the risk?

You certainly don’t have any right to be aggrieved if you’re refused. There are countless comments at the bottom of each of the articles that I’ve read that denounce the site as being vacuous and superficial. Well duh… It’s called BeautifulPeople…! There are even comments about how beauty is on the inside and all that clichéd American schmaltz. Anyone taking it that seriously needs to grow a sense of humour and shut up.

One of the 30,000 people who got booted off the site had a particularly funny story to tell. Unfortunately for Rachel Godfrey, 31, from LA, she thought she had met the love of her life on the site…until she got removed. Now she plans to have a makeover and professional photo shoot before reapplying to the website. Failing that, she’s going to use Photoshop. Dedication to the cause.

Only in America, and particularly California, would something like this be created. But I think if anything it’s funny. At least Hodge acknowledges the existence of these undesirables. After all, “…we can’t just sweep 30,000 ugly people under the carpet can we?"

That’s where I stand!

Yes, yes it’s another commuting one.

What?! I have no money at the moment and nothing else to talk about!

As you know, from several of my previous blogs, I have a morning routine that I like to adhere to. It’s not that I have OCD or anything…. Maybe I do. Actually I’m far too lazy and forgetful to have OCD. Variety is just not part of my morning remit.

So you’ll understand my utter horror when this morning – da da daaaa… – someone was stood in my place on the platform!

WTF?!

Now I know this may seem trivial but I also know that you go to the same spot everyday aswell, if you commute.

I see the same people every morning. I even say hello to one of them (I know right!) Although now I’m on ‘hello’ terms with her I’m worried that she might try and strike up a conversation with me. She seems nice and everything but I’ve been hurt before.
The last person I started talking to on the train suddenly disappeared. I had to come into work early one day and discovered that she had started getting an earlier train. That was awkward. Mainly for her though.

But this morning there was a man and a woman standing right where I stand! I had never seen them before and there they were.

In my spot.

Mocking me with their umbrellas.

I just about tolerate the regular people that stand AROUND my spot. They know their place – literally. We have a silent agreement to not enter each other’s area and that’s fine. But then these people arrived and just fucked it all up! I stood behind them as the train pulled in and to make matters worse, they took the last two seats! My seats! I always get a seat and they stole it!

I stood up with the plebs all the way to Clapham Junction. I had just about gotten over it when we pulled in and then I left my sandwich on the train!

So annoying.

Mainly because I’m too poor to buy my own lunch.

By the way, if anyone is reading this and feeling particularly generous just message me on facebook and I’ll give you my bank details. I would really appreciate it.

In conclusion, Man X and Woman Y, you have ruined my morning. If I see you tomorrow, I’m going to push you in front of the train.

P.S Who is the person that reads this in Germany? I’m intrigued.

Oh no! I’ve forgotten your name.

Afternoon all!

Today I’m going to talk to you about one of my greatest fears and biggest failings.

Remembering people’s names.

I tend to have an OK memory. I remember events and other things – like tying my shoes – quite well, which is obviously useful. But names are a whole different ball game.

This disability became blatantly apparent as I got off the train at Putney on Monday morning.

Still in my morning stupor, I heard a cry of ‘Alex!’ as I trundled along the platform.

Panic set in.

Who is it?

What do they want?

Why are they shouting at me so early in the morning?

I turned around hoping to see someone I knew well enough to not be offended if I was rude to them. Unfortunately, I saw a face I recognised but, FUCK! Who is she?!

I let her catch up as I tried to scour my brain searching for her name, or at the least how I knew her.

…It didn’t come. And by now it was too late. We were talking. I was desperately looking for clues as to our acquaintance from what she was saying. But she wasn’t being very helpful.

Then I thought, it’s OK, she’s probably going a different way to you. This will only be a couple of awkward minutes of small talk while we leave the station.

15 minutes later and we’re still walking down Putney High Street. It turns out she works just around the corner from me! Joy!

We talked about work and all the usual crap you talk about to someone who you haven’t seen for a while/don’t know. I think I played it pretty cool initially.

THEN! As if it couldn’t get any worse, I saw someone I did know (and knew the name of) from work.

Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. I can’t introduce you to this person. I DON’T KNOW WHO THEY ARE!

…They turned around.

At this point I had three choices.

1.    Own up and say: ‘Look, I’m really sorry. I can’t remember your name’.
2.    Be rude and not introduce either of them to each other.
3.    Run away.

I chose number 2. I’m not proud of it but hey, at least I didn’t run away!

Fortunately, it was at this point that we parted ways and I regaled my colleague of my problem. Maybe she was offended by my rudeness. I haven’t seen her since… Maybe I didn’t play it as cool as I’d thought. Maybe I should take photographs of every new person I meet and write their name on the back and keep it with me in a filofax. Do they still exist?

But whatever the case may be, I now get off the train at Putney every morning dreading the sound of my own name (I have no trouble remembering that one).

So if you see me and it’s early and we haven’t seen each other for some time, please introduce yourself. This is an affliction that I cannot control so don’t be offended. It’s taken me nearly a year to remember everyone’s name at work!

‘Alex!’

…Fuck.

Viva España!

So I went to Spain last week, which was fun.

Weather was great blah blah blah.

BUT.

What I really want to talk about is my experience on one very special night in Fuengirola.

I just realised that that sounded quite sexual. Sorry to disappoint you but there is NOTHING sexy about what I’m going to tell you.

Our night started at my grandma’s house in Mijas. You should probably know who I was with but I’m worried about flagrantly disregarding the super-injunction. So lets call them; Z Bobinson, C Wavies, J Pann, W Tubbs and L Pie. Foolproof for sure.

The fun began with a wonderful BBQ prepared by our in-house chef, C Wavies. For a moment it seemed quite civilised. Then Z Bobinson inevitably started talking about her favourite subject – sex – which decidedly lowered the tone. I won’t go into details but suffice to say, she’s a free spirit…

The conversation got so graphic in fact that it all became too much for L Pie who didn’t even make it out in the end. She needed some alone time… Read that as you will.

Eventually, we made our way down the mountain to Fuengirola. We were so excited! In opposite world. It was a Monday night so I feared the worst. But I couldn’t have been more wrong! It’s party central 24/7 on the Costa del Street Crime. The slags were out in full force and J Pann and Z Bobinson did I fine job of blending in without even trying.

We started in Linekers (Gary’s brother owns it). A really trendy little bar that played great music. Again, in opposite world (sorry Molly). But, as with most things, after a few shots and some laughing gas things were looking up. We then went on to the London Pub. This place was bangin’. The tiny dancefloor was crammed with every type of ugly girl and dirty old sex-pest you could imagine. One particular girl found W Tubbs' shoes very funny. To be fair they did look like a pair of rainbows on his feet. The irony was that she wasn’t even wearing any shoes and looked like this probably wasn’t out of choice. However, being the good friend she is, Z Bobinson tracked down the girl’s shoes and threw them out the window. That showed her! Stupid tramp.

We then went on to another bar (which I can’t remember the name of). My money was running a bit low by this stage so I started to sober up which was bad. We sat down on a table outside and the evening took on a far more serious tone. We began to discuss ethics, self worth and our views on existentialism (I still don’t know what it means) and it quickly turned into a debate. I say debate. More like slow, torturous wrist slitting. C Wavies came to the conclusion that if you resigned yourself to the fact that you are only as worthy of existence as a pair of sunglasses, then you’ll have a more fulfilled life. I disagreed.

Just the thought of the conversation is making me grab for the Stanley Knife.

After that downer we were in dire need of a pick-me-up so we went to London Underground – the club under the London Pub. Clever eh? It was shit and the alcohol was seriously over-priced. I had a good time but had got to the stage where I wasn’t prepared to throw anymore money at the night. Everyone else was wasted so we decided to go home.

Climbing up the steps to the house proved a real challenge. I imagine it to be on a par with climbing Everest but I couldn’t say for sure.  And then we went to bed and had a massive orgy. JOKES!

I wish something more interesting had happened. I’ve just read through this blog and realised that it’s actually quite boring. Especially if you haven’t worked out my clever alias code.

Sorry if you’re disappointed but this has taken me too long to start again and I just can’t be bothered. The next one will be better I promise.

Although I don’t know why I’m apologising. If you don’t like it, f*ck off and get back to work.