So that’s where I’ve been going wrong!

I don’t know if any of you were unfortunate enough to have caught ‘Money’ on BBC2 last night. I was.

Basically, we’re all idiots for pursuing any sort of further education. What we should have done was drop out of school, rub our earlobes in front of a mirror for a bit and hey presto, we’d all be millionaires. After all, why study when you can train your brain to earn a “passive income” from the comfort of your own fat arse?

That was the over-arching theme of the programme. The narrator gave us an insight into the aspiring millionaire wannabees and those who had already achieved it. A nice equal balance of smug and desperate.

I can’t decide which people featured were my favourite. There was the 18-year-old couple who had already decided that work wasn’t for them. The girl’s opening gambit being:

“When you think about it, working for someone else seems completely ridiculous. Why should you have to do it? I’m more interested in an unlimited income stream.”

I can’t even begin to verbalise my thoughts on that statement. I fear the profanities might cause my computer to explode. But these people are complete victims of their own stupidity. They obviously don’t realise how ridiculous they sound and as a result fall victim to the various ‘Wealth Trainers’ only too eager to take their money. The boyfriend was even worse. He didn’t like working, he didn’t like reading and he didn’t like smiling. The only things that he did like seemed to be eating and sitting on park benches looking retarded.

Then there was Janice. The thirty-something nursery nurse. Every morning, she’d wake up early to perform her millionaire exercises. These involved earlobe rubbing, erratic jiggling and self-affirmation.

“I am a millionaire, I am a millionaire, I am a millionaire.” She protested over and over and over again.

No.

You’re not.

And spending £6000 on wealth mentors isn’t going to get you any closer you fuckwit.

However, when we were then confronted with the folk who had achieved their ambition, I couldn’t see the appeal. They all looked dead behind the eyes. Had the money really solved all their problems? Of course, what they all kept fairly quiet was that the majority of the money they had acquired was from training hapless morons how to be millionaires. Not in fact from their own enterprises. That would spoil the illusion after all.

But, if all this still appeals to you, you now know what to do. Set your alarm half an hour early tomorrow morning, put on that power suit and give yourself a hardcore affirmation until the money comes pouring in.

When that fails, best head down the job centre though eh?

‘Tis the season to be a miserable bastard

Just in case you didn’t notice, Christmas is coming. And with it are the usual array of annoyances that insist on being.

First of all, Jamie Oliver. I know he isn’t limited to Christmas but I feel like I’ve seen far too much of his spluttering gob lately. His ‘cheeky-chappy’ persona that seems to charm the nation year after year after year is lost on me. As a 23 year old man, I suppose I’m not exactly the target audience. He’s no Nigella sucking on a chocolate covered wooden spoon after all. 

Ahhh Nigella. Your Christmas ‘specials’ are so shamelessly decadent and slutty. I wonder how much cream you’ll dribble on your chin this year accompanied with a wry smile and a cry of, "Mmmmm, I like it warm and gooey."

Anyway…

What the hell is the incessantly re-edited Marks & Spencer’s ad about? Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big X-Factor fan. Granted this year has been particularly weak, but whoever thought that teaming M&S with X-Factor should be shot – in the face. I see no correlation whatsoever between the two. And the advert which was spawned from this baffling union is unsurprisingly dull, cheesy (but not in a good way), unfunny, pretentious (but equally moronic) and cheap. It reflects on neither party particularly well. Especially considering every week there seems to be some new sordid revelation about one of the contestants. Eventually it’ll be edited down to just fat Craig, sitting on some stairs crying over an M&S turkey wrap under a spotlight. I imagine.

The John Lewis ad isn’t much better. I hate the anticipation that surrounds these new mini-movies. I hate that there are now adverts for adverts! Inevitably, the hype creates an anti-climax, and yet every year it’s the same. Stuff the ad with as much schmaltz as possible and you’re on to a winner. Apparently.

Thank God for the Coca Cola lorries.

Never, ever change.

My name's Alex and I’m an alcoholic.

It’s been 17 days.

17 days!

Seriously, 17 fucking days!

Since my last alcoholic drink – not that I’m counting.

I’m reformed!

Nah…

Although, I am surprised at how easy it’s been so far. When I told people that this was my plan a couple of weeks ago, I was met with a choir of naysayers.

“That’s stupid, why would you do that? I bet you don’t make it.”

Was what they said. Well fuck you naysayers. I’m on a roll – on the wagon, so to speak.

There haven’t been many situations where it’s been a particular problem either. Obviously there are times where normally I would have a pint or whatever but I've abstained. Drinking a pint of coke in the pub isn’t the same of course. I used to hate people who ordered soft drinks when I worked behind a bar. Order a proper drink or get out. We have a coffee machine but it’s just for show. It’s beer or nothing.

But, now I’m one of them.

However, so far, I’ve lost half a stone! Half a stone! Sorry, I realise this blog is full of me repeating myself but this is a big deal! It’s inspired me to make more of an effort in the gym and eat less shit.

Wait.

What the fuck?

What have I become?

                       

I need a beer…

Pick it up you lazy bitch!

Today’s blog is commuting related. It’s been a while since I’ve done one so I thought hey, what the hell. There’s nothing else going on in my life and if you don’t like it you can do one.

Anyway.

Tiny suitcases.

Is there really any need?

Every morning I walk through the hideous rat run underneath Clapham Junction station to get to my platform. Inevitably it’s heaving with miserable commuters wearily trudging through. Nobody enjoys it but unfortunately it's a necessary evil. However, it’s not made any easier by the fuckwits who insist on dragging the most miniscule suitcase behind them and tripping everyone up. They have absolutely no clue.

This morning I saw a woman (and I’m afraid it is always a woman) doing exactly that. She tripped up 3 people within the 50 metres or so that I was following her. And it’s not a case of people not looking where they’re going. When the corridor is cramped, you can barely see the floor as it is. In situations like that surely it makes sense to pick up your bag. Especially if it is the size of a shoebox.

But no.

These women are utterly oblivious to how annoying they’re being. They look over their shoulder with furrowed brow at the ‘imbecile’ who has just disrupted the path of their precious cargo. Of course, they never say sorry. They don’t have anything to apologise for. They’re just minding their own business after all.

NO YOU’RE NOT!

YOU’RE BEING A FUCKWIT!

I don’t have a problem with ‘draggable’ suitcases per se, but only if they’re relatively big. I’ve got one that I take on holiday. That’s fine. It’s just the tiny, pointless ones. They weigh nothing. They’re not cumbersome. They have handles. PICK THEM UP!

What made it particularly irritating this morning was that after following the woman on her tripping rampage, she began climbing the same steps as me up to the platform. She stopped at the bottom, pushed in the ridiculously long handle and lifted the bag like it was made of nothing but air. I swear there was nothing in it. Maybe one shoe.

I overtook her on the steps and briefly considered giving her a taste of her own medicine.

“I’m sorry. Did my foot get in the way of your face?”

However, I reconsidered. My new plan is to buy an even tinier suitcase and insist on walking right in front of her every single morning. I might even stop sporadically to check the time.

That’ll teach her.

Lazy bitch.

Free stuff is good

So we have this game at work. It doesn’t have a name but essentially it involves begging for free stuff. You send an email to a carefully selected eatery, food producer or food retailer and ask for something free.

Now this can’t just be any old email. It has to be carefully crafted in order to evoke the intended response. Different people have very different approaches. Some like to go down the angry complaint route. They rant and rave about a particular product in the hope that it will be read by a feeble wimp who will dutifully grant their wish.

You’ll probably be surprised to hear that this is not my chosen approach. I find the ‘kill them with kindness’ method works much better.

You send them an email riddled with praise to lull them into a false sense of security. Then, you introduce a problematic factor as a result of the deliciousness of their product. This adds the element of sympathy on your part. You then add another simple compliment. It’s a compliment sandwich.

And finally ­– and most importantly – you ask for the freebie. I made the error of not asking out rightly a couple of times. I got perfectly polite responses, but no freebie = fail.

Here’s an example of a successful email I sent to Pret.

Hi,

I'm writing to congratulate you on your fantastic duck wraps. They really are delicious. However, their sheer deliciousness is causing me all manner of problems. Primarily financial. You see, your fare is repeatedly draining my bank account. And yet, I am powerless to resist. I've tried to wean myself off them but I am a confirmed addict. Nothing else brings a smile to face on a rainy lunchtime like a Pret a Manger duck wrap.

So please, spare a thought for this struggling addict and send me a free wrap voucher.

It will undoubtedly brighten my autumnal mood.

Kind regards,

Alex

The following week I received a £5 voucher in the post along with a hand written note hoping I enjoy my wrap.

However, I can't stress enough how imperative it is that you do your research beforehand. After successfully receiving my voucher I got cocky. I thought:

“These people are idiots. I’m so good at manipulating people. I’m gonna do more and stick it to our consumerist society.”

The last bit is a lie. But I was careless. I just used the same template and changed the retailer name… not actually checking that they sell the product I was raving about.

As a result, I got a very knowing, sarcastic email response from Starbucks that put me right back in my place.

But why not try it for yourself? It can be immensely satisfying when it works out.

Especially if you’ve never actually bought the product that you’re talking about.