Find your own stool

Hi all.

It’s been a while hasn’t it. I seem to have got out of the habit lately. I don’t know why. I have no excuse.

But fear not. For I am here todiscuss a topic that I’m certain to which we can all relate (I say discuss – this isn’t a discussion. This is therapy. Sorry).

Smug couples. Don’t you just wish they’d fuck off?

So I was in the pub the other day. Nothing unusual about that. I was catching up with a friend who I hadn’t seen for a while and inevitably I was there first. WHY CAN’T PEOPLE BE ON TIME!? But that’s for another blog.

I got my pint and found a table.The pub was busyish. A nice amount of people. Not too many while retaining a pleasant atmosphere. I sat and I sat. Probably for about 15 minutes. It was ok. I managed to get enough coins on Temple Run to buy the Chinese woman so atleast I achieved something. She’s now cleaning my bedroom (not really).

But then. This man and hisunnecessarily tightly embraced girlfriend came over to me. Initially I didn’t notice – I was far too engrossed in directing my Chinese woman. He interrupted me by saying:

“Err excuse me, do you mind if we take this stool?”

An innocent enough question. Butas I was waiting for my friend to arrive, I politely refused.

But then, I got ‘the look’. Their smugness had overridden their politeness.

Granted, it was brief, and probably to the less cynical amongst us, meaningless. But to me, and my heightened sense of perception, I knew what they were doing. They were pitying me. They didn’t believe that I was waiting for anyone. I was just refusing their request to save embarrassment while I had a lonely pint with only my iPhone for company.

I half smiled back. Their smugness rapidly making me want to throw the stool at their chirpy faces. Sometimes I wish I had a time machine. They wandered off, and I remained. Feeling thoroughly conspicuous. They found a seat within my eye line and promptly sat down right next to each other. What’s that about? Don’t sit next to each other. It’s weird. I wish people wouldn’t do that.

Then my phone began to ring. It was the friend I was waiting for.

“Sorry Alex but I’m not going to be able to make it. Had a bit of an emergency at home”.

Great. Now those smug twats are going to think I was lying.

I didn’t know what to do. My pint was rapidly depleting and my options were limited. I certainly wasn’t going to buy another one and sit there on my own.

Of course, I could have just got up and walked out – head held high. Why should I care what a pair of twatty strangers think? But I did. I couldn’t help it.

So I held my phone up to my ear and starting saying aggressive yet ambiguous words as if I was having a dramatic argument. They probably couldn’t hear me but it didn’t matter. I violently put on my jacket and downed my pint in a pissed off fashion and stormed out of the pub.

I think it looked pretty convincing.

Thank God I’ve got my Chinese woman to console me.

Divert

So I was on the bus the other day, staring out of the window. The traffic was crawling and I was doing my best to avoid eye contact with anyone. I was going through Brixton and didn’t want to get shanked after all.

I don’t mean to stereotype but… well you know.

Then, while idly gazing, I spotted someone I knew – someone who I hadn’t seen in a while.

I was bored and had nothing to do so I thought, I know, I’ll ring them and say something like “I can see you…” It’ll be hilarious and not at all creepy.

So I did.

As the number started ringing, I sniggered to myself at the prospect of how funny I was sure this was going to be. ‘He’s going to be so freaked out’, I thought. ‘But it’ll be a great icebreaker considering we haven’t spoken for a few months.’

It rang and rang and I saw him fishing around in his jacket pocket. I smiled moronically as I thought about how clever I was being. And at what his reaction might be and how we’d laugh and then maybe go to the pub and have some pints over a nice chat.

“I’m sorry, the person you have called is not available. Please leave a message after the tone”.

Oh.

He hung up on me. 

I saw him look at his phone and press the red button. 

What the fuck?

Had I done something to piss him off that I couldn't remember? It wasn’t entirely unlikely. But I was sure I hadn’t. I could remember the last time we’d seen each other and it had all been fairly normal. I don’t think I was even drunk, which normally rules out me overly offending someone ­– well certainly not to the point of them diverting my call to voicemail at least.

Then I got angry. I thought, ‘How dare you!’ I haven’t done anything and you’ve had the gall to thoughtlessly rebuff me. I wanted to call again and leave a nasty message. But then he would know that I knew what he’d done. And then it would be awkward if we were to see each other at an organised event in the future. I hate awkwardness.

So I refrained. I’ll think of something. Something mean. He’ll rue the day he rebuffed me!

No one rebuffs Alex Cu... “I’m sorry, the person you have called is not available. Please leave a message after the tone.”

Innurendo

I’m having a crisis (teehee).

I’m not sure I’m funny anymore.

Those of you who’ve had the pleasure of my company will know that my sense of humour tends to rely on smut and innuendo, with a dollop of vulgarity on the side. I think all these things are hilarious but my fear is that slowly but surely no one else will.

The problem is that as our society * rolls eyes * becomes ever more desensitised to foul language, crude subject matter and innuendo, my comedic breadth narrows.

Innuendo – the most sophisticated form of humour I possess – particularly suffers as a result. It’s only funny when some people are in on the joke but others aren’t. However, if everyone's in on it, it’s all over. The attempt at inducing a snigger has failed. The best you can hope for is a pity laugh, but no one likes those.

What makes it worse is that I’ve found that not only am I failing to provoke laughter, I’m inadvertently making people, who aren’t generally funny, seem funnier. As you can imagine, this irritates me somewhat.

I’ll make a hilarious comment like…….. "That’s what she said" (a classic) which will then get immediately shot down with something like "Yes, my gran loves it rough."

Where do I go from there?

That comment receives 10 times the laughter of mine and I'm powerless. All I can do is retreat to my unfunny hole and plot the gruesome murder of the bastard who upstaged me.

Essentially, I think my problem boils down to the fact that I’m not living in a Carry On film. If I was, I would easily be the funniest person on the planet. Fuck Barbara Windsor.

Oh well, at least I can rely on trusty old sarcasm.

You what?

Pshhh yeh "whatever".

Bicycle bullshit

Morning!

It’s ok, I’m back to normal.  No more poems or dark tales – although I have written a couple of raps that I’m considering putting up. They’re a bit graphic though. One’s called ‘Slut’ and the other’s called ‘Secret Slut’ – you can see the theme. Maybe when I can’t be bothered to write a blog I’ll show you.

Anyway.

So I’ve started cycling to work now I’ve moved. There are lots of positives to my new commute:

It’s quicker

It’s free

I can get up later

I don’t have to go to the gym

And I don’t have to interact with anyone.

The last one is my favourite.

However, even though it’s only been a week, I fear that I’m already developing ‘cyclist rage’. And, surprisingly, it’s not down to the usual array of cyclist complaints – buses, taxis, small children on scooters, inconsiderate trees, morons etc.

It’s other cyclists.

You see, there are several types of cyclist that I’ve noticed. I’m not entirely sure which one I fit into yet.

The bold and fearless

They’re the jocks of the cycling world. These people fly through red lights with reckless abandon, cutting up fellow cyclists in the process. They’re the type who complain about not being treated like a proper road user whilst flouting the Highway Code in the process. Basically cocks.

The deer in headlights

The opposite of ‘bold and fearless’. These people do not belong on the road. Everything is terrifying and they’re simply an obstacle that needs to be avoided.

The irresponsible parent

This is a very specific group that I only encounter while travelling through Chelsea and Fulham. The yummy-mummies decide to give the Range Rover a break and cycle the kids to school – nearly killing them in the process.

The dickheads

A fairly self-explanatory group. They have the arrogance of ‘the bold and fearless’ but none of the ability. The kind of people who still think it looks cool to cycle with no hands and ride a BMX. Seriously, a BMX…

I think I’m a combination of the first two. I’m quite bold and assertive. But I do tend to be screaming most of the time. And I still view arriving at home or work as a victory against death.

One day I won’t.

One day I’ll own the road and irresponsible parents will tremble at the very sound of my name.

The Bike King (it’s a working title).

The uninvited guest

It was a heavy, intense night. The city’s charms that had beguiled me in the daylight now looked menacing and claustaphobic. Looming tower blocks dominated my window with their small, anonymous panels of light. Just like mine.

The silence was un-nerving. No bustling commuters. No heaving traffic. Quiet. Just quiet.

I slowly drifted off to sleep. The moonlight reflecting in the mirror by the door.

Then, a noise. An interruption to the quiet. Not loud but all the more apparent. I tried to ignore it but it persisted. Surely not. It had only been a day since we moved in. Surely we weren’t already falling victim to a thief.

I hesitated. Dare I investigate? What was my plan?

I made a move, cautiously peering through the blind into the yard ­– the street lamps making me squint. Nothing. A lifeless snapshot.

I relaxed a little.

Again – the noise.

I opened the blind this time. My fear had been replaced by irritation.

Still nothing.

Then I spotted him ­– the cause of my awakening. He was pacing – clearly frustrated. As he circled I occasionally caught a glimpse of his face. His hollow eyes void of light. Had he seen me? If he had, he didn’t seem to care.

Exasperated by his failed attempt to invade, he leapt upon the shed – presumably his route for entering. His shadow enlarging his meagre frame.

And then he was gone. The uninvited guest.

No match for the taped-up cat flap.

An Ode to Cheam

Oh morning commute, how I will miss thee.

But alas, I am destined to travel for free.

No more big fat man, overflowing his seat.           

No more angry drunkard, picking his teeth.

My trip will be smooth and swift, without fuss.

That is, until I get hit by a bus…

But let me just say, without hesitation,

That I will miss the quaintness of Cheam station.

The smiling tea lady, always up for a chat.

I suppose it’s a shame that I've no time for that.

O Cheam, o Cheam, I love you, it’s true.

But now I really must go for a poo.

So far, so shit.

I’m really happy to be back at work.

Waking up whenever I wanted and doing whatever I liked was getting a little dull.

Oh no wait.

I could tell as soon as I woke up that it was going to be one of those days. I’d made the error of leaving my window slightly ajar overnight. It’s a skylight that’s directly above my bed and normally I’m safe from the weather, even if it’s open. But unfortunately, it was no match for last night’s ferocious winds. I awoke to discover a lovely pool of liquid at just about crotch level. My first reaction was of course, ‘shit I’ve pissed myself’, but I soon realised what had happened. The steady drip from the window frame was the giveaway. Still, not the best start to the day.

The next ordeal was the weather. Opening an umbrella was utterly pointless. I saw several blow inside out on the short walk to the station and the victims looked like retards. Just give up. You’re going to get wet. Accept it.

I then went to pay for my ticket and remembered the fares had gone up! Awesome. More money for a train that you can pretty much guarantee will be delayed everyday. Stupid bastards.

Then! I got on the train and sat in the usual bit I sit in (1^st class obv) and the guy who was already sat there hadn’t put the armrest down. This is a pet peeve of mine. If you’re sat by the window on a busy commuter train, always put the armrest down. I don’t want to share my seat with you. Why do you want to share your seat with me? All that happens is that I awkwardly have to say;

‘Excuse me, can I put the armrest down’.

Then we look slightly embarrassed at one another and the whole journey is marred with awkwardness.

And then, I foolishly thought I’d give myself some good karma and help a woman with a crutch carry her bag up the stairs at Clapham Junction. I had a good 3 minutes before my train was due, so plenty of time. Or so I thought. As she crawled up the stairs, the piercing shrill of the doors signalled that karma is an arsehole – and that I am a mug.

I finally got to work to discover that I’m actually not booked on anything today! I have literally nothing to do. So far I’ve had 5 coffees and 2 beers, so I’m feeling pretty good. But it’s only a matter of time until the crash hits.

So, I’ve decided my new years resolution is to avoid all verbal interaction with any other human being ever again.

Wish me luck!