Clip-fucking-clop

There’s a particular type of person who really gets on my nerves. Well, obviously there are lots of ‘particular types of people’. But for the sake of this blog I’m going to focus on just one.

Small, angry girls.

You know the type I mean? Every office seems to have at least one. They march around in their noisy shoes making a drama out of everything. I guess they must suffer from the female equivalent of ‘small-man syndrome’. But somehow it seems less justified. It’s ok for girls to be small. There’s no need to feel inferior – not that I’m suggesting small men are inferior (although they blates are – LOLZ).

But it’s the angriness that’s particularly annoying. They’re always flustered and they’re always in a rush. Although, I guess their short legs have to work a lot harder than mine. There was a girl who I worked with on my ski season (yah) who completely epitomised this brand of person. She could find drama in the most mundane activity and marched around like she owned the place. Sometimes it could be quite entertaining. Other times I wanted to push her off a cliff.

And as the season progressed tempers inevitably started to fray. When you first start everyone makes a real effort to be friendly. After all, you have to live with these people in a confined space for 6 months so there’s no point in making enemies from the get-go. However, I remember one particular argument we had towards the end that got rather out of hand. I won’t go into the reasons behind it. Suffice to say they were stupid and she was being a moron. I was completely innocent of course! The argument concluded with her threatening to leave the resort early. Like that was a threat!? She was all talk and I knew she wouldn’t do it so I offered to pack her bags for her. She cried and it was all very dramatic/funny. Eventually we pretend made-up for the sake of having to work together for another month. But there was no doubt that we were enemies for life. I’m just about over it.

Now I appreciate that’s an extreme example. She was particularly annoying. I don’t want to tarnish all of them with that brush.

However, there really is no need. Embrace your smallness. Don’t resent it. You never know, you might get a job at a chocolate factory one day.

You’re ruining it for everyone

You know when you see someone and you can just tell that they’re a nasty person? They have a certain look ­– which is often difficult to pinpoint – but you just know.

On Saturday I was stood in a queue behind a group of about 20 people who looked like that. I was going to London Dungeons (yeh, whatever) and had to endure one and half hours of eye-gougingly tedious waiting. This wasn’t helped by the incredibly obnoxious group of teenagers stood directly in front of me. If I have to hear someone mindlessly say ‘blud’ again, I will not be held responsible for my violent actions. And on that note, if I see some 15 year old bitch with a major attitude problem ‘kiss her teef’ at a stranger then I will push her in front of a bus. I’ll be doing the world a favour.

Fortunately, once we got to the front, we were put in a different group for the tour itself. The thought of following them around for another two hours filled me with utter dread. And with so many dark corners, the temptation to pick them off one by one might have been too much to resist. I could have dressed up as Jack the Ripper and pretended I was part of the act.

Hmm… maybe I’ll invite some people I hate next time…

Anyway, the tour itself was actually quite good. A bit long for my liking. And I kind of wished I was a bit drunk as it would have been much more entertaining. But on the whole it was enjoyable. One of the highlights for me was when this kid looked like he was about to have a breakdown at the prospect of going on the gallows ride (it’s like the old Pepsi drop at the Trocadero). It wasn’t really laugh-out-loud funny – he was about 10 so that would’ve been a bit harsh. But it was funny seeing the adults – who clearly weren’t his parents (I think it was a birthday) – struggle to calm him down. He really looked like he was about to start having palpitations or something. The solution was fairly simple, he just didn’t go on it. And in all fairness, it was surprisingly scary so he probably would have died.

But as the tour continued, it became more and more obvious that I’m missing my true calling in life. The actors are encouraged to be horrible to everyone and make crude double-entendres. I’m already typecast as having both of those traits anyway, and I’d get paid for it! How great is that!?

So, I’m going to head back there with my CV in a week or so. Fancy coming with me?

I’d watch out for the dark corners though…

Please don’t make me look like a Polish immigrant

One day I’ll get a haircut I like.

One day I’ll walk out of the barbers and think – yeh I look good. That probably won’t be until they offer face-transplants as well though… * sob *

I just hate the pressure that getting one involves. I know that I’m a guy, so if the worst comes to the worst, I can just shave my head. But I don’t want to look like a Polish immigrant. I’m already lumbered with a Passport photo, until 2015, that makes me look like a member of the BNP and it’s not a look I want to repeat. It seemed like a good idea at the time ­– but it definitely wasn’t.

And now my hair is rapidly approaching the ‘slight mullet’ stage and I can’t wait any longer. It has been a while since I had my last one. Certainly longer than usual. I think I hoped that one day I’d wake up and my hair would miraculously be this perfect length and look awesome and I would go, “Wow, why did I never just leave it before?” Unsurprisingly that hasn’t happened.

I’m also tiring of the, "Have you had your hair highlighted?" comments. NO I FUCKING HAVEN’T! It’s been sunny and I haven’t had it cut in a while so it’s gone blonder. Of course, no one believes me when I protest. I even had a ginger person comment on it the other day. I don’t mean to perpetuate prejudices but criticising other people’s hair is definitely a topic gingers should avoid.

On top of that, the added length is now creating the same problem I have when I wear hats. When my face is encased in something bulky (like hair or a woolly hat) I tend to look like a fat kid stuck in a lift door. My face is already quite round so adding extra width to it almost makes it spherical. It doesn’t look great as you can imagine. And using half a tub of wax in the morning to make it look vaguely presentable is getting boring and expensive.

So I’ve finally bitten the bullet. I’m going to a hairdresser rather than a barber. It will be a bit more expensive but my friend Jamie has assured me that it will be worth every penny. He’s always getting some sort of beauty treatment so I’ll trust his judgement.

However, my concern with going to a hairdresser is that they give me a trendy, edgy haircut that I definitely won’t be able to pull off. Just like skinny jeans – but on my head.

So if you see me on Wednesday (post haircut) and I’m wearing a big woolly hat, don’t laugh at me. It may look stupid but it will very definitely be the better of two evils.

Stop laughing!

It’s Monday! Partaaaaay time!

Oh no wait…

Anyway, I went to Live at the Apollo last Thursday. I got a couple of tickets off of one of my mum’s friends who couldn’t go. My first thought was - bargain! But I didn’t realise that they were free to any old pleb. We did have special ‘Priority’ tickets but couldn’t really work out how we were being prioritised. We were just stood in an equally long queue with slightly less chavs in. Maybe that was it.

After spending £24 on 4 drinks we moved into the theatre. I’m no meteorologist but it must have been 1000 degrees in there. No exaggeration.

The first compere to come on was Andy Parsons…

I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of a description (I’m certain he reads this – and if he doesn’t, he should) but suffice to say – he’s not funny.

However, if you were to look at the girl in front of me (with your ears covered mind) you would have been fooled into thinking he was possibly, the funniest man to have ever existed on the planet.

The girl – let’s call her Hysterical Twat – was having the time of her life. I had to check she wasn’t special needs – I didn’t want to be harsh or anything. She categorically wasn’t special needs, so it's ok for me to slag her off. She spent the entire performance sat forward in her chair leaning on the chair in front. If I was sat in front of her or next to her I would have found this extremely annoying. Seats have backs, for your back. But no, she wanted to be that extra 30cm nearer the acts. Maybe she thought that if she sat that little bit nearer, she’d hear the ‘joke’ that little bit earlier and could prepare her aggressive, over-head clap that she seemed so fond of. Her friends around her seemed fairly normal. They weren’t carers or anything. If they were, it all would have made a lot more sense.

Now I know this sounds very cynical (Shock!). I’m all for people having a good time. It was a comedy show so of course people were laughing (although I was a little confused as to why sometimes) but all I ask is that it's in proportion to the ability of the comedian.

If you humour them, how will they learn?!

By laughing at them, it makes them think they’re good and Andy Parsons isn’t good. He’s terrible. Everything about him is terrible.

So please, I beg of you. Be more discerning in your choice of comedian. The only way we can root out the poison that dilutes those who are genuinely funny is by boycotting them. I suggest you stop watching 8 Out of 10 Cats to start with.

Bruce Forsyth on the other hand…

It's Fate. Part II.

I knew it couldn't possibly last. Sod's law has counteracted fate in the form of me dropping my phone on the floor last night and breaking the screen. Apparently I'm not allowed to have more than one nice thing at any one time.

Looks like I'm going to have to make one of those gay 'I've lost my phone' Facebook groups. Watch this space.

Balance has been restored.

It’s Fate.

Tomorrow, I will take delivery of a Macbook. It’s a second hand black one. Remember the one I mean? It’s awesome. It is about 5 years old so it’s hardly cutting edge, but I don’t mind – for finally I will achieve closure on one of the most harrowing experiences of my life.

Some of you might remember that I used to have the exact same Macbook. I spent almost my entire overdraft on it right at the start of uni and it was fantastic. People laughed at me for spending with such reckless abandon but I didn’t care, for I had a thing of beauty – while they had a thing of poo.

I cherished it and cleaned it meticulously – right up until the day I accidentally smashed it to pieces.

It was Christmas 2009 and I was back home from uni. I had just started my dissertation and was doing the standard procrastinating. Whenever I had a deadline or exam it would always seem like a really good idea to move all the furniture around in my room. It would take a really long time (which was good) and be vaguely satisfying – even if it actually looked better before. And this day was no different.

I decided to move my bed first of all. I started to heave the mattress off the frame (not particularly gracefully) and then it happened. I still remember the crunch. I had managed to knock my TV – which was on a bracket – off the bracket and directly onto my open laptop on the desk below. I couldn’t see exactly what had happened because the stupid fucking mattress was in the way, but I knew. As I pushed the mattress away a feeling of sheer dread hit me. Had I seriously just done that? Why the fuck did I think it was a good idea to move my bed? 

WHY ISN'T THERE ANYONE ELSE WHO I CAN BLAME?!

The Macbook was in bits. The TV had landed directly on the hard-drive so I lost everything. My music. My photos. And a couple of thousand words of my dissertation. I guess it was a bit retarded that I didn’t have an external hard-drive but I just didn’t think about it. And now it was too late. I didn’t cry, but it was touch and go.

I attempted to get it fixed at an approved Mac shop but it started getting too expensive and I gave up. But I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. It was completely useless but I was too attached.

HOWEVER.

Now, fate has reunited us. A friend from work advertised on Facebook that he was selling his old, black Macbook. However, the battery could do with being replaced and it needs a new charger cable. This is why it must be fate for the only two things that survived my destruction were the battery and the charger cable!

So very soon I will have my new (old) Macbook up and running and I will be a happy man.

Time to shift some furniture perhaps?

If I knew you better, I’d tell you to shut the fuck up.

For those of you who don’t know, my new thing is rowing – or sculling to be precise. Yeh that’s right, I know the lingo. I joined a club a few months ago and consequently added a second barrel to my surname – I’m now called Alexander Huntington – Cuff. Sounds good doesn’t it? I’m also considering buying a peerage. Sir Alexander Huntington – Cuff. I should be on Downton Abbey. Wooo the new series started last night!

 I don’t get it…

Anyway, my dreams of period drama acting aside, I actually really enjoy rowing and would thoroughly recommend it to anyone who hates the gym as much as I do. Basically anyone who would rather watch Deal Or No Deal on repeat than get on a cross-trainer. Noel Edmonds is such a weirdo, but preferable to spinning… just.

On Saturday, I faced my biggest challenge yet. I took part in the Great Thames River Race. (No I hadn’t heard of it either.) You start in Canary Wharf and row all the way through central London to Ham near Richmond. It works out at about 22 miles so it’s pretty hardcore. I think about 350 crews took part ranging from brick shit-house Norwegian Vikings to thoroughly unimpressed 14 year old girls. You won’t be surprised to hear our ability erred more on the 14 year old girl side. But it was still really good fun and satisfying to finish – without sinking.

We only had one pile up but we did manage to involve 3 other boats! After all, if you’re going to fuck up, you might as well do it properly. And this is where the theme of this week's blog stems from – believe it or not I do have a point.

Stressful situations with strangers.

It’s a minefield. I only knew one person in my crew and the others were all colleagues so knew each other relatively well. But as the weather turned and the novelty began to wear off, tempers inevitably frayed. I was at the front so it was my responsibility to set the rhythm for the people behind me. I can do this. It’s not difficult. I do it twice a week. But unfortunately some of the people behind me seemed to find copying a bit too complicated. However, rather than just sort it out, I would get cries of;

‘Alex, you’re not in rhythm!’

‘Erm, I’m setting the rhythm. If we’re not going at the same rate then that’s because you’re not in fucking rhythm!’

…was what I wanted to say. But these people were strangers. I don’t know the etiquette. They were perfectly nice when we were on dry land but became aggravated bastards on the water. So I had to suck it up. It was galling but what could I do? I was the outsider. As much as they clearly didn’t share the view, I didn’t want them to hate me immediately. I'm used to it normally taking a couple of days at least.

So be warned. If you ever agree to take part in an event with a bunch of strangers that could prove stressful, mentally prepare yourself beforehand.

Don’t intentionally steer your boat into 3 other boats in the hope that some of your crew might fall overboard…