» Toilets

Graffitti related
Someone had written "FREE CATALONIA"
Underneath that someone else had written "yoo wot?!"
Underneath that someone else had written "Idiot! Have you never heard of Basque Separatism?"
Underneath that someone had drawn a huge penis and written "a cock" with a handy arrow, just in case.
(Wed 7th Sep 2005, 14:33, More)

» Foot in Mouth Syndrome

As a teenager we attended our youth club regularly...
One time they'd purchased and displayed a particularly phallic cactus. Being young and witty, I exclaimed to a friend of a friend, "That looks like your dad's cock!". Then I remembered his dad had committed suicide the previous month. No-one laughed.

(It was particularly phallic mind)
(Thu 22nd Apr 2004, 13:43, More)

» Real-life slapstick

Cats and shats
For 3 wonderful weeks a couple of years ago I house- and cat-sat for some friends of my boss in sunny San Diego. Just me, an amazing house, the sun, California, and a cat. A cat that hated me to begin with, shitting and coughing up furballs all over the place. Furballs are not as cute as they sound. The house-owners had told me a few ground rules before leaving - never let the cat out the front of the house as he's crazy and would get lost, and always make sure to take my keys when I went out as the door was likely to shut and lock behind me. So as dusk fell, I closed all the windows and, dressed only in shorts, went out front for a cigarette.

It's worth noting at this point that the cat, Gally, had not yet warmed to me, taking to attacking me at every opportunity. I lit up, inhaled deeply, and watched in despair as the front door locked shut, leaving me outside, phoneless, keyless and half-naked. I panicked briefly and heartily before remembering the bathroom skylight - an 18 inch square hole dropping around 3 metres on to a concrete floor.

The front gate was my first obstacle - a gate which it seemed was chosen due to its difficulty in clambering over. No footholds, and topped with lethal iron spikes. Being barefoot didn't help, but I managed to scramble over suffering only minor lacerations to my naked legs and torso. Next, the drainpipe leading to the roof, but passing between two overhead livewires. Do I wander around the street in the hope of finding help, or do I risk death but save face?

Looking back at the pipe afterwards, I have no idea how I scaled that thing, but scale it I did, dropping through the skylight to safety. Gally must have been expecting me, as he'd left the stinkiest pile of shit on the floor by my landing point. When I'd done grimacing, he promptly attacked me.

Now, this is where the story ended originally, but a couple of months after I'd returned to England, I was informed that the house had been broken into and all the valuables stolen. Unfortunate, I thought, but then it dawned on me...

I'd been keeping a journal during my time there, writing up everything and everyone I saw and did, including the above story, and the address I was staying at. It had reached over 100 pages when I got shitfaced on my final night, ending up drinking at the house of a couple of shifty guys. I woke up on a neighbour's lawn the following morning, and had regrettably lost my journal. From what the police could tell, the burglars had broken into the house by scaling the front gate, shimmying the drainpipe, and dropping in through the always open skylight.

Coincedence, or did I unwittingly plot out their crime?
(Mon 25th Jan 2010, 10:45, More)

» I don't understand the attraction

Stuff
Mobile Phones

It never ceases to amaze me when people I know get a new phone, often spending hundreds of pounds on it, and other people I know are eager to examine it.

"Gi's a look at yer phone! Oh wow! Cool!"

IT'S A PHONE!

And when people see me using mine and sneer at it's ancientness.

IT'S A PHONE!

As long as it performs the basic functions required by a phone, namely calling people, receiving calls, and sending and receiving texts (which I actually prefer, since I hate phone conversations), then I am happy.

I've had the same one for as long as I can remember and have had perhaps 3, since my first one around 10 years ago (Yes, I got by just fine without one until I was 21 - back then I was content to arrange to meet someone at a certain place and time, and trust they'd be there).

Remember, IT'S A PHONE!

Cars

I've never owned a car. Technically I can drive one, but legally I can't. Meaning I never got my license, but stick me behind the wheel and I'm capable of driving. As with the phone thing, I have no interest in the supposed aesthetic attraction of a car - if it goes, it's good enough for me. Of course I understand that some cars provide a more pleasant behind-the-wheel experience than others, and that I can appreciate, but how anyone can get truly excited about a car, unless it flies or travels through time, is beyond me.

Football

Now don't get me wrong, I am a football fan. I have a favourite team which I have followed for years, and I love watching football and take an interest in the latest goings on within the game. To an extent. I do not understand how certain people will put football before family, or something similar. Me and my father and brother do not have a great deal in common. If we're together, conversation generally does not flow. But switch the subject to football and those two will talk forever as if it's the most important thing in the world. My dad proudly boasts that he has "never read a book in his life, but read the biography of Roy Keane from cover to cover".

I enjoy watching football, but I do not enjoy discussing and analysing it in detail for lengthy periods of time. It's just a game.

Art

Controversial? Maybe. I love to design, and I'd love to be able to make money from it regularly, but ask me who my favourite artist is and I'd struggle. Ask me who influences me and I'd draw a complete blank. Ask me to draw meaning from any piece of art, mine or otherwise and you'd get a blank look. If something looks nice, if it pleases my eye, I like it. I care not for meanings and metaphors within the art world.

I've been to many of Europe's finest galleries, and whilst there have of course been exhibits which have wowed and impressed, the most constant single feeling I've left with has been boredom.

I remember once I made a passing comment about my own design saying something like, "I'm no good at drawing really and don't have the motivation to practise that much," and I was reprimanded by a designer, respected here and elsewhere, saying that if I'm not prepared to put my soul into it then maybe art isn't for me. That is the most bullshit remark I ever read. I have fun designing and that's good enough.

Fashion

I have three criteria when choosing clothes for myself - they must be cheap and comfortable, and they must look good, to me.

I think the most money I ever paid for any item of clothing was £70 for a suit. Following that, I once bought a pair of shoes for £50, and then I'd say everything else I ever bought cost under £30. I hate labels, and don't see the appeal of paying lots of money to advertise an already rich company - I'm sure most people here feel the same. Give me a £6 plain black jumper from Matalan over the £60 alternative from TopMan, or wherever the cool kids shop these days. If it perishes within a year, so be it, I'll buy another.

That said, I did once own a pair of apparently limited edition Levi jeans which were easily the nicest jeans I've ever owned. My mate found them brand new in his pub, tags and all and passed them on to me when no-one claimed them. The price tag stated they'd cost £150. For jeans! These have since fallen apart and shall never be replaced, and I'm finding it increasingly difficult to find a nice pair of jeans - what's the obsession with all these ludicrously over-bleached patches, crease lines and holes already in the jeans?! Why would I pay £50+ for brand new jeans that look old when I could pay 50p for old jeans at Oxfam?
(Sat 17th Oct 2009, 12:41, More)

» Have you ever been rude to a celebrity?

Not that great this but...
I was in a queue for a resteraunt a few years ago and Mike Hallett the alcoholic snooker player tried to jump it. My friend confronted him and he said "Don't you know who I am? I'm Mike Hallett the snooker player!" To which my friend replied "Well I'm Jim the welder and you can wait like everyone else you drunken bastard"

Oh...that's not funny
(Fri 16th Apr 2004, 10:12, More)