Monday, 31 December 2012

The new year

Welcome to the new year!

We humans are a strange bunch. We celebrate something based on an arbitrary calendar set out long ago. The only difference between the 31st December and the 30th June is that long ago someone said it was the end of the year.

Still it grants us all a rare moment of reflection and the promise of change in the coming year. Many of us will also use it as an excuse to get shitted and then reflect on how we get shitted too often.

I could ramble on, but the time is now, our time, your time, my time. It's only running out. It's yours to make the most of.

Me? I'm going to get my sandwich top trumps printed and teach my lads to blame each other for farts. After all we only have a set time to get the important things done.

Have a good 2013!

Monday, 12 November 2012

Man phrases

There are an abundance of terms that chaps use on a regular basis. Some are, frankly, terrible. Others will stand the test of time.

This post is dedicated to those phrases that should adorn any upwardly mobile gentleman's lexicon.

1. Fuck you.

A great two word sentence. Short and very much to the point. Whether used as a retort to a sharp barb from a friend, or as an aggressive warning to some jack the lad who's pushing his luck. In simplicity we find beauty. Fact.

2. You're shitting me.

When something is so surprising it's beyond kidding. It's so surprising that it's actually "shitting". Think about the power in that statement. I dare you.

3. I shit you not.

The perfect retort to the above. It's a bit like how Yoda would say something, but a bit more urban.

4. Do one.

Another great example of a short sharp statement conveying great power. No one actually knows what "one" is getting "done", but when it's time to do it, it gets done.

5. You cunt.

Fucking BOOM. Enough said.

6. Get fucked.

A phrase used to signal the end of a conversation or debate. It's surprising that this usually has negative connotations, as most men spend most of their time trying to "get fucked".

7. Bullshit.

A bit old fashioned these days. Best used when imitating Schwarzenegger.

8. You're shit out of luck.

The addition of "shit" really makes this work. As a sentence it makes very little sense, yet the recipient of this phrase is left in no doubt at the amount of luck they have, none.

9. Fucking dickhead/cunt/arsehole/prick.

Classic utility phrase. Best used in anger and oft heard in cars and vans across the country. Best not to undersell it, really spit that second word.

Tuesday, 9 October 2012

Jazz Mags - A dying tradition

***Masturbation news***

In a startling report released today it seems clear that the days of Fiesta, Razzle, Escort, and their ilk, are numbered.

In the report Dr. Handzbanger, head of onanism & frotting studies at Middlesbrough community college, indicated that in less than twenty years the traditional scud mag will be a thing of the past.

"With most men now accessing single handed artistic material digitally, whether it be on PC, or mobile device, the younger generation are having traditional scruff routes cut off," said Handzbanger, "most sock drawers now contain socks, and you'll be lucky if the hardest thing you find under a bush is the Freeman's catalogue".

The report continues that without this source of jazz mags, school and paper boys are becoming dangerously distracted by what they are actually supposed to be doing, and real girls.

Handzbanger has petitioned the government, and implores all fathers to furtively purchase publications such as Mayfair and Knave and store them in the sock drawer, or on the top of the wardrobe, so that traditional smut does not die out. He also implored wives and girlfriends "to turn a blind eye."

The government is said to be monitoring the situation with concern.


Monday, 10 September 2012

The double denim gambit

Everyone wears jeans, right? I would also fancy that most have at some point owned a denim jacket. Some have even gone for a denim shirt, the crazy fools.

Wearing any of the above in isolation is fine and you will incur no wrath. Combine any of the above and you're tempting the wrath of the fashion police.

I've been quite vocal on my feelings regarding double denim. I think it's ok. I wear jeans, and if i want to throw on my denim jacket to pop out, what's the issue?

Quite a big one according to the wife.

I remember a time when this was acceptable, or have i always just been a trend setter?

Well apparently there are rules with denim that allow you to double up without incurring the rage of scared and more fashion conscious better halves and friends.

Rule 1. Be Bruce Springsteen.

No body fucks with the boss. As such he's been given a green light to wear what he wants, when he wants. He just happens to like denim, and with good reason.

Rule 2. Be Jean Claude van Damme.

One of only two men able to successfully round house kick an opponent whilst wearing bollock hugging denim slacks, JCVD uses his green light to promote Coors beer.

His brand of double denim involves the lesser worn denim shirt. This means he's only a jacket away from triple threat denim, and no amount of round house kicks will allow him to carry this off.

Rule 3. Be Chuck Norris.

The Norris rocked this look every now and then in Walker, Texas Ranger.

He's also the only other person to pull off a roundhouse kick in clock weight strangling denim strides.

Let's be fair if Chuck decided to wear double denim, who would stop him?

Rule 4. Exist solely in the 80's.

This does not mean do as hipsters do.

The only way to follow this rule is to invent time travel and go back with a printed manuscript of this blog (as it didn't exist back then).

Pretty tough to do.

Rule 5. Be an actual cowboy.

It's prerequisite uniform. If you don't have the denim you're not a cowpoke.

These rules have been carefully compiled after discussing this topic with friends and the wife. They have caused me a great deal of distress as I still maintain that double denim can work.

As such I am one of very few brave souls who try and wear jeans and a denim jacket.

I hold my head up high knowing that one day, eventually, I will surely be "on trend".

As for triple threat denim, you'd have to be fucking bonkers.......or Chuck Norris.


Also a bit of topic, but a valid point that came up a few times, is that if you wear espadrilles, you're a c*nt. End of.

What me to stop writing this rubbish? Write something so I don't have to here.


Sunday, 26 August 2012

The missing Expendables

The Expendables are amazing aren't they? As a film it just shouldn't work. Don't get me wrong from a critically point of view both films are shit. Entertaining shit, but shit none-the-less. The kind of shit that feels good and when you've finished you want to take a photo and show your mates. This shit is that good.

There are a couple of reasons why the Expendables work so well. Firstly Stallone hasn't messed with a tried and tested formula. Where as other films have attempted to get a message across, or some sort of metaphor (I'm looking at Die Hard 4), Stallone shrugs his shoulders and remembers the halycon days of action blockbusters.

He used the same formula with his recent attempts at Rocky, and Rambo. They were relatively successful when compared with other re-imagined blockbusters because they didn't mess with something that worked. Rocky hits things, Rambo kills things, job done.

So Expendables does what it should, there's explosions, a ridiculous amount of shooting, wonky eyed bad guys (they couldn't hit a barn door), buddy moments, and the odd bit of skirt. None of this is encumbered by something as trivial as a plot.

It also taps into the current trend of reliving the 80's. From fashion to wanky hipsters we are looking back to this decade and the Expendables unites all of those glorious stars in one complete package. Great for dads who saw the stars the first time round, great for their kids who watched it on VHS (I was one), great for those that missed the boat, and self referential and ironic enough for the wanky hipsters to enjoy.

However, whilst the second film did a great job of expanding the list of stars to include Chuck 'The' Norris, and 'The Melgium from Belgium' JCVD, it does have some glaring omissions-

Wesley Snipes-

As featured in my last post. Wesley starred with Stallone in Demolition Man, and has shown of his 'actioner' chops in a fair few films.

He's not quite muscle-bound enough to be a good guy, so would have to settle with a bad guy role or cameo.

He may have also missed the cut because he is banged up for massive tax evasion.

Kurt Russell-

The fat man's action hero, Kurt has ploughed his own furrow by ignoring the need to inflate his physique with anabolic steroids.

Instead he relied on razor sharp wit and good facial hair in films such as Escape from New York, and Big Trouble in Little China.

He played Cash in Tango & Cash with Stallone and so deserves a shot at the Expendables.

He is, however, proper fat now. So he'd have to make do with a behind the desk role and some witty banter.

Carl Weathers-

Or Apollo Creed to you and me. During his time this ex-pro American Footballer has starred with both Stallone and Schwarzenegger in Rocky (I-IV) and Predator respectively.

He doesn't carry the physique anymore to go to town with the boys, but showed in various Adam Sandler projects that he can still throw in some humour.

Just in case you wondered, he isn't dead, Wikipedia told me so.

Mel Gibson-

Now in fairness Mel hasn't appeared in the same films as many of the Expendables, but he has proven to be perfectly good at the 80's action film, and gratuitous violence.

He did star with Kurt Russell in Tequila Sunrise, so there's a tenuous link. Also it would be nice to see him going off on screen, as opposed to real life.

The downside is, of course, that he now appears to be mad as a brush.

Jesse "the body" Ventura-

"Bunch of slack jawed faggots around here. This stuff will make you a goddam sexual tyrannosaurus, just like me."- Blain, Predator. I think this says plenty about the type of man Ventura portrayed on screen.

After a glittering career in wrestling, Jesse turned his hand to acting starring with Arnie, not once, but twice, in Predator and Running Man respectively. He also had a cameo in Demolition Man.

Unfortunately he has let himself go a little. He also started to dabble in politics and revealed to the world that he is also a little bit hatstand.

What me to stop writing this rubbish? Write something so I don't have to here.


Friday, 17 August 2012

Top 10 Wesley Snipes films

Did you know that Wesley Snipes has appeared in nearly 60 films over the course of his career? Me neither. It's probably because a lot of them either went straight to video, or were shit.

He is probably the highest profile "action" star missing from the cast of "The Expendables". A shame as he had a lot of offer, just not money.

Anyway the reason behind this post is that the other night I watched Passenger 57. The film started me thinking about the good, no, great films that Wesley has appeared in. I decided to list the top 10. Unfortunately there aren't 10 "great" films. So here's a list of his 10 best films. Some of which are shit.

So in at number 10-

Blade Trinity: The third installment of the vampire/superhero series sees Blade take on Dracula himself.

This film is utter guff. The only redeeming features are Jessica Biel, the fact that Triple H is in it, a shameful smattering of product placement, and the world's greatest insult committed to screen....

The writers need to be very proud of themselves. The editor of the clip should be as well for getting the late, great, John Candy in there as well.

Numero 9-

To Wong Foo: I'm not going to lie I had to pad this list out.

I mean seriously, how did this film ever get funding? It only makes the list because it features Patrick Swayze in a dress.

It makes no sense.

Swiftly onto 8-

US Marshals: The unnecessary, and spritual (if not official) sequel to the Fugutive sees Tommy Lee Jones chasing down another convict. He's not guilty either.

It's all a bit too familiar so they chuck in a bit of conspiracy and it's enough to get the film of the ground.

It's not a bad film, but it can't touch what is to follow.

Lucky 7-

The Fan: "Gil Renard is a salesman in the knife business and is also completely obsessed with the game of baseball."

This is the opening sentence of the plot summary on IMDb, and it says a lot about the film. The only reason this entertaining toot makes it this high up is because of Bobby DeNiro.

Wesley does a good job of being a "jock" though.

Number 6-

Money Train: The second pairing of Woody Harrelson and Wesley sees them trying to steal a train. A subway train at that.

Not only that, but they're brothers. Despite the fact that this sounds like utter twaddle it's good fun. Plus we get to see Woody and Wesley 'riff' with each other again.

In at 5-

New Jack City: It's deep, brooding, and Snipes is at his best as a bad guy. I really don't know why he doesn't paly more bad guys. He always comes across as a ruthless nutter.

Number 4-

Blade: I'm not going to lie, most of this film does not date well. Some scenes are still really awesome though. I'm thinking the vampaire rave....

This makes it in at number 4 because it was before it all went a bit silly.

Right now we're really getting into it. No more treading water, this is Snipes gold from here on in-

Number 3-

Passenger 57: 1992 was a pretty good year for Wesley. To an extent this film highlighted some of the US's worse fears, which tragically went on to become true almost a decade later.

A terrorist takes over a plane. Luckily Wes is there to take care of things. He kicks some ass, the day is saved, twice, and Snipes bags the girl. Good work sir. It also features a young Liz Hurley, being a bit of a slag, so that's a bonus.

 Ok onto number 2-

Demolition Man: How can this be number 2 I hear you ask? Well wait and see number 1. For now let's bask in the glory that is Demolition Man.

Sly and Wes looked like they had fun on this, and why wouldn't you? Essentially they blow a lot of shit up.

There's also a strange vision of sex in the future and a odd way of cleaning your arse with seashells.

Now the biggie. What could possibly be number 1? Well if I was making a list of Woody Harrelson films this would also be number 1, and he's done some real gold. It is of course, the one, and only.....

White Men Can't Jump

"What is a quince?", what indeed. If you get that you'll know what I'm talking about (it's like a pear by the way).

There's so much great dialogue in this film it's hard to pick out the best. From Wes' wonky hats, to Woody's dumb hick, and the acapella group of pensioners this film always guarantees a smile.

So there you go. Do you fancy writing a top ten list based on an actor that was never really any good? You can do so here.


Tuesday, 14 August 2012

Olympic Sports I don't understand

I have loved the olympic games. It's given me two weeks of constant competitive sport. Like most chaps regardless of what else is on television, sport will always be the default setting.

Also, like most chaps, I become a part time expert. Memorising little known facts and past performance statistics I like to be able to hold my own when discussing the dominance of the Dutch hockey team (both Men and Womens).

However, despite my best efforts, there are some sports in the Olympics that I have failed to fathom. No number of online tutorials or 'the basics' documents have helped me understand some of the more, entertaining, yet niche events.

Fencing -

Up until the Olympics I thought it was basically sword fighting. He who gets stabbed first loses. Makes sense at this point.

However after my firsting viewing I was lost. I was presented by two chaps lunging headlong at each other and points being adminstered at random, or so I thought. Turns out a sneaky tickle of the wrist is classed as a point.

I'm sure the reason is something to do with disarming your opponent, or hitting a major artery, but if they were fighting for real I somehow doubt this would stop the momentum of the attacker. The wrist tickler might have the moral high ground, but he'd still have a sword in his chest.

Solution: Kill shots = points.

Diving -

I understand the principle. People do fancy jumps and get points for doing so. The problem that I have is that one dive is pretty much the same as the other.
With the exception of a proper fuck up I can't distinguish from a good dive and a great dive.

I think the Mexican divers really knew what the score was, running up and jumping off is the real essence of jumping off big things.

Solution: one-up-manship. If someone does a flip, the next person does a backwards one. Also scrap the judges for a group of girls. Everyone does better dives when trying to impress some birds.

Handball -

The most entertaining, yet frustrating sport for me. I so wanted to follow what was going on, but I just couldn't get it, and I've taught myself baseball.

It's not football with hands, and that means it's also not rugby. It's not basketball or netball with goals. It's just handball. There's throwing, jumping, and bouncing. There's also fouls, and you don't even need a goalie. All in all it should be great.

All I need is someone to tell me what the fuck is going on.

Solution: make some bloody sense.

Beach Volleyball -

I love beach volleyball. From what I understand though it's an excuse to look at women's arses. Was there even a men's competition?

Probably, I'll never know. The point is why bother pretending it's a sporting event?

Solution: Really fit birds in all teams.

Keirin -

It's not a Japanese beer. It's something to do with cycling. Lots of cyclist ride round and someone wins.

What sets this apart is that for the first half of the race everyone chases a motor bike. It fucks off and then someone wins.

Solution: 15 gear mountain bikes.

Walking -

Let me make it clear I understand how walking is competitive. I just need to fall in sync with a fellow pedestrian and whether they know it out not, they are in a race. I just love it in the Olympics. I love the fact that a red table tennis paddle waved in front of you indicates that you may have broken into a run.

What I don't understand is how it became an Olympic sport. I mean it's just walking fast. The action required to walk that fast for that long means that a walkers hips, and nuts for that matter, are ground to dust.

The best thing is an Olympic walker has the bottle to stand next to marathon runners and say, "I'm an athlete".

Solution: add four shopping bags per competitor.

Dressage -
It's riding a horse round a square paddock, slowly. They don't run, they don't jump, they trot round.

How do you score that? How is that even competitive?

I watched one round of this and it was raining. The rider was pleased how it went despite the challenging conditions. Apparently the wind and rain make it difficult. I'm not sure how. Last time i checked horses don't get washed away by rain, and it'd have to be super windy to blow one over.

Solution: this either needs to be a race or crufts for horses. At the moment it's a weird mix of both.

Rhytmic Gymnastics -
This is incredibly impressive to watch. Not only for the throwing and catching of odd apparatus, but also for the mind bending outfits and flexibility of the gymnasts.

Like the diving though, I just don't get how one routine is better than another. One of the categories is "artistry", surely that's subjective? Maybe they just score the attractiveness of the competitor? Or maybe sequins per square inch on the outfit?

Solution: Flashdance.

Well there you go Rio. I expect things to change.

Want to write for this blog? You can do so here.


Friday, 10 August 2012

The world's greatest 8th XI

Playing team sports as an adult is an interesting experience. For some people it might be the camaraderie, for others a small way of living out boyhood day dreams. For me it's about playing a sport I love with my mates and having some fun whilst I do it.

mid game

I've been luck enough to play for the past 6 years at Blackheath cricket club, for the best amateur cricket team in London, the UK, dare I say it, the world. The Mighty 8's.

There are a lot of things that make the Mighty 8's unique and before I get into the meat of this post it's time for a potted history-

Blackheath Cricket Club has been in existence for 150 years. During it's 144th year of existence, during an unusually hot summer, four intrepid cricketers from New Cross starting netting with the club.

After a few Sunday games and snatched chances here and there they had started to get a few games under there belts. Then the real chance came. Saturday cricket beckoned when Alan Bosworth called them up for a Saturday friendly game. Obviously seeing their great potential (or just looking for numbers) they were down to play.

It's widely agreed that the first official game of the Mighty 8's took place on the 9th June 2007 against Northfleet. It's a game the 8's won. It certainly wasn't the start of a winning habit, but did give birth to another habit. The Mighty 8's play hard, fun cricket. Hard, because we make it hard on ourselves most of the time, but most definitely fun (for us, not the oppo).

The 8's are pioneers of internal sledging. We would much rather take the piss out of ourselves than give the oppo any shit, although when it's required we've been known to use mental distengration to great effect (mainly against those more feeble). This internal sledging does sometimes irritate the oppo. Usually because during one of the 8's innings a bugle will inevitably sound out across the pitch. It just so happens that normally this will coincide with a bowler delivering a ball.

For the past couple of years the Mighty 8's have been given the honour of organising and playing in the Wednesday of cricket week, now known as "Mighty 8's Wednesday". The oppo has, so far, always been the Hobgoblin Nomads. So far the Mighty 8's are undefeated.

Before the game can commence though as 8's, we have to do something unique for our game. Last year we created a souvenir programme. This year 'Tesco' nobly volunteered to create a trophy. His brief was to construct something that represented the 8's and the majesty that came with 'Mighty 8's Wednesday'. He came up with this-

big, wobbly, cock

I think he did a good job.

The other thing that is required for a game with the 8's, regardless of whether it's a friendly or not, is some sort of contentious moment. This moment will inevitably turn the end of what has been a good spirited contest into a bitter finish to the game. 'Mighty 8's Wednesday' was no exception.

Without a doubt this moment will stem from a run out, LBW, or sledging a minor. In this case it was a run out. One of the oppo batsman had gone for a run, there was a direct hit on the stumps. Unfortunately the bails had already been dislodged. The umpire gave the batsman out. I, as captain, in a moment of human weakness, upheld the decision. The batsman had his 50 and I didn't want to lose (I also didn't realise the bails had been dislodged). The oppo got the shits and it lead to what can only be described as cataclysmic running in the final overs.

What is marked regarding this incident is that in the opening overs the opening batsman was given out LBW despite the fact that the ball would have struggle to hit another set of stumps down the legside.

It's funny what gets people riled?

Despite all of this the 8's, uncharacteristically, put in a sterling batting performance. An opening stand of 60 runs, a middle order batsman with a 50, and a tail that wagged lead us to an imperious 218 for 8 of 40 overs.


Another highlight of Mighty 8's Wednesday is the after match celebrations. This year included a cracking game of stumps and the usual Blackheath tea party.

The Mighty 8's have now played about 130 games. Probably 120 more than any of us expected as the team grew organically from a group of core players. Despite changes to the playing side the spirit lives on and grows as it endoctrinates other players into the ideals of 8's cricket. That being, playing half cut, trying to win, and giving you're mates as much shit as possible. Despite the 8's now being the 7th XI, if you ever find yourself playing against a team calling themselves the 8's and treating the game without a shred of respect, remember, they do respect the game, just not those who refuse to play with a smile. So strap in and prepare to play a game against the worlds best 8th XI.

Want to write for this blog? You can do so here.


Tuesday, 24 July 2012

Trion:Z Magnetic Wrist Band - A Man Blog Review

Writing an international blog allows me some perks, one of which is that companies want me to plug their gear.

Normally I ignore these requests as most of them are bunk, however this particular one piqued my curiosity, so I agreed to give it a look.

Upon opening the package I was presented with the 'trion:z magnetic band'. "What could this possibly be?", I thought to myself.

So I immediately did some research. It was going for £20 on Amazon so i figured it must have something to it.


I quickly read the pamphlet included in the packaging. It was clear this was a sports aid of some sort. All of the celebrity endorsements were from various sporting personalities including England's own Jimmy Anderson. This had to be good.

I started to look for what the band actually does. Things started to get a bit vague at this point. "Intended use: this product is intended to improve blood flow and to reduce muscle stiffness", ok, but how? "method of action: permanent magnet in the device improves blood flow." Obvious really. "operating instructions: wear as a bracelet". Well that clears that up then. This was the sole documentation included in a high end sports aid. I was yet to be convinced.

I returned to the packaging for any further clues as to the science behind this clearly magical piece of kit. Luckily there was more detail on the back.


If you can't be bothered to read the photo here's my summary: magnets increase magnetic field flow and generate and release negative ions. I shit you not.

So still clueless as to what the band does or why you would need it I fired up laptop and went to Trion:Z's website.

After a few minutes reading similar bunk to the above, and some bollocks about Cleopatra sleeping on a magnetic lodestone I found these before and after images.

Untitled Untitled

So increased blood flow to the hand and less stiff wrists. This is clearly a wanking aid. Designed to abolish the mythical "wankers whiplash". Trion:Z were merely attempting to make tuggery safer.

I realised I had to stop being cynical. The only easy to know for sure was to test it. It was designed for athletes (not wanking), so I'd have to do something athletic. First I'd have to wear the silly thing.


For some reason my wrist had felt particularly weak and limp all morning. The magnetised band slide on, KRAKOOM, with a snap my whole arm went taut.


I felt energised and knew that this was not some worthless tat designed to part people with too much money from their, well, money. I knew that I now wore the secret to professional sport, I had my edge. I fired up FIFA on the PS3 and went straight online.

Until that day i had never won a game of FIFA online. That hasn't changed, but I came close. That's the important thing, my performance improved.

What seemed a little odd though was whilst wearing the band whenever I became angry I could feel an explosive amount of energy build up. I almost thought that when I was onto my fifth straight loss that my arms were turning green, and rather than shouting obscenities at the young Spaniard dealing out yet another whooping, i was mono-syllabically shouting "angry", and "rage". I don't remember much after except that I woke in the garden in a torn pair of purple trousers and there was a hole in the wall. Quite strange.

However, I was convinced. This band was truly a miracle. I know there's a bunch of scientists in Switzerland who have discovered the "god particle", well I've discovered the "god bracelet". I'm not sure there isn't one part of your life that couldn't be improved by forking out nearly £20 for this essential lifestyle item.

If you're skint you can buy mine for a £10.

Want to write for this blog? You can do so here.


Friday, 20 July 2012

The Dartford cut

I try and cut my hair as little as possible. I have no discernable style, other than using gel when it's short.

When deciding where to get my hair cut I don't look at reputation, or previous good experiences. I look for, price, opening times, and distance.

This has lead me to discover a curiosity within North Kent. It may well be that this exists outside of North Kent, but you write about your own experience. I call it the "Dartford" cut, although in fairness I've experienced the same thing in Gravesend, and various other little towns.

Essentially it involves walking into any low price barbers, requesting a cut, and leaving with the same haircut as everyone else. There is no difference. Everyone gets the same cut, at the same cost.

You can request anything, absolutely anything, and you'll receive a shave around the sides and back of your head and a trim on top. There's a savage blend process between the sides and top of the head and you end up leaving with a haircut much akin to a GI.

Generally you can mask most of these hair based crimes with gel, or in the case of most Dartfordians a jaunty angled Nike cap.

How do you know if you're about to have, or have a received a "Dartford" cut? Look out for these tell tale signs-

Identikit, black and white, example photos-

They are the same photos in every barbers. Natty looking chaps in cable knit with the latest 'dos. It's a testament to male hair care that these photos haven't been updated since the 80's.


Have you got change out of tenner? I'm not talking coppers, I'm talking nuggets. If so you've got a "Dartford".


Maybe it's just something about Dartford, or maybe I'm treading on thin ice, but if you've walked into your chosen barbers and there isn't someone of Greek, Cypriot, or Turkish descent brandishing clippers you're in the wrong place (or right place depending on your view point).


You go into the barbers. You recognise the face about to clip your hair, but you can't quite place it. As you leave, you notice the property next door. Bingo. The guy that just cut your hair also dished out meat and chips the night before when you were pissed. Again, not wanting to go down a stereotyping route, but if there isn't a kebab shop next door, you're in a fancy salon (sort of).

So there you go. Enjoy the savagery of the Dartford cut. It'll be fine in a week once it's grown out a bit.

Want to write for this blog? You can do so here.


Thursday, 5 July 2012

BMW Drivers Are Dicks

This weeks blog has kindly been written by Alice. Amazingly another lady has decided to grace the Man Blog with their thoughts.

Luckily I'm open minded so have no problem with accepting posts from anyone. After all it saves me loads of time.

We've got quite a controversial post this time. If you don't agree, feel free to weigh in.....

BMW Drivers Are Dicks
bmw dislike

As a child I would often hear my Dad referring to BMW drivers as “idiots” (no doubt something more boorish when little ears were out of shot) and by rule, because as kids we believed everything our parents said, I would often repeat this mantra without any real understanding of what I was actually talking about. However now as a qualified driver I fully understand and appreciate the wise words of my old man. I admit that I suffer from road rage but it is the drivers of BMW’s that really grind my gears.  
There are 3 categories that these drivers fall into: The Company Car Drivers, The “I can afford to buy a BMW” Drivers and The Chav Drivers. Let me elaborate…

The Company Car Drivers:
05_Flatbed_2 - DECEMBER

We’ve all seen them; driving around in their brand new BMW’s, Bluetooth headset in, suit jacket hanging in the back seat window, Sat Nav perched in its cradle (or if they’re top dog, on a little screen by the cd player) and let’s face it, thinking their shit don’t stink. But we all know that the car isn’t actually theirs, it’s on loan to them as a perk of the job. You can guarantee that as you and your “Company Car Driver” friend are sitting in the pub they will bore you to death with the ins and outs of their BMW TwinPower Turbo four-cylinder in-line petrol engine and three spoke multi-function leather steering wheel.

It isn’t just their “I’m the dogs’ bollocks” attitude that defines them, it’s the way they drive their “beauties.” Due to the size of their cars they feel that they own the roads (all other road users should give way and priority to them). They are also so consumed by their business meeting via their Bluetooth that they drive like arseholes.

The “I can afford to buy a BMW” Drivers

This category is a slightly broader one, made up of two subcategories. 1- The midlife Crisis 2- Mums on the school run/WAG’s.

1- The midlife Crisis:

Ok, so you’ve got a bit of money in the bank and you want to treat yourself to a new car, an Audi? A Mercedes? Maybe even a Jag? No, they choose a BMW. Why I hear you ask well let me explain. The sort of people that I have come across that personally own a BMW are the type of people that are in their 50’s that think they’re still in their 30’s, a midlife crisis some may say. They think their new wheels make them look “cool” and the other cars listed above don’t quite cut it.

2- Mums on the school run/WAG’s:
BMV 4x4

Some women feel they need a 4x4, big engined car (in black or silver with obligatory tinted windows) to drop off their one child to the local school that is within a 5 minute walking distance. These said women will then travel to the local supermarket and park across two parking bays. The preferred vehicle of choice is the BMW X5. Although they will possess no knowledge about their car they will choose it for status amongst the other mums at the school gates and fellow WAG’s.

When it comes to driving, both of these groups drive like dickheads, whether it’s parking right outside the school gates or with the roof down, wearing Ray Bans, a leather jacket and chinos at the grand old age of 50.

The Chav Drivers
Chav BMV

Got a clapped out BMW for sale? Get it on Gumtree and wait for the local chav/boy racer to come knocking. These cars seem to be particular favourites for your council estate residents (I think it’s the name that does it). These BMW owners are probably the worst offenders of the bunch. Careless driving- check. Added spoiler- check. Tinted windows- check. Staffy sat on passenger seat- check and last but not least a thick gold chain, greasy mulletesque hairstyle and Nikey trainers- check. You will find these people gathered at local industrial estates on a Friday evening standing around admiring their cars. They will speed away from these “meets” as fast as possible and with as much tyre screeching as possible. Needless to say that these people are dicks.

And there you have it, proof that BMW drivers are indeed Dicks.
If you have read any of this and thought to yourself “I don’t agree with that” it’s probably because you are one of the many BMW drivers out there…

Well, there you go. It's safe to say that Alice isn't a fan of BMWs or their drivers. I'd like to add that this stereotypical attitude seems to have spread to a lot of German made cars. I will also add that most of the time it's not the car, it's the driver. After all a prick in a BMW, is still a prick.

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Wednesday, 20 June 2012

Getting Older

Everyone grows up. Everyone gets older. For some of us we continue to chase youth by carrying on the way we did when we were young. Drinking, smoking and living in one's own filth. Some of us opt to live through our offspring.
What is frighteningly true is that we are all slowly becoming slightly different versions of our parents. Don't try and deny it. In some dark recess of your mind you've already seen it happening.


This realisation hit me last year at a wedding. I realised I was 'Dad dancing'. I then realised that I was dancing as I always had, now however I was a Dad. I looked at my friends, they were dancing as they always had. They were not Dads, yet they were still Dad dancing.

How had this baffling situation arisen? Of course the answer was obvious, I had always Dad danced, as had my friends. In essence, we all dance like our Dads, it just takes realisation to get there. It now makes sense, you do what you know. If the first person you see dance is your old man he will be your template in later life. That's how I inherented the 'stoic in a corner until shitfaced' technique. Thanks Dad.


'I don't understand it', 'it's too loud', and, 'it's a bad influence'. Normally comments associated only with your parents. However over the past year i have used each when discussing music. I've found myself digging out music from my youth like a familiar security blanket. I even got goosebumps listening to 'Money For Nothing'.

I can no longer class myself as trendy as far as music is concerned. I'm no longer interested in digging out new gems and hidden bands, just give me vintage Charlatans. That's right Fizzle Dicks, get fucked.

Sayings Old People Use

I was playing cricket the other day. Prowling like a big cat at square leg, I was chatting with the umpire. He was some 10-15 years my senior (at least) and was commenting on the laziness of a teenage batsman. I couldn't help agree with him. Then he uttered 'youth is wasted on the youth'. I almost shuddered as I found myself nodding stoically and lazily mouthing 'wasted'.

I've always thought that this saying was bollocks. I don't think I wasted my youth (yet), I had a great time. Sure I could've done more, but I'm content. For all we knew this young lad now lives the kind of life I could only dream of (online of course, kids don't go out anymore).

Ambitions for my offspring

Somethings you can only dream of. For most blokes it swings between someone famous (film or rock star) or some type of professional sportsman. Even now I find myself day dreaming about scoring bundles of runs, or bags of goals. Only to be dragged back into reality by my complete lack of natural ability.

Not for my boys. Oh no. Nurture will win out. My household is an intense boot camp of sporting excellence. I've hidden this from the wife for the most, but there's a good reason I constantly encourage my son to throw and kick things despite my wife's objections. I've already given him a cricket ball, just to get used to the weight and size.

Taking the mickey

As a child I remember the innocence of playing in the garden or park with my Dad. I'd run frantically after a ball that he would punt varying distances. I can see his laugh and smile as I'd return with it, eager to repeat the process.

Little did I know that chuckle that graced his face was not laughing with me, but at me. How do I know? Becuase I do the same now. I'm that bastard.

Forgetting the joys of youth

It's very easy to sucked into your day to day life. The stress of work can weigh heavy on one's shoulders. We are too quick to forget that (in most cases) most things in life and not as serious as we initially think. It's not life and death. It may seem it at the time, but really it isn't.

This was illustrated at the weekend by my cousins playing a seemingly endless game that they had created called 'Square Wars'. The aim of said game was to repeatedly hit each other with inflatable cubes. That's it.

My friend remarked that it had forgotten about making up seemingly endless games in our youth. We chuckled wryly and sat down as our backs gave out.

Relating back to the old man

Everything is circular, as a youngster you just don't realise it. As a youngster your Dad is an infallible superhero. As you get older this facade slips away. If you have children yourself you quickly realise that your Dad is just another person trying to get by in life, in much the same way you are.

This revelation has lead me to appreciate my Dad that little bit more. I think he knows it too, and as is the circular nature of things, I'll now wait for my sons to do the same.

Not that we will talk about any of this. We're men.

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Monday, 18 June 2012

The Equations Of Life

Life, some say, is all about balance. Balance of course is an equation (see what I've done there). So it got me thinking, and when I think, I write. Normally twaddle.

So I present, for your delectation (and no doubt time wasting), equations of life:


Actual Sleep = Time You Want to sleep - 2 hours + (Length of time on the piss / 2) + (Reasons to get up / 2)



Easy enough, the time you want to sleep is long, lets say 9 hours. Normally you never get this, thus the "-2", however if you've been on the booze for 4 hours the night before you might get an additional 2 hours. You've then got to factor in reasons to get up. If you have got a reason to get up, you'll invariably sleep in, thus if you have 2 reasons to get up you'll get an additional hour in bed.


Time to get ready = 15 minutes + (0 minutes if male) + (90 minutes if female)



I take 15 minutes to get ready, for anything. That includes showering and doing my hair. My wife could take 90 minutes plus, it's only the fact that I chase her that she gets ready quicker.

Cost of petrol-

Actual Petrol Cost = Perceived Cost of Petrol x 1.5



I try and budget for my petrol on a monthly basis. Despite an airtight process I'm always short. I'm hoping the above will fix that.

Length of Journey-

Actual journey length = Perceived journey length x 0.5 / (1.33 on return)



I don't know why, but everytime I go somewhere (especially if it's the first time) it takes longer than I thought it would to get there. Yet strangely on the return journey it seems to go quicker. Weird that.

Argument Length-

Actual argument length = Time taken for me to say sorry x 3



Women forget nothing. This is not a generalisation. Anyone who does not believe this is either certifiable, or incredibly brave.

When you think an argument is over, you're wrong. She will stew for as long as it takes for you to say sorry, even if you're in the right.

Simplicity of Task-

Actual simplicity of task = 20 x number of tools required



The 20 in this task represents the casual "yeah that'll take 20 minutes" appraisal that I give all jobs. If your appraisal level is lower, or higher, substitute as required.

Invariably no job has ever taken 20 minutes.

Hotness of Women-

Hotness = 5 + (1 per additional week without other females of greater hotness)


H=5+(1 AWWFGH)

This needs a little explaining. The easiest way of looking at it was my time in 6th form. Having spent the former 5 years at an all boys school we were all eager for 6th form as girls were introduced.

On seeing them all arrive on the 1st day of term it was universally agreed that there were no lookers.

By Christmas however this universal agreement had to change to encompass some of them as 'hotties'.

In essence all this illustrates is that the longer men go without significant female hotness, they will make the available women 'hot'.

Well there's a few to keep you going. There are obviously a few more, feel free to send them in if you like, here.


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