Paw Performance

April 26, 2015

I got to witness Peppa at her defensive peak this morning.

I got to see her in action as her territory was invaded not once, but twice, by neighbourhood cats.

I got to see how she dealt with the issue of other cats meandering into her house and eating her food.

I got to see it all.

And, frankly, I’m not impressed.

She’s crap at it.

It was a lovely day today, so despite going to bed at 2am, and to sleep at 3am, I was up at just before eight and pottering around in the kitchen assembling the components for a very nice chicken curry. I had been out into the garden and pegged the washing out, I was listening to the radio, had the back door propped open. It couldn’t have been any better.

I noticed the shadow of a cat in the doorway and not long after that the sound of cat biscuits being eaten. I had, just moments before, seen Peppa on the kitchen windowsill so I assumed that the shadow and noises were down to her. So you can imagine my surprise as my gaze passed over Peppa, still on the windowsill, blissfully ignorant to the crime taking place just feet from her nose.

I moved to see who the interloper was and subsequently scared it away.

This is when Peppa stepped up her game. Having been completely clueless and next door to useless when it came to the actual home invasion, she tried to make up for it after I had removed the offending animal from the house. Basically, she hung off the windowsill and hissed a bit. It was the cat equivalent of a small kid behind a much bigger kid just poking their head out and going “Yeah!” at the backs of some retreating bullies. It was pathetic.

But, apparently, how she deals with these issues as just five minutes later a different cat pulled the same stunt and Peppa did the same hissing after the fact thing. But, I thought, this time it was improved because she jumped down from the windowsill and faced the other cat. Defending the top step of the patio. Blocking the entrance to the house.

I was very proud of her at that moment. Very proud.

She ruined it just scant moments later as, returning from whatever phase of the curry I was at, I peered out of the door to find that Peppa was vigorously guarding our garden by the act of being in next door’s garden while the cat who had helped itself to Peppa’s food was just sprawled out in the sun on our patio.

Disappointed doesn’t even come close to covering it.

Sign Here

April 25, 2015

Hey Sainsbury’s man, I have a confession
When I went to sign the screen
The pen didn’t work particularly well
It’s the worst signature ever seen.

I’d already done half of my name
When I noticed that nothing was there
So I scribbled about with the pen for a sec
Because really, who’s going to care?

Basically, I think you will find
Should you have cause to look
That I basically coloured the signature box in
Because the pen to the screen never took.

But if I have to I’ll swear it was me
I won’t pull a fast one on you
I won’t ring up and claim non-receipt
And ask Sainsbury’s what they will do.

And they’d show me the box that’s filled with black lines
And I’d say “Do I look like a fool?”
Do you think I would sign my name like that
On your sophisticated touch-screen type tool?

Lap Of Luxury

April 24, 2015

Dear girl with your laptop
Typing on the bus
I didn’t want to say anything
Or to make a fuss.

But what the hell was up with that
The second seat as a desk
Upon which you put your bag
To let your laptop rest.

Could you not see how packed it was
The bus we were on tonight
As you focused on your laptop screen
And typed with all your might.

No don’t feel that you have to move
Or pack up all your things
Just keep going, as you are
Don’t worry about such things.

Instead just let the aisle fill up
With people forced to stand
All because you had your laptop out
Using the seat next to you as a stand.

I’m really surprised no one asked
If you could move your crap
And maybe, here’s a daft idea
Put the LAPtop in your lap.

Jamelia At Large

April 23, 2015

Jamelia managed to upset everyone the other day. Not, as you may imagine, by having a song out, but by being a real woman with real opinions (her words, not mine). You know, as opposed to all those fake women with fake opinions, or the real women with fake opinions or the fake women with real opinions.

It’s just that Jamelia’s opinion was, well it was fricking ridiculous.

On Loose Women Jamelia, for reasons best known to herself, decided that she had the solution to the “issues” of plus-sized women. What you do, you see, is stop clothng stores from selling anything for plus-sized women (which, I think – and  will admit I could be massively wrong) is classed as anything above a size 14. What that would do, you see, is make them think “oh, if only I wasn’t plus-sized, I would be able to find clothes readily available for a person of my ideal size on the high street without having to go to a specialised store to buy clothes to drape upon my hulking frame…”

So, not content with body-shaming in every magazine, high street clothing stores would be doing the same, driving away customers with sticks because they didn’t comform to some sort of magical body standard.

Naturally, this went down about as well as a fart in a spacesuit with, well, with almost anybody really. Anyone capable of rational thought or with any shred of humanity in their being thought “You know what, Jamelia, that is a stupid idea.”

Including me, when I read the story.

But as I scrolled past the break in the story that filled with adverts I noticed that the internet was clearly on Jamelia’s side. I don’t mean the people of the internet. Not in a “the internet responded…” kind of way so beloved of news stories made entirely of social media reaction to something (e.g. the numerous stories today about David Starkey declaring himself a great twat historian). No I mean the actual internet. The collection of 1s and 0s that fill our days with cat videos and Google doodles.

Because the targeted advert for me, a man of generous bodily size, on a story about how woman of generous bodily size should have to shop in specialised clothing stores, was for Jacamo.

A shop for “plus-sized” men to buy clothes.

Bloody Jamelia.

Bare-faced Cheek

April 22, 2015

I’ve had a strangely productive day today.

Alongside the usual Wednesday tasks of washing and cooking lovely meals, I earned a few brownie points by mowing the front lawn (even if that did mean mowing round a pile of fresh cat poop), trimming bushes, rearranging the kitchen a little bit and sweeping the front path.

I rewarded myself with a little bit of gaming on the Xbox and, due to the sun blazing through the windows, did so in an artificially dark room with the curtains pulled. And it was glorious.

But I heard a big of a kerfuffle going on outside. Raised voices and the like. Our street is, generally, quite quiet during the day.It tends to get a bit noisier and wotnot in the evening, but during the day it’s peaceful, serene and if there’s something a foot it tends to stand out.

Which this really did.

I opened the curtains to see what was occurring.

I don’t think at any point before the curtains opened did I ever thing, “I wonder if there’s a semi-naked man in the street”. But that’s what it was. A semi-naked man, in the street.

And you’re all thinking, “so what Jake, it was a really nice day. Loads of blokes will have been half naked…”

To which I would say yes, but I would also add that I suspect all of them would be wearing something on their bottom half.


So that happened.

A man who lived at the top of the street had escaped from his house wearing (and this won’t take long to list) a shirt and a jumper.

Oh, and shoes and socks.

Nothing betwixt those. No trousers. No undercrackers. Nothing. From waist to ankle he was as nature intended. If nothing else he was taking an awful risk with sunburn.

So, yeah, that happened.

He’d been caught by one of his neighbours. But he’d made it halfway to the main road… so had she not seen him (which is what caused the raised voices) he’d have been off, streaking up or down the main road and probably being brought home in the back of a police car, rather than wrapped in a blanket which, I suspect, no-one will ever want back.

Bus-ter Move

April 21, 2015

I stayed in Leeds a bit longer after work tonight to play board games because I’m cool. Which, obvously, goes without saying.

During the course of said games night, some kind of presentation began to occur in the place we were playing, which involved a massive projector screen and someone’s laptop. During the time they were setting this up we witnessed, via the medium of a laptop projector, someone actually Google YouTube.

Now, even the most computer-unsavvy person could probably have a stab at what the web address for YouTube was. But no. It was Googled. And not even privately. People saw it happen. It was all I could do not to stand up, point at them and laugh like Nelson the Bully off of The Simpsons.

Anyway, when that was all done with I came home on the bus.

And discovered there’s a reason why I don’t generally leave Leeds later than six.

The buses are full of crazies.

And moaning old people.

We picked up a drunk man in Dewsbury, who did the following:-

1) He had a conversation with the bag that hangs on the hand rail in front of the seats and holds the day’s Metros. The conversation started quite well, but soon resulted in the man telling the Metro bag to go and fuck itself, before he shoved it away from him. The Metro bag just mocked him, by swinging on the rail and coming to rest against his knees as though it was trying to make it up to him through the medium of snuggling.

2) During the “time stop” which occurs in Mirfield, opposite the hairdressers which is situated above a butcher’s shop – honestly, do the people of Mirfield know nothing of the story of Sweeney Todd – he began to get agitated about the length of time we waited. “Just get on the bus, or get off the fucking bus,” he said, eloquently, while swaying around and rubbing his hands through his ginger buzzcut. “Come on, get on the bus or get off the bus. We don’t want to sit here all day. I want to get home…” There was no-one boarding or leaving the bus. No-one. We were just sitting – as we do – for five minutes to wait until we were in line with the timetable. I know what you’re all thinking though. You’re all wondering why the bus company just doesn’t reduce all the subsequent times by five minutes, which would mean we don’t have to wait there. It’s a fricking mystery, I can tell you. Anyway, he was not happy with this. And, to show how unhappy he was, he got up and marched to the front of the bus to give the person who wasn’t getting on or off the bus a piece of his mind (which, when you think about it, is massively generous as it seemed to be in limited supply). There was no-one there. There was a person sitting in the front seat, though, just by the doors, who had been there for quite some time. Apparently, this drunken fellow had mistook this passenger for a wayward boarder, but he realised his mistake part way up the bus. You could see him, as he approached, even through his drunken stupor, reassess the situation. But by then he was committed to doing something. So he just walked up to the man and asked him if he was alright.

And then he sat back down.

He got off at the next stop.

Ride On Time

April 20, 2015

I’m not late, the driver said
As I got onto the bus
I hadn’t said a thing to him,
So I didn’t understand the fuss.

I wasn’t going to stop here
I was going to drive on through.
I wasn’t late, you know,
I’ve just stopped to pick up you.

But you didn’t put your arm out
And you didn’t make a sign
And I wasn’t late arriving
In fact I was bang on time.

So I shouldn’t really stop now
I shouldn’t let your board
Because I was on time you see
And now my schedule’s flawed.

When you see a bus approach
You must put out your hand
But I wasn’t late, so I wasn’t stopping
You simply must understand.

Oh right, I said, that clears it up
I’m sorry for the fuss
It’s only every single day
That I catch this bloody bus.

I know how to make the bus aware
That I want to climb onboard
I’ve not done anything different now
There’s nothing untoward.

And I’m not really bothered if you’re late
Or if you’re bang on time
But you were already pulling in
As I approached the line.

So naturally I would have thought
You were pausing at this stop
I certainly didn’t think that you’d
Just want to have a pop.

So I’m sorry that you’re bang on time
And my bus etiquette was wrong
I’ll be sure to wave my arm about
So you can see me through the throng.

In a way I wish you’d gone
And driven right on past
And I could have called you lots of names
I would have had a blast.

But instead you told me off
When you’d pulled in to stop before
And yes I get that you were not late
On time, not a second more.


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