If I was ever considering striking up a conversaton with anyone on the bus which, let’s face it, I think we all know I never am, then I don’t think I would start it the way I heard a conversation start today.

There was some conversational foreplay beforehand, in which the man and woman had an awkward moment when he inadvertantly touched her with his hand, which he proceeded to hang over the back of her seat for the rest of the journey. But essentially the conversation started like this.

“‘ere, did you see the size of that fucking rat?”

Now, it was not established whether the rat was indeed fucking, or if this was just a word stuck in to carry across the enormity of the rodent in question.

Now, my ears pricked up during this conversation, because I recognised the man’s voice. And you’ll be thrilled to know it was the guy who fell asleep and then awoke with great aplomb last week wondering where he was.

He fell asleep again today, with his arm over the back of the woman-in-front’s seat. Clearly the discussion about the size of the rat “over by where McDonalds used to be” tired him out and he needed a nap to really consider what he’d seen. “If was as big as a fuckin’ cat” he said. Again, he didn’t specify…

I think, though, there’s a chance he fell asleep mid-conversation (or, more technically, monologue after he shushed the woman for implying the rat had been dining on McDonald’s when it’s clearly no longer there) as he just kind of stopped what he was saying. And having encountered him on the bus before, he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who just stops talking – even if it’s clear no-one’s listening to him.


Static Cinematic Aromatic

The queue at the cinema was at such a length tonight that the manager came and gave a little speech. It was primarily about not abusing his staff, as clearly someone in the queue had been a complete twat and been ejected from the building. But the speech also carried subtext as well. That subtext being “If you don’t like it busy, then please fuck off and try again a different day.”

When we got to the till we were served by the manager who (under Carole’s interogations) revealed that the cinema is the busiest one in the country. Busier than those in London and wherever else cinemas of that ilk are to be found. And much, much smaller. So, you know, I think his secret hidden message that everyone who wanted to complain pissed off out of it was sort of justified.

Because it was a weird queue.

For starters, someone was farting like there was no tomorrow. Which, if they kept farting like that, there may not have been. The whole building would have had to be sealed off until the gases disappaited, which could have been good in one way – while trapped there, they would have had no choice but to let us see as many films as we wanted. You know, to keep the unruly mob under some sort of control.

There was also a man, a couple of people in front of us, eating a lot of sweetcorn from a large tuperware container using a fork. Yeah, that happened. Just sweetcorn, as far as I could see. Lots and lots of sweetcorn. As sweetcorn goes through the body more-or-less intact, I can only assume that his waste products would resemble an actual reassembled corn on the cob, probably without the leaves.

It may well have been him with the digestive issue.

Maybe he was eating sweetcorn as a sort of dietary bookmark, so he could track the activity of his colon. Like a game of Pooh sticks (or, more correctly, poo sticks) that Gillian McKeith could really get behind. When you see yellow, give us a bellow… you know, that kind of thing.

Actually, maybe I will pitch that as a game show for ITV2 or some other wacky cool channel.



I’m sorry Mr Bus Driver
That I wasn’t at the stop
When you pulled up in your bus
And I leapt on with a hop.

I’m sorry Mrs Tesco Shopper
That I was in your way
When rather than “Excuse me”
You sort of growled my way.

The Tuesday after Easter
Is full of grumpy folk
So I’m using these poetic words
And lo, some fun I’ll poke.

To the bus driver who frowned at me
You were early as it was
So I don’t see why I should feel bad
Or think of saying soz.

And to the woman there in Tesco
Well you were just plain rude
Growling at other shoppers
So you could get your food.

I rolled my eyes at both of you
Tried to be the better man
Now I’m complaining about you poetically
And hoping it will scan.

No-one likes this Tuesday
It’s a crap day to go back
But don’t take it out on me, you two
Just give your moods some slack.

Labouring Under A Misunderstanding

One of the fun elements of the Sky News app is the click bait at the bottom of every story.Some of them, as I have mentioned before, are terribly inappropriate for the news story above it. But all of them, without fail, are bollocks.

Tonight, as I was browsing the latest round of what the fudge is wrong with the world, I spotted a story that said “Coronation Street actress in labour during live episode”.

So I clicked on it. Because, you know that shit is going to be good.

Now, there are two ways you can interpret this headline. One of them – the one where the actress is actually in the live episode of Corrie when she goes into labour – is far more exciting than the other one.

So, obviously, this story is about the other one.

It’s a story about an actress who is or has been in Coronation Street going into labour at home while watching a live episode of the soap.

No, seriously. That’s what the story is.

But it has made me wonder if there’s a niche market for stories about what stars of shows do while the shows they are in are on.

I think, inbetween breeding funereal zebras, I might set up a website purely for that and then just start trying to find out what people do. I mean, someone going in labour while watching a show they’re not actually in at the time but have been in previously… that’s the biggest revelation since a magazine revealed that Kelly Brook makes her own sandwichs (one of my favourite celebrity diet tips ever, incidentally).

The internet needs this shit.

I am going to deliver.


I can’t be the only one who is becoming increasingly disappointed with Easter Eggs.

I got a Creme Egg egg from work. Now, I remember a time when you would get one of these and there would be multiple creme eggs contained within the packaging. But now, it appears, we are allowed just the one.

And then when you get to the egg, even that is no longer as brilliant as it used to be.

There used to be a time when you could snap the chocolate of an egg with satisfaction. In some cases, the chocolate was thick enough that you could even consider attacking it with some sort of implement to break through the chocolatey goodness and make it into nibble sized chunks.

Alas, 2016 does not see that sort of chocolate fare.

Instead you’re treated to a thin, flimsy egg which doesn’t snap so much as bend until it’s just hand enough. It’s thin and soft and, frankly, rubbish.

I know that, somewhere, the reason for the changes in eggs has come about partly because of the obesity epidemic which the media likes to scare everyone with and the fact that supermarkets practically give the eggs away these days, so it’s not actually cost effective to waste your best chocolating skills and multiple included extras on something which is going to sell for a pound.

And then the selling them for a pound makes it more likely that you’ll buy more and eat more, especially because the chocolate’s so crap anyway and you feel like you’ve been short changed, which then feeds the obesity thing which then puts you right back at square one.

Chocolate people might as well just go back to the days of thick eggs and decent inclusions, and supermarkets might just as well go back to selling them for slightly more. The outcome’s going to be the same either way.

But at least the old-fashioned way had a bit of satisfaction to it…