Australians

There are many reasons to dislike Australians*. More reasons to dislike South Africans**, but that's a seperate post:

-They are all here. Now if I had the choice between wonderful weather, thousands of miles of snow white sands and coastline and girls who live in bikinis, I would choose to live in Brixton and work in an Irish pub every time. Yeah right.

-They have a nickname or shortened name for everything. Ute, barbie, pokies, ambo, arvo, dunny, the WACA, the Gabba etc.

-No Australian is called by his christened name. Dave-O, Steve-O, Mart-O etc.

-They claim to have invented the barbeque (sorry, barbie). I think the caveman who invented fire about 800 000 years ago might beg to differ.

-They beat everyone at sport, and go on and on and on and on about it. And on.

That's just a sample. The real reason follows:
I was watching a Tri-Nations match between Australia and New Zealand recently. High tension, a lot at stake, full stadium. The teams lined up, all sweaty and with death on their minds. The national anthems were sung with passion. Then one of the most wonderful sporting sights, the Haka. The Aussies lined up and watched these ripped and angry Kiwis laying down their traditional war challenge. It always sends a shiver down my spine and is indeed a wonderful spectacle. Challenge laid down, lots of cheering, isn't rugby great? (Rugby has grand tradition of singing. New Zealand have the Haka, Wales have 'Bread of Heaven', Ireland have 'Ireland's Call', Scotland have 'O Flower of Scotland' and England have 'Jerusalem' and 'Swing Low Sweet Chariot' (not sure how a cotton picker song is related to rugby, but there you go), South Africa have 'Ole ole ole ole, ole, ole. Ole ole' (sorry, had to throw that one in)). Then the loudspeakers started blaring out 'Waltzing Matilda'! What the fuck? Get a proper song you classless gimps.

* Now before you get shitty with me, I know a lot of Australians and they are all very very nice people. Ok?

** Guys, I'm kidding.

The biker nod

There is a bit of a tradition that bikers adhere to whenever they pass another going in the opposite direction, the biker nod. I'm not sure why we do it, some sort of acknowledgement that we are brothers in 4 stroke or something. Let me describe the biker nod. It's not a normal nod as you would do when recognising someone you know vaguely, or agree with something. This one is special. You have to tilt your head to the right, so your ear is touching your shoulder. Anything else is not a biker nod and you will have to explain yourself to the Ministry of Nods. Anyway, it's kind of nice, albeit it a little naff. There are three notable exceptions when the nod should not be used; when you are riding pillion (it's only a rider that can nod, not a passenger), when in London (it's every man for himself there) and when you pass a scooter. Sometimes you pass a train of bikers, and you have to nod to each one of them. It gets very hazardous on Sunday mornings because sometimes you pass hundreds of bikers and you can get a sore neck if you don't nod properly.

I was in Sainsbury's petrol station this morning (shameless plug there, I wonder if I'll get extra Nectar™ points). I was queuing up to pay, and about 3 people in front of me was another biker. I suspected he was anyway as he was wearing full Dainese leathers and had a helmet on. He finished his transaction, turned to exit the shop and as he passed me he did the biker nod. What a prat. Unfortunately I wasn't expecting it and was disoriented, so I returned the greeting. Now I feel like a right numpty.

Stupid, lazy or both

On my way out to get a tub of lard for lunch, I saw a group of workmen in the road cutting paving slabs with a circular saw. They were making quite a racket as you can imagine. I walked past a women standing opposite them outside an office building shouting into a mobile phone 'I can't hear you, you'll have to speak up'. I repeat, she was standing. Standing still.

I've just found out that...

... it is impossible to concentrate on the conversation when the person who is talking to you is eating corn on the cob.

The cock

I was meeting a friend for lunch today, and at 12:30, my Outlook popped up a meeting reminder '12:45 - Owain The Cock'. I chuckled to myself and wondered what he had done to me to make me insult him when I was setting up the reminder. It was only as I approached the pub did I remember that it's called The Cock.

Avoid

As I am finding out to my detriment (will I ever learn?), avoid any CD that has The Greatest <%=insert_genre%> Album In The World on the cover.

How to make boring sports interesting

If my soggy leathers and soaked boots are anything to go by, I suspect there will be no play in the cricket at Lords today. It's a shame, as having the commentary on in my headphones makes the day pass much quicker. There is another big sporting occasion on today (and tomorrow and Sunday as well), The Open Championship from Carnoustie. Now I really don't like golf, it could possibly be one of the dullest spectator sports. Listening to it on the radio, or watching the leaderboard online just takes it to a different level (sadly, in the wrong direction. 'South', I think you could describe it as). However, I've found a way to make it enjoyable.

Open up the leaderboard and scroll all the way to the bottom. Currently the leader is on -5 after 22 holes. At the bottom, in position 156, some poor sap is on +14 after 19 holes. He's just tee'ed off and hit a 6 on a par 4. Now that must be like waking up late for work, with a hangover, to find that there is no hot water, burning your toast, pour sour milk into your coffee, finding your car has a flat tyre so you have to walk to the station, in the rain, and then your train is delayed by an hour due to 'the driver being delayed on an incoming service'. I.e, it ain't going to be your day. I'm going to see what the biggest score on a single hole is. I'm hoping for double figures.

I must confess that I am a bit sick like that. When I lived in South Africa there was a famous running race that took place every year called the Comrades Marathon. It's a real bastard, run between Pietermaritzburg and Durban, which is about 90 kilometres. If memory serves me correctly, runners have 12 hours to complete the race. I used to tune in after 11 hours 59 minutes to watch some official stand on the finish line with his back to the runners, and when the clock ran out he'd fire a gun and the race was over. You should have seen the faces of these poor sods that have been running for 90 kilometres and 12 hours and were 10 feet short of the finish line when the gun went off. Oh happy days.

#156 has just parred the second, spoilsport.

Funny signs

I love funny signs. Stuff like 'Banana thieves will be shot', 'Beware - bottomless pit. Depth 60ft' etc. Some years ago at Jan Smuts airport in Johannesburg they had a sign that said 'Covered Parking Now Open'. I lived nearby an area called New Germany in Durban once, and one of the main roads was called Old New Germany Road. On my way home last night I thought I would take a different route and went past a road called Golf Drive. Excellent stuff.

A rant about crap films

I'm not sure why, but recently I've been watching a lot of older films. Maybe it's because I'm approaching pensionable age and am yearning for days when I would spend my pocket money on Tippex thinners and milkshakes. No matter, moving swiftly on...

I reckon we all get it. You see a film when you are about 12 or 13, really enjoy it, think of it occasionally, answer a question about it correctly at a pub quiz, feel proud of yourself, every now and then make a mental note to watch it again and never do. Well I have, and boy am I disappointed.

First on the list is Footloose. I saw it whilst on holiday in Port Elizabeth when I was about 14 or 15. I thought Kevin Bacon was cool, Lori Singer gorgeous and Chris Penn as tough as nails. Even Sarah Jessica Parker looked cute, now she looks like a horse. I've never been into dancing, but I was really impressed back then. But what a pointless film that really was. It follows the rules pretty well. Outsider - check. Single parent trying to start a new life - check. Prom queen going out with complete knob who is captain of the football team, drives a pick up, drinks and sneers - check. Outsider woos prom queen - check. Outsider makes people see the error of their ways and becomes a hero, impressing everyone and making the world a better place - check, and so on. The last 5 minutes of the film are legendary. Outsider and mate beat on bad boy and his gang, pile into the disco, get everyone on the dancefloor to show the skills they have been developing the whole time music and dancing was banned, and try and make Kenny Loggins sound cool. And glitter falls. I can buy everything, except the Kenny Loggins bit.

Ferris Beuller's Day Off. Now the openinig scene is pretty good, when Matt is in the shower (easy tiger) and does his Hamlet bit into the camera, but the rest of it is pure tosh. 'The epitome of cool' I've heard him described as in various respected movie magazines. He's a wanker. What kind of mate forces his friend to bunk off and play gooseberry, steal his Dad's prize car, trashes it then leaves his mate to sort it out with his Dad? With friends like that... I think there was supposed to be a message in there somewhere, but I have no idea what it is. Take advantage of and manipulate weaker kids who have no mates, to pamper your whims perhaps?

And the there's Pretty in Pink. Now this one I never really thought much of back then. Bit of a girl's film, but still left me feeling quite happy with life. However nothing happens in it. I never did find Molly Ringwald attractive, I see no reason why Andy McCarthy should. He's rich for God's sake, can have any bit of blurt he wants, what does he want with her? So rich guys asks poor girl on a date. Go to friend's party, everyone avoids him because she's poor. They break up. 'Best friend' of girl wants to shag her, but rich guy storms back in and 'best friend' accepts this. That's it. I think the thing I hate most about this film is that I thought it was just me that made mix tapes for girls I fancied at school. Good title song mind, and no-one died.

Karate Kid. See Footloose above, but with karate instead of dancing. It has to have the quickest finale in the history of cinema. 2 hours of build up, 12 seconds of kick, punch, cheat, injury, crane, win, credits. Coined the phrase 'Wax on, wax off' though.

I also saw My Bodyguard recently, which I'm ashamed to say I thoroughly enjoyed, probably more than I should have. The punchline ('scuse the pun) was a bit drawn out though. And I'm not sure about the 'when you can take no more, beat up your enemies' is the right kind of message to be sending out to the kids.

I am not giving up yet though, I still have the Back to the Future series to get through. And War Games, Weird Science, Risky Business... Christ I'm sad.

Century Martial Art Supply, Inc

I want a pair of these for Christmas

Graffiti

Got to love it. Not that I condone defacing property, but you do have to admire the sheer brilliance of some of the artists/vandals (depending on your viewpoint). Spotted in Camberley, two of the finest examples of such:
Lift
Paystation

Smoking ban

I arranged to meet a mate down The Carp on Friday night. I got the train home (bike still ill) and arrived at Camberley station at 7:15pm. I entered the pub at about 7:21pm. I would have been earlier, but some Scottish girl was struggling with a suitcase at the station so I helped her with that. I think I scared her (note to self, must shave), but she was grateful enough and even instructed me to have a nice weekend. Bless.

Anyway, back to the point. The Carp has a good atmos, especially on a Friday night. It has a strange mixture of cliental; the regulars who have a 100% record of attendance, youths that play pool, video games and darts round the back, and people that only ever go on a Friday, like Phil the Vicar and the girl with the Flash Gordon T-Shirt. They have a jukebox which only ever seems to get used on a Friday night. There's no point ever sticking your quid in either as the queue is that long Gordon would have to change it from 24 to 36 hour licensing before your track comes on. All in all, a Friday night is a rocking night in The Carp and arriving at 7:21pm would mean standing room only, probably in a corner away from the action. I walked through the doors and was greeted by a large, mostly empty space. One of the regulars, Moose, was sitting near the door on his own, there were a scattering of unknowns, and a very bored looking barmaid reading some 10p magazine with a soap star on the front. When my mate arrived, the numbers had swelled by about 3, and it stayed that way until closing time.

On Saturday I went there again. The England v West Indies third One Day International on so thought there would be a decent crowd in. Uh uh. There was one table with maybe 5 regulars, and that was it. About half an hour into the session, the landlord and his wife appeared with a couple of bottles of wine and said 'you ready then?' to a couple of the regulars and they all headed off to a BBQ. At one point in the afternoon, and I swear this is true, the total population comprised of me, my mate, and 2 barmaids.

Now I am all for having smoke free pubs and clubs, but if this is an indication as to what it is going to happen, then I fear for the future of places like The Carp. I was in there for a total of 6 1/2 hours this weekend and if I said that I saw 15 other people (including staff and management) I would not be lying.

Gender wars

Whilst watching tele with the missus last night, an advert for car insurance came on. The company's called 'Sheila's Wheels' and they offer cheap insurance for the fairer sex. 'See, I told you that women drivers are better' said the wife. I burst her bubble and will now burst the bubbles of others with the same opinion.

A friend of mine is in insurance and told me the following:

It is true that women get cheaper car insurance than men. It is also true that claims from men far outweigh those from women. However, the vast majority of women drivers are insured as named drivers on their partner's/parent's insurance, hence don't have their own policies. Offering women cheaper insurance is a clever marketing ploy to lure them onto their own policies.

So there you have it Sheilas. Now drop it.

Creature of habit

I've been getting the train into London this week as my bike is ill (the chain came off, in case you were wondering). I used to take the train all the time so I am aware of where to stand on the platform, train times and all the other important information that commuters gather over time. I've not had to travel in using public transport for a while, but noticed after a couple of journeys that I always sit in the same place. Maybe not exactly the same place, but always on a two seater, facing forward, on the right hand side of the carriage. I also noticed that most other people I have seen this week sit in pretty much the same places as well. Casting my mind back, I recall that when I did the journey daily in the past, more often than not I would be located in a similar position. I tried to think of why I do this, I mean every seat is much the same as the next. It was when the train left Virginia Water that I realised why I do: there are a lot of fields on the right hand side of the rail tracks, and I like looking at the rabbits. How gay is that? I wonder what everyone else's excuses are?

More barmaid tales

I was in my other other local a couple of weeks ago. I left my other local in good time to get home to make some din din and spend some time with the family, but as I was walking past the other other local (from hereon referred to as 'The Shoes'), my mate banged on the window and beckoned me in. He was having a drink with his missus and a couple of friends. I said I would stay for one. When the 'one' had left the glass quicker than a pig in a synagogue, I was bullied into staying for another. I explained that although the offer was a tempting one, my manhood would be in danger if I did as the wife doesn't have a sense of humour about these things. My mate's wife said 'leave it to me', telephoned my wife and before I knew it, a fresh pint was on its way and the wife and kid sitting next to me.

Anyway, I had spent all my cash in my other local (from hereon referred to as 'The Carp') so when it was my round, I started a tab on my debit card. The late afternoon drinking session soon turned into an evening bender and much quaffing and joviality ensued.

When I could handle no more (ie the wife said 'Titbrain, home, now') I went to settle my tab at the bar. I am very fond of the barmaid, she is a sweet young thing, always happy & chatty, and if I was a single man, would find her rather attractive. But I'm not, so I don't, if you know what I mean. She is also thicker than a plate of mince. After a brief chat, which was probably not brief enough judging by the daggers coming from across the room, she swiped my card (£42) and asked me to enter my PIN. I did as instructed and got greeted with 'Incorrect PIN'. Whoops, fingers a bit wide there. I entered it again, more carefully this time but got the same message. Now I was a bit tipsy, but by no means wankered and was sure I had the right number. So I entered it a third time. Third strike, transaction cancelled, card locked, phone the bank, go to jail, do not pass go etc. The barmaid gave me a 'you stupid drunk prat' look, handed the card back to me and asked if I had cash to settle the bill. It was then that I looked at my card, and realised that it wasn't actually mine at all. She had given me someone else's. I didn't stick around long enough to watch her explain to the poor sod playing pool that his card had been locked, but I wish I was a fly on the wall for that conversation.

Happy birthday

My blog is 1 year and a day old. I've posted 274 entries, most of which are moaning about something. I can't believe I have kept up this shit for a year. Here's to another 52 weeks of meeting stupid/irritating/odd people, trying to rid the streets of scooters, sporting disasters and random thoughts.

Things I've learned recently

- Only men with grey hair carry briefcases.
- Only men with grey hair wear pullovers under a suit jacket.
- No matter how late I am for a train, I will never walk up an escalator.
- Hermione Granger is starting to look rather foxy.
- Although London has to be full of the rudest people in the world, Londoners themselves are actually very polite people. There just aren't any of them in London.
- The smoking ban will leave a tax deficit of £2.3 billion in the government's coffers.
- The smoking ban will increase the murder rate three fold.