Thursday, 11 November 2010
Thursday, 28 October 2010
Monday, 11 October 2010
Songs that annoy me
Today I heard two songs that ALWAYS annoy me: Spitting Games by Snow Patrol and The Man Who Can't Be Moved by The Script.
My reasons are as follows...
With 'Spitting Games', it's the start that does it. The opening few lines....
''I broke into your house last night
And left a note at your bedside
I'm far too shy to speak to you at school''
Now, this makes no sense to me at all. Breaking and entering, plus acting like a proper weirdo stalker does NOT get you the girl! I mean, seriously, rather than just making conversation, is breaking and entering really an alternative? Why not send an email? Or a text? Something, anything, but don't break in and leave a note!
Imagine waking up and finding that weirdo from school, who sweats like a paedo in Toys R Us when he's near you, has broken in to your house and left a note for you in your bedroom? Would you immediately fall in love, or go to the Old Bill, have him nicked and then go get yourself a restraining order? I think the latter.
Also, Snow Patrol generally annoy me.
Right, now on to 'The Man Who Can't Be Moved'. This is pure stupidity.
Imagine if this knobhead stays on his corner for, say, 3 years and then the bird turns up. How does he intend to impress her? With his black teeth? His stinky clothes? Perhaps his Robinson Crusoe beard, complete with rabies or whatever?
Twat. She broke up with you for good reason, I'm not entirely sure going homeless is the way to get her back. Especially if you're gonna stand on a street corner with her picture and a sign. That won't be embarrassing for the girl at all. Plus, he's probably got her number and/or email address. And, probably, her actual address. Write her a little letter. Tell her how much you love her. Then try and move on. (I have no right to give advice, really, but I'm heading along the common sense route)
Oh, and I know I'm the knobhead here really for thinking too much about it, but if you know me, you know I like to moan a bit.
Goodnight xx
My reasons are as follows...
With 'Spitting Games', it's the start that does it. The opening few lines....
''I broke into your house last night
And left a note at your bedside
I'm far too shy to speak to you at school''
Now, this makes no sense to me at all. Breaking and entering, plus acting like a proper weirdo stalker does NOT get you the girl! I mean, seriously, rather than just making conversation, is breaking and entering really an alternative? Why not send an email? Or a text? Something, anything, but don't break in and leave a note!
Imagine waking up and finding that weirdo from school, who sweats like a paedo in Toys R Us when he's near you, has broken in to your house and left a note for you in your bedroom? Would you immediately fall in love, or go to the Old Bill, have him nicked and then go get yourself a restraining order? I think the latter.
Also, Snow Patrol generally annoy me.
Right, now on to 'The Man Who Can't Be Moved'. This is pure stupidity.
Imagine if this knobhead stays on his corner for, say, 3 years and then the bird turns up. How does he intend to impress her? With his black teeth? His stinky clothes? Perhaps his Robinson Crusoe beard, complete with rabies or whatever?
Twat. She broke up with you for good reason, I'm not entirely sure going homeless is the way to get her back. Especially if you're gonna stand on a street corner with her picture and a sign. That won't be embarrassing for the girl at all. Plus, he's probably got her number and/or email address. And, probably, her actual address. Write her a little letter. Tell her how much you love her. Then try and move on. (I have no right to give advice, really, but I'm heading along the common sense route)
Oh, and I know I'm the knobhead here really for thinking too much about it, but if you know me, you know I like to moan a bit.
Goodnight xx
Wednesday, 6 October 2010
''Your secret's safe with me''
I wish this phrase wasn't true with me.
I must look trustworthy. Or something. I get told all sorts. I see it as some sort of strange compliment.
There is a problem, though. When people start telling you stuff, you may already know stuff relating to the situation and it makes things awkward. In keeping a secret, you then may have to start lying to your pals to protect it. You start getting tangled up in all sorts!
That's why I'd rather not know, sometimes.
With me, you know it'll stay secret. But if you'd rather not tell me in the first place, I really wouldn't mind.
Bonjour
xx
I must look trustworthy. Or something. I get told all sorts. I see it as some sort of strange compliment.
There is a problem, though. When people start telling you stuff, you may already know stuff relating to the situation and it makes things awkward. In keeping a secret, you then may have to start lying to your pals to protect it. You start getting tangled up in all sorts!
That's why I'd rather not know, sometimes.
With me, you know it'll stay secret. But if you'd rather not tell me in the first place, I really wouldn't mind.
Bonjour
xx
Friday, 1 October 2010
The Umbrella Dance
I'm glad I'm not working in London today.
Walking around London in the rain is an absolute nightmare for one reason - Umbrellas.
People shouldn't be allowed to use them. Everyone should be given one of those plastic poncho things and be done with it.
Umbrellas, like wheelie suitcases, are nothing but trouble. You see people walking along battling to keep them in the right way. You see 4'10'' women walking along with 6' wide umbrellas. They're awful.
People walking along with umbrellas become oblivious to everyone else around them. You know how your mum always used to tell you that 'you'd have your eye out'? Well, umbrellas WANT your eye out. And it's almost as if they control the person holding them to aim it at you.
When you come face to face with someone wielding an umbrella, you know you will either have to take evasive action or do that thing we Brits do where you both move the same way and then you both say sorry.
Even worse than coming face to face with someone with an umbrella, is being caught behind 2 umbrella carriers going opposite directions doing the 'Umbrella Dance'. You know the one I mean. It's where the carriers start moving left to right (whilst saying sorry) and they lift the umbrella up, and then down, almost with perfect symmetry to the other person. Eventually, after much shuffling, apologising and evasive umbrella movements, both carriers continue their journey (well, they take three steps and repeat the process with the next person).
I would rather chance my luck walking in a bus lane than get caught up in an umbrella dance. And I'd be walking along the bus lane in my nice little waterproof jacket, with hood, keeping nice and dry.
When I go to hell (if such a place does exist), I imagine it to be a long, rainy street, packed with people holding an umbrella in one hand and pulling a wheelie suitcase in the other.
The end
xx
Walking around London in the rain is an absolute nightmare for one reason - Umbrellas.
People shouldn't be allowed to use them. Everyone should be given one of those plastic poncho things and be done with it.
Umbrellas, like wheelie suitcases, are nothing but trouble. You see people walking along battling to keep them in the right way. You see 4'10'' women walking along with 6' wide umbrellas. They're awful.
People walking along with umbrellas become oblivious to everyone else around them. You know how your mum always used to tell you that 'you'd have your eye out'? Well, umbrellas WANT your eye out. And it's almost as if they control the person holding them to aim it at you.
When you come face to face with someone wielding an umbrella, you know you will either have to take evasive action or do that thing we Brits do where you both move the same way and then you both say sorry.
Even worse than coming face to face with someone with an umbrella, is being caught behind 2 umbrella carriers going opposite directions doing the 'Umbrella Dance'. You know the one I mean. It's where the carriers start moving left to right (whilst saying sorry) and they lift the umbrella up, and then down, almost with perfect symmetry to the other person. Eventually, after much shuffling, apologising and evasive umbrella movements, both carriers continue their journey (well, they take three steps and repeat the process with the next person).
I would rather chance my luck walking in a bus lane than get caught up in an umbrella dance. And I'd be walking along the bus lane in my nice little waterproof jacket, with hood, keeping nice and dry.
When I go to hell (if such a place does exist), I imagine it to be a long, rainy street, packed with people holding an umbrella in one hand and pulling a wheelie suitcase in the other.
The end
xx
Monday, 27 September 2010
Writing something just for the sake of it
I have no idea where this will go.
Erm.
Today I got stuck in a traffic jam. It took me three hours to go 8 miles, give up, and drive home. Exciting, huh?
Football. That's what i talk about, isn't it? I have left Bly Spartans since my last post, and i'm now player/goalkeeping coach at Hollands & Blair. I was also meant to be Gillingham Ladies FC goalkeeping coach, but I let myself and the club down by not turning up when i was meant to. Perhaps i was scared.
I have been playing well. Since joining Blair, i haven't lost a match. I even WON a match for the team. A cup game. That went to penalties. With the score at 3-2, i saved the opposition penalty, then was down to take penalty number 5 for us, which i bagged. A great pen, if i do say so myself, so we won the shootout 4-2. Exciting.
At some point soon i need an op on my knee. It will be to either tidy it up, or rebuild it. A scan (which i'll be having soon) will determine which one. Obviously i'm hoping for the tidy-up.
This isn't very interesting, i know, but i just wanted to write something.
Lots of things have been happening lately, but it's stuff i cannot write about, even if i wanted to. If you're nosy, and really want to know, you can ask and i'll tell you.
I will shut up now. I'm enjoying sitting on my own in my bedroom listening to the Grease (original) soundtrack far too much to carry on writing.
Much love
xx
Erm.
Today I got stuck in a traffic jam. It took me three hours to go 8 miles, give up, and drive home. Exciting, huh?
Football. That's what i talk about, isn't it? I have left Bly Spartans since my last post, and i'm now player/goalkeeping coach at Hollands & Blair. I was also meant to be Gillingham Ladies FC goalkeeping coach, but I let myself and the club down by not turning up when i was meant to. Perhaps i was scared.
I have been playing well. Since joining Blair, i haven't lost a match. I even WON a match for the team. A cup game. That went to penalties. With the score at 3-2, i saved the opposition penalty, then was down to take penalty number 5 for us, which i bagged. A great pen, if i do say so myself, so we won the shootout 4-2. Exciting.
At some point soon i need an op on my knee. It will be to either tidy it up, or rebuild it. A scan (which i'll be having soon) will determine which one. Obviously i'm hoping for the tidy-up.
This isn't very interesting, i know, but i just wanted to write something.
Lots of things have been happening lately, but it's stuff i cannot write about, even if i wanted to. If you're nosy, and really want to know, you can ask and i'll tell you.
I will shut up now. I'm enjoying sitting on my own in my bedroom listening to the Grease (original) soundtrack far too much to carry on writing.
Much love
xx
Monday, 9 August 2010
A letter to Fabio Capello
Dear Mr Capello,
I would just like to confirm that I AM available for selection for England duty, should I be required. It would be an honour to represent my country.
Being an English goalkeeper with the ability to throw the ball in to the back of my own net, I feel I am suitably qualified to fill the vacant goalkeeping slot. You may have heard I am carrying an injury, but my doctor told me not to worry about it as my leg as a whole is strong enough the cope with a battered knee. Don't worry about getting the team doctors to give a second opinion, as I feel fit and ready to go. And I totally trust my doctor (I think his name was Michael Mouse?)
If you would like to contact my club manager, I'm sure he will confirm my ability and justify my selection. He will also be able to tell you that I can play in a number of positions (including physio), am good to have in the dressing room and that my water bottle filling abilities are up there with the best. His name is Karl Rolls. Im sure you can call him Barrel, though.
I hope you are well and you enjoyed your holiday. You must've needed it after all the stress of that battle with everyone else in England. You know, the one where we all KNEW we should be playing 4-5-1 with Gerrard in the hole behind Rooney, and you knew we were right but didn't want to admit defeat?
Anyway, I hope you take this letter seriously. I am more than willing to accept a call from Franco Baldini if you're too busy (like you was with Scholesy). A nod's a nod, no matter where it comes from!
Regards
Damien Hopkins
I would just like to confirm that I AM available for selection for England duty, should I be required. It would be an honour to represent my country.
Being an English goalkeeper with the ability to throw the ball in to the back of my own net, I feel I am suitably qualified to fill the vacant goalkeeping slot. You may have heard I am carrying an injury, but my doctor told me not to worry about it as my leg as a whole is strong enough the cope with a battered knee. Don't worry about getting the team doctors to give a second opinion, as I feel fit and ready to go. And I totally trust my doctor (I think his name was Michael Mouse?)
If you would like to contact my club manager, I'm sure he will confirm my ability and justify my selection. He will also be able to tell you that I can play in a number of positions (including physio), am good to have in the dressing room and that my water bottle filling abilities are up there with the best. His name is Karl Rolls. Im sure you can call him Barrel, though.
I hope you are well and you enjoyed your holiday. You must've needed it after all the stress of that battle with everyone else in England. You know, the one where we all KNEW we should be playing 4-5-1 with Gerrard in the hole behind Rooney, and you knew we were right but didn't want to admit defeat?
Anyway, I hope you take this letter seriously. I am more than willing to accept a call from Franco Baldini if you're too busy (like you was with Scholesy). A nod's a nod, no matter where it comes from!
Regards
Damien Hopkins
Saturday, 17 July 2010
The following occurred between 10am and 11am yesterday...
All good tradesmen MUST be able to sniff out a local cafe. If you can't, then you need a new job.
I set upon this task yesterday. I was following my nose. I could smell toast and I could smell chip oil, but my nose lead me totally the wrong way. I was doubting my 'tradesman' title, until i found 2 cafes in quick succession. One looked a bit posh, so I went in the other.
A good cafe is usually very busy between 10 and 11, but this one wasn't. Still, it was Friday and it's the law to go to the 'caff'. After sitting down, a foreign chap (I am guessing Albanian) asked what I'd like to drink. He actually said 'you drink?'. 'Coffee please Derek'(I have to call people Derek). He did well with the coffee. Credit where it's due, it arrived quickly and safely.....
'you want eat food?'
'yes please, can I have a cheese and mushroom omelette, chips and beans, ta'
'ok'
He wrote this down (I think), so I sat and read The Sun (well the Dear Deidre section) until another foreign fella appears and puts a plate in front of me; a plate hosting a ham and mushroom omelette and peas.
I explained to the fella that i ordered a cheese and mushroom omelette, chips and beans. His mate, who took the order then said something in foreign, and he took the plate away.
He reappeared about 2 minutes later with the same plate, with the same omelette on (which now has grated cheese on it) and beans. The dude who took the order told me I wouldn't be charged for the ham. But, as this was STILL not what I asked for, I sent it back.
Eventually they got it right (beans were cold and it was generally a bit shit, but I ate it anyway). After paying the man (£6.40 if you're interested - I had a can of Diet Coke too), I stepped out of the cafe and took about two steps before a rasta dude on a mountain bike altered his direction to ride over to me.
He stopped right in front of me and said, in very loud voice (though not quite a shout), 'Fucking Honky!'
He then rode off, as I started having hysterics.
My first experience of racial abuse. I was called a fucking honky by an angry rasta dude, and it made my day!
The end
I set upon this task yesterday. I was following my nose. I could smell toast and I could smell chip oil, but my nose lead me totally the wrong way. I was doubting my 'tradesman' title, until i found 2 cafes in quick succession. One looked a bit posh, so I went in the other.
A good cafe is usually very busy between 10 and 11, but this one wasn't. Still, it was Friday and it's the law to go to the 'caff'. After sitting down, a foreign chap (I am guessing Albanian) asked what I'd like to drink. He actually said 'you drink?'. 'Coffee please Derek'(I have to call people Derek). He did well with the coffee. Credit where it's due, it arrived quickly and safely.....
'you want eat food?'
'yes please, can I have a cheese and mushroom omelette, chips and beans, ta'
'ok'
He wrote this down (I think), so I sat and read The Sun (well the Dear Deidre section) until another foreign fella appears and puts a plate in front of me; a plate hosting a ham and mushroom omelette and peas.
I explained to the fella that i ordered a cheese and mushroom omelette, chips and beans. His mate, who took the order then said something in foreign, and he took the plate away.
He reappeared about 2 minutes later with the same plate, with the same omelette on (which now has grated cheese on it) and beans. The dude who took the order told me I wouldn't be charged for the ham. But, as this was STILL not what I asked for, I sent it back.
Eventually they got it right (beans were cold and it was generally a bit shit, but I ate it anyway). After paying the man (£6.40 if you're interested - I had a can of Diet Coke too), I stepped out of the cafe and took about two steps before a rasta dude on a mountain bike altered his direction to ride over to me.
He stopped right in front of me and said, in very loud voice (though not quite a shout), 'Fucking Honky!'
He then rode off, as I started having hysterics.
My first experience of racial abuse. I was called a fucking honky by an angry rasta dude, and it made my day!
The end
Friday, 25 June 2010
Pre Season
For the first time in a VERY long time, I'm actually looking forward to starting pre season training.
I've been working very hard at the gym (though I seem to be getting fatter at the same time as getting fitter), and I'm going to buy myself some orange football boots. Only for a joke, mind, as I'm a bit of a football boot Nazi. If your boots aren't mostly black and you play against me, expect to get kicked.
The 2009/10 season was a strange one for me, but I enjoyed it. It started out as player/assistant manager at Crockenhill FC. A club with plenty of history, and a club that could go far. I joined them because I wanted to be part of something special. I wanted to be a major part in taking the club forward. But a few things happened early on that scuppered that.
Initially, I was sold a 'dream'. I was told the plans for the club, and I was told I would have an input in to what was going to happen. Almost immediately, though, the goalposts were moved (so to say!) and the 'dream' that was close to reality slipped in to the total fantasy region. I wasn't happy. I'd turned down good offers to accept the challenge at Crockenhill, and felt a bit cheated. I had got good players to the club, players who were earning £100+ a week elsewhere to come and play for me for free because they wanted in on the dream too. They pretty much all left when they clocked on to the fact that the dream was just a ploy by the chairman.
Then I had my personal problems. I won't be going in to that, but it was the deciding factor in me leaving Crockenhill. With all that was going on at home, I didn't want to have to go to football and have all the shit that I was being thrown to do (I was coaching, doing team sheets, filling water bottles, putting kits out, putting kits away, being physio). It was too much. So I left. I just wanted to play. So I Joined Bly Spartans.
Joining Bly was one of the best things I've ever done in football. The timing was right - I had all my mates around me there, and it was a good chance to go and enjoy my football.
Bly are the reason I'm looking forward to pre season, specifically my team mates. I had the best time last season - I get on with the manager, I get on with the players and I like that I get to help some young and very gifted footballers along in 'proper' football.
I actually feel appreciated at the club. I've not played as much as I would have liked, but that has been almost irrelevant. The position I play, I have to contest a place with one of my best friends. So I decided to be a striker. And that's why I've bought orange boots!
This has been fun for me to write, and I want to go on, but I'm not going to.
Saturday 3rd July is when I go back for pre season, and I can't wait to see everyone at the club. I miss them!
I've been working very hard at the gym (though I seem to be getting fatter at the same time as getting fitter), and I'm going to buy myself some orange football boots. Only for a joke, mind, as I'm a bit of a football boot Nazi. If your boots aren't mostly black and you play against me, expect to get kicked.
The 2009/10 season was a strange one for me, but I enjoyed it. It started out as player/assistant manager at Crockenhill FC. A club with plenty of history, and a club that could go far. I joined them because I wanted to be part of something special. I wanted to be a major part in taking the club forward. But a few things happened early on that scuppered that.
Initially, I was sold a 'dream'. I was told the plans for the club, and I was told I would have an input in to what was going to happen. Almost immediately, though, the goalposts were moved (so to say!) and the 'dream' that was close to reality slipped in to the total fantasy region. I wasn't happy. I'd turned down good offers to accept the challenge at Crockenhill, and felt a bit cheated. I had got good players to the club, players who were earning £100+ a week elsewhere to come and play for me for free because they wanted in on the dream too. They pretty much all left when they clocked on to the fact that the dream was just a ploy by the chairman.
Then I had my personal problems. I won't be going in to that, but it was the deciding factor in me leaving Crockenhill. With all that was going on at home, I didn't want to have to go to football and have all the shit that I was being thrown to do (I was coaching, doing team sheets, filling water bottles, putting kits out, putting kits away, being physio). It was too much. So I left. I just wanted to play. So I Joined Bly Spartans.
Joining Bly was one of the best things I've ever done in football. The timing was right - I had all my mates around me there, and it was a good chance to go and enjoy my football.
Bly are the reason I'm looking forward to pre season, specifically my team mates. I had the best time last season - I get on with the manager, I get on with the players and I like that I get to help some young and very gifted footballers along in 'proper' football.
I actually feel appreciated at the club. I've not played as much as I would have liked, but that has been almost irrelevant. The position I play, I have to contest a place with one of my best friends. So I decided to be a striker. And that's why I've bought orange boots!
This has been fun for me to write, and I want to go on, but I'm not going to.
Saturday 3rd July is when I go back for pre season, and I can't wait to see everyone at the club. I miss them!
Thursday, 17 June 2010
Can I be Mayor of London please?
I think I'd be a good Mayor, as long as I was allowed to make positive changes. These changes would include....
The banning of Umbrellas
The banning of wheelie suitcases
The culling of pigeons (by standing in Trafalgar Square with a bag of bird seed and a flame thrower)
Compulsory idiot testing for ANYONE wanting to visit
5 metre 'No Stop Zones' at the top and bottom of EVERY stair case/escalator. If you are caught stationary in these zones, expect to be elbowed in the back of the head (at the very least).
Change PCSO's uniforms so they say 'Tour Guide - Ask me for directions'
Obviously, I can't tell you my whole manifesto as nutty Boris might steal all my ideas. But I really think I could have a positive effect and give London back its feel good factor!
The banning of Umbrellas
The banning of wheelie suitcases
The culling of pigeons (by standing in Trafalgar Square with a bag of bird seed and a flame thrower)
Compulsory idiot testing for ANYONE wanting to visit
5 metre 'No Stop Zones' at the top and bottom of EVERY stair case/escalator. If you are caught stationary in these zones, expect to be elbowed in the back of the head (at the very least).
Change PCSO's uniforms so they say 'Tour Guide - Ask me for directions'
Obviously, I can't tell you my whole manifesto as nutty Boris might steal all my ideas. But I really think I could have a positive effect and give London back its feel good factor!
Monday, 31 May 2010
Shit wot's 'appened
Freddie has chicken pops (pox)
I joined the gym
After 2 days at the gym i have injured my calf
Roller returned my shorts (he was holding them to ransom)
I look better in a blonde wig than i do with my real life hair
I now play football wearing a blonde wig and a white headband
I got quite good at football again for a little while
I ruined pictures at football presentation because of a blonde wig and a white headband
My niece doesn't talk to me, even when offered £10 a word
I have an iPhone
I hate my iPhone
My iPhone contains 3 Glee albums
I have never seen a whole episode of Glee
I'm pissed off with how Lost ended
I'm pissed off there's no Supernatural til September
I've pissed a friend off 'cos rules is rules
Did i mention Lost pissed me off?
I imported C'est la vie from my computer to Spotify
I did the same with a dance remix of Britney Spears' Lucky
After seeing this , I wished I'd kept certain letters and scanned them for everyone to read (instead of shredding them)
Goodnight, much love xx
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
Thief!
Recently I have noticed that I'm being stolen from on a regular basis.
What's being stolen, you may wonder?
Anecdotes. Jokes. Humour.
I was born with this face cos you can't be good looking and funny. Funny's all I've got.
Leave my funny alone, you thieving bastard.
xxx
Thursday, 15 April 2010
My favourite story of the year
On my birthday, my brother's new girlfriend told me a story. It made me cry, so i thought i would share it with you.
Recently, one of her friends went shopping. Her friend has children, including a lad with a disability (he's about 20). She left this lad at home whilst she nipped quickly to the local shops.
When she returned home, her son opened the door. He was covered in scratches. There was also a loud banging noise.
'What's happened!?'
'I caught a troll, it's locked under the stairs'
So, she opens the under stairs cupboard and, in the words of R.Kelly, it was a midget!
He came flying out and ran (all the way to the Old Bill).
Apparently, shortly after leaving for the shops, her son spotted said midget walking down the street and thought it was a troll. So, like we'd all do if we saw a troll, he ran out and tackled it...
The midget put up a fight (hence the scratches), but obviously he lost and was locked under the stairs.
I love this story so much. I want to know if the midget had a big green head of wiry hair.
The best bit? The midget is pressing charges.
Sunday, 14 March 2010
Let myself down
Grrrr
Sometimes I really piss myself off.
Last Saturday (6th March), I got the nod for our game (after not playing since December!) and managed to keep a clean sheet and play well. I also got a nasty whack to the ribs, which has been a problem since, but there was nothing going to stop me keeping my shirt!
So, yesterday the management kept faith with me, and i let myself down. That'll be me back on the bench again!
We lost the game 4-0, but only the 4th was my fault. And it was a horrendous mistake I made. Just before, I was thinking that, though we'd lost 3-0 (the 4th goal was in the last minute), none of the goals were my fault. And then I fucked up.
I didn't do enough during the game to cement my place anyway - my kicking was good, but i wasn't decisive or commanding enough. That was nobody's fault but my own. I just need to play consecutive games, but after yesterdays showing, i'll not have a chance!
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
SO FUCKING WHAT!?
I found myself saying this, with my voice raised, around every half hour from 6am until about 6pm.
The reason?
Jon Venables.
The evil, vile, disgrace of a human being, who, along with his mate Robert Thompson, abducted James Bulger on February 12th 1993. After abducting the poor little lad, they tortured and eventually murdered him. James was just under a month short of this 3rd birthday. Venables and Thompson were 10.
They were found guilty of his murder, and were sentenced to custody until adulthood. They were both released (on lifelong licence) in 2001, with new identities, aged 18.
Now, Venables is back in jail. I've heard 3 different reasons why. I don't know what has actually happened. I doubt anyone claiming to know actually does.
Right, back to the point of this post.
Every time i heard the news on the radio today, i hear about why we are not allowed to know Venables' new identity. And it was with this statement, that i couldn't help but say the words 'so fucking what'. We hear, that, if Venables' identity is revealed, there will be people out there who will try to murder him. The same people who threatened him upon his release in 2001.
So fucking what?
Let us know who this vile creature is. Then perhaps send Ross Kemp out with a vigilante crew to break the little fucker out of prison, and torture and kill him. Everyone would watch.
WHY does our justice system try to protect this being? He's not human. And, for as long as he's alive, he's a drain on each and every one of us. We pay our taxes to protect his identity, to feed him in jail, to keep a roof over his head. What's the point?
It makes me so angry. I know i'm not alone in this feeling, though.
Our country has gone to shit. Our priorities are all wrong. Drop everything to help the scum bags, and do everything to punish the folk who try to do everything right.
We have overcrowded prisons, which means scum roam the streets who shouldn't. We have sick, disgusting, vile animals in our prisons who don't deserve to be alive (including Venables). Too many murderers and paedophiles re offend when they managed to get out of prison. Again, Venables is an example. These people don't deserve to breath the same air as the rest of us. And I don't want to hear about how the people who commit these offences are 'ill'.
I am not scared to admit I would like to see the death penalty introduced for murderers and paedos. It'd help our 'overcrowding' problem, and give our justice system (which is a pushover) some spine and will almost be feared.
Sorry for going on.
Someone'll catch up with Venables (and, no doubt, Thompson) one day, and when they do, will you care?
(I know I've more than slightly contradicted myself, but i don't care)
Friday, 5 March 2010
Mouth, this is foot. Foot, meet mouth
I saw an old friend today for the first time in years.
Chatting away, he commented that he felt old knowing i had three kids. He then said he'd had to buy hair dye to cover up his greys...
me: 'Don't be such a fucking queer!'
him: 'The thing is, I am one'
I'm such a knob head
Saturday, 27 February 2010
And, while i'm having a moan...
Because we had a bit of snow recently, we now have more pot holes in the road than we have road.
It's ok, though, because the council have sent big vans driving round the streets with 3 blokes each one to.... spray paint a white line around the big holes.
Thank fuck for that. For a minute there, i thought that they might have stopped to fill them up. That wouldn't have made any sense, though, would it?
Our roads are awful, yet we pay more than anyone else to use them. Doesn't quite add up.
Why don't we get a load of our unemployed folk out there in pick ups with a bit of hardcore on the back and a few shovels, and get them to fill these holes up? It'd create thousands of jobs, and with the state of our roads, would be pretty continuous stuff. They could drive around for 8 hours a day, fill any pot holes they see and let the white spray paint brigade know to come and make them look all pretty afterwards. It'd save many tyres and suspension systems!
End of rant
*WARNING* Attractive women beware!
By the sounds of it, attractive girls/women will soon be banned from going out before 9pm.
This possible government initiative to put Nuts and Zoo up with the porn, and stop things like Hollyoaks* being on before 9pm is ridiculous. Young girls feel 'pressured' to look like the girls from the magazines and the TV show. What utter bollocks.
Basically, the way things are going, you're only going to be allowed out in daylight, or be on the TV before 9pm if you're fat and ugly. All this because you may upset all the fat ugly girls, who try their best to look like you but that bastard Mr Kipling won't let them.
The bit that annoys me most, though, is that girls don't listen to us blokes. We don't want you to look like the idiots in the magazines. They're just there for us to make comments about 'snapping them in half' (it's a man thing). If women actually listened to us, they would realise that we prefer 'real' women. With curves and all that goes with them.
Grrrr
(* i do not condone anyone watching Hollyoaks as it is a massive pile of wank)
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
Failure
Failure is what i'm pinpointing the being sad on.
Sometimes a little thing will happen that will make you stop and reflect on the 'bigger picture', as it were.
That is why i am sad.
I reflected.
I shouldn't be allowed to think, it's always been my downfall (especially in football).
Please don't judge me on these 2 posts. This is not me. I'm the one who's always ok, and i'm sure normal service will be resumed asap!
Sometimes a little thing will happen that will make you stop and reflect on the 'bigger picture', as it were.
That is why i am sad.
I reflected.
I shouldn't be allowed to think, it's always been my downfall (especially in football).
Please don't judge me on these 2 posts. This is not me. I'm the one who's always ok, and i'm sure normal service will be resumed asap!
I am sad
Today i am stupidly sad.
And i know that if i write stuff, it will just look like self pity. I know this, because that is exactly what it is. My self pity.
I am mostly grumpy. The things that really make me angry, most people wouldn't bat an eyelid. But this is not normal for me. This is a feeling of dreadful sadness, and i can't even talk to my friends or family about it because i don't know what to say.
I'm not a sad person. I like to give the impression that i am miserable. But those who know and love me will know that i'm happiest when i've something to moan and be miserable about. It's a family trait. I intend to pass my misery on to my eldest son =D
I'm trying to deal with a few things in my head right now. Some i can't explain. One or two things, i will try to.
I will start with Twitter. I loved Twitter. I probably still do. But it went bad, and it was as much my fault as it was anyone else. Some people know what happened. The reason i left was as much to do with feeling betrayed by 'friends' as much as anything else. They weren't real friends - i just assumed they were. I blame the internet for that. I do have real friends from Twitter though. Wonderful people. They know who they are. I love them.
I am asked, at least once a day, to go back to Twitter. The lengths people go to to try and tempt me back are crazy. I can't give examples, as you wouldn't believe me if i told you! I can't understand why it's so important i go back. I was very proud of all of my tweets up until the end of august, when my life started to get battered. Things happened that messed me up and i got involved in other things that i really shouldn't. Because of the fall out of this, i feel i can't go back. But i feel bad. It seems i am actually upsetting people by NOT going back. I don't want to make it sound like i am anything special. I'm really really not, but in a strange way, these people make me feel that i am.
Because of my crazy memory, i can remember most things i say. I can remember funny and interesting tweets (probably because there were so few!), but mostly i said 'minge'. Or 'vaginal discharge'. Or the #cleavagebarometer. And I even put prostitutes contact details on my page. Surely this isn't the kind of thing people like to see on Twitter?!
I am feeling teary right now. Back to being sad.
I really don't like feeling this sad. I've not eaten today. I'm how i was back at the end of August and I don't like it. But if i can lose another couple of stone, that would be handy!
Right now i feel like a failure (self pity alert). That is the only way i can describe it. No one will have read this far, though, so it doesn't really matter.
Until next time, goodnight, stay classy and thanks for stopping by xxx
And i know that if i write stuff, it will just look like self pity. I know this, because that is exactly what it is. My self pity.
I am mostly grumpy. The things that really make me angry, most people wouldn't bat an eyelid. But this is not normal for me. This is a feeling of dreadful sadness, and i can't even talk to my friends or family about it because i don't know what to say.
I'm not a sad person. I like to give the impression that i am miserable. But those who know and love me will know that i'm happiest when i've something to moan and be miserable about. It's a family trait. I intend to pass my misery on to my eldest son =D
I'm trying to deal with a few things in my head right now. Some i can't explain. One or two things, i will try to.
I will start with Twitter. I loved Twitter. I probably still do. But it went bad, and it was as much my fault as it was anyone else. Some people know what happened. The reason i left was as much to do with feeling betrayed by 'friends' as much as anything else. They weren't real friends - i just assumed they were. I blame the internet for that. I do have real friends from Twitter though. Wonderful people. They know who they are. I love them.
I am asked, at least once a day, to go back to Twitter. The lengths people go to to try and tempt me back are crazy. I can't give examples, as you wouldn't believe me if i told you! I can't understand why it's so important i go back. I was very proud of all of my tweets up until the end of august, when my life started to get battered. Things happened that messed me up and i got involved in other things that i really shouldn't. Because of the fall out of this, i feel i can't go back. But i feel bad. It seems i am actually upsetting people by NOT going back. I don't want to make it sound like i am anything special. I'm really really not, but in a strange way, these people make me feel that i am.
Because of my crazy memory, i can remember most things i say. I can remember funny and interesting tweets (probably because there were so few!), but mostly i said 'minge'. Or 'vaginal discharge'. Or the #cleavagebarometer. And I even put prostitutes contact details on my page. Surely this isn't the kind of thing people like to see on Twitter?!
I am feeling teary right now. Back to being sad.
I really don't like feeling this sad. I've not eaten today. I'm how i was back at the end of August and I don't like it. But if i can lose another couple of stone, that would be handy!
Right now i feel like a failure (self pity alert). That is the only way i can describe it. No one will have read this far, though, so it doesn't really matter.
Until next time, goodnight, stay classy and thanks for stopping by xxx
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