Cod is a DJ

I know, cheers.

Every little helps....give you a hernia

Went to Tesco earlier to get a few things. Probably because I was using a trolley instead of a basket, I began to overestimate how much I would be able to carry home with me. “ ‘Buy 4 tins of tomatoes, get 4 free’? Having some of that! 3kg value bag of pasta? Yes please! 1kg box of Corn Flakes? Makes financial sense! 3 litres of fruit juice for the price of 2? I’d be a fool to say no! Etc!”

I staggered about 100m from the store and realised that this was going to be a painful walk home. It was. I had to stop at regular intervals to readjust the bags/allow the blood to return my fingertips. As I staggered along I realised that I was actually grimacing while I walked. My mind wandered to seeing those events on ‘The World’s Strongest Man’ where Scandinavians carry barrels of concrete while pulling trucks uphill with their teeth.

The Mill on the Floss

Something happened to me on Friday evening that was just so ridiculous that I had to include it here. I was on my way to ‘Sausage fest II’ at Battersea Art’s Centre, and had been for some food with the rest of our group. Upon leaving the restaurant, I noticed that there was a bit of food stuck in my teeth. Instead of ignoring it like someone normal, my internal neuroses kick in: ‘If I don’t shift this blockage, it’s going to be bugging me all night and I won’t be able to relax and enjoy the comedy’. Fortunately, I’ve been aware of my irrational tendencies for a while and carry some Dental Floss in my bag. Christ….it seemed a normal thing to do when I put it in there. Writing it down makes me seem a bit mental. Anyway, it’s there so I used it. It was dark so I slipped out the floss and began some covert floss action as we walked down the street. I tried to be quick so that nobody would catch me in the – slightly disgusting – act of street flossing. Too late! John turned and exclaimed, “Are you flossing? Man! Is that cos you’re going out with a dentist? How under the thumb are you?! You carry floss!” While he was laughing I tried to cover my tracks by yanking the floss from between my teeth. Unfortunately, the floss didn’t dislodge smoothly, instead disintegrating into its component strands and leaving several of these behind. So now I’m walking – highly embarrassed – down Clapham High Street with food AND now floss wedged between my teeth. John has begun talking to someone else but floss fibres are waving around my mouth. Internal voices are now being raised: ‘I can’t just ignore this. It’s like having several hairs in my mouth. This will definitely interfere with my enjoyment of the comedy. Shit!’. There’s nothing else for it, I need to get my floss out again and attempt to dislodge the original dinner detritus along with the now marooned floss. So this time, like a member of the peloton taking a breather, I craftily drop to the back of our group and whip out my floss. I’m pleased to say that this attempt is successful – my mouth is cleared and I can relax. Thank God for that.

If I were to ever write a sitcom, this passage of events would probably feature in there. Although in my sitcom the second floss attempt would backfire too and the protagonist would wind up with half a washing line jammed between his molars. I phoned CP to tell her about my traumatic experience (particularly the stuff that John said) and all I got in response was ‘Ha ha! I don’t even carry floss!’.

I’m not proud of these events. I’m just including it here out of honesty, and perhaps as a form of therapy. And if that did happen in a sitcom, I would be the first to say ‘Yeah right, that would never happen.’ Well it can, and it did.

When blogs attack

Last night a pivotal moment was reached.

I dreamed about blogging. In the wider scheme of things I suppose there are far more worrying things to dream about and some harmless internet diary is not particularly noteworthy. But for me it was interesting as it marks the point that blogging has invaded my persona to the extent that it crops up in my unconscious thoughts. Perhaps Moon can provide some insight into this.

For those who wish to analyse these things (and I don't. I've only ever really paid much attention to one dream - a really vivid one where all my teeth fell out. It was horrible. I was walking along a corridor in the Leeds Psychology dept and my teeth started to just drop out. First one, then another, then loads of them. Neil King was on hand to help me down the corridor for assistance. Upon waking, I moved my tongue around my mouth and remember thinking 'Yes! Still got my teeth!' Thinking about it now brings back the unpleasant sensations it triggered. Shudder. And by that I mean the teeth thing, not dreaming about Neil King.) Where was I? Oh yeah, for those who wish to analyse these things, here is what I can remember about it:

I was on my computer and stumbled across another Akira blog. It wasn't his main one, it was a whole new one that he hadn't told me about (not sure how I found it). It was more of a website than a typical blog actually, and had a big picture on the main page. I think the picture was of a desert island or something. In the middle of the page it said 'green issues' (or something like that). There were 4 posts in total. The name of the site was the most interesting: I think it was thegleesite@blogspot.com I think Ak was using this site for gleeful messages. I remember being disgruntled that Ak had kept this one a secret. But that's about it.

There was other stuff in the dream too: CP was doing some decorating and for some reason needed to buy me some new shoes as part of the decoration project. They were black and there was some wire frame involved with them for some reason. I didn't like them much but felt awkward about telling her as she was paying for them.

Hmmm. That's all I can remember. Work that one out Sigmund. I'm not going to make a habit of writing dreams down here - that's one of the aims of Moon's blog (although there's yet to be any evidence of that ;o) )


Stuff to follow when I get around to it: Brixton windmill, celebrity sightings, other stuff that's a secret.

'He's fast, he's strong, he's one of Britain's pre-eminent psychiatrists... Raj Persaud, Raj Persaud'

5 a side last night. Still no sign of Dr. Persaud :(

"At least she didn't see my scrotal scar"

It's been a couple of weeks since I clocked anyone famous, and compared to my post-Christmas celeb spotting streak, that qualifies as near-drought status. I've been keeping my notebook up to date and will put up pics soon I promise.

Last night I ended up in the George after a work do and quickly spotted that on the adjacent table were 2 members of the Peep Show cast: object of Mark's affections 'Sophie', aka the original 'Bev' from those crappy Bev & Kev insurance ads, also from Look Around You; and, er, the shy student girl who Mark falls for when he returns to his old Uni.

Having learned from previous excruciating mistakes, I've refrained from approaching any of the celebs I've been spotting. So last night I took a sneaky photo on my mobile but other than that I left them in peace.

However, that was until I alerted another member of our group to their presence. He was extremely excited and at the end of the night introduced himself and asked them to sign his 'Predicting Health Behaviour' text book. We ended up having a big old chat, they happily revealed that a 4th series of the mighty Peep Show has been commissioned (filming kicks off in April I think) and they seemed pretty amazed to be recognised (after all, it can't be everyday that they get a popular Health Psychology textbook thrust towards them). I then threw my attempts at distant cool out of the window and also asked for autographs. A few scoops down, I decided that it would be a GREAT idea for them to sign my London mini-atlas. And not just anywhere, the very square that we were sat in. Genius! Of course, if I'd been doing that with everyone I spotted then B1 on p123 would now be an incoherent mass of ink.

Neighbourhood Watch

At the weekend Hackin & I had a walk down Electric Avenue. But this entry is not about Eddy Grant, nor the history of street lighting in Britain. No, the focus here is a poster that we came across next to the shops. Here it is:


Apologies for the poor quality but, for several reasons, I felt very uncomfortable taking that picture and wanted to get it done as quickly as possible. In case you can’t make out the text, it reads: “Beware he has AIDS. He will charm you”.


I’m writing this a few hours after taking that and am still uneasy about whether I should be doing this. I started tombolablog by accident, have never had any real aim or focus with it, and I’m still not sure what the point is. But one overriding factor has been to record things that I see and do that strike me in some way. In the majority of cases this will be something that makes me laugh, or something that I can turn into a joke. This poster stopped me in my tracks on Saturday, and I guess that’s why I’ve included it.

My favourite news story of the week

The British public are being given the chance to vote for their favourite wedding anniversary gift. The new survey, sponsored by Co-Op Funeral Services, aims to update the traditional list of gifts exchanged to mark wedding anniversaries. The organisers suggest that 21st century couples are more likely to exchange gifts made of Lycra or Teflon than the traditional linen, iron or coral.

The co-ordinator of the survey, Lucy Bodkins, explained, “We feel that the traditional list is outdated and doesn’t reflect the nature or personality of modern British couples. Although some people still like to give and receive items of silver and gold, the days of exchanging gifts made of willow or ivory are long gone. Today, we place more value on items such as decking or alcopops.” A spokesperson for the sponsors continued, “Co-Op Funeral Services is proud and excited to be associated with this survey. This is going to be an extremely exciting exercise and will really capture the imagination of the British people.”

If the bookmakers are to be believed, the traditional place of platinum as Britain’s best anniversary gift could be under threat: “Although there is still a lot of backing for the precious metals, we’ve recently seen a lot of support for items such as mp3s or Botox,” explained Bob Micklethwaite from Ladbrokes. “But it’s the lower reaches of the list that are likely to display the most change: bubble wrap, Velcro and couscous have all seen a flurry of bets in recent weeks.

But this does not phase Sir Charles Wymer, CEO of British Platinum. Sir Charles joked: “Platinum has always been considered the pinnacle, or, if you will, plateau of achievement, whether it be years of marriage, record sales, or credit cards. Trends may come and go, but platinum will remain and I fully expect it to retain its position at the top”.

The results of the poll will be broadcast in a live television special on Easter Monday. Hosts Anne Robinson and Elton Welsby will count down the new list, revealing to the nation what should be given to celebrate up to 70 years of marriage. They will be joined by a host of celebrities, including Michael Barrymore and Anthea Turner, who will reveal some hilarious and heart-warming stories about their own wedding anniversary experiences. The public are being asked to vote online. Voting forms can also be found at all branches of Ethel Austin.

Something for the weekend

Aside from the unexpected wee debate, it’s been a while since anything new appeared on here. And wouldn’t you know it, a bumper crop of entries turn up at once.

The lack of new entries on here has been on my mind for the last few days, particularly as Ak keeps reminding me. I've been trying to think of stuff to put up but all the ideas I've had have been ropey at best (e.g. on the tube the other day: "Bingo! 'Text messages I read over other people's shoulders!' That could work!" #1: 'Hi Sarka. Please start the video for me. It's the black remote.' Sadly I'll never know what came next: the guy was a very slow texter& I'd reached my stop. I briefly considered staying on anyway to be nosey but quickly realised the absurdity of this.

Anyway, here's some new stuff.....

These boots were made for scoring

Since leaving Leeds I’ve done zero exercise and this had been a cause of concern. I might get fat. Ha! But tonight, the silver boots were unleashed upon the hallowed polished boards of Brixton Recreation Centre.

Look at them! Rather snazzy, I think you’ll agree. One might even call them ‘bling’. A guy from the IOP books an hour of 5 a side every week and tonight was my first time going along. I was pretty nervous before playing for 2 reasons:

1. I’d never met any of the other players, and as my performances tend to fluctuate between ok and shocking, I was worried about looking crap.

2. Didn’t you see those trainers??? Who do I think I am? Paulo di Canio?

I really was nervous before playing – so much so that I managed to mess up the apparently simple act of saying my name. [There is a precedent here: I also managed to make a hash of saying my name when making my appearance on cult* ITV quiz show ‘The Machine’. Despite not letting me reshoot this bit, the producers took pity on me and this was not broadcasted].

However, I’m delighted to say that it went really well and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Kitted out in sky blue, Uwe Rosler era City kit, I bagged a hat trick (including 2 through the keeper's legs) & numerous assists, as well as hitting the post twice. I had hoped that IOP colleague Dr Raj Persaud might have made an appearance but it wasn’t to be. Maybe next week.

* For ‘cult’, read ‘late-night, low-budget trash’.

Admittedly, there isn’t a lot to this entry, but I was going to put it on just because I needed something new. But it leads neatly to my next piece….

"Fredrik, pass the loofah"

So I get back from footy feeling pretty knackered and sweaty and decide to have a bath. A quick recce of the bathroom reveals that my female flatmate doesn’t have any smellies that I can pinch so I make do with my shower gel. Here it is (apologies for the poor quality pic - when I used the flash, the glare from the tiles practically blinded me):

Now, let’s just take a closer look at that:

Take your eyes away from my glycerine-moisturised fingers for a minute and look at the name of that shower gel. Kurious?? What? Which marketing genius came up with that? Doesn't exactly conjure up the usual images that masculine toiletries go for: crashing waves, strength, primeval rugged brawn. Aquatonic....Lynx....Ice Dive....Wild Indigo....Kurious. “For the undecided, open-minded sportsperson!” You’re a highly paid professional sportstar, you need to get your kicks somehow, right Ashley? [that’s enough of that! Libel Ed.] According to the back of the bottle: “Sportstar Kurious Moisturising Shower Gel with it’s [sic.] distinctive masculine fragrance is enriched with pure Glycerine to leave your skin clean, fresh and invigorated”. Maybe it's for the more thoughtful sporting hero. Like Graeme Le Saux. Before you ask where you can buy some, I’m afraid that I’ve no idea. My parents brought it down for me last week. I think it might have been given to me at Christmas by a grandma. Maybe they had suspicions about me… perhaps with good reason judging by my quest to steal Claudia’s bath products.

A final point – if you’re going to call a shower gel ‘Kurious’, then you have to at least make it orange.

If anyone knows of a more absurdly named product, please share it.

"Hang on, isn't that......"

Don’t panic! I’ve not forgotten about my celebrity spotting duties. Quite the opposite, I’m now onto the second page of my notebook. But I’ll save this update for the next blog drought….

I wish I had a pot to piss in, I'd take it outside

I had a slightly unusual dilemma yesterday morning: I was on Brixton High Street, holding a pot of my own urine and didn't know what to do with it.

I should colour this one in a bit. I registered with a new GP last week and was booked in for a standard health check. Part of which required me to bring a urine sample. Unfortunately, on the morning of the appointment I slept in, only just leaving me enough time to shower and wee into a tube (not necessarily in that order). I dashed out of the house, ran to the appointment and ended up being 10 minutes late. I was told that this was too late - the nurse would be unable to see me and I would need to reschedule. So I'm stood at the reception, breathing heavily and arranging a suitable appointment in my diary. It was then that I remembered the special package in my coat pocket! 'Do you want that anyway?' I asked, waving the bottle at the receptionist.
'No,' came the reply.
'Ok', I mumbled and it went back into the pocket, along with a fresh tube for me to collect sample #2.

Back outside, I was confused. What would I do with my wee? For a few minutes I stood outside the surgery, walking a couple of steps, taking the bottle out of my pocket, putting it back, taking it out again. My internal dialogue went a bit like this:

"I could carry it to work and pour it down the toilet.....but I don't want to sit on the tube with a load of wee in my pocket! [Although I probably wouldn't be alone if I did choose to do this, judging by some of the people you see on there in the evening]. What if it burst in my pocket/bag? Urgh! My diary would go all pissy! ..... I could pour it away in the street......yes, I've relieved myself in the street before but that was after booze and seemed normal. Pouring a bottle of wee away in broad daylight would be weird...... I could drink it! There was a thing in the paper yesterday (
http://news.independent.co.uk/uk/health_
medical/article346805.ece) about the alleged health benefits of auto-urine therapy - anti-cancer properties! .... Don't be stupid! I'll just throw it in this bin. What if a tramp drinks it? Then that's their problem. And at least they won't get cancer. But I can't just leave it in a bin?! Yes, you can. You're going to be late for work. Leave it."

So I did.


* if anyone's playing spot-the-lyric from the title, award yourself 5 points if you went for 'Outside' by the Beta Band.
http://www.betaband.com/press/reviews-heroes-to-zeros.php#sunday-herald

What you talking 'bout Willis?

[whoever had 'under a fortnight' in the 'when will he use that title?' sweep - congratulations!]

Late last night I started to wonder what the chances would be of the owners of Willis towers actually giving me a room in there. Y'know, like a publicity thing: a real Willis lives here! Ohmigod! [It was late, and my mind was frazzled from too much Nintendo].

Anyway, I've looked them up. They're an insurance broker apparently, and there's some info on their spangly new building here: http://www.britishland.com/devwillisbuilding.htm
I can see the crane from my office. Woo! Go Willis!

The Willis website is here: http://www.willis.com/
If I were to ever get any good at computer stuff, I would redesign this page to look just like that. Maybe if I ask Ak nicely....

I'm looking for a new flatmate

...about 500 of them actually, as work nears completion on my new London pad:

Don't fancy carting a wardrobe up all those stairs though...

Tonight, Cat, I'm going to be.....

Cracking weekend, the Megabus providing the bread that surrounded my Leeds fun sandwich.

Maybe it's a Monday thing, maybe the initial rush is beginning to wear off, but I'm struggling to think of things to put up here now. Whereas last week EVERYTHING was a potential blog piece, now nothing is. Perhaps I should ask Ak how to keep the thrill in a long-term blog relationship.

The title refers to a thought that struck me while watching TV on Saturday evening:
are contestants on 'Stars in Their Eyes Kids' allowed to appear as Gary Glitter?

A monkey on CP

Nipped to the bookie's at lunch. I hope I'm right!

Little red writing book

When I got in last night there was a package waiting for me (left). Note the use of 'Dr. Willis'. Still not used to that :o)

I wasn't expecting anything exciting and feeling that it was quite a chunky package, I figured that it was probably the replacement parts I had requested for my bed. [Not very interesting story - assembled my new bed a couple of weeks ago and there were two bolt-type things missing. I'd already thrown away my old bed when I realised this so I built it anyway. 3 weeks on it's still standing so they can't be that important, right? Anyway, Benson's for Beds, you claimed to be sending the replacements. Where are they eh?].

So I was already mentally working out where I had left the Allen key when I opened the envelope. Inside, however, there were not two bolt-type things. Instead, there was a small red notebook (right). There was nothing else in the envelope, no note or indication from who this might be from. Feeling slightly confused, I opened the notebook and on the inside cover there were some instructions.

Checking back onto the envelope for clues, there was no postmark and no indication of where it could have come from. I carefully studied the handwriting but no joy there either. In these days of texts and emails, I realised that we hardly ever see other people's handwriting anymore.

You may be wondering why I have been sent this spotter jotter. Since moving to London a few weeks ago I have clocked [quick finger count] 5 - 7 celebrities (I'll explain why it's not a definite number another time). I've been quite excited by this and eagerly telling people ever since.

Anyway, using my detective skills, I've narrowed it down to a couple of possibilities. Both of whom are probably going to read this. Whoever the phantom sender be, thank you so much! This is possibly the bestest package I have ever received and the anonymity makes it even better. I feel like a spy! My housemate was impressed too.

At present, the book remains blank (right). But I shall record the celebrity spots already collected in my new Record of Celebrity Spots and keep you updated with my progress.

Thanks!
xxxxx

News just in

Lapsang souchong really is not very nice.

I tried it for the 1st time a couple of years ago at Moulin's. Didn't like it.

Just given it another go during coffee time: yuk. It's like drinking a bonfire.

:o(


EDIT:
You can find out about horrible smoky tea here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lapsang_souchong

Didn't want no yam, didn't want no ham, just some good old fashioned chips

'ain't no chippys in Brixton, codfishman on strike*


It was Friday night, and I fancied fish and chips. Being new to the area, I did my homework and a quick google of 'chip shops in Brixton' provided 2 close to my home. The first, Arthur's Plaice (the classics will never die) was well within chip-cooling distance of my house. To be on the safe side, I also checked out the 2nd option, just in case Arthur's was one of those classy chippys that are so popular that they can afford to close before 7pm. And I was glad I did - this had to be a sign! 'JB's fish and chips'. Man alive....these must be the finest fish 'n' chips one could ever consume! Just imagine the juicy macronutrients packed within...... I was drooling at the thought.

So off I trot, past the scary punks & goths on their way to see Bauhaus at the Academy, and to where JB's should be, eagerly anticipating the salt n vinegar bedecked delights that await. Disaster! The sign remains, but the shop had given way to a Mexican cafe.

Fortunately, I'd noted the directions to Arthur's Plaice. So, weaving back through the punks and touts, I made my way back down Brixton Hill. Must be near it now....here we go. Nightmare! 'Closed for refurbishment' declared the window. No idea when that message was left, but the place looked long-dead to me. Anyway, now that I think about it, exactly how much refurbishment does a chippy need? Put up new posters from Pukka Pies once a year and clean out the Insect-o-cutor every couple of months and that's it surely? Whatever, Arthur's Plaice was closed and I was running out of options.

By this point it was about 9pm and I was pretty hungry. Although I had food in, I didn't fancy cooking anything and wanted a quick tea so I could do more work. 'There must be a chippy here somewhere - after all, Brixton is "rapidly gentrifying"
(>http://www.londontown.com/LondonPC/sw21az.html).
So out came the handy pocket atlas (thanks again Ak) and I set off towards Herne Hill.

Chicken shack....Somalian restaurant....Curry Delight....there are loads of takeaways in Brixton. And I mean LOADS - it's like Hyde Park on MSG. But there was absolutely no sign, anywhere, of a traditional fish and chip shop. Running out of ideas, I texted my housemate: 'Are there any decent chippys near house?'. 'Afraid not' came the reply. At approx 9.30pm, after an hour of fruitless wandering, I gave up. Turned around and headed home to see what I could produce from my cupboards.

One way of looking at the whole sorry event is that I may have located a potential business opportunity. The growing number of gentrified folk in Brixton must need somewhere to cater for their old-fashioned fish n' chip needs after all. Ladies & gentlemen, once I can find a suitable location, produce a business plan etc etc, the 'Hand of Cod' will be born.

PS
If anyone can provide a solution to my Brixton chippy deficit, please get in touch.

* Apologies to the Vibrations (I think) - Ain't no greens in Harlem