Pet Peeve #9

Strangers who deem it appropriate to make unprovoked, insulting remarks.


Whilst walking through Deptford on Monday I was given some sound, yet slightly upsetting advice by a local 'character' who managed to loudly slur: "lose the glasses mate, they make you look like a twat." This unprovoked taunting was all the more hurtful because it was delivered by an inebriated man wearing a salmon pink polo shirt. As he sauntered into the distance chuckling to himself, I clocked that his shirt had 'Peewee No 1' emblazoned on the back of it. Way to celebrate a notorious celebrity nonce pal. To add insult, the random cockend was wearing glasses as he delivered his remark, a fact that he seemed oblivious to. Talk about throwing stones from glass houses.

After being subjected to repeated instances of random street abuse and drive-by heckling, I have been rendered paranoid and hypersensitive. Just a minute ago a female colleague said that I looked "very rock'n'roll today". I have absolutely no idea whether she was being sarcastic (to be fair I am wearing jeans today, despite working in an office that adheres to a strict no denim policy. KERRANG!)

On the topic of upsetting incidents, I have been informed that later today I am going to have to sport a long-sleeved t-shirt that bares the slogan 'i can help' [sic] on its front. This unnecessary, but severely demeaning garment will be worn as I reprise my role as dweeb chaperone at an IT event. Previous dealings with computer orientated individuals have proved less than enjoyable. To get through the event I am going to refer to everyone as 'chip', and will greet all visitors with a strong handshake and an overzealous back slap. The kind of chronic nerd that I will be dealing with loathes human contact.

It's not all doom and gloom though, as I have some compulsory work drinks to attend this evening which have been organised to mark the departure of a beloved member of staff. If anyone fancies getting in on the 2-for-1 cocktail shenanigans, I'll be the slightly irate rockstar propping up the bar at 'Potions'.

Sexy on Fire

Had the misfortune of being on the Jubilee line at just after 11pm yesterday. The O2 arena was playing host to guitar donning Chippendales, Kings of Leon. Subsequently, a plethora of doughy thirtysomething men in plaid shirts converged on to the train at North Greenwich. They had obviously made prompt exits after realising that a plaid shirt 'doth not make ye a hunk', and that any babes present at the show were not in the mood for copulating with recruitment consultants from Penge.

Maybe the single laydeez that these would be sex pests were looking to 'bone' had popped into one of O2's numerous bar and grills for a cheeky cocktail. Certain laydeez would be nurturing the implausible belief that the dreamboat KOL bassist had singled them out for meaningful eye contact during Sex on fire. Maybe, just maybe, young Jared would pop into Las Iguanas for a chilled bottle of Desperado and a blowjob. STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED.

On my sweaty carriage, which at North Greenwich had become tangibly saturated with sex hormones, there was also a smattering of bland, gloomy couples wordlessly resenting the evening they had just spent together. They could have been at the show, or they could have been tucking into an American Hot plus dough balls at Pizza Express. It makes no difference. The O2 is teeming with examples of this breed of couple, each pair linked by a limp, loveless handhold. Look in the window of the Haha Bar and grill, and you soon realise that whoever named the eatery was exercising a keen sense of irony.

Family club

This will be the one and only time I discuss this on the blog, but I am a Charlton Athletic fan. For months now I have avoided all mention of 'the anoraks' due to the consistently inept displays produced by the team. Over the past couple of years, supporting Charlton has been no more than a process of gradual resignation to the fact that we are once again a crap club. I have been going to games regularly for 15 years and the season just gone has been the worst one I that have ever experienced. I should have known that it would be a terrible year when I clocked the pair of oddballs occupying the seats immediately in front of me. It was a mother/son duo (at the football? Come on mate), each individually wrapped in their own tartan blanket. You need to take into account that it was a mild September afternoon, and a light jacket was all that was required. Throughout the course of the game it became clear that the son (who appeared to be in his early forties) was not suffering from any kind of mental handicap. He was just an enormous nerd.

You can tell a lot about a club by its fans, and for that very reason Charlton will always be a shit team. This list of 'celebrity' Charlton Athletic fans says it all:

Glenn Tilbrook - Front man from Squeeze. Nothing wrong with that.
Dave Berry - Odious tosser who is married to the Aryan Sugababe.
Gary Bushell - Bigoted berk who writes for The Sun.
Jim Davidson - Bigoted comedian who loves a good racial/homophobic slur.
Steve Davis - Snooker player. As far as I'm aware, he's not a bigot.
Michael Grade - Chief Executive of ITV. Looks like Jerry Springer.
Charlie Connelly - Travel writer and broadcaster. Don't really know who this cunt is.
Karl Howman - Actor (Not really an actor, just the boob from the Daz adverts).
Steve Rider - Bland ITV Sport presenter, widespread suspicion that 'he' has neither male or female genitalia. Just a smooth fleshy area.
Alan White - Drummer, formerly of Oasis.
Steve White - Drummer for Paul Weller (brother of the bloke above).
Lee Ryan - Rat-faced singer from boy band Blue
Shaun Williamson - Actor with misspelled first name, famous for his portrayal of Barry Evans on Eastenders.

During my time as a Charlton fan three of the above names have been paraded on the Valley pitch; where they had to endure an underwhelming bout of lukewarm applause from the home fans, which is then promptly drowned out by the sustained verbal abuse emanating from the away stand. First person to guess the three pitch invaders correctly wins a Mitre match ball signed by Carl Leaburn.

Training day

Yesterday was spent residing in the hell of professional/personal development. My department was forced into spending an entire day working together on how to achieve our personal and professional goals. At 9.30 am we entered room C2.15 and were greeted by 2 giant thermos flasks, a tray of individually packed oat-based biscuits and 2 slightly unhinged professional consultants. It transpired that we were to be lead on our journey to success by a rock climbing hippy, and a portly woman in an Aer Lingus hostess jacket. Clearly no expense had been spared.

I spent the next 8 hours alternating between both lying and talking out of my arse (they are different disciplines), and it was fucking exhausting. After being bombarded by unnecessary acronyms and a stream of meaningless sentences consisting of nonsensical terms such as "horizon scanning", I was a broken man. At the end of the session I had been reduced to reassuring my colleagues that I would be taking "personal ownership of both my team and my personal goals." I then went home, crawled into the shower and wept for half an hour.

To make up for yesterday's lapse, I have been spending significant periods of time on Ebay looking for a pair of shorts. I have not made a single bid.

FILMS

After being inspired by my flatmate's recent screenwriting exploits, I have started developing a few film projects of my own. I hope to secure funding for at least one of these bad boys over the next couple of months:


Uganda Panda: Slapstick Biopic based on the adventures of zany Ugandan dictator Idi Amin, with a blacked up Adrian Chiles succeeding Forest Whitaker in the title role. This casting decision was made due to the numerous similarities between the pair. Idi Amin developed a buffoonish, deceptively light hearted persona which partially obscured his inherently despicable nature. Adrian Chiles has managed to build a healthy television career by using similar tactics. One key scene will consist in Amin sharing a tube of Pringles with Colonel Gadaffi (played by "Macho Man" Randy Savage) while they bond over their shared anti-Semitic leanings.


Conkers: Heart warming tale of a mousy, working class lad from Hull who has a dead mum. The boy will be called George and will be played by some drippy kid from the local area, his emotionally distant father will be played by Dean Windass (making his acting debut, go Dean!) Due to his inhibited social skills and lack of sporting ability, George struggles to make friends at school. However his fortunes take a positive turn when he spots Pete Postlethwaite (playing himself) crouched beneath a chestnut tree in his local park. Pete takes George under his wing and teaches him the art of conkers. George goes on to win the annual national conkers competition that's taking place in the 'Big Smoke'. George's victory is temporarily soured due the sudden death of Pete Postlethwaite (who has a heart attack when he sees the price of a pint in London! Lol!). Luckily, George quickly regains his spirits when he realises that he is no longer a boy. He is a man.


Dangerous Blind Man:
This will be a remake of the Nollywood orginal, which movingly depicted one man's quest to find out why his wife hates him so much. I am trying to succeed where Gus Van Sant failed with 'Psycho', as each scene will be a meticulous word for word copy of the original, the only difference being the addition of a few recognisable names. The cuckolded protagonist will be played by Richard Gere. His promiscuous wife, by Sandra Bullock. Pierce Brosnan will reprise his role from Mrs Doubtfire to play the new sleazeball on the scene. I have great hopes for this film, and imagine it becoming a cult classic like Withnail and I. I've already thought of a fun drinking game that annoying people can play while watching the film. Every time Richard Gere says 'Yes boi', the audience needs to have a drink. This game will capture the imagination of students, and will take campuses across the country by storm. Controversy will soon follow when an overzealous chemistry undergraduate from Warwick falls into an alcohol induced coma after playing the game.

Man dem shower

An England fan has already been shot in the build up to Kazakhstan/England game this Saturday. Thanks Sacha Baron Cohen, this is what happens when you make a funny film portraying a nation as a hotbed of simple, incestuous rapists. Also, while we're on the topic, thanks for provoking the introduction of 'mankini' into the lexicon of contemporary popular culture. I can't think of a more intrinsically annoying word, it has the same effect on me as when people say 'chav'. It's the sort of word that makes Adrian Chiles lips curl into a shit eating, 'down with the kids' grin when he manages to self-consciously fit it into some smarmy utterance.

Apparently, the England fan in question was shot in the leg after refusing to stop singing, despite being asked to stop by a local punter. Was that 4th consecutive rendition of 'Is this the way to Amarillo' really worth it mate?

'Sha la la la la la BANG!'

I hope it was one of those bellends in the brass band who got taken out. Anyone who brings a Tuba to a football game is a cunt. That's just physics. Maybe he was wearing a lime, green mankini while he got shot. I bet he felt like a right tool in A+E, which in Kazakhstan probably consists of a toothless cretin holding a bucket of TCP. And a rusty saw.

Glasto

My housemate Jon's dad won 2 tickets to Glastonbury last week, and Jon has kindly offered me the spare ticket. But with Jon being Jon he has attached several conditions to this offer:

1. No more mentions of his love for cream eggs on the blog.
2. Removal of the artificial dating profile I created for him on Guardian Soulmates.
3. I must never refer to Glastonbury as 'Glastonbury', but only use the abbreviated form 'Glasto'.
4. I must prepare his favourite meal for him every weekday until the festival commences on the 25th of June. (His favourite meal is Young's fish supper, followed by a Cadbury's cream egg for pudding).
5. I must star as a highly strung, yet humorous drug addict in a play that he is writing about urban living. The play is called 'The sound of the street' (TBH it shits on any of Noel Clarke's output).
6. At the festival I must let him sit on my shoulders as he shouts 'Bonkers' for the duration of Dizzee Rascal's set.
7. Even if the weather isn't inclement, I must join him in getting caked head to toe in mud/human excrement in order to pose for a memorable photo. When I asked him where we would obtain the mud, he chuckled to himself and said "When there's a will, there's a way" and left the room.

I have agreed to all of these criteria.