Friday 27/05/2011: BBNO

Yesterday got a lot better after I left my last blog post. During my lunch break I saw Chris Moyles outside a cafe tucking into a duo of meat-filled paninis. He looked disgruntled, and certainly not as if he was in the mood for sharing. Next to his plate was an ominously large pot of mustard. I love working next the BBC Radio studios. I regularly get to see my favourite Radio DJs going about their everyday business. Reg Yates is a regular at the Pret a Manger on New Cavendish Street. He usually gets the ‘sandwich of the week’ accompanied by a strong Americano. Staying on trend is obviously important in his line of work, be it keeping in step with the nation’s musical tastes or the sandwich fillings currently favoured by hungry media workers. I tried to introduce myself to him once, but it didn’t go down too well. He was in our favourite Pret fingering a Crunchy Hummus Bloomer, when I crept up behind him and whispered some of my favourite Rasta Mouse impressions into his ear. He seemed genuinely frightened at first, then pulled an angry face and called me a ‘fass’.

I am now genuinely amped about Jon’s BBNO tonight! (I have never used to word ‘amped’ before; and am unsure about it tbh). I even hit the gym last night to make sure I’m looking extra pumped tonight. I managed 4K on the treadmill and lost count of the amount 10 KG reps I did! My beach body is really coming along now. The other day I was squat thrusting in the living room, and my girlfriend came in and said that I looked like Jean-Claude Van Damme! I still have to get Jon a present though. Seeing that we are meeting in Covent Garden I think I may hit up Cybercandy and buy him some wacky sweets. Jon is seriously into his candy, so I think a bumper bag of peanut butter M&Ms will go down a treat. I once witnessed Jon demolish an entire pack of Murray mints in a single sitting. He was pretty proud of himself until the laxative effects of excessive mint consumption kicked in.

Thursday 26/05/2011: Bored

Out of my mind with boredom at the office today. Generally don’t mind Thursdays, but it’s not even lunch yet and I’m struggling. Usually I’m vibeing for Friday by now… Was so bored this morning I deliberately spilt a mug of piping hot tea all over myself in order to generate some excitement within the office. The tea stunt backfired badly, as the health and safety bloke was lurking behind our stationary cabinet when the spillage occurred. Before I could protest he was on me with his wet wipes, and he managed to get five crotch rubs in before I could force him off. The wet wipes left a soapy aftermath on my trousers. Why he thought wet wipes were appropriate is beyond me. Everyone knows a damp tea towel is the way to go when a hot drink is spilt on another human being.

While he was scrubbing my crotch I clocked the shoddy workmanship of his hair piece, and a waft of stale allspice rose from his scalp, stinging my nostrils. The collar of his shirt was yellowed by years of excessive perspiration and own-brand detergent. There is no excuse for this type of thing in the Primark age. You can get a decent work shirt for £4 and an entire suit for £20! Yet here he is walking around in a heavily stained shirt, and a pair of mustard slacks with a 30 inch waistband (he isn’t kidding anyone, his paunch is out of control). Divorced, middle-aged men make me sad.

I know this time tomorrow I will be vibeing because it’s my friend Jon’s birthday. He has organised a BNO (Boy’s Night Out) and I think it may get a little tasty. For a while I was calling it the BBNO (Birthday Boy’s Night Out) but Jon said that was lame, so I stopped. I don’t think he realises how hurtful he can be. The night will start at 6pm in Covent Garden, where the City Boys (Me, Jon and George) will meet for a few cold ones. After that we will be travelling back South to Bedrock then Bibas for a double dose of Bromley. Not sure if we will be hitting the Vodka Red Bulls or the Jägerbombs. Jon will probably want both, but I’m not having that. One thing is for sure, I will be making sure that he stays off the JägerJons.

Really looking forward to seeing George tomorrow. I haven’t seen him for a while, and feel like I’m missing out. We used to hang out all the time, but then he got himself a girlfriend. He hasn’t looked back since. For a flavour of what George is about check out his blog, ‘Blogzville’. It covers poetry, travel, the hustle/bustle of the PR industry and ethnic music. I’m a little bit jealous to be honest as it blows my blog out of the water. All I can think to talk about are fictional paedophiles and eating at McDonald's.

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.

Jon's birthday treat

I'm using the bank holiday as an excuse for the lack of action on the blog this week. I currently lack Internet access at home, as one of my flatmates has managed to break my laptop charger as a result of a emotionally charged 24 hour pornography binge (apparently he 'fell in love' with BellaDonna). Soon after my charger got bruck, my other housemate fucked off to Morocco so he could gad about in a Fez. He has deemed it appropriate to password-lock his laptop while he is out of the country. Such drastic actions were probably taken in order to prevent a repeat of the 'porn overload' incident that Jon perpetrated on my laptop.

While I did have Internet access at work yesterday, I was so tired I could barely stop myself from passing out at my desk, let alone muster the energy to provide any hilarious musings for the blog. I'm still feeling a bit rinsed so I have decided to keep the hilarity to a minimum in this post.

To tide you over, above is a picture of the motor we will be renting for Jon's birthday this weekend. I am sure you will agree that it will serve as quite the babe magnet. We emailed Cadburys to see if they wanted to assist us in implementing a boisterous publicity stunt that would complement the weekend's celebrations. Jon wanted to procure a sack of cream eggs and hollow out their creamy centre. In place of the sugar rich yolk, we would fill the eggs with contraceptive pills. The publicity stunt would consist of us driving through the streets of Deptford in our eggmobile, lobbing our estrogen laden treats at unsuspecting 'hot chicks' and/or destitute alcoholics. BANG! See you on page 3 of Monday's Metro.

Jäger Bombaclarts

Today, my housemate Jon has been complaining about some kind of Jägerbomb induced heart palpitations that he has recently been afflicted by. My man has always had a penchant for the German digestif, but in the last year or so things have gotten out of hand. A particularly unsavory incident occured at the Lewisham Fox and Firkin recently, when my good friend demanded that someone serve him a 'JägerJon'. Bemused staff eventually cobbled together the gruesome cocktail, in which the energy drink that would usually be employed in a Jägerbomb is replaced by milk. Watching Jon down this hideous concoction was one of the darkest points in our relationship to date. The picture above captures a scene that I have become very familiar with (Jon is the hatless character with blonde hair and a winning smile.)

Before you make the mistake that I did and cry 'Pussyclart!', try not to underestimate the power of this potent beverage. Jon is just one of many gullible punters who have crashed and burned after being beckoned on to the rocks by this sickly siren. For the next week I'm going to convert our flat into a makeshift rehab centre. Jon's two defining passions, Jägerbombs and Cadbury's cream eggs are off the menu, and in their place I will be introducing the Janice Battersby endorsed detox regime. You will be back to your high-kicking best in no time Jonny!

Below are just a few examples of the damage being done by the bastard brew that has been the bane of Jon's recent existence: