Eighty-Five

I only wrote 85 blog posts in 2013. Shocking. At this rate, I'll soon be writing fewer blog posts each year than I have legs.

Of course, quantity isn't important. It's that other one; the other 'q'. I can't remember what it is. Quastity? Yeah. I think that's it.

I start every year like this.

Hey, I've written the word 'quastity' before! I really am just repeating myself.

I should just post URLs for every new entry, referring people to past occasions when I've felt similar. I bet I can do more than 85 in a year.

***

I've tried to think of some original content, but have failed. So, instead, here's a list of 85 things that I intend to do at least 85 times this year:

1) Shave
2) Sneeze
3) Make cereal
4) Use Google maps
5) Laugh
6) Sing
7) Yawn
8) Smile
9) Eat pasta
10) Do a decent impression of a celebrity
11) Ignore a text
12) Wait for the green man at a pelican crossing
13) Stub my toe on a coffee table
14) Put on left sock
15) Put on right sock
16) Take off left sock
17) Wash up a colander
18) Answer the phone
19) Think about getting my hair cut
20) Give a tiny amount to charity
21) Type my name
22) Listen to Jeff Stelling inhale before asking a question
23) Dance
24) Shiver
25) Dream
26) Swear
27) Scroll down my Tumblr feed
28) Swallow
29) Whine
30) Drink tea
31) Lose a game of FreeCell
32) Ask where my keys are
33) Wince
34) Take off right sock
35) Fume
36) Sigh
37) Lounge
38) Limp
39) Play a bad version of Blackbird on the guitar
40) Correct someone's grammar
41) Drink milk
42) Shampoo
43) Wave
44) Stir
45) Clench my fist
46) Put on my coat
47) Make a self-deprecating remark
48) Turn off my alarm
49) Politely agree with something
50) Think about death
51) Doodle an eye
52) Attend a meeting
53) Cough
54) Abandon a blog post half-way through
55) Tweet about myself
56) Read an AV Club article that I'm not all that interested in
57) Look for a heron
58) Walk over a cattle grid
59) Panic
60) Check my pockets
61) Buy porridge
62) Lean
63) Crouch
64) Make unrealistic plans
65) Send an email to a woman
66) Go back to sleep
67) Forget someone's name
68) Insult someone on the TV
69) Check Facebook
70) Smile at a dog
71) Stumble over my words
72) Read a comic with She-Hulk in it
73) Go to the Co-Op
74) Make a suggestion
75) Do a Scottish accent
76) Grin
77) Make a terrible pun
78) Nod
79) Tidy up
80) Give an ironic thumbs up
81) Give someone the gist of something
82) Bluff
83) Open curtains
84) Salute
85) Smell popcorn

Boy. 85 is a lot more things that you'd think.

The list would have been much, much easier if I didn't insist on listing things that I might actually do 85 times.

I could have come up with 85 hilarious, surreal, comedic items that would have been fun to write and even more fun to read!

But I stuck to my 85 tedious guns.

I'm not going to proofread them. There may be duplicates on the list. We'll never know.

Still, at least I know what to do for the next entry:

85 things that I intend to do at least 85 times this year (but not really)

And from there, I can take it in any number of directions. Literally any number.

Drip

A new year. A fresh start.

A clean slate. A blank canvas.

A bright future.

A different tack.

Like the tides: wet, boring, eternal, ruining sandcastles.

Welcome to 2012.

LISTEN TO THE FUN-KLAXON

***

I smell bleach. The smell is coming from some bleach. I've been cleaning. The windows were pretty straightforward, all grimeless and smooth now. The toilet was a delight as usual.

I decided to tackle the black mould around the bath. That was a challenge. Most of it was there before we moved into this flat. We've made several attempts to remove it, but nothing has worked. That mould is perennial. You can't scrub away nature. It's like trying to suck up a glacier with a straw. Futile and entertaining.

But I've redoubled my efforts, and have covered it in bleach. I left it there for a couple of hours, then scrubbed with an old toothbrush and a sponge. I think I might have made some progress, but it's difficult to tell. I'll wait until Lucy's home. We need fresh eyes.

My guess? 40% of the mould has gone. Not bad. Not bad at all. Maybe I should try more bleach. Or bleach for longer.

I smell bleach. Still.

I rinsed it away, but I think some residue might be lingering. Or it could all be in my head. The bleach, I mean. It could all be in my head, dissolving the brain mould that blackens the edge of my subconscious.

That has been my day so far: bleaching, scrubbing, rinsing, drinking, dancing, fencing, blanching, beaching. I know how to spend my free time.

I'm feeling slow. I want to get carried away with something, but I seem to be resolutely stationary. I'd like to charge down a blind alley, with only hope as my compass. But all the alleys are too brightly lit.

I want to stop writing in this style. It's not helping anyone. I need longer sentences.

A long time ago, when men were men and women were also, before the time of trains and cars that change colour under the hot tap, before anyone had heard of the hover-factory, between two significant epochs and underneath and obscure war, a boy lived in a tumbledown yacht in the south Atlantic, working as a cabin boy for three shillings per sixpence, learning a trade, seeing the world, carving a niche and generally annoying the rest of the crew.

Maybe I don't need longer sentences.

I just found the nail clippers! I looked at the shelf, and there they were! Finally! My long search is over!

You know when you're making yourself a glass of tap water, by turning on the tap and catching the water in some kind of receptacle, such as a beaker or your own cupped hands? You know how you run the tap for a little while first, because you want it nice and cold and clear?

You know that, right?

Well, you know that first bit of water - the non-cold, non-clear, tepid, scummy, pipe-lurking, waste water?

That's this blog post. I'm just running it through the system, so that by about March, everything will be pure and refreshing. So bear with me. I know you're thirsty.

Party Poppers

Sick of reminiscing? Sick of prognosticating?

Of course. Of course.

But you can't be sick of laughing. No-one could be. Unless they were actually physically sick from laughing. Which can happen. Especially with my track record of vomitous hilarity.

There were too many full stops in that paragraph; I'll attempt to rectify that with }various other t/ypes of punctuation?

Yes. I will.

Let's drop the curtain on 2011 by covering the curtain in hilarious recent tweets and lowering it onto a clown or something.

That's right! It's time for another edition of:

Sieved Chucklemakers

***

POEM: Beverley // drank heavily

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As a child, I revolutionised playground taunting. You might say I was an entrepreneur-neur ne-neur-neur.

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Silence is golden. As is crème brûlée. But you're only allowed one of them in the library.

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I haven't given out any Christmas cards this year, because all my friends are terrified of rosy cheeks (and card).

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My favourite worldwind instrument is the globoe.

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Whenever someone's in the toilet cubicle and I go to use the urinal, I signal my presence by shouting "You should be ashamed of yourself!"

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Let's call James Spader James Spader.

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I'm playing with a spinning top from a Christmas cracker, and will continue to do so until there's peace in the Middle East.

***

You can please some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can't.

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Reality Show Pitch: THE LITTLEST RICHARD - Little Richard searches for the world's smallest person called Richard. Dicks don't count.

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Film Pitch: COE-PILOT - When a plane starts to crash, Sebastian Coe must come out of retirement and run one of the engines or something.

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Sitcom Pitch: RAISING THE STAKES - Anti-gravity vampire adoption drama.

***

Cave paintings were found up until 20,000BC when prehistoric man finally perfected the cave and moved on to other subjects (fruit bowls etc)

***

Lucy's job today has involved reading this quote: "…never go forward, never go forward, cries out the soul infected with Mad Crab Disease."

***

Right. I'm going to knuckle down. And buckle down. And hunker down. And huckle down. I'm a PROFESSIONAL. It says so on my Post-it poncho.

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My Hugh Grant impression is far better than his impression of me.

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My family has agreed that we won't exchange presents this year; only caveats.

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Take a deep breath. Bury it in your back garden. Then, when all oxygen is depleted, dig it up. Learn from the squirrels.

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I just found out that someone I know just found out that someone they know just found out about it.

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I'm afraid of deer. But it doesn't come up often enough for it to be much of an issue.

***

Anyone who drives an expensive sports car only does it because they have a TINY child who loves sports cars.

***

"I dunno. It's just all of a sudden, everything started clicking into place..." - The World Precision Clicking Champion.

***

Never pour salt on a person's wounds. Unless it's Lot's wife, in which case it won't make much difference.

***

I was brought up to have respect for the police. Though that might have just been a way for my dad to justify his truncheon collection.

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POEM: Julius Tafel // won falafel // in a raffle

***

I was reading an interesting book about bookmarks, but lost my place.

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The sun sinks below the horizon are the best place to wash your suns.

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I like to sneak into the New Look dressing rooms and shout "YOU'RE GOING TO REGRET THAT!" to shoppers and myself at regular intervals.

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"Excuse me, are you Desperate Measures?" "Yes." "There's someone on the phone for you. Something Times, I think."

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I've spent all afternoon curling ribbon and now my typewriter is fucked.

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The Final Score vidiprinter was designed by Anthony Burgess.

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BRAY KING NEWS: The coronation of The World's Loudest Donkey has just taken place in Madrid.

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Watching A Christmas Carol. I'm definitely #teamjacobmarley

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There's only one thing I hate more than pointless secrecy.

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I know the eyes in the back of my head like the back of my hand.

***

Rumours of cheating at the World Backwards Ejaculation Championships have been corroborated after one of the competitors came forward.

***

I always carry a tiny gas leak around wherever I go, to give me advanced warning of canaries.

***

My new shower gel has made my skin so soft, I keep slipping off the furniture. I've had to sit in a bucket of sand.

***

I should probably have taken the spade out, but there just wasn't time. If you want traction, you must take action.

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I'm worried my hands might be ageing faster than the cryogenic glove salesman said they would.

***

I'm going to breathe in some of the night sky. Don't worry, there will still be plenty left over.

***

Got a bit carried away and nearly choked on a moonbeam. An owl saw me and rolled his eyes 360°. Nocturnality is tough.

***

I like to get a single bran flake and pretend it's a tiny, drab pappadam. I then discard it, along with my thimble full of chutney.

***

Drizzle always makes me think of a damp Snoop Dogg.

***

Sean Connery travels everywhere by limousine, so that if he needs to stay the night somewhere, he can sleep on the chauffeur-bed.

***

It's not nice out there. I saw a man dressed as Santa trying to drown himself in a puddle. I helped. It was the least I could do.

***

When the word 'obsolete' becomes obsolete, how will we know?

***

My invisible little clown pixie-friend says I need to start taking myself more seriously.

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POEM: I am // the man of a thousand faces // or so Faye says...

***

When writing a play, you should always make sure the stage directions state VERY CLEARLY if a character is entering a competition.

***

Things aren't looking good for my barbecue this afternoon, due to my lack of a garden, a barbecue or any desire to host a barbecue.

***

I've wasted thousands of pounds on sausages and parasols.

***

"Every time I see a sponge, I shout "SPONGE!" as loud as I can." - Me, in the following tweet.

***

Every time I see a sponge, I shout "SPONGE!" as loud as I can.

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Sometimes I don't realise I'm thirsty until someone mistakes me for potpourri.

***

I've got a feed on my FB page which automatically updates whenever I complain about automatic FB feeds. To keep my friends in the loop.

***

Imagine an aeroplane doing an impression of a human doing an impression of a terrible dancer. That's how I dance. That's why I dance.

***

I've got more birthday cards on display than I have Christmas cards. That doesn't mean I think I'm more important than Jesus.

***

I'm also sitting in a manger, drinking myrrh. But, again, this isn't any comment on the relative merits of myself and Christ.

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I always faint at the sight of six pints of my own blood.

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My friends and I fell about laughing until I had special harnesses fitted.

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I just trimmed my beard, and now I look much less wise. (I did it with an ice cream scoop)

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Film Pitch: FAR FROM THE TREE - Newton's son rejects the family physics business and become a software engineer. Themes = gravity, wigs.

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Sitcom Pitch: HEARTS AND MINDS - Mass-murderer Artie "Choke" Hearts must win the support of two brains in jars to get elected as an MP.

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Quiz Show Pitch: FORAGERS - 4 people in anger-management therapy are forced to find their own food in the woods; put the 'rage' in forage.

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You may have noticed - I never abandon a tweet halfway through, even if it's going nowhere. "Quality control" is another term for cowardice.

***

When I was a Fleet Street vet, I had to put a lot of newspaper down.

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The Winter Solstice. Your night-vision goggles have never been more valuable.

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I've never felt batter!

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The top button of my shirt is always undone, because I want people to suspect I'm Banksy.

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I like defending my use of swear words by telling people they're in Shakespeare. Also: the murders.

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It's annoying when you wake up in the middle of a particularly interesting nightmare. That's why death will be so satisfying.

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I've left express instructions in my Will that my funeral will take place ONLY IF the hover-hearse has been invented.

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ECONOMICAL CHRISTMAS IDEA: Buy lots of half price out-of-season suntan lotion and repurpose it as runny snow.

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ECONOMICAL CHRISTMAS IDEA: Wrap your presents with other presents.

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ECONOMICAL CHRISTMAS IDEA: Offend an elderly relative, then use their shocked open jaw instead of a gravy boat.

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ECONOMICAL CHRISTMAS IDEA: When singing The Twelve Days of Christmas, omit the swans and the lords.

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I'm obsessed with making sure my headphones are in the correct ears (mine).

***

I'm hearing unsubstantiated reports that the reports themselves may in fact be substantiated. More on this as it develops.

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All pillow fights are rigged.

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I've got a tuft of hair sticking up. Probably because of the position I slept in (near a tuft magnet).

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I love going to football matches and shouting "GREAT FIRST TOUCH!" at random intervals. You can also do this in a maternity ward.

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I'm so hungry I could eat a hearse! No, sorry.... not hungry. Grieving. That's it.

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It's easier to dress up as a cowboy if you have a head.

***

I hope the "people" downstairs don't die before I get a chance to notify their parents via Skype.

***

Oh, they're having a loud party by the way. I probably should've mentioned that. I don't hate people just for being closer to sea level.

***

I'm tempted to put all of them through their own letterbox.

***

They seem to have quietened down now. Touch wood. The jagged wood. The jagged bit of wood that I hope is severing their Achilles tendon(s).

***

Torture fantasies are like a mug of warm milk. I'll sleep soundly tonight.

***

I can't decide if I like "ab", "ov", "e", or all of the above.

***

Hey, @FantaFun! A young child was drowned in a fizzy orange drink. It was inFantacide. You can have that one.

***

Hey, @FantaFun! I've got loads more just like that! I'll give you the lot for $300. http://headscissors.blogspot.com/2009/12/fantamount.html

[Paul/Editors Note: Fanta did not reply :-( ]

***

I'd like to be the face of Fanta. I have ethical qualms about The Coca-Cola Co, but I'd be happy to ignore them if they give me a costume.

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I remember the day my parents sat me down and told me that, from then on, I'd have to sit myself down. Heartbreaking.

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People forget that the so-called "Santa hat" was originally used as a butternut squash cosy.

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Now, where did I put that impetus...?

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I just walked into, and BROKE, a stranger's out tray. Can I go home now?

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Continuing Breaducation: for people who want to butter themselves.

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I regretted that last tweet before I'd even turned my computer on.

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Just call me Mr Car Window On A Hot Day, because I'm winding down.

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The main unit of applause is a "smattering".

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Yesterday, I was visited by The Ghost of Christmas Tomorrow. Pointless.

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Preheat your oven NOW if you're planning to cook your oven this Christmas.

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I just imagined what it would be like to spend Christmas in an American prison, and was overcome by a feeling of tremendous feloncholy.

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I just mentioned myself.

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Greenscreen technology could make golf courses a lot more interesting.

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I never wear pink in case I start bleeding and it clashes.

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Cats have paws. Pigs have trotters. Horses have hooves. But only HUMANS have panettone.

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I bought my nephew a Super Soaker for Christmas. Of course I didn't want him to get cold, so I filled it with brandy.

***

I don't really have a nephew. It's fine. I've come to terms with it.

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I'm wearing a lilac shirt and baggy white linen trousers. I look like the louchest plantation owner in Toyland.

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I shouldn't have put so many novelty bongs on my Amazon wishlist.

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"A wolf in mutton-dressed-as-lamb's clothing." - Internet dating requires a delicate hand.

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Familiarity breeds contempt. But it's much more humane (and cheaper) to adopt some existing unwanted contempt from a shelter.

***

I have to scratch myself an even number of times, or else this tweet would be meaningless.

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I don't think The Animals of Farthing Would.

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I use the euphemism "she's got a bun under the grill" for women who are mouth-pregnant.

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We walked round the museum for ages, and eventually decided to go inside.

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I've just eaten a burrito - a method recommended by the burrito salesman.

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I'd like to have a fire escape, just so I could test my flame-hunting skills.

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OH THANK GOD. I thought something terrible had happened.

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Sadly, I was born with my tear ducts in the wrong eyes.

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I'm going to drink a pint of Earth water.

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If you want to steal a Frenchman's ashes at a specific time: watch and l'urn.

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I'd only ever commit suicide in self-defence.

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Film Pitch: MILK AND TWO SUGARS- Gay rights activist Harvey Milk, entrepreneur Alan Sugar, and boxer Sugar Ray Leonard fight Hitler in space

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Sitcom Pitch: I'M ALL EARS- A horrific, writhing, gurgling, waxy abomination composed of human ears works in a library, and gets frustrated.

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Reality Show Pitch: HAIRIER THAN THOU - Archbishop Rowan Williams and comedian Robin Williams swap jobs; must fool respective congregations.

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I have a sneaking suspicion that someone will come up with a cross between hog roast and lunch. Call it a hunch...

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I'm sure blue Smarties taste different to the yellow ones. Just like urinal cakes.

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I've spent most of today

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I'm making a saucy Star Wars lasagne. I've put half a Jar Jar between every Leia.

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How big does a sleeve have to be before it becomes a tunnel?

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I just thatched the roof of my mouth.

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Vertical stripes make you look slimmer if they're all you eat.

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Do you even open the fridge and forget why? And then you realise you trapped a mouse in there days ago to teach it a lesson?

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I'm really looking forward to feeling nostalgic about this tweet.

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My favourite film music is probably the Threads Megamix.

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Tinsel is like some repugnant Martian parasite bursting its way out of a snake.

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The difference between négligée and illegible is negligible.

***

Happy New Year everybody! I hope the coming arbitrarily designated 12-month period will bring you everything you want. Unless what you want conflicts with what I want.

Which it will. Because I don't really want you to get what you want.

(Yes I do)

Seize the Day

Well, it's a brand new King Lear (as the Cockneys would say), and a brand new brunth (as damaged Cockneys would say).

2011. The Chinese year of the Elk. The year that looks like a duck, an egg and two ones.

It feels similar to 2010, except I have a stye in my eye.

2011. The Chinese year of the stye.

I prefer stye-less years. And stylish years.

I hope 2011 doesn't lead to a permanent loss of vision. It would make typing difficult. Imagine if I hadn't been able to write all this. It would be a tragedy akin to the Oklahoma City Bombing.

It's also a Sunday.

But not a Sunday.

It feels like a Sunday, but there's no work tomorrow. It's odd. Like my depression has had the wind taken out of its sales. I need to redirect it into some kind of misery turbine or making a sculpture of a wound.

And on the Seventh Day, God felt slightly uneasy and unable to relax, constantly plagued by the ominous shadow of Monday...

Let's liven things up with some fun pictures.

***

Thomas Edison viewed from above

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Antique vase (stolen)

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Dog Knees

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Night Hammer

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Night Hammer (on)

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Let Loose - Crazy For You CD Single

***

On my deathbed, as I realise how precious life is, and yearn for just a few seconds more, I'll think about the fourteen minutes it took me to draw dog knees.

Yeast Infection

Happy New Year!

It's 2008, which, although not as futuristic a date as 2007, is some crazy sci-fi year. If you'd have told me when I began this blog that I'd make it to 2008 still writing, I'd have said you were a madman or woman (but, let's face it, probably man).

Actually, I probably would have said: 'Oh, really? Yeah, maybe', as I don't tend to fly off the handle anywhere outside the comfort and anonymity of the blogcube.

I haven't made any New Year's Resolutions, as I couldn't really think of anything. Sometimes I set myself really easy ones to give me a sense of self-satisfaction:

- This year I won't drink tea through a hole in my neck
- This year I'll stop reading the Finnish newspapers
- This year I'll avoid all silicon-based life-forms, or at least be cold and aloof if I meet them in town

But I'm too lazy to even do that. Instead, I have come up with a joke. It's a proper joke with a punchline and everything; something I don't usually do. So, drumroll please (just imagine one, ok?):

Why did the loaf of Hovis with AIDS offend the aristocrat?

Because it was ill-bred.

Ill-bred!

Ill bread!

A pun, by jove!

It makes sense, it has the desired format of a joke, it is like something from a slightly offensive Christmas cracker.

But on closer inspection, it isn't totally satisfying.

For one thing, the use of AIDS is unnecessary and gratuitously offensive. The joke would work if it was replaced by 'the flu' or 'chicken pox'. I must have chosen AIDS as it seems to make what is essentially a shitty joke a bit more edgy and contemporary, by adding an unpleasant element. I can't say I agree with that approach.

Also, it raises the question of whether the aristocrat is offended because of the poor breeding of the loaf, or because of the implied possibility of homosexuality. Of course, AIDS is not an exclusively gay disease, but the aristocrat (set in his ways, willing to judge a strange foodstuff) may be more narrowminded. This raises the spectre of hypocrisy in the aristocrat, as homosexuality is certainly not alien to that class.

It's a good thing I called him 'the aristocrat', thus signposting him as a deliberate type, rather than a fully-rounded individual, or I might have been accused of prejudice and over-simplification in my joke.

Another important issue I have raised is how the bread could have contracted the disease. Incapable of sexual intercourse (and even if infected by a shared needle), lacking the immune system necessary, it seems unlikely to occur.

It's a clash of cultures: the stereotype aristocrat on one side, the infected loaf on the other. I doubt the former would be offended, as they wouldn't be able to relate.

Now if the Hovis with AIDS had offended, let's say, a muffin with the mumps, it might be slightly more plausible.

The moral of the story is this:

proper 'jokey' jokes are always shit.