Saturday, 15 September 2012

A Nuns Habit,Diana Ross,Global Warming,Gay Marriage & Kate Middleton's Breasts.

I grew up in a house where we were taught freedom of speech, freedom to scream and freedom to shout. There were no boundaries between what you could or couldn't say and if you had an opinion you were free to voice it. Which I always did, at the dinner table, at breakfast, in the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom, downstairs, upstairs and halfway up the stairs, there I'd be, answering back and "mouthing off". I was the same at school. I became head of the "debate team" and my religious education teacher became so enamoured of my ability to argue my point about anything and everything that I was given the "Religious Education Prize" at the fourth year prize giving.
"Religious Education" prize? What the hell is that?"
 My mother was terrified I'd turned to God and was heading for a Nuns Habit and a Hail Mary until I explained to her that R.E at my school basically meant a free for all and the classroom was a battle ground for teenage angst and opinions. She calmed down and I chose my prize wisely, a huge hardback pictorial biography of Diana Ross. The headmaster looked at me with utter disgust when he handed it to me because everybody else had chosen something educational whereas I'd chosen something with a huge weave and sequins. I loved that book and quickly took to cutting it up and putting pictures of the mid 80's (as in decade, not the bewigged ones age) incarnation of Miss Ross all over my bedroom walls. My father was impressed thinking I'd finally started to become excited by exotic, glamorous song birds, which I had, but not in the way he hoped.
He thought I was fantasising about being with her but I was only fantasising about being her. My cover was blown when my older brother caught me dancing around my bedroom to "The Boss" with a bath towel around my head and wearing my mothers fur coat.

"I'm Coming Out" never sounded the same to him again.

Anyway, I've gone off track. I was taught to always stand up for what I believed in and never be afraid to voice my opinion, and so I had an opinion on everything. Food, culture, politics, showbiz, music, how ugly your baby is and bad your haircut is, how lovely your grandmother is and what an utter fool your father is. If anyone at school needed something saying they knew I'd say it. I was like motor mouth in a school uniform and on steroids. Even my R.E teacher couldn't control me, the last time I ever saw him was when he jumped up from his deck and like Moses parting the red sea pointed a huge  stick (he kept one at his desk, I went to very rough school) at me and screamed "Warner, don't you ever defy me!" To which I very calmly replied "Alright Sir, who do you think you're talking to? You don't tell me what to do."I was never allowed back in his classroom again and I think he'd have even took my Diana Ross book back if I hadn't mutilated it with a pair of scissors and a pack of Blue Tack. I wasn't so much a "problem teenager", I was a teenager with a problem. I couldn't keep my mouth shut.

I've learned as I've got older that it's not in anyone's interest to have an opinion on everything and that sometimes the best way is the quiet way and that's why I can't have an opinion on swimming with sharks because I've never done it, but I'm sure it's very dangerous. I don't have an opinion on the Republican Party apart from what I've seen of their convention and they obviously can't dance and wear man made fibres. I don't have an opinion on Kate Middleton's breasts because I've seen the photographs and she obviously doesn't have any. I wouldn't dare venture an opinion on Simon Cowell except I hate the way the controls most of Britain's Saturday night and he's obviously stolen Kate Middleton's share of breasts. I'm not sure where I stand on gay marriage except for the love of god, if two people love each other let them do what they want. I have no opinion on Tulisa Constavocunnilingus blonde hair except she looks like a blow up doll in a wig. I have no opinion on Boris Johnson becoming leader of the Conservative Party except to say he looks like Tulisa Constavocunnilingus after a heavy night on the booze and on top of a failed Eastend "rapper". I don't know what to think of Cameron & Clegg except they'd look far more comfortable together dressed as Mickey & Minnie and I have no opinion on global warming except to say "boy, someone must have used a shed load of hairspray to f**k things up that bad". World debt? You should try looking at my bank account. The Arab Spring? Haven't they heard of global warming? Broken Britain? Buy yourself some Blue Tack.

So you see, I've learned to keep quiet and not always voice my opinion. I've mellowed out, calmed down and I've "took a chill pill". I'm relaxed and I don't need to get upset or angry about anything.
I'm just going to sit back, turn off, tune out and watch the world float on by, because sometimes you need to realise your opinion is just like your arsehole, and you should really keep it to yourself.

Monday, 10 September 2012

The End of the Olympics, Prince Harry, The Duchess of Cornwall and an horrific accident involving Gerri Halliwell.

So it's the end of the party.
No more Olympics, no more Jubilee, no more festivals and the end of the party season in Ibiza.
What's a girl, a gay or a geezer to do?
How can we be happy when the party is over and it's left our spirits lower than a pair of saggy breasts?
We're going to get happy that's what we'll do!
I for one am going to get my spirits a sports bra and I'm going to hoist those tired old titties up to the sky again ( you do know I'm using metaphors here don't you? I don't have a pair of moobs. I've got pecs and they are ROCK hard, seriously ROCK hard).
The summer of sport is supposed to have changed the way we think, the way we live and the way we exercise. Hopefully it's inspired most of us not to sit around thinking "maybe I'll empty an ashtray" but to actually get up out of that chair, put on some spandex and run like we've stolen something.
An excellent way to motivate yourself to get fit and keep running is to pretend the police are chasing you but if that doesn't work you could always pretend it's a pack of wild dogs.
If you live on a council estate you could try the police and the dogs but if you live in leafy Surrey pretend you're a fox and the Duchess of Cornwall is chasing you. She could be on horseback or just barefoot, depending on how fast you can run and how angry you make her.
If you're in an extremely leafy suburb and you're extremely imaginative pretend you're a Las Vegas showgirl and Prince Harry is chasing you, although that would never work because most of us would immediately lay down and roll over.

I love Prince Harry, he looks like (he's got) two great big hairy balls of ginger fun.

Exercise is good for you and it's free.
Unless, like me, you pay an extortionate monthly fee to a gym which you probably never attend and only go there on a Sunday to prop up the bar in a pair of leg warmers and a headband. I have a love hate membership with my gym, in as much as I love going there but I hate all the other members. I find it extremely annoying that every single man in the changing room has to wander around with his penis hanging out so I'm seriously trying to find another gym with a better class of penis. Tiddlywinks is a game I played as a child, it's not something I need to be confronted with every time I go for a work out.
If you've got it then flaunt it but if you've never had it then put your pants back on and put it away.

None of us really need to pay gym memberships as the opportunity to exercise is always there every single minute of the day. I used to spend my morning and evening commute by doing butt clenches and heel raises. A packed tube train is the perfect place to do this, especially if someone insists on rubbing up against you. A few butt clenches in the right direction is the perfect place for you to get off whilst getting on the tube and heel raises are perfect for stamping on other commuters feet. The pub can be a great place to do star jumps and forward lunges, especially if you're short and the bar staff can't see you and you won't ever have to join "GymBox" or enter a boxing ring again if you have a problem neighbour. The times I've spent sparring and bobbing and weaving with my neighbour from hell would last me 10 rounds with Muhammed Ali.
"It's a knockout?"
No, it's not because you can't knock someone out who's already been bashed around the head with the ugly stick and who's idea of a quiet night in is "Motorhead's Greatest Hits" and a crack pipe.

I exercise at every opportunity. My life is full of press ups, pull ups, sit ups and squats. Why would I walk when I can hop, skip and jump? Why pass the salt when I can throw it like a shot-put? It's important to keep active and work that body. Why bother opening your blinds when you can spend all day twitching curtains? Use your kitchen appliances as tummy toners and dumb bells. Put your washing machine on a spin cycle and sit astride it, fill your cocktail shaker with martini and lift it above your head twenty times. Not only will you have the perfect martini, you'll have stronger thighs and vaginal bruising. There are a million and one things that you use domestically that are good for your fitness:
Why vacuum when you can hoover in high heels?
Pretend the dust is cocaine and your dusters are your nostrils.
Scrub the bathroom floor and tiles like you're a serial killer after a very busy weekend.
Don't just make the bed, jump on it.
Fight with your neighbours.
Get chased by the police.
Antagonise the local drug dealers dog.

All of these things will add to your general fitness and lift your spirits in this post Olympic comedown. We all need to remember the good times, the gold medals, the opening and closing ceremonies. We need to get over the disappointment at the snuffing of the flame, the sadness of handing the torch to Brazil and the utter disgust and fury that Gerri Halliwell didn't fall off that black cab when it took that corner a bit too sharply.
As a nation we all need to hold our heads up high, pull up our socks and look with hope to the future.

So here's to all of us getting off our fat, lazy asses and getting down the gym.
Shall I see you there on Sunday?
I'll be the one propping up the bar, in a pair of leg warmers and a head band.



Saturday, 1 September 2012

Positive Affirmations, Dirty Underwear, Bottles of Gin & Kim Kardashian (with some Bieber thrown in).

September already?
Did somebody press the fast forward button on 2012 and I missed a few months?
The older I get the quicker time seems to pass.Sometimes the things I think I did yesterday were things I did a month ago and sometimes the things I could be doing tomorrow I should really be doing today. Sometimes the underwear I took off yesterday is the same underwear I'll be putting on tomorrow and that means I won't be wearing any underwear today.
You with me?
Neither am I.
What I'm trying to say is this, don't sit around wasting time when you should be wearing clean underwear.
Nobody likes a time waster in a pair of dirty drawers.

It's hard to keep motivated, especially when you don't really have a focus or a goal which is why I advise  everybody to get a chalkboard and a piece of chalk. It's important that you hang that chalkboard in the place you spend the most time or where it's in your direct eye line first thing every morning. I have mine above the sink in my kitchen and that's not because I spend all day hanging around my kitchen sink. Anyone who regularly reads this blog knows I only ever go in there to dry my underwear, mix cocktails and do a bit of roller skating but I do wander in there first thing every morning to recycle my empties and  defrost my Calvin's.
On the chalkboard you need to write a list of what you want to achieve. It doesn't have to be your life plan, it can be just for the week or the day or if you're really uptight and need micro managing do it by the hour (but if that is the case I suggest you don't get a chalk board you just go out and get a life). Here's an example of what you could write:
"Things to do today"
1. Remember what my name is.
2. Remember who I am.
3. Find out who that man is asleep in my bed.
4. Run to the bathroom.
5. Try not to cry.
This is just an example of what you could write on your chalkboard but If do you spend every night face down in your hallway and wake up with carpet burns and smudged mascara I suggest you forget the chalk board and stop going out. You'll probably only end up using the coloured chalks as eye shadow and lip liner anyway. It is important to have a goal in life but if your greatest achievement is managing to make it home on a Saturday morning without a huge gash in your tights then my guide to enlightenment isn't going to help you.

OK, so now I've managed to alienate half of my readers I'll start again with those of you who really want to live a happy and fulfilling life. Once you've got your chalk, chalk board and found yourself a kitchen you can begin. Think about what you want to achieve, it doesn't have to be anything huge, take baby steps to begin with. Nobody expects you to be an overnight success, in my experience the greater the struggle the more worthwhile the success.
Always remember this  "If at first you don't succeed, try, try and try a Gin".
Gin is an excellent way to get you through the day as long as it doesn't make you cry or bring out your latent violent tendencies. Nobody wants to listen to the problems of a violent, crying drunk.
Drunk and crying yes but violent no.
Just because you happen to believe one good fist is worth a thousand words doesn't mean its true (unless you visit nightclubs with names like "The Hoist" or "Butt Bangers Are Us").

OK, so now I've managed to alienate about a third of my remaining readers.
Are the rest of you with me? You've got your chalk in your hands and you're ready to start "Chalking and Changing" right? The important thing is to realise you have no limitations. You can be anything you want to be. The only thing stopping you is yourself. Think of yourself as a child and how you would  speak to yourself if you had the nine year old you standing in front of you. What did the nine year old you want to be? You wouldn't say bad things would you? You wouldn't tell yourself off or beat yourself down would you? You'd encourage your dreams and say "Go for it Danny"!
I'll show you how it works by having a little conversation with my nine year old self:

Me: "Wow! Danny, look at you! Don't you look cute!"
Nine year old me: "I know, it's my mums dress and lipstick I'm wearing, I hope I don't get caught".

OK, so maybe that doesn't work, let's skip that idea.

A healthy mind is an active mind and the only way to exercise your brain is to keep on learning. Have a thirst for knowledge, read good books and seek out new adventures. Step out of your comfort zone and do something you've never done before.
Shoplift!
Run blindly across the road without looking!
Don't bother brushing your hair or doing your make up and wear a balaclava for the day!
Walk into a 24 hour convenience store late at night wearing the balaclava!
Get beaten with a big stick by the man behind the counter of the 24 hour convenience store!
Appear on "Crimewatch"!
Try that really sweet Turkish dessert called "Baklava"!
See your teeth rot and your tongue feel like fur!
See, your life is changed already!


Do you seriously think Donald Trump always looked like that?
I bet Kim Kardashian had to work really hard to get that great big arse (I'm talking about Kanye).
I'm thinking that female shot-putter from the Eastern Bloc will have had to have taken a shed load of drugs to look that butch.
I just know Justin Beiber will have to work really hard to grow a beard to stop looking like a lesbian.
I'm sure I'm going to have to work twice as hard as Beiber to win back all those readers I've offended.

We're all just big dreamers that started off small but we all have a common connection:
A kitchen, a chalk board and some dirty underwear (especially that Kim Kardashian, I can tell just by looking at her).
You must always remember that when the chips are down you can always bend over, dust them off and pick them back up. . . .

Just make sure you don't drop your kebab whilst you're doing it.