"No one will ever win the battle of the sexes....there is too much fraternisation with the enemy" Said Henry Kissinger.
I think this sentence was a product of it's time. When Henry stood in the White House, looking out of the bay window at the legions of Bra Burners doing their bit for the feminist cause, but not the environment (and of course ironically, helping bra manufactures).
However, in these days of widespread technical advancement, new Weapons of Mass Disruption are beginning to win it for the females. Inventions like dating agencies, speed dating and personals websites are fueling the fire.
I myself am a huge fan of personals websites. It has given me hour upon hour of entertainment when there was nothing doing at work, sitting and looking and chuckling at different profiles. Especially the completely fraudulent ones, where women who will never see 40 again try to pass themselves off as 22: it's just not true. Also, the amount of very intelligent and extremely beautiful Russian women who seek a 'life partner' who earns roughly the same as Roman Abramovitch arises suspicion.
I used to find the best ones and save them so I could show my Dad when he pops over at the weekend. He shares my slightly warped sense of humour. Some people may think it's a bit cruel, but some profiles are just so ridiculous that they bring great joy to the masses and should be celebrated. Furthermore, it's unlikely they'll get many serious replies.
I'm not knocking it, honestly I'm not. Infact, before I decided to go to Canada (not much point now), I thought I should put up or shut up. Rightly thinking that I have nothing to loose, I got a general feel from some of the other male profiles, and created my own. I waited for the amazed public to recognise me as a rare treat, the one that got away and should be recaptured immediately, and storm my inbox with sultry offers of wine and romance.
I did get one offer from a big boned, chain smoker who lived frighteningly close to me. I got very scared and removed my profile immediately from the system.
After a couple of weeks, I discovered that I could send my profile only to those whom I wanted to see it. Marvelous I thought! This actually worked quite well and I got e-mailing to a few very friendly people. I actually arranged to meet one in London. We met up and she was far more beautiful than her profile had eluded. She was also good company, but we didn't really hit it off enough to see each other again. I think my English wit may have been lost in translation once it reached her German sense of humour. She's back in Germany now (I think it was a slight over-reaction to leave the country. It wasn't that bad!)
I think personals reflect the current state of the battle of the sexes very accurately. It clearly shows that women are winning! Men's profiles tend to all say the same thing. "Nice down to earth guy, likes bars and fine dining", "or young professional male, looking for a nice lady to share good times with". Nothing to taxing, a bit lame really. Whereas the women just go for broke. They forget to describe themselves, and launch straight into list of demands from their prospectice man.
Here are some actual quotes highlighting why I would not be suitable for them.
"Hope you're the sort of person that doesn't trawl the personals on regular basis but just happens to be glancing through, maybe you're discerning and still haven't found what you're looking for either." (too late, as you can tell I already waste far to much time trawiling)
"I'm looking for a Christian man, no if ands or buts--no equivocating, malfunctioning or disreputable Christians please" (If only I could stop equivocating??????)
"WARNING: I don't drink, smoke, or find crowds of desperate people doing said activities to be appealing AT ALL. " (Fun, Fun, Fun!)
"I laugh hysterically and inexplicably at nothing at all" (Check to see what colour coat she has on. If it's white, I win the bet)
"Abrasive, pub-going, uneducated megalomaniacs need not apply." (Thats me out on all 4 counts)
"Politically I am on the right and I am not interested in left wing types. I have travelled the world and I want someone equally worldly. The reason I am on here is because I am fed up with losers approaching me with sad one liners in clubs and I am told this is a good way to screen these types out easily. That means no icebreakers. I will warn you that I am semi high maintenance and previous relationships have failed because my ex partners weren't up to it.The right man will be. If you're on here, drop me a line" (Semi-high maintenance!! Enough of this false modesty)
"surprise u!! i am a transexual-ladyboy. been live as female role fulltime since i was 16" (Oh Sh*t, Not again!!!)
I could never fight in the battle of the sexes, I love the females in my life to much. However, by the looks of it, women have no such hangups. Such is life!
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Monday, August 22, 2005
Richmond upon Chancery Lane
I knew Friday night was going to be interesting when Dad turned up and demanded to know where the beer was. He had come around straight after work because we were going to an open mic session where 'Richmond' were playing (my guitar tutors band). When I mentioned that I didn't have beer in the house because it tends to get drunk before it reaches the fridge, he paused and looked disappointed for a nano-second before diving into the wine rack.
We got off the tube at Chancery Lane to look for the wine bar where the gig was being held. All along the way, Dad was looking out for pubs which would serve him a decent pint if the wine bar couldn't (poor dad doesn't drink all week and like a beer on a Friday, and I was taking him to a wine bar). Happily the bar was right next door to the Law Society (Dad's a Solicitor) so he began to calm down because he knew he could always get a good pint in there. I wondered if he could get me in. "Of course" he replied "I pay enough to be a bloody member for gods sake".
The bar itself was a lot smaller that I thought it would be and not how I imagined it. It was already quite busy and I felt if if I should apologise for some ridiculously "British" reason. Before I could be heard, Dad said he thought it was an intimate arena, and he liked it. He also liked the only beer they had on tap so we were off to a winning start.
There was a small stage where one of the acts was about to start. He called himself Wolf Man of 1. The kindest what to describe his peformance would be, enthusiastic! My ironic cheer of "Encore!" was met with steely glances from wolf weary listeners.
The second act was interesting. He must have been the wrong side of 70. He played brilliantly and swore relentlessly. His last song was played with the guitar on his knees and a lighter being rubbed along the fret to create a sound that must have been inspired by heavy and sustained substance abuse. His lyrics focused on familiar themes such as 'f**king kids' (not literally as this carries a heavy prison term) and 'space men'. Nevertheless, this didn't stop me from bumping into him later and telling him how wonderful I thought he was, and how I hoped I would see him peform again soon. "What you need is a manager!" I said. Yes I meant me, and yes it was a creepy thing to do. However I have a good excuse... I was drunk.
Dad and I soon bumped into Pete (my tutor) and he came over and bought us a drink (he really hasn't got the hang of this groupie thing). Rob and his friend Alistair, turned up and the four of us stood, talked, laughed and enjoyed the music. Richmond were up next and they were excellent as I knew they would be. The next band, were called Lopez. They were also very excellent. Pete reckons they may go all the way. So as the blog that breaks new musical tallent, click on www.lopezmusic.com You saw it here first folks!
After Richmond finished their set Paul, the lead guitarist, asked us what we thought of the set and then offered to buy us another drink (I should really start going to more gigs). I had quite clearly had enough to drink already as I agreed to do an open mic myself. Stupidly I broadcast this knowledge and I have quite a few people who want to come and laugh at me. They won't be laughing if they have heard me sing. I either sing or play the guitar, not both simultaneously. If I try, I end up concentrating so hard on getting the guitar to sound like the song I'm trying to play, that my singing becomes a barley audible whine. Having my voice amplified with a mic means that by law I cannot play within 20 miles of Battersey Dogs Home.
As the evening drew to a close, Pete came up to my dad and me and offered us a lift home (what can I expect from them if they crack the US market. A flat maybe!). So I got a lift with the band all the way back to Ilford. How cool is that.
On the journey home, Dad who is a massive music buff but completely tone deaf, talked about the industry, being successful, and about music in general. This led to a shock announcement the very next day. Dad had been pondering all night and has deduced that bands need something extra to help them stand out. Therefore he has selflessly decided to help young acts break into the big time by offering his services as a bongo player. He wants to by a good set and get proper instruction. He realises that his image may not fit the young and trendy acts coming through. Undeterred, Dad has agreed to shave off all his hair to make him look more hip. I worry for him sometimes, I really do. If he does go through with it, which of course he won't, I promise to post photos. If anyone needs a bongo player, please do get in touch. He's cheap!
With love,
Andy
We got off the tube at Chancery Lane to look for the wine bar where the gig was being held. All along the way, Dad was looking out for pubs which would serve him a decent pint if the wine bar couldn't (poor dad doesn't drink all week and like a beer on a Friday, and I was taking him to a wine bar). Happily the bar was right next door to the Law Society (Dad's a Solicitor) so he began to calm down because he knew he could always get a good pint in there. I wondered if he could get me in. "Of course" he replied "I pay enough to be a bloody member for gods sake".
The bar itself was a lot smaller that I thought it would be and not how I imagined it. It was already quite busy and I felt if if I should apologise for some ridiculously "British" reason. Before I could be heard, Dad said he thought it was an intimate arena, and he liked it. He also liked the only beer they had on tap so we were off to a winning start.
There was a small stage where one of the acts was about to start. He called himself Wolf Man of 1. The kindest what to describe his peformance would be, enthusiastic! My ironic cheer of "Encore!" was met with steely glances from wolf weary listeners.
The second act was interesting. He must have been the wrong side of 70. He played brilliantly and swore relentlessly. His last song was played with the guitar on his knees and a lighter being rubbed along the fret to create a sound that must have been inspired by heavy and sustained substance abuse. His lyrics focused on familiar themes such as 'f**king kids' (not literally as this carries a heavy prison term) and 'space men'. Nevertheless, this didn't stop me from bumping into him later and telling him how wonderful I thought he was, and how I hoped I would see him peform again soon. "What you need is a manager!" I said. Yes I meant me, and yes it was a creepy thing to do. However I have a good excuse... I was drunk.
Dad and I soon bumped into Pete (my tutor) and he came over and bought us a drink (he really hasn't got the hang of this groupie thing). Rob and his friend Alistair, turned up and the four of us stood, talked, laughed and enjoyed the music. Richmond were up next and they were excellent as I knew they would be. The next band, were called Lopez. They were also very excellent. Pete reckons they may go all the way. So as the blog that breaks new musical tallent, click on www.lopezmusic.com You saw it here first folks!
After Richmond finished their set Paul, the lead guitarist, asked us what we thought of the set and then offered to buy us another drink (I should really start going to more gigs). I had quite clearly had enough to drink already as I agreed to do an open mic myself. Stupidly I broadcast this knowledge and I have quite a few people who want to come and laugh at me. They won't be laughing if they have heard me sing. I either sing or play the guitar, not both simultaneously. If I try, I end up concentrating so hard on getting the guitar to sound like the song I'm trying to play, that my singing becomes a barley audible whine. Having my voice amplified with a mic means that by law I cannot play within 20 miles of Battersey Dogs Home.
As the evening drew to a close, Pete came up to my dad and me and offered us a lift home (what can I expect from them if they crack the US market. A flat maybe!). So I got a lift with the band all the way back to Ilford. How cool is that.
On the journey home, Dad who is a massive music buff but completely tone deaf, talked about the industry, being successful, and about music in general. This led to a shock announcement the very next day. Dad had been pondering all night and has deduced that bands need something extra to help them stand out. Therefore he has selflessly decided to help young acts break into the big time by offering his services as a bongo player. He wants to by a good set and get proper instruction. He realises that his image may not fit the young and trendy acts coming through. Undeterred, Dad has agreed to shave off all his hair to make him look more hip. I worry for him sometimes, I really do. If he does go through with it, which of course he won't, I promise to post photos. If anyone needs a bongo player, please do get in touch. He's cheap!
With love,
Andy
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Why I love Peter Cook!
Peter Cook: comedian, actor, writer, performer, owner of Private Eye magazine and towards the end, terrible drunk.
A few hand picked quotes I nabbed from various websites from Ian Hislop.
"It will be a tribute to the funniest man in the world," said Hislop. "He was a very good proprietor because he never interfered. He never asked why we were costing him millions of pounds."When I was being sued by Robert Maxwell Peter was at the back of the court waving his cheque book." I will miss his jokes. He invented the phrase 'this man is a proven Lawyer'. Surreal brilliance, impossible to match."
"My single favourite memory is the commando raid on the Mirror building that he organised in the late Eighties when Robert Maxwell was about to produce a magazine called Not Private Eye. Maxwell had sued us, WH Smith had pulled us off sale but were proposing to sell his magazine. We desperately needed to get hold of a dummy issue if we to stop them. No one could think how to do it, so Cookie sent over a crate of whisky to the Mirror office with his compliments, thinking, rightly, that the people working on the dummy didn't want to do it.Three-quarters of an hour later he rang them up to find they were legless and said, 'Oh, we'll come and join you.' so five of us got into a taxi, breezed over and went straight up to Maxwell's office. Cookie sat at Maxwell's desk and ordered champagne, we wrote Hello Bob on the windows and called him up in New York."
For more larks from the great man, click on "The Establishment" link to your right.
Enjoy your day xx
Monday, August 15, 2005
Public Appeal!
On Friday 12th of August at about 11.30 pm, I along with my good friend Darren was standing on the pavement outside the Hollybush pub in Loughton Essex.
I was waiting for a lift home when an event took place, that left me feeling cheapened by a gross personal violation of my body.
I was simply standing chatting wittily and merrily to Darren when a young Irish siren, about 25-28 years old, 5ft 6, slim with long dark hair, fair skin, and a very strong perfume of vodka, came bowling up to me and asked me where I lived.
Being a wily old fox, I was not quick to fall into this blatant attempt at entrapment. I casually replied, that I lived in Ilford (cunning I thought, specific enough to avoid a retort, but vague enough not to pin me down). "Ahhhh!" she exclaimed "I used to live in Seven Kings!".
Dam, How did I not see this trap. It was too late, she threw her arms around me, gently and seductively swivel her hips up to mine, and kissed me on the lips!
Shock ensued. The power of the moment must have been too much as she swayed into the path of a reversing car (it may also be attributed to the quite violent aroma of booze emanating from her). Being the gentleman I am, I grabbed her and lifted her to safety.
A strangely farcical conversation followed during which, the Irish siren said I was funny looking, but my ginger haired friend looked normal ("this was because she is Irish" Darren said "there are lots of ginger people in Ireland". Brilliant after 6 stella's, truly brilliant). She then tried to punch me in the stomach to see if I really had the washboard stomach she was dreaming of underneath my T-shirt (diet was going well thus far, but at the weekends I seem to always have a blow out and undo all the good work that I have suffered for during the week).
She proceeded to give me another dig in the ribs just to make sure, and then violated me once again by snaking up to me and planting another smack on the lips.
Thankfully, my ride pulled up soon after, and whisked me away from this frightening ordeal.
Therefore, if there were any witnesses to this harrowing experience, or if any other men suffered the same fate that that night, please could you let me know who she was, if she will be there again next week, or call freephone 0800-cal-bully, because I wouldn't mind being violated some more!
Cheers,
Andy x
I was waiting for a lift home when an event took place, that left me feeling cheapened by a gross personal violation of my body.
I was simply standing chatting wittily and merrily to Darren when a young Irish siren, about 25-28 years old, 5ft 6, slim with long dark hair, fair skin, and a very strong perfume of vodka, came bowling up to me and asked me where I lived.
Being a wily old fox, I was not quick to fall into this blatant attempt at entrapment. I casually replied, that I lived in Ilford (cunning I thought, specific enough to avoid a retort, but vague enough not to pin me down). "Ahhhh!" she exclaimed "I used to live in Seven Kings!".
Dam, How did I not see this trap. It was too late, she threw her arms around me, gently and seductively swivel her hips up to mine, and kissed me on the lips!
Shock ensued. The power of the moment must have been too much as she swayed into the path of a reversing car (it may also be attributed to the quite violent aroma of booze emanating from her). Being the gentleman I am, I grabbed her and lifted her to safety.
A strangely farcical conversation followed during which, the Irish siren said I was funny looking, but my ginger haired friend looked normal ("this was because she is Irish" Darren said "there are lots of ginger people in Ireland". Brilliant after 6 stella's, truly brilliant). She then tried to punch me in the stomach to see if I really had the washboard stomach she was dreaming of underneath my T-shirt (diet was going well thus far, but at the weekends I seem to always have a blow out and undo all the good work that I have suffered for during the week).
She proceeded to give me another dig in the ribs just to make sure, and then violated me once again by snaking up to me and planting another smack on the lips.
Thankfully, my ride pulled up soon after, and whisked me away from this frightening ordeal.
Therefore, if there were any witnesses to this harrowing experience, or if any other men suffered the same fate that that night, please could you let me know who she was, if she will be there again next week, or call freephone 0800-cal-bully, because I wouldn't mind being violated some more!
Cheers,
Andy x
Thursday, August 11, 2005
The CAMRA Real Ale Festival 2005 - London Olympia
(Jolly boys reunited)My love affair with beer started in my late teens, and apart from a few painful moments ( physically, the morning after, or mentally when you remember what you did last night) the love affair has been a strong and constant one.
In fact, it has probably been the most constant thing in my life. It had always been their with me during the happy times, the parties celebrations, and the cool kick back moments. However, unlike any fair weather friends, beer has been with me through the breakups, knocks, downers and Eurovision.
I have been lucky. I have had a mentor to guide me through this path to manhood. Notably my good family friend Doug. Doug is an expert on beer. He knows how it's brewed, what to look for and how to sample and more importantly how to enjoy. He turns drinking beer into an art-form and a science. Therefore, getting sloshed with Doug means I'm furthering education and therefore is perfectly justified.
Imagine then dear reader, my excitement when the "Jolly Boys" (a bunch of lovable drunken reprobates whom I grew up with) invited me to the worlds largest real ale festival. We decided to go on the Friday, just in case we needed a full weekend to recover (I love the boys foresight). Three of the lads took half days, and as two work in the city we met them up there. I decided to make a day of it, so I took the whole day off and treat myself to a lie in and a sturdy breakfast. The last "Jolly" who will remain nameless due to legal reasons went AWOL from his post in the British Transport Police (good to know our transport system is in good hands after the recent bombings).
After some inconsiderate sod decided to throw himself under the train at Liverpool Street Station, we rendez vouz'd at the entrance of the festival.
(The scene that greeted us at Olympia)
As we walked in we bought our pint glass and stood in awe at the sight that greeted us. London's Olympia, packed to the rafters with 450 different ales, and gourmet cuisine of every kind to satisfy the thirsty drinker.
(Me tucking into the gourmet cuisine avec beer)
We went around drinking halves from different varied stalls. Some award winning, some with just a small que. We gaily walked around soaking in the atmosphere, talking to very friendly complete strangers. I was surprised to see so many people hanging around the "Lancaster Bomber" stand, until we realised that they sponsor Andrew "Freddie" Flintoff, who was at the time, hammering the Australians in the Ashes Cricket series. They had a small TV screen around which 100 people must of stood waiting for the next Aussie to fall prey to the English attack. Cheers rang high when a wicket fell. There was a terrific atmosphere. Thoroughly British if such a thing still exists?
(Stealing from the war veterans)
There was one particularly disturbing aspect of the day highlighted in the above photo. Lots of games were scattered around the arena to play for crap prizes but for extremely good causes. Besides when you have had a few, one enjoys a challenge. The stall you can see is for the Poppy Appeal for our war Veterans, a most worthy cause. Chelsea pensioners would stand by the Bog and look after your pint glass for a small fee while you went and answered your call of nature. Great stuff! As you can see above the object of this game is to pass the hoop along the wire without touching. The course was a particularly fiendish one, however the attractive young (I thing Australian.. Huh, just because England is winning in the cricket doesn't mean that you should take it out on our war hero's) lady in the photo, was taking such precautions with her attempt. I stood and watched for about 5mins as he slowly completed the course. Look closely at the woman running the stall. Her look suggests that she is saying "what the hell are you trying to do to these people? Take the food of their plates!".
(Darrrvid... who loves ya baby!)
I don't want any naming or shaming, from the doubtless hundreds of thousands of devoted readers. Someone is bound to recognise her. The appropriate thing to have done, would be have got right to the very end and then slip, affecting a 'silly billy me' expression. Everybody knows you could have done it, so quit there and save everyone's blushes. Please give generously www.poppy.org.uk
(Drinking in perfect harmony)
Just for the record, 'Nelsons Revenge' and 'Your granny wouldn't like it' are Bully's top tip(ple).
(I love you Bully. Jon falling at the 403rd hurdle)
At about half past seven in the evening the nameless PC, fortified with strong Bavarian dark beer, decided he needed to put all his new found pissedness to good use. So I was forced to leave this BEER FESTIVAL to go to a WALKABOUT PUB on the Embankment. I ask you...Where's the logic!!!
(United we stand....otherwise we'd fall over)
PC pulled amazingly, and I went home with a nice warm beer coat on perfectly happy to stare at the crap advertisements on the tube for the next 45 minutes, safe in the knowledge that it was a great day.
(The end of a beautiful day. At Walkabout in Embankment)
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Hello again!
As a courtesy to Her majesty's Government and the Bank of England, I graciously decided to write a quick post to let the English speaking world know how I'm doing. As a result of this hopefully, I can single handedly avert chaos for the great institutions that mentioned above.....(I know they were worried).
I am perfectly fine!
I realise that my silence had caused consternation amongst the masses, but fear not dear reader. It's not because I don't love you. It's just that due to the rapidly approaching evacuation of this fair Isle to Canada, I have been preparing by investing some quality me time.
Work is incredibly quiet at the moment. Added to this we have more staff than ever. The two new people who are to replace Ian and myself have already started. Ian and myself have of course been training them up in all areas of our work. However once we showed them where the kettle was and they seemed ok.
They are both very nice chaps. Rob is Ian's brother (nepotism or what?) and Charlie is very keen and enthusiastic about the job (something Ian and I lost a long time ago). Due to this new bloods enthusiasm, our thinly veiled training programme consists of delegating what little work we have to the newbies. The system seems to be working well at present (for me anyway).
So, what have I been up to this last 2 weeks? Well work wise, virtually nothing apart from a few meetings. I spend far too long day dreaming about what I might get up to in Canada. The danger of this, is that my expectations become artificially high. I'm not stupid! I know that it is likely to be tough, but hopefully good fun. Nevertheless, I can't suppress the tiny piece of my mind that hopes something big is going to happen: and why should I! Keep on dreaming: that's what I say.
The rest of my time in the office is spend doing what little work I have, reading Ian's and Lewis's blogs, checking in with the Peter Cook appreciation society, reading Richard Herrings blog and looking at some other weird and wonderful websites. (Links to on the right)
In my spare time I have been very busy of late. During week days I'm either at the Gym, Playing tennis, down the pub or practicing like fury on the guitar (again following on from the idea that something BIG might happen in Canada, and if not, to provide a better friend during my quieter moments).
Basically there is nothing much doing at the mo. Just winding down. The lull before the Canadian storm. It's quite sad really. Nevertheless, the last time I said my life had gone all gone quiet, things went bloody mental for the next to months. Touch wood!
PS.
At the weekend, I went to the worlds largest Real Ale festival at Olympia, which was fantastic! However, I will wait until I have uploaded the photos to give you the full debrief. This was just to (pardon the pun) wet your appetite!
Love Bully x
I am perfectly fine!
I realise that my silence had caused consternation amongst the masses, but fear not dear reader. It's not because I don't love you. It's just that due to the rapidly approaching evacuation of this fair Isle to Canada, I have been preparing by investing some quality me time.
Work is incredibly quiet at the moment. Added to this we have more staff than ever. The two new people who are to replace Ian and myself have already started. Ian and myself have of course been training them up in all areas of our work. However once we showed them where the kettle was and they seemed ok.
They are both very nice chaps. Rob is Ian's brother (nepotism or what?) and Charlie is very keen and enthusiastic about the job (something Ian and I lost a long time ago). Due to this new bloods enthusiasm, our thinly veiled training programme consists of delegating what little work we have to the newbies. The system seems to be working well at present (for me anyway).
So, what have I been up to this last 2 weeks? Well work wise, virtually nothing apart from a few meetings. I spend far too long day dreaming about what I might get up to in Canada. The danger of this, is that my expectations become artificially high. I'm not stupid! I know that it is likely to be tough, but hopefully good fun. Nevertheless, I can't suppress the tiny piece of my mind that hopes something big is going to happen: and why should I! Keep on dreaming: that's what I say.
The rest of my time in the office is spend doing what little work I have, reading Ian's and Lewis's blogs, checking in with the Peter Cook appreciation society, reading Richard Herrings blog and looking at some other weird and wonderful websites. (Links to on the right)
In my spare time I have been very busy of late. During week days I'm either at the Gym, Playing tennis, down the pub or practicing like fury on the guitar (again following on from the idea that something BIG might happen in Canada, and if not, to provide a better friend during my quieter moments).
Basically there is nothing much doing at the mo. Just winding down. The lull before the Canadian storm. It's quite sad really. Nevertheless, the last time I said my life had gone all gone quiet, things went bloody mental for the next to months. Touch wood!
PS.
At the weekend, I went to the worlds largest Real Ale festival at Olympia, which was fantastic! However, I will wait until I have uploaded the photos to give you the full debrief. This was just to (pardon the pun) wet your appetite!
Love Bully x
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