Shark the herald, Angel's sing...

I was half tempted to write about the whole shark business going on in Oz right now. I'm not going to do that now, as I wouldn't want to offend anyone's views on it, as it could be a fairly tense subject. For anyone who doesn't know though, a shark (or sharkS) is killing people who swim too close to it's territory and, wrongly in my eyes, the government want to hunt it down. I'm not going to dwell on it, but I wanted to make my point on the situation that it's wrong to kill regardless (with that you can probably discover my views on the Gaddafi incident, but that's something I am definitely not getting into).


So, the biggest news story of the weekend was Man Utd. getting a hammering. Even people not into football know that's unlikely. I mean, 1-6? That's embarrassing. As much as they aren't my favourite group of people, there are probably one or two United fans reading this, so I won't dwell as such, and instead talk about a certain City player.

Mario Balotelli is a cultural icon. I make it fairly well known that I love the man. The man who gave a grand to a tramp. The man who threw darts at people out of the training ground window. The man who get's, on average, £3000 a month in parking fines. The man who 'mistakenly' drove all the way into a women's prison. And the man who, when seeing a young boy outside the training ground in midweek, took him back to school, confronted his bullies, and shouted at the headteacher for letting the bullying carry on for as long as it did. He certainly is an eccentric. 


During yesterday's derby, he confronted his doubters by displaying a t-shirt under his football jersey that said 'why always me?' I found this hilarious, and woke up today wondering how he would celebrate yesterday's monumental win.  My buddy just told me, prompting this writing, that he drove around Manchester in his Bentley giving any City fan he saw a big ol' high five. There was no reason. But he did it, as he bloody well wanted to.

Sometimes, it's nice to do a Balotelli. To just want to do something, and then follow up this want by just doing it. Fantastic.

On that note, I fancy a beer. I know it's early, but hell, WWMD (what would Mario do)?

Over and out.

YES

Hungoverrrrrr


Over the past two weeks, I've made a fair few snap decisions. Saying yes to something I would otherwise just say no to. Living with a bit of spontaneity. It's not a bad thing. Not at all. Only, the hangovers I end up with are. Take last week for example. I went to the shop with a hankering for a Muller Light (strawberry, for anyone interested in my yoghurt habits), and ended up coming home with Peter, both of us with a bottle of wine, singing Wherever You Will Go by The Calling, and going out to Indie night, waking up with an absolute stinker of a hangover. And I didn't even get my Muller. Last night was supposed to be an easygoing pub session with my buddy Marcus. Again, x amount of £2 JD and Cokes later, indie night. I'm not saying these are bad things. When you do something as spontaneous as this, you can meet some pretty cool people that you may otherwise have never met. It's nice to be spontaneous, so, as the man on the bus said to Danny Wallace 'say yes more'.


Compliments


I don't do compliments well. Like, at all. Receiving them, that is. I don't know why this is. I just go blank whenever someone says anything nice. Earlier in the summer, for example, I had a 'The Doors, Waiting for the Sun' T-shirt on. A guy in starbucks obviously approved of my t shirt habits and said 'I like your t-shirt', to which I replied 'ah yeah, thank you, yours is cool too!'. This guy was wearing arguably the most generic red and white chequered shirt in the world. Like, every man and his nan own a similar shirt. To say 'I like it' was like saying 'I commend you for staying with that reliable number', and in truth, probably felt more like an insult, which would explain the incredibly awkward silence this created, so much so that he left (but that might of been because of the queue...I hope it was). The other day, a woman in the refectory told me she liked my glasses. On the spot, I was left with nothing to say but 'I like yours!' Needless to say, she was not one of the bespectacled among us. Bemused. But certainly not bespectacled. 


Over and out.

It's been too long!

Yeah. Sorry. I know I've been kinda shit at this recently. But hey, let's pretend this isn't the kind of reunion like when you see an ex at a party and things are really awkward. Let's ensure this is one of those 'meet up with an old buddy, end up in a gay bar getting free drinks from a guy who apparently worked one shift there, then all end up in Camden' kinda reunions (I'm looking at you, Tom Hewitt).

Anyway, I hope everyone is having a great time doing whatever they're doing be it uni, work, or dossing around playing Fifa12. But I guess I should tell you an embarrassing story to make your Saturday morning reading of this more interesting, right? 

Trapped 

Recently, I went to meet one of my friends in London and, after a good night getting a bit merry, decided I'd grab the last train home. Coffee in my hand, I sat down on the train at Kings Cross waiting for it to depart. Having had a nightmare a couple weeks back where I ended up in West Horndon due to falling asleep (which regular readers will know about), I was determined to stay awake. Only the woman next to me didn't share that sentiment.

As I neared Hatfield, I did that awkward stand-up to hope she felt me stir and move accordingly. She did not. I coughed, fairly loudly. She was still solid as a proverbial rock, much like Ashford and Simpson's love. What was I going to do? Is it ok to like... poke her? Surely not. The train was slowing and the tension was building. It was now or Welwyn. I stuck out my finger and slowly jabbed her arm and, like a shot, she looked at me and had obviously got up on the wrong side of the seat. The train had stopped.

"Why are you touching me?!?" she shouted.

It was too late. I was already off the train. 

Over and out.