The 7.32 from Oddsville.......

The small rotund man looked over his shoulder, one last check to make sure the coast was clear. The alley way he was walking down was dank and dark, and a scurrying sound from behind one of the bins caught his attention for a second. He approached the door at the end of the alley, its paint peeled away, and the small frosted window was cracked. His heart felt as though it was in his mouth, as he raised his hand, he hesitated for a second. Should he go through with it? he still had time to turn and walk away. Return to the warm bosom of his wife, safe and clean and wholesome, but he simply couldn’t resist, this desire burned away at his very core, his limp attempt at denial was futile, something compelled him to rap three times on the door.

His heart rate quickened even further as he heard footsteps approaching the door. It slowly opened, and from the darkness within, a whispering voice said. "Password please."
"Er…….I’m sorry, I don’t know it, I’m new you see, I have……. er, never done anything like this before."
Even though he couldn’t see the man behind the door, he could somehow tell from his voice that he began to smile. "Ah, new blood, excellent. Come in."
The door opened with a creak, and the man stepped into a long hallway. Small lights struggled to light the length of it, and as he followed the stranger down the hall, he tried to wipe the nervous sweat away from his palms.
"How did you get to hear about us?" said the stranger without looking at the man.
"Er, well, you get to hear, you know."
The stranger laughed and turned to the man. "Well it doesn’t matter how you found us, just that you did, mmm?"
"Yes, I suppose so." Said the man as he giggled nervously.

The stranger opened the door to a large room. Inside men of all ages, sizes and denominations sat facing forward. In front of them was a large white screen, and an almost overwhelming sense of anticipation crackled in the air. The hushed conversations stopped as the two men entered.
"Brothers, a fledgling fly’s among us. Welcome him like he is one of our own. Brother. Your name please……."
The man’s eyes scanned the room nervously; he swallowed hard and said "Derek."
The entire congregation greeted him, and simultaneously did the secret signal. Derek had only heard rumours about this, and now he knew for certain that it was true. At last he had seen it with his own eyes. Everyman in the room clenched his fist, and raised it into the air. Then they all pulled their fists down twice, as if pulling on an imaginary cord.
"The stranger looked at Derek……."Brother?"

Derek felt the pride well up within him. He slowly clenched his fist, and as every set of eyes in the room fell upon him, he raised it into the air, and pulled it down twice.
"Toot toot," was the simultaneous response from the gathering.
The stranger smiled and said "Well done brother Derek, well done."
He ushered Derek towards the front of the assembly, and said, "You can sit with me tonight brother, just until you find your feet."
Derek sat down on a rickety chair, and the stranger walked to the front and stood before the screen.
"Brothers, welcome to one and all, let me just take this opportunity to welcome brother Derek into our little fold, and hope that his time here with us is an enjoyable one. We can deal with the formalities later brother, paper work etc. but now it is time to welcome our glorious leader. Please be upstanding for Brother Stephen, our Grand Master."

Every man in the room stood to attention, Derek followed suit. From the left of the room, a tall silver haired gentleman strode purposefully into the room. He turned and stood before the congregation, and gave the toot toot salute. All the men responded, Derek included. Derek had never felt so excited, he had never felt so at peace with himself, and he had never felt so ‘as one’ with a bunch of human beings as he did right now.
The man that had originally greeted Derek shouted "Gentlemen, SHIRTS OFF." All the men ripped open their shirts, and threw them into the air.

Never before had Derek been greeted with such a sight. It was truly magnificent, something to behold. The men were all different shapes and sizes, some had hairy chests, and some were clean shaven, some fat, some thin, but they all had one glorious thing in common. They all proudly sported bright shiny golden nipple clamps. And hanging between the clamps was a gold chain, and hanging from that gold chain was a guard’s whistle. Tears welled in Derek’s eyes, and even though his chest was clamp free, he still puffed it out, and held his head high.
"Step forward brother Derek," said Master Stephen.

Derek walked proudly to the front, and stood before the Grand Master. Derek looked down, and there laying upon a scarlet velvet cushion edged with gold braid, was his very own clamps. They shone as bright as the brightest star, and he couldn’t wait to feel the cold metal clamped firmly onto his erect nipples.
"With these golden clamps, I bestow upon thee brother Derek, the greatest honour that can be bestowed upon any spotter. We welcome thee into the fellowship that we call the 'Clamptits'. May thy clamps for ever shine, thy chain forever flow freely, and thy whistle forever toot. Look after them brother Derek, and they will serve thee well. Gentlemen, I give you…….Brother Derek."
The congregation all said "Brother Derek" together, then gave the toot toot salute. Derek looked deep into the Grand master’s eyes as he felt the icy cold clamps pinch his erect nipples. He almost felt a stirring in his loins as he felt the chain brush his chest. He felt the whistle swaying to and fro. He held it between thumb and forefinger, and raised it to his lips. With two powerful puffs, he let out a shrill toot toot into the room, the gathering raised their whistles and tooted back in recognition of their new member.
"Please be seated Brother Derek" said the Grand Master, "It is now time for the main event."
From behind him, Derek heard the whir of a projector, and on the large screen in front of him a grainy film of the unmistakable 'Flying Scotsman' burst fourth. Sighs of appreciation could be heard all around the room, and the air of excitement rose to fever pitch. Derek couldn't believe he was now one of them, one of the steam train enthusiasts clan. He had waited for this moment for so long, and now he was finally here.

He looked around him, and could see his fellow spotters were most definitely excited. He had felt a stirring himself, but wondered if there was some kind of etiquette. Just at that moment the Grand Master stood up sporting his own obvious excitement, and bellowed......"ALL ABOARD".......then blew his whistle. All around the room one could hear the sound of release. Tears welled in Derek's eyes once again. For so many years he had had to appreciate steam trains in private, his little guilty secret that he kept from his wife. Stolen moments when she was at her Mother's, those secret password locked folders on the computer, containing thousands of images of beautiful beautiful steam trains. How he would appreciate them, as he watched picture after picture flash before his eyes. The steam bellowing from the funnels, the beautiful lines that shaped every locomotive, the fires that burned deep within their beating hearts, but now he could appreciate them guilt free, here, in this place, he was complete.

"STOKE THE BOILERS GENTLEMEN, STOKE THE BOILERS" shouted the Grand Master, his face ruddy and sweating. Whistles swung violently to and fro, as the appreciation reached a crescendo. As the 'Flying Scotsman pulled into the station, it released a huge plume of steam, at this point, every man in the room raised his whistle to his quivering lips, and with a heavenly synchronicity, tooted as loudly as they could. The release was audible and simultaneous.......
The image on the screen flickered, and eventually ceased. Whistles fell from lips, and swung gently to a halt. The Grand Master slowly stood and removed his nipple clamps, "Same time next week gentlemen?".......

Punch monastery into the sat nav will Ya.......

It’s official, I am allergic to wheat. I have suspected for years that I might be. After eating bread etc I would feel like someone had inserted a bicycle pump up my rectum, and started pumping vigorously! So with all the "New year, new me" …….(It has worn off already. I have welcomed back with open arms, the old "The world is full of cunts" me!) …….cobblers, I took the plunge and decided to get it sorted once and for all.

Instead of going down the traditional route of making an appointment to see my doctor (whoever he or she is), via a Nazi receptionist, I took a wander down the holistic path. At our local "Mega" Tesco’s there is a little cubby hole, and inside is a little Chinese doctor, and his helpful female assistant. For the sum of thirty-five pounds, they can do a test, and it will tell you all the things that you are allergic to. It’s a simple and painless procedure which involves taking a small sample of hair, which they then send off to some laboratory somewhere. They work some voodoo magic on it, and lo and behold a few days later, you have your results.

Now, being somewhat follically challenged, and shaving the remaining hair to a closely cropped no. three, for one un-nerving moment I feared she might say that there was not going to be enough hair for the sample, and she would have to visit little Andy for a donation from his little hat! In the few seconds as we stood there, this whole scenario played out in my head, in a kind of mortifying slow motion. There I am standing in the middle of "Mega" Tesco’s, with my trousers around my knees, shirt pulled up over the protruding beer gut, staring down at a petit Chinese lady, who is kneeling down, and coming at me nervously with a small pair of scissors. All the while my wife, the Chinese doctor, and a rapidly gathering crowd look on with jaw slacking bemusement! Fortunately it never came to this, as the young lady coped admirably with my lack of scalp carpet, and managed to get enough from round the back somewhere.

So off it went in a little plastic bag, and I was told to wait a few days, and she would phone me to tell me it was ready. A few days passed, and she did indeed phone me. She asked if she could "speak to a mista Moo" and proceeded to tell me that my results were back, and to come in to see them on Saturday, and they would analyse them with me. Saturday comes around, and Miss Marple and I toddle off to "Mega" Tesco’s

"Ah Goo afternoo Mr Moo, here are your results."
Yes, there it was in big bright red letters…….ALLERGIC TO WHEAT…….It was even circled in red (Must be serious). There were other things too. Caffeine, citrus fruits, tomatoes, pepper, spices, fortunately these were not in red, and therefore I am not so allergic to them.
So, thank you God. That is not one, but several more avenues of pleasure closed off. I haven’t got much left. Fags when a few years ago, the only things I had left to cling to in an attempt to keep a grip on some kind of sanity was my beer, Jack Daniels, curries, big cups of tea and crusty cheese rolls. If I stick rigidly to what would be the new regime, all that would be gone, and all I would have left would be the XBOX and wanking. Having said that, the latter could be in jeopardy due to an unforeseen, and very unwelcome bout of some kind of ‘Tennis elbow’…….I could practice left handed I suppose, it’s not the same though is it?.......sigh.

Anyway, I then had three lots of pills plonked in front of me, and told that a good session of acupuncture would do me the world of good. I declined the opportunity. They seemed very keen; the little Chinese doctor’s assistant had to virtually wrestle the little Chinese doctor to the floor to stop him from jabbing me with hundreds of needles.

So, there you have it. I might as well join a monastery. I virtually have no avenues of pleasure left, and I have a head start…….(Eh!, see what I did there, eh!) on the monks hair cut thing. Or I could just say fuck it, and carry on regardless. What is worse, a clean living life of salad, fruit, and abject misery, or having an imaginary man thrust an imaginary bicycle pump up my bottom?
PS. I wonder what the monastic stance on self abuse is?.......

Where is Michael Fish?.......

I think it would be fair to say, that I do indeed spend a more than healthy amount of time in a state of irritability. I don’t really want to, I would genuinely much rather be ‘Happy go lucky’ but there is something deep down in my core, that just finds something irritating about most things.
What is worse, is that I seem to have been even more tetchy than normal just recently. I don’t have any concrete evidence as to why this is, but maybe it has something to do with the onset of winter, the cold, the grey skies as far as the eye can see, what seems to be constant drizzle, and probably worst of all, the darkness.

Anyway, putting all that to one side, I thought I would just do a quick review of what has been occurring recently in this mad mad mad mad world.

I read today that scientists now tell us that the hole in the ozone layer is protecting the Antarctic from global warming. For God’s sake make your minds up chaps will you. In fact a message to the whole scientific community, until you have something that is actually interesting, relevant, meaningful and useful to say, please shut the fuck up. It wouldn’t be so bad if they stuck to their guns, but eating toast last week prolonged your life by a decade, this week it gives you cancer!

Scientists do get on my nerves actually. They can be so bloody arrogant. "If I haven’t seen it through my electron microscope, or if it hasn’t happened under laboratory conditions, it doesn’t exist." Brilliant, that is about as blinkered and narrow minded as any religious zealot.

The bloody mindedness of science, can be just as silly as any religious fundamentalism. The big bang theory thing always gets me. If you ask them what was"there" before the big bang, their reply is……."Er, nothing." Brilliant, that’s it is it? Just nothing eh?, years at Harvard for that.

I am of course being a bit silly, science has given us some truly wondrous products and discoveries, I think my bitterness towards them stems from their reluctance to invent a useable personal jet pack…….I want one.......really really want one.

Liverpudlians. I can’t bare them. Yes every one of them, yes I know that is a ridiculous sweeping statement, but arse to it, let’s sweep away. My God they have a high opinion of themselves don’t they? "Salt of the earth this", "salt of the earth that," a sense of humour second to none. Really? let me just say Stan Boardman and Tom O’Conner, I don’t think so.
That bloody accent, in my opinion the worst accent of the British Isles. A whiney, lilting, phlegm inducing noise. Thank God the vast majority of them can’t string more than a few words together. "You know what I meeeeeeean likcccccccccckkkkkkkkke." Arghh, please make it stop.

Horrible human beings stomp around the planet, culling defenceless baby seals, killing elephants for their ivory, to make into obscene trinkets for other disgraceful human beings to buy. Pointlessly slaughter whales, and wipe out entire species. What the fuck are we doing? Let all of those beautiful creatures live, and turn your hateful vengeance on to Liverpudlians! YES, lets cull scousers. Your average baseball cap wearing, smelly tracksuit donning, stolen mobile phone using, dangerous dog wielding, benefit scrounging feckless scouser is a much more deserving target for your blood lust.

Leave the gorillas alone, Let that tiger be. Instead turn your attention to the council estates of Liverpool! Animal welfare people should be sent in to collect all of the "Dangerous dogs" (They can all come and live with Miss Marple and me, we will see how "dangerous" they are, once they have been festooned with love, care and proper attention) and then teams of ‘Purifiers’ should March through scumsville, flamethrowring any pointless chavs they find. Flush them out of their stinking pits. Let’s see how much ‘Darren’ liccccccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkes it with an arse full of machine gun fire! Hitler wasn’t all bad ya know, he just got carried away!

While we are on the subject of animals, a week or so ago, what can only be described as a "fucking stupid cunt" scaled the twenty foot high wall of a bear enclosure at some zoo or other. He wanted to get up close and personal with the bear, to get some better photographs! Because he was a complete dolt, he had failed to realize that this bear, although in captivity, was to all intents and purposes a wild animal. The bear proceeded to maul him, until the authorities shot it. Why didn’t they shoot the moronic cretin instead?

Our plasmas are plastered with reality TV at the moment, it is that time of year. I still cry with frustration and despair on a daily basis, due to the fact that vast swathes of the "Great" British public are still under the illusion that the ‘X FACTOR’ is a singing competition.

‘I’m a non entity, get me out of here’ rots the fabric of society this time of year as well. Thankfully I can resist being sucked into this one, but one can’t help catching the odd snippet from newspapers and TV. I will never cease to be amazed at how spoilt and precious your average fucking celebrity is. Some woman (I have no idea who she is) Left the "Jungle" after a couple of days, due to exhaustion, depression, and mal nutrition or something. FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!..................Can a human being possibly get anymore pathetic than that? If they had genuinely been dropped into a real jungle, two hundred miles from civilization, and if they really had to catch their own food, fend for themselves etc, you could possibly understand it. But we all know it’s about as much a "real" jungle as my fucking potting shed. Just out of camera shot there are doctors, councilors, manicurists, agents, lawyers, life coaches, assistants, dietitians etc etc etc. If you can’t hack sitting round in a glorified greenhouse surrounded by all that little lot for a couple of weeks, then quite frankly you deserve to be left in the fucking jungle…….for real!

I think the thing (And I mean "Thing") that sums it all up, is Jordan, or Katie Price or whatever she is fucking called this week. The producers of the show, realizing that nobody knew who any of the ‘celebrities’ were, decided to make "it" an offer that "it" couldn’t refuse, in order to try and boost the all important ratings. So for the obscene figure of three hundred and fifty thousand pounds, "It" swanned into the jungle to "save" the show.

After seven days of being voted by the public to do the ‘Bush tucker trials’ "It" announced that "it" would be leaving. "It" apparently said "I can’t understand why the public keep picking on me!" ……. No amount of slack jaws, raised eyebrows, or exclamation marks would ever be enough to cope with that quote. But with extreme grace, "it" agreed to knock off one hundred thousand pounds of "it’s" fee for quitting early. Bless.

There is a black bloke who sometimes does the weather on the BBC in the mornings, who is getting on my nerves. I am not a morning person, sometimes I am barely a person at all, but in the mornings I am usually bleary eyed, sometimes a bit hung over, but always grumpy. That bloody Carol Kirkwood is bad enough with her overly cheery "Morning" but this guy is curdling the milk on my sugar puffs. He bounces around in front of the map, and he has started doing those hand gestures, you know the one’s that hip hoppers do. Throwing his hand out towards the camera as he tells me "it’s gonna rain in da east today." All the while bouncing. His other hand reaches up and moves down across his body as he says "You guys in da West r gonna ‘av it fine." Still bouncing. "Up in Scoterlannnnnnnd you mudders gonna get one bitch load a snow…….mmm mmm."

Look BBC, if I wanted ‘Huggy Bear’ forecasting the weather, I would go to channel five ok. Because the BBC pride themselves on being "Right on" and "Down wi da kids" and all that, they are letting this guy have a free reign. What is he going to do next? I am fully expecting to be wearily munching on my burnt toast one morning soon, and ‘anchor man’ bloke will say "And now the weather."

A kicking hip hop groove will strike up, and ‘MC Wedder boy’ will slide into shot doing a bit of ‘beat boxing’. At the same time a couple of bootilicious soul sisters will funk their way onto the set. Standing one either side of him, they will thrust their leopard skinned booties towards the camera, as ‘MC’ starts to rap the weather!.......

Yo yo all yo mudders out there, is it gonna rain, or will it be fair.

I’m MC Wedder boy at yo service, wit da aid of ma bitches and young
Curtis (Cut to shot of kid spinning on his head)

Rainin’ in da east, snowing in da west, I’m da wedder boy dat you love da best.

(Soul sisters) – Heeeeeeeeeee’s da man, mmm what a man – (bit of booty shaking)

Scoterland wales and norten Ireland, will start off dull, but then will brighten.

All my homies in da home counties, yo rely on me, I put ma money where ma mout is.

Sunshine beaming like ma wedder boy bling, come on sisters let me hear you sing…….boooyakasha!

(Soul sisters) – Heeeeeeeeee’s da man, oh wat a wedder man –(Booty shaking and pouting)

If the BBC has now entered a period of "Non Traditional Weather forecasting" lets have some more examples shall we? Let’s have Mustafa the Muslim Fundamentalist forecaster……

Many London residents will wake to find a plague of locusts descending upon the capital city today – HOME OF THE INFADELS! - God’s divine wind will sweep in from the east, and cleanse the land of the impurities of the west. Looking forward to the long term forecast, I predict rain for forty days and for forty nights, followed by an upsurge of hot air from the Middle East. Goodnight.

Perhaps a Rastafarian weather forecast.

Anchor man – So Winston, what does the weather have in store for us today?

Winston – long pause…….cool man.

Perhaps our weather forecasters aren’t gay enough. Perhaps we should have Justin doing the weather. I would like to see him mince on to the weather girls "It’s raining men."

"Ooh ‘ello. Ooh my lovelies it’s going to be wet today. Plenty of showers, but not golden one’s we ‘ope, eh? (cackles) ooh take no notice of me. If I am to believe what my fellow forecaster Julian tells me, I’ll need to prepare myself for a severe stiff one from the south tonight…….eh! Oh and don’t talk to me about the snow up north, I could be up to my eyeballs in soggy white stuff before I know it, nothing new there love, eh! Oooooh. Well that’s all from me, ill catch you later, I can feel a breeze around the Urals.

What was wrong with Michael Fish? He may not have got the weather forecast right, but there was a certain stiff upper lip about it all. Having said that, I notice that he has made a bit of a comeback on GMTV and even he is being a bit off hand, flippant, and down wid da kids! Where will it all end?.......

Mr Nobody.......

Do you know who I am Ladies and Gentlemen? I am the most unimportant man in the world, that’s who. Do you know why I am the least favoured man on the planet? …….well I will tell you.

I am Male, I am Caucasian, I have no children, I am not a homosexual, I have a full time job, I claim nothing from the state, I am not an ethnic minority, I am not disabled, I am not a criminal, I am not a drug addict,
(Sorry, I mean I am not addicted to any form of barbiturate, through no fault of my own. In fact it simply has to be someone else’s fault that I am hooked on a class A drug. Even though it was completely my decision to take the drug in the first place, I am blaming my parents for not cuddling me enough, my school for not recognising my ‘special needs’, the police for not being understanding enough, Jimmy Cartwright at school for calling me a name when I was five, that very much hurt my feelings, Grandad for taking me fishing, when I really didn’t want to go, and the whole world for generally being beastly. There, that’s much more politically correct isn’t it? We can’t go round upsetting the poor little drug addicts can we)
and last but no means least, I tend to play by the rules. That is why I am completely irrelevant.

I am often tempted to cut a leg off, Have a sex change, cover myself in gravy browning, adopt a child, join an Islamist sect, live in a caravan, quit my job and live on handouts, indulge in petty crime, and start lifting shirts, just to get some fucking attention!

You see, probably up until about fifty or so years ago, all of these people were persecuted, ridiculed and abused, and it was almost seen as the "norm" for it to be that way. Of course that is completely and utterly wrong, and thank goodness that, in general, this country has become a much more liberally minded and tolerant place. But you see where it all falls down (As usual) is that us bloody human beings just can’t leave things alone. We couldn’t just change things so that the persecution of these people became unlawful and morally irreprehensible, we had to keep going and keep going, until they were put on a pedestal. They were now the special ones, and everybody that tried their best to put them there, became lower class citizens! After all, "We are all equal, but some are more equal than others."

So the inevitable outcome of this, is that I am completely invisible! I am not "special" you see. I am not in a minority. I am Mr. Nobody.

There are millions of me about though, yes literally millions of me. Getting up at the crack of dawn, going to work, paying taxes, paying bills, going through the rigmarole and expense of acquiring all of the relevant legal documentation to enable me to drive a vehicle on the public highway. Claiming nothing, and not being eligible to claim anything from the state, being criminalized for petty trivial misdemeanors, (Feeding the ducks…….no really!) and generally slogging my guts out.
Oh what a fool am I. What I really should be doing, is…….

Changing my name to Mohamed/Polovski/O’reilly, becoming a woman and having three kids, not bothering with any of that silly vehicle documentation stuff, it doesn’t matter if I get caught, the fine for having no tax, insurance or MOT is less than it costs to obtain it all in the first place anyway, and I shouldn’t bother with a license either, if I haven’t got one, they can’t take it away can they, tee hee. I should be slipping over on a recently mopped floor. The benefits of this are amazing apparently, compo, and state benefits for the rest of my life, ‘cause I will have a pretend bad back. While I am at it, I should buy/steal some sort of mobile home, plonk it where I like, build what I like around it……. planning permission, rules, what’s that?....... Don’t you pick on me with your tyrannical rules and stuff, I will be an ethnic minority you know, that’s persecution that is. I should develop a drug habit, steal from Mr. Nobody to fund it, blame it on my childhood, my parents, my teachers……. the boogie! Whatever, get Mr. Nobody to pay for my "Rehabilitation" in the Maldives, Come back, develop a drug habit……. Meanwhile, allow my feral feckless brats to run amok terrorising the local community, blame it on the boogie! Get Mr. Nobody to pay for councilling and cuddling sessions for them, pick up a load of leaflets from Chief Constable Hopeless about parenting skills, (They are excellent for making roaches for spliffs) Get Mr. Nobody to buy me a nice new shiny 42" plasma (a bit like the one I stole off him a few weeks back) sit on my ever expanding arse, and play on-line fucking bingo all day!.......I can’t wait. (Deep breath)…….

The liberals have taken over, and completely fucked up the asylum Ladies and Gentlemen. We now live in a country where the Government, the police, teachers, and all the Mr. Nobody’s are scared shitless of upsetting anyone whose name isn’t Smith/Jones/Mule etc. We have made all of the above people so "Special" they have started to believe the hype. They must wake up in the morning, look in their state funded mirrors, and say to themselves, "Hello gorgeous, you really are special."

We don’t live in that equality driven society that we all dreamed of, we exist in a world where the "Special ones" are the ruling class. Why is there the NBPA? (National black police officers association). Why do we have the MOBO’s? (Music of black origin awards). I know I sound like the bastard love child of Richard Littlejohn of the Daily Mail, and BNP leader Nick Griffin, but there is a serious point here, if the equivalent "White" versions of these were set up, arrests would be being made as we speak.

It’s not just black and ethnic areas where blatant favoritism is shown, (I’m really going to get it in the neck now!) but women have much more "Equality" than me. Women’s rights this, and women’s rights that, Women against this, women against that. Feminism, womenism, vaginaism.

Lets just be done with shall we, and massacre all men. They can have a few kept in cages for reproductory requirements, although the levels of man hating and man bashing are so astronomical now, that all women will probably be lesbians in a couple of hundred years anyway, so the caged men will just be sperm donors. Will they kill all male infants at birth, just keeping the healthier specimens back as "Donors?" Dear God, sends a shiver down the spine. (Is it safe to stick my head above the parapet yet?.......)

Our new found "Equality" has even wriggled its way into sexuality. Now look, I absolutely, honestly, really couldn’t give a shit (Please forgive that very much unintended pun) where any man lodges his willy, but do gay men have to push it in my face (Pun very much intended, couldn’t resist it) Gay pride for example, it’s not that I have anything against Gay pride as an organization, but if I was to set up ‘Straight and proud’ and go on marches proclaiming "Its great to be straight!" I would be accused of being homophobic, and Chief Constable Hopeless would be round mine handing out leaflets on ‘Sexual diversity and you’ quicker than you could say "Are you free Mr. Humphries."

We have gone too far with it all, I don’t mind how far it goes really, but why can’t us Mr. Nobodys come along for the ride too? Why do we have to be left behind?

As I have been tapping this out, something has slowly been dawning on me. For centuries, "White" man has been stomping around the globe, pushing people about. Nicking land off them, tyrannizing, enslaving, and generally lording it up at other people’s expense. For as long as we can remember, men have looked down on "The little woman," seen anyone with a skin darker than their own as second class citizens. Persecuted Homosexuals, and turned disabled people into freak show exhibits.
Perhaps we are finally getting our come uppance. Perhaps we are finally getting what we deserve. Am I paying for the activities and attitudes of my fore fathers? Could be, Mother nature seems to have a way of redressing the balance one way or another.
But hey, Mother nature, can’t you slow down with the change a bit, maybe even swing it back in my favour a little…….no? Karma i suppose.

As an end to this rant…….er I mean lecture, I would just like to share with you an example of Karma that I witnessed the other day. It seems that it is not only Ethnic minorities, feckless chavs, women and homosexuals that see me as Mr. Nobody. Drivers of big cars seem to see me that way too. For years I have been slowly coming to the boil about drivers of such cars as BMW’s and such the like. Their arrogance, selfishness, their complete lack of willingness to concede that other road users have as much right to be on the roads as them. To the story…….

Part of my journey to work, involves traveling along a straight piece of road, that has another road joining it at a very acute angle. The road joining "mine", is a junction, and the users of it are expected to give way. Having used it myself, I will concede that it is bloody awkward to see if anything is coming. The wing mirror just doesn’t cut it, and a severe craning of the neck is required to spot somebody coming. Of course a good hefty glance over to the right when one is half way down the road can help immensely as one approaches the junction, but this is obviously far too taxing for most people.

One car out of a hundred can be forgiven for genuinely not seeing me coming, but the other ninety-nine are just arrogant bastards. These are people that also see me as Mr. Nobody. They are far more important than I am, Their time is far more precious. The place they have to be is far more crucial than mine, and their business far more pressing. I have honestly lost count of the number of times that I have had to slam the brakes on, as they gaily bowl out of the junction, with not a second thought for my existence.

Just the other morning I was traveling along said bit of road. Foot twitching, ready to jump to the brake pedal, I saw one of the most beautiful pieces of karma I will probably ever see. BMW boy was approaching the junction behind a council truck, and I have to give him is due, (to a small extent); I did see him glance over his shoulder. Never the less, even though he saw me coming (I know he did, we made eye contact) he decided to arrogantly press ahead anyway, after all bollocks to me, I am Mr. nobody. Unfortunately for him (Fortunately for the rest of mankind) the guys in the council truck weren’t arrogant bastards, and they had courteously and rightfully stopped. As I drove past and glanced left, I almost became erect as I witnessed a very crumpled bonnet, and a beautiful plume of steam rising gently to the heavens. The added bonus is, is that the hefty truck he ran into had not a scratch on it! I wish I had had the courage to stop, and dance around his steaming pile of dented arrogant metal, like a Morris man around a Maypole! It’s funny where little instances of Karma can arise…….isn’t it!

You know that there is an old Chinese proverb that says……."If a man sits on…….Sigh, hang on, sorry....... if a man/woman/hermaphrodite/individual caught in the thorny dilemma of undecided gender alignment, sits on a…….HANG ON HANG ON!!! Bollocks to it. Political correctness can really fuck up a proverb can’t it!

.......If a man sits on the river bank long enough, he will eventually see the bodies of his enemies float by.

Old father time.......

I’m sorry, I can’t seem to help myself, I’m not proud of it, and I probably should be ashamed, but there is no denying it…….Old people get on my fucking tits!
Sigh…….Don’t get me wrong, deep down I do have the utmost respect for them. The unbelievable hardships they endured during two world wars, are completely beyond my comprehension, and should never be forgotten. My life today compared to theirs, can only be described as a Utopian paradise, but, let’s be honest, they are bloody annoying aren’t they?

Why don’t they listen? And no it’s not just because they are possibly hard of hearing, it’s because they are so busy jabbering on, that they don’t bother to listen. You know how it is, we have all been there. You ask them a question, and before you have finished asking it, they are already saying "eh?" so you start asking it again, at which point they butt in and start answering you. Proving that they did hear you the first time, they have just got into the habit of thinking that they haven’t heard you.

At what point during our descent into old age, do we forget how to drive a car? If by some miracle, or a rapid advance in medical science I reach, let’s say eighty, will I have totally forgotten what the pedals and big wheelie thing In front of me are for? When we get older, does our perception of speed increase? It must do, I suppose this would explain why little old men in hats seem to be under the impression that going over thirty-five mph will cause them to black out or spontaneously combust.

The number of times I have been driving along, and to my astonishment, have seen what appears to be nothing more than a Trilby driving a 1979 Morris Mariner towards me! Is that really safe? Should that really be allowed? Surely if you are looking through the steering wheel and not over it, a disaster is only just around the corner. But they don’t crash do they, no everyone else is doing that around them. There they are dribbling along, while in their wake is an ever growing line of steaming, disfigured metal, as people have taken drastic action to avoid their decrepit incompetence.

What age will I be, when I decide that it’s ok to just stop without giving any kind of warning or notice? I was watching some old biddy the other day. Wandering along at seventeen mph, and without any concept at all that there might be other poor bastards on the public highway, just stopped! The poor sod behind her stood on the brake pedal with both feet, smoke billowing from his newly flat spotted tyres. Still she appeared to have no idea at all that she had nearly been rear ended.

After the bloke had sat there for a couple of minutes picking his teeth out of the leatherette finish of his dashboard, flashing his lights, bibbing the horn, waving, shouting, etc. he attempted to drive around her, at which point she decided, without making use of the mirrors, to slowly pull away. If I had had a fucking bazooka to hand, she would have been toast!

At what point do we decide that we are no longer going to try and use modern technology? My God I get fed up with old cronies whittling on about how they can’t use "Those new fangled" things like a computer or a mobile phone. At what point does our brain seem to stop being able to process the information needed to operate what is essentially simple pieces of equipment. To be honest, I have got to be careful here. I hope Miss Marple isn’t reading this, or she will be crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows. The number of times she has witnessed me dribbling and stumbling about whilst trying to use one of those "Do it yourself checkouts" at the Co-op.

I always feel sorry for the poor girl who has to come to the rescue of poor souls like me, when we have made the red light flash for the umpteenth time. It is quite embarrassing when I’m told that I have scanned the same tin of beans seventy-four times! Or I have collapsed in to a quivering wreck, because the machine has asked me to input the code for fresh produce or whatever.

Don’t remind me of that bloody thing in the bank either, you know, where you can deposit money into a machine instead of giving it to someone at the counter. That is like a white knuckle ride for me, who needs Alton towers!

You see, age is a very peculiar thing to me. I have great trouble getting my head around it. When I was a child of say eight, my grandfathers would have probably been in their fifties. Not old at all, especially by today’s standards, but at the age of eight, they were ancient. They looked old, they seemed old, to my little mind, they were old. Now, my Father is approaching sixty-five, and apart from being maybe a little rounder, and a little more grey, he doesn’t seem any older or different to me, than say twenty or thirty years ago. It seems that if you get older with someone, you don’t seem to notice their ageing, but if you have only known someone as being "old" you just seem to see them as……. well,"old." That probably doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but I hope you catch my drift.

For example, I have only known Miss Marple’s Grandmothers as elderly ladies. I can in no way imagine them as young, virile, bouncy girls. With pert bosoms, lily white taught skin and a spring in their step. I know they were, but the brain seems to refuse to comprehend it.

It’s very much like I see myself I suppose. There is no way in the bloody world that I see myself as forty-two. It’s impossible, I can’t be. How did that happen? Ok, when I get out of bed these days the first few steps are like walking on a bed of nails because of the pins and needles, and my knee keeps giving way. There is the bad back, dodgy hearing, aching teeth, constantly painful elbow, balding head and creaking limbs, but mentally I don’t feel any different to when I was twenty-five. I think our brains stop getting older by the age of about twenty-five, but the bloody body keeps going. Having said that, there does seem to be some kind of cut off point. It’s like our brains stay twenty-five up until about the age of seventy-two, then the switch flicks over to "Old git mode." You suddenly can’t drive, use a mobile phone, hear people, stop talking about how things were better in "Your day" listen to what people are telling you, and on and on and on.

I’m not looking forward to the day that I think it is essential to wear a belt and braces. Do you get a letter from some governmental department, or the Queen, telling you that today is the day to start wearing your waistband under you armpits. Is smelling musty a gradual process or, does it happen over night? What age do you have to be, before you no longer worry about looking a complete twat on the dance floor?

Again I have to be careful here. Do you know, it’s been weeks since I wore a pair of jeans! Choosing instead to wear some nice comfy slacks! …….shit. (Think I will go out and buy myself a leather jacket and some ripped jeans…….maybe even a bandanna).

I have often seen an elderly couple, and wondered how they see each other. Do they both still see those young, frisky, energetic, slim, taught skinned kids that they used to be? Or do they see old people? I have been with the lovely Miss Marple for thirteen years now, but I don’t see her as being any older. I suppose I have the advantage that she was very young when we met (Wonder if I am off the register yet? Could do with my computer back as well) and so she hasn’t actually changed much at all. How will I see her when she is seventy? How she will see me doesn’t bare thinking about! She probably won’t be able to see much of me anyway, behind all those tubes and oxygen cylinders etc. Wonder if she will be able cope? Being married to Davros!

How does an old person see themselves? Does our elderly neighbour, who, without wishing to be unpleasant, has a face like a road map of inner London, see himself like he used to be, or as an old man?
I seem to have softened my stance somewhat. Perhaps it’s because I know that I am racing ever faster to the land of 'elderly'.

When I am prime minister, I will make it compulsory to have some kind of assessment at the age of seventy-two. On your seventy second birthday, a black van will arrive at your house in the early hours of the morning (Don’t worry, you will be up, old people always are!) and you will be whisked off to a secret government facility, where you will go through a vigorous assessment procedure. For a week you will be tested to see if you can drive, operate contemporary equipment, cope without multiple trouser fastenings, listen, Urinate and defecate un-aided. Not whitter on and on, eat quietly, drink without the aid of a straw and generally function without slowing people up, getting in the way, and being a bloody nuisance!
If they fail the test, It will be a bit like ‘Logan’s run’ They will be told they are off to some kind of sanctuary, in reality, through the door, twenty foot drop straight in to the furnace!

Footnote.

I feel a bit bad now. You see, i wrote this round about the time of Remembrance day. Seeing all those old soldiers etc has reminded me of the incredible sacrifices people of that generation made. Don't be too hard on me, it's all (mostly!) just a bit of fun.......They can be fucking irritating though can't they?

If i only had the nerve.......

Do you ever find yourself in a situation where you wish you had the courage to say a certain thing, or act in a certain way? I do, and I can’t be the only one.

I, like most people, have and still do suffer from bouts of cowardice. Cowardice can take many forms of course, right from refusing to go "Over the top" in the trenches in the first world war (Understandable) right down to deciding not to complain about the toe nail in your carbonara.

I suppose the odd craven moment is understandable really, it’s probably a deep seated psychological response to try and save oneself from a moment of peril, but seeing as most of us in the western world are no longer under threat from marauding sabre toothed tigers in our daily lives, our cowardly bones seem to find other outlets.

We have all been there, ruing the fact that we didn’t complain to that snooty waiter in the restaurant, or wishing we had stood up for ourselves to our boss’ Tyrannical demands. So I thought I would share with you some of the things that I dream of doing, if like the cowardly lion in ‘The Wizard of Oz’…….I only had the nerve.

As I have got older, I have found myself more often than not shying away from social situations. I really don’t like them to be honest, I know it’s a bit of a flaw in my character, but it’s just the way I am. Probably the worst kind of social situation that I would have to endure, would be the awful dinner party. A buffet is not so bad because you are mobile, and it is easier to avoid certain people, but at a dinner party you are metaphorically chained and padlocked to your chair. This means that you are also stuck with whoever you are sitting next to. On the few and distant occasions I have been at a dinner party, this usually meant being Siamese twinned with ‘Justin’ who works in HR, and boy does he wanna tell you about it. Or I’ll be manacled to ‘Wayne’ who has been everywhere, done everything, seen everything and shagged everyone.

In these situations, what do I do? I sit there and suck it all up of course. In my fantasy I would have tourettes syndrome. Wouldn’t that be great eh? Pretending to have tourettes at a social gathering. I’ve got a semi lob on just thinking about it! So instead of listening to Wayne tell me all about his fantastic life, it would be more like this…….Cue wibbly wobblyness…….

Wayne – Hi, I’m Wayne.

Me - Andy.

Wayne – So, who are you here with?

Me – My wife, she is sitting over there, the lady in the purple dress.

Wayne – Oh yeah, hey, I think my fiancée has got the same dress, but her’s is a size ten, your wife’s must be a…….fourteen, right?

Me – Wanker (Twitch)

Wayne – Sorry?

Me – Forgive me, I suffer from tourettes syndrome, I can’t help myself.

Wayne – Oh right, I have never met anyone with tourettes before, how long have you had it?

Me – Your Mother sucks cocks at the back of the bingo hall on Saturday nights (Flinch)…….about fifteen years.

Wayne – Right…….it must be difficult to deal with sometimes?

Me – Yeah it’s not easy, people don’t seem to understand, you know.

Wayne – Well I do mate, don’t worry about it. So what do you do for a living?

Me – Oh I have just got a menial job really, it’s nothing special.

Wayne – I am in banking, I’m a hedge fund banker actually.

Me – Mother fucking cunt…….really, that must be interesting.

Wayne – Yeah it’s cool man, picked up my new Porsche yesterday, you know it does 176 mph, flat out.

Me – Tosser bitch cock face shit head, wow that’s amazing (Twitch, flinch, wink)

Wayne – Got a six figure bonus as well, but don’t tell anybody eh? (Laughs)

Me – Your Father is an arse fucking homo…….nice holiday for you this year then?

Wayne – Yeah, me and Debbie, did I tell you she is a model? Thought we would spend a month in Mauritius.

Me – Ooh that will be lovely…….she’s a slut, she’s a slut…….(Nod wink twitch) we are having a week off to decorate my wife’s disabled Grandmother’s flat.

Wayne – Oh you should really try and get away man, even on a limited income. A break is good for you.

Me – (Big twitch, wink wink)……. I have fucked your sister, bitch (Twitch) Thanks for the advice, I will bear it in mind.

Wayne – Well I’d better go and touch base with the little lady, she misses me ya know.

Me – Of course…….(Twitch and head butt him, wink flinch)…….sorry about that.

Wayne – (Holding nose) er…….no prob mate.

Me – It was an accident…….Your cock is tiny, bollocks mother fucker, your sister liked it up the arse, and so did your dad. Shithead, shithead, wanker wanking gayboy…….Take care.

Oh I am salivating just thinking about it!

How many times have you been in a confrontational situation? Car related strife is a very common thing. We have all had the shouting at each other, whilst doing ninety on the M6 thing, but what about those stationary car related disputes. Say something like a crowded car park on Christmas Eve. There is one space left, and you and Wayne have both gone for it. There is normally a te ta te, a bit of name calling, maybe shouting etc, but in my dreams, it would be more like this.

I would love to have a pre-prepared cassette (Yes I know that is very 1983, but I still haven’t got a cd player in the car!) with a backing track of Harry Connick Junior’s version of ‘It had to be you’ on it. I would leave a blank silent bit at the beginning, about the right sort of amount for a small car park dispute. As I realised that a row was about to start, I would press play. We would both get out of our cars, and take part in the arguing etc etc.

I would know the exact length of the silent part of the track, and a few seconds before the song was about to start, I would suddenly say…….
"Hey, lets not quarrel, this is silly. There really is no need for any of this. May I just say, that you are very attractive."
Wayne would obviously be taken aback at this rapid change of tone.
"Yes, and when your angry, your dimples are really quite cute……."
At this precise pre-planned moment, the track would burst forth from no where, and I would shimmy up to him, take his hand, gaze into his eyes, and sing…….
"It had to be you, it had to be you. I wandered around, and finally found the somebody who……."
By which time, I would imagine the parking slot would be all mine!

I have often wished I had had the courage to make up a job, when somebody asked me the number one question on the list of social event tedious conversation topics list. "So, what do you do for a living?"

Oh God I wish I had got the courage to say "I am a spy."
How would they react? Most people would be too polite to say "Oh fuck off, come on pull the other one." I would carry on with…….
"Yes, only last night I was meeting a man on a bridge in St Petersburg. He had a package for me. I can’t say what was in it, operational reasons you understand, but lets just say the whole thing was a bit hairy old boy. I knew he would have snipers posted at strategic points, but luckily I had my invisibility cloak to hand. Once I had given them the slip, I had a meet in a bar with our Russian connection Miss Tossmeov. Yes yes, I can see by the glint in your eye that you can tell that I slept with her. It’s the best way to get the information you see. Shame I had to garrote her with my dental floss/ garrote wire afterwards, but you can safely say she died a happy woman, know what I mean old chap."

Just once, I would like to phone one of the ladies that reside on the planet ‘Sky 900 channels’ For those of you with lives, that aren’t familiar with this zone, it is the place where pretty ladies (Well mostly, I have witnessed the odd moose, but hey, everyone has got to make a living) sit on beds in drafty studios, and pretend to have sex with you.

Yes you can phone up for the princely sum of £1.50 a minute and wank yourself stupid, while the lady on the screen gyrates provocatively, and pretends that you are the best lover she has ever had. Or if you are shy, you can listen to other blokes wanking, while she tells them that they are the best lover she has ever had. I tend to find myself wandering to these channels during the advert breaks.

Yes while in the intermission of an episode of ‘Mock the week’ that I have seen eleven times already on ‘Dave’ I will find myself flicking (That is not a euphemism) through the ‘Naughty channels’. I find these channels fascinating. Not just because they are full of scantily clad, and on the whole, attractive young ladies gyrating provocatively, but because Human behaviour fascinates me (And infuriates in equal measures). I have often gazed into the eyes of these young ladies, and the look that confronts you is not dissimilar to the one on the face of a lion in a cage at a zoo.......sad.

It’s genius really if you think about it though (Well apart from the exploitation i suppose). Some bloke (and it will be a bloke) has thought to himself, there is a lot of lonely sexually frustrated blokes out there, I know, I will rent a studio, fill it with some girls, and all these blokes can phone up and have phone sex with them. The difference being, that unlike ordinary phone sex lines, they can actually see the lady they are pretending to copulate with. Unfortunately the experience is sullied somewhat, by the fact that what you hear down the phone, doesn’t match up with what you see her saying on the screen, because for technical reasons, there is a delay…….apparently, cough.

A few months later he is no doubt a bloody millionaire! Anyway, I would love to phone them, and try and engage her in a conversation about the Hadron collider. It would probably go something like this…….

Tiffany – Hello sexy.

Me – Good evening.

Tiffany – So, you feelin’ horny sugar?

Me – Er, well not overly at the moment thanks.

Tiffany – Well I am sure we can change that, do you like my tits? Look I’ll sgueeze them for you…….mmm look how hard my nipples are.

Me – Yes, very pert, tell me, have you any opinion on the outcome of the experiments using the hadron collider?

Tiffany – Eh?.......now listen, we don’t do any of that kinky shit here love, you want channel 969 for that.

Me – Scribbles 969 on the back of an empty crisp packet. - No, the hadron collider, it’s a particle accelerator. They have built it under Geneva.

Tiffany – I don’t know anyfing about that, do you like my shoes? Sexy aren’t they?

Me – There are some people that think that a black hole could be created, that will swallow our planet, and the whole universe that we exist in. Rendering us all just a thing of the past.

Tiffany – Are you gonna come or what? There is a queue you know.

Me – And if we are all gone, it could be argued that we never existed in the first place, as there would be nobody left to confirm our prior existence!

Tiffany – What if I bend over for you, is that getting your motor running?

Me – And if we never existed, how could we have built the Hadron collider, that created the black hole that swallowed the universe, that we existed in where we built the Hadron collider!.......it’s certainly a paradox.

Tiffany – Looking off camera - Dave, we have got a right one ‘ere.

Dave – Have you told him about channel 969…….

I suppose if there is one thing in life that should be learnt at an early age, it's have the courage to do the things that you you want to do, if you at all can. Ok from time to time you are going to make a tit of yourself, so what, don't be like me little one's, don't live in your head, live in the world, run, explore, experience. Don't spend your time trying to relive memories, make new memories.

shall i phone Tiffany tonight and try and engage her in a conversation about the Hadron Collider.......Nah, maybe tomorrow.......

Yaka te yak.......

In the near future, I have got to go to a wedding. This involves just about everything that I find disturbing in life. Getting dressed in clothes that are a tad too small for me, and make me feel as though I am in a straight jacket, prolonged periods of time just standing around while endless photographs are taken by an overly pedantic photographer, who spends ridiculous amounts of time trying to get the bride’s flowers in exactly the right position, some form of horrifically awkward dancing, and the worst of all…….having to talk to people! This brings me nicely onto the subject of today’s lecture, communication.

Human beings seem to be the only members of the animal kingdom that have a bizarre need to communicate on a twenty-four hour basis. I have no idea why this is. Perhaps it’s because we are the only ones that have developed intricate languages, and we are basically showing off! Although I doubt there are any cats anywhere going, "Ooh look at those wordy bastards, constantly showing off with their intricate languages and stuff." And of course they are not doing that, because they haven’t got the language to do so! I am tying myself up in knots a bit here, but I am sure you catch my drift.

I am by no means an expert on animals, but from the various documentaries etc I have watched, I have never seen a pride of lions just roaring at each other for no apparent reason. Animals seem to communicate when it is necessary, which makes sense to me. It seems that they just do the basics. Hello, fuck off, fancy a shag, and although we as humans lead more complex lives than your average lion, we could take a leaf out of their book, and cut down on the bloody jibber jabber!

I don’t know what people find to talk about 24/7? You see people wandering down the street with a mobile phone seemingly welded to their ear. Blah blah tittle tattle blah blah, what the bloody hell are they talking about? I predict that in time, we will naturally evolve to being born with a blue tooth ear piece already installed. I am going to stick my neck out here, and say that I reckon that the vast majority of words spoken every day are completely needless (Those in glass houses!). There must be billions if not trillions of words uttered everyday, and I think that a good ninety-five percent of them could be left unsaid.

But we can’t do it can we? We can’t bare silence. There must never be silence on the radio, or dead air as they call it, people are reprimanded for not filling every nano second with some sort of noise. If there is a guest on a chat show, who when asked a question actually takes a few seconds to consider and compose a coherent answer, doesn’t jump in immediately with a reply, the audience starts to squirm in their seats. The interviewer’s face drains of blood, and the director has a coronary. I remember seeing Terry Wogan interview Anne Bancroft. She basically gave one word answers to his questions, and it was absolutely excruciating. Technically she was answering the questions correctly, but we don’t want that do we, we want people to elongate an answer, embellish it, exaggerate it.

Don’t get me wrong, I think language and communication are marvelous things, and listening to somebody speak who can do it well is very entertaining. It’s just that the vast majority of us are not overly good at communicating, so our answers to people’s questions end up as loooooooooong boring drivel!

There seems to be little in our lives that is more excruciatingly embarrassing than an awkward silence. We would seemingly rather have the air filled with banal blah blah, than say nothing at all. This is partly why the wedding will be a slightly traumatic experience for me. Being in a room with lots of people you don’t know doesn’t fill me with joy.

I really don’t like the first time you meet someone. That awkward thing about not knowing what to say. You’re all guarded because you don’t know them, and you don’t know what you can say, and what you probably shouldn’t. How will they react if you say this, what if they take umbrage if you say that? It’s daft really; we should all just be ourselves and say, within reason, what we bloody well like, and be done with it. If somebody doesn’t like it, tough, you probably won’t have to see them again, but it doesn’t happen does it. No, we all stand around feeling awkward and blushing.

There are many pitfalls when it comes to communicating with our fellow humans. I once witnessed a friend of mine, who in the middle of an awkward silence, asked a rotund woman "When it was due?" only to be told that "She wasn’t pregnant!" that was pretty hellish I can tell you, and there really is no way back from that. The damage is well and truly done, with no hope of repair. All you can do is blush massively, and slide away from the danger zone as quickly as possible.

I hate that thing where you are talking to someone that you barely know, and someone he knows much better drifts up, and elbows his way in. From this moment on you are out in the cold. You are out on a limb; you are reduced to nodding here and there, in some pathetic attempt to still feel part of the conversation. Inevitably the time will come when all this nodding is futile, you have been sidelined. Now comes the next awkward bit, do I just slip away, and appear rude, or make some kind of embarrassing waving gesture to indicate my departure?

One of my pet hates on the communicating/social event front, is compulsory mingling. You know those people who are hosting a party, and simply can’t bare it if everybody hasn’t spoken to everybody. Miss Marple and I were at a function once, and the only people we new were the hosts.
We had secreted ourselves into a little corner, and were quite happy thank you very much. But the hostess of the party obviously wasn’t. One second I was merrily shooting the breeze with Miss Marple, and the next I was being dragged across the room by the elbow, by the hostess from hell. She plonked us in front of a rather bemused looking couple, and told me "To talk to them!" Thanks very much I thought. Hence another awkward situation arose. What do we do now? I am not overly fussed about chatting with these strangers, and by the looks on their faces, they weren’t that bothered either. The trouble is we can’t just be honest and say "Please don’t take this personally, you don’t smell or anything, but we were having quite a nice little conversation over there, and we would quite like to carry on with it. So we won’t hang around. Cheers." So we stayed and awkwardly stumbled through a conversation about wine tasting!

A very similar thing to this, is what I call ‘Wedding reception Nazi-ism’! In the past we have been to a few weddings with the old band lot. We all new each other really well, felt comfortable, new we could say or do anything, and generally had a bloody good laugh in each others company. So the wedding bit was done, we had all milled about for seven hours, while the rather pedantic photographer spent more time than was necessary getting the brides train to lay "Just so" and now it was time for the booze and nosh up. So in we trot to the reception, and we are confronted by what I can only describe as SS wedding herders! Those bastards that steer you to your allocated table.

"Can we just sit with those people please, we know them" I would ask. Only to be told, "You vil sit ver you are told, and you vil talk to zose people."
So the next God knows how many hours were spent talking awkwardly about the price of fish with the brides Aunt, and we would all occasionally glance over our shoulders, in the vain hope of catching the eye of one of our comrades.

Of course we don’t just communicate with words apparently. No, according to psychologists and body language experts, most of the communication between human beings is subliminal. A little gesture here, a ruffle of the hair there. Most of the subliminal communicating that goes on, is apparently during courtship rituals (Where else). Over the years, theses ‘experts’ have told us about the signs to look out for. You know the stuff, if the lady is leaning towards you, or playing with her hair. Dilated pupils, mimicking your actions etc etc. I wish I had known all this fucking stuff when I was a younger, timid, scared of my own shadow, little virgin! Would have come in very handy indeed. I never have been a ‘Lady killer’ so to speak, but knowing a few of the signs would have saved me a shit load on opticians bills, and dragged me from the pit of self loathing a lot sooner too!

Having said that, I was so shy and awkward, I think I would still have been in two minds, if the lady had been lying on the bed, legs akimbo, shouting "FUCK ME NOW!" I still would have been peering through the door saying to myself "Oooh, well I don’t know if she really likes me. Damn those women, and their infernal mixed signals!"
Are you beginning to understand why I don’t like social events etc!

I suppose if I am honest, it is easy to blame everybody else, or the event, but I suppose it is my own inadequacies that are to blame. Why do I find it so hard to relax and just jabber away like most people seem to be able to do? Though I suspect I am not alone here. The older you get, and ironically the more you talk to people! The more you come to realize that you are not the only sociaphobe on the planet. Thankfully the woman who’s wedding it is, is apparently of a similar opinion to me, so there will be a buffet, and not an SS wedding herder in sight!