I’ve been a bit grumpy over the last couple of days. Not that I have anything to be grumpy about but grumpy nonetheless and as a result of this I have found myself getting irritated by almost anything. I’ve reneged on all my new years resolutions which is nothing new of course,but even the easy ones I mentioned last week have been miserably failed and we’re only a few day in. All the fun and excitement of the festive period is now well and truly over, a working day is back up to its normal 10 hours and despite hunting high and low (honest) for my gym membership card, it still remains missing. Well I say missing,the last time I actually used it was the last time my windscreen was frosty and needed clearing so it’s bound to be in the car somewhere. Thankfully the tv schedules are now back to normal which gives me some kind of clue to what day of the week we’re actually on, the Christmas decorations are finally down and easter eggs are already racked up on the supermarket shelves. My mood has led me start to ponder what I should have actually requested for Christmas last year. Don’t get me wrong my presents were mega but next year I want a crossbow or better still one of those red letter day type adventure days out. Not a standard Ferrari drive event or a hot air balloon trip, I want to go to a mocked up village and re enact the most famous scenes from Michael Douglas’ classic film ‘falling down’ where I can blast the crap out of anything I like with as many weapons as I see fit. Or even my crossbow.There should be a special driving challenge in this village where you would be allowed to ram middle lane hoggers off the road or at the very least be able to fire a harpoon at them,and a special petrol station section where anyone being found unable to fill their car up unless they park with the pump on the same side as their filling flap should be thoroughly slapped for causing sensible people to have to wait longer.
Other things to grind my gears recently are dogs and more specially small dogs. A few years ago Paris Hilton, a woman who is to brains what I am to dieting, began carrying a small dog around with her everywhere she went and naturally weak minded individuals everywhere decided that this was a great thing to copy and so therefore went out and bought one of their own. Fashion conscious women all over America and Essex followed suit and outdid each other in an attempt to flaunt increasingly small and bewildered looking animals in public. When the strain of trying to carry one of these powder puff animals became to much, they were then carried around in handbags instead so that their hands were free to carry a new fashion statement namely a takeout coffee.Now I should say that I don’t have a great track record with dogs as the dogs that haven’t actually bitten me have certainly snarled or snapped at me and assurances from the owners that they ” won’t bite” have always turned out to be damn lies. Once when I was walking to my car,a dog came sprinting up to me looking like it was going in for the kill and as usual the owner assured me it wouldn’t bite. Harsh words were exchanged between us after i’d assured him that if it did,I would bite it back. But the main issues I have with little dogs is that I can think of very few sadder sights in the world than a grown man being forced to take one of these rat sized canines for a walk. All I can think of when I see this pathetic sight is that these blokes need to MAN UP FOR GOD SAKE, get a proper dog or better still get a pair of balls and tell your woman to take her own pet for a walk.The argument for these animals always seems to be that they are cute but then the small of most species are cute so why not carry some baby carrots around instead? I bet if Paris Hilton did,the sales of vegetables in Essex would soar.
Other gear grinders at the moment is the constant talk of ‘bucket lists’. I can honestly say that the first time I came across this expression was on the Idiot abroad show on sky and now it’s everywhere from fellow bloggers to tv shows and bookshelves. And why bucket list, what’s a bucket got to do with it? It seemed that it was only a few weeks ago that a list of stuff that you wanted to do before you died was simply called a list of things that you wanted to do before you died and whilst it’s quite a catchy title I still don’t get it. But the bit that royally hacks me off the crap that people add to these lists, I mean I’m sure that a dolphin IS highly intelligent but what’s the point of swimming with one? All it does is swim around flicking a football and making strange clicking noises from its mouth and I could recreate that experience by either holidaying at butlins or listening to my Dad eat. I realise that these lists normally get discussed at a time when life threatening events happen so of course it’s understandable that goals are set and ambitions are realised but when Eamon Holmes reveals to the nation on Sky news that he gets bucket list requests most days surely the bar needs to be set a bit higher. I mean given the choice of meeting Eamon or climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro,I’d be Africa bound at a shot. Although to be fair given a choice between meeting Eamon or sanding off my own finger prints i’d be off to B&Q like a shot too. Type ‘top bucket list ideas’ into google and the first result you get is a blog from Brian Rogel who lists his achieved bucket list items as milking a cow, being humbled and taking a dog for a walk in a storm. I’m not kidding. I think Brian has confused bucket list with a basket case.
Tattoos annoy me. Now I do need to point out that I have a tattoo but it’s personal to me and it’s only ever on show if I want to to be. It’s on my left arm and takes up most of my upper arm and I plan to get another one done,which will almost certainly go in the same place but on my right arm. But since footballers have made it fashionable to have a ‘sleeve’ of tattoos done, all of a sudden the world is full of sheep like men and women who get the same thing done to themselves in a copycat fashion. By all means have a tattoo, by all means have several tattoos and plaster every square inch of your body if that’s what you want to do but why copy a footballer? The sleeve never fails to make me feel sorry for the guys who have them done as I know most of them are going to regret it later in life and the women who do the same look utterly ridiculous too.There isn’t a pretty woman anywhere in the world that hasn’t ruined her appearance by having one of these done with the possible exception of Jodie Marsh, who was a munter in the first place and now just looks like a tragic munter instead. I bet that everyone who had a Pamela Anderson style barb wire upper arm tattoo simply because it was fashionable now looks at it and regrets having it done,and I bet all the women who went out and got a tramp stamp when they had a small waist,bitterly regret it now especially after their waists have grown and that the once cute flower now resembles a shrubbery. I also question whether everyone who has had a name of their loved one inked onto themselves in an Arabic or Chinese style of lettering, is unsure if that’s what it actually says or if it’s not just random bunch of letters. You have David Beckham to thank for that. The power of celebrity these days is so strong that if Beckham or Hilton or even one of the fame hungry Kardashians was spotted with a dog turd on their head you can bet your life that it would be fashionable by tea time.
As well as these major rage inducing moments of bitterness I also find my life full of minor irritations. I sometimes feel like I’m the only person in the world that finds the only choosy parking meter in the whole car park that takes a dislike to my coins and rejects them even though they look perfectly legal.I can’t tell you how cross with myself I get when I dial a number and type the very last digit in wrong causing a redial or when I pull up at a set of red traffic lights and no matter how slow I drive before getting there they refuse point blank to go green until the second my wheels come to a complete stop.I can guarantee that my day will be completely ruined should I wake up a minute before my alarm clock is due to go off,and it gets even worse should I discover what appears to be a perfectly squeezable spot,convince myself that one squeeze will be enough, and then end up virtually mutilating my face in a failed attempt to pop it.I hate it when there’s nothing on tv to watch apart from come dine with me and worse still, it turns out to be a celebrity special.I hate it when I greet another man with a handshake and his is limper than a dead fish or he holds on to yours for too long and clearly the time has come to part.I get irritated beyond belief when we go out for dinner, order the roast and rather that it coming with two or three small yorkshire puddings,it actually arrives with one mother of a pudding that sits on top of my dinner and can only be cut up using specialist diamond tipped cutting gear.A bad Yorkshire experience will put me off from going back again. Also,when your in your car and wanting to turn right and there’s a load of traffic heading towards you, why is it that it’s ALWAYS the last person in the line who slows to let you turn when it would be quicker for everyone if they had of just carried on. Why is it when you call someone on their mobile they answer it only to tell you that they can’t take your call as they’re busy?Essex also annoys me a lot at the moment mostly because of towie which I’m forced to watch whenever it’s on,and whenever it is I feel a strong urge to self harm whenever I see it.
I’m pretty sure that this is a temporary state of moodiness and that normal service will be resumed soon.