I am livid

Sometimes it is hard being a hero.

My home town, along with several other sprawling hamlets, has recently suffered from a water supply infected with Cryptosporidium.  And I know what you are thinking, but you would be wrong.  No amount of ingested Cryptosporidium will give you super powers.  Unless you consider pretty much perpetual diarrhea a super power (and Stan Lee rejected my Ass-Waterman pitch years ago).  They really should name water bound bacteria more effectively if they want to engender panic and not excitement among the population.

With the Northamptonshire drinking water no longer fit for human consumption, and two young nephews and numerous other relatives caught in this environmental disaster, I saw no option but to act.

I strode around my local southern-based Tesco like a man with a purpose.  A purpose which required two shopping trolleys.  Unfortunately, there is only so long you can stride purposefully around a supermarket whilst pushing 120 litres of mineral water, after which point it becomes more of a hopeful meander.  You no longer have the option of avoiding people, and merely hope they see you in time to take evasive action.  I suddenly had a new found respect for the Captain of the Titanic, as I now realise that sometimes there is a numbing inevitability about certain collisions.

“Oh, were we in your way?” said the enormous man with nothing but cooked and uncooked dead animal in his trolley, somewhat sarcastically.

“Sorry.”  I began, “It’s just that with all this water they’re really hard to steer.”

“Right.” he continued, in a not entirely friendly tone.  “Thirsty are you?”

“Yes.  I only came in for a can of coke, but you know what it’s like, you see the big signs, the bright colours….”

This was a mistake.

There is a reason that heroes in the middle of a mercy dash do not stop to make sarcastic remarks to enormous shoppers in suburban supermarkets. These scenes normally get cut before they make it to the local multiplex, usually because they involve our hero (that is me in this case) making profuse apologies for his remarks due to the stress of the situation, and his lack of experience having never had to be an actual hero before.

Two hours later I was greeted like a saviour, sort of, as my sister showed me to her already substantial stock of water to see her family through the crisis.

I was just glad I did not wear my cape.

I have just finished watching Russia’s pitiful capitulation against Spain in the semi-final of Euro 2008.

The Russians (who qualified ahead of England remember) have been very impressive, including a far from fortuitous win over the Netherlands.  They had done enough to convince many football fans that they had what it takes to not only reach the final, but to win it.

Then, this evening, they performed like a local pub side.  A pub side where the players had not met each other till the kick-off.  And where three of them claimed to be “cricketers actually”.  They were so lacking in creativity they made monotone German automaton Didi Hamann’s half-time analysis seem like a Sigfried & Roy spectacular.

I simply could not understand how a team could get so bad in such a short space of time.  Then I checked my email and someone had sent me a link to the BBC Sports site which had the following news snippet.

“Russia’s players have been promised two gorgeous girls for every goal they score against Spain in tonight’s Euro 2008 semi-final by socialite Pyotr Listerman. ”

Hmmm.

One would imagine this to be an excellent incentive for any man who has ever seen a Bond movie.  Clearly not.  I can only assume that the movies lie, and also that Maria Sharapova is not indicative off Russian women as a whole.  On a personal level, this is disappointing in the extreme.  I have been saving for ages for my Russian road trip, and it seems those tennis lessons were a complete waste of time.

Well Pyotr, I think we have all learned a valuable lesson here tonight.  No-one likes to have a minger forced upon them.  Perhaps you should have promised each of them four Russian women if they lost?

I hate sexism.  Especially when it is us poor men who are being discriminated against.  We have a hard enough time as it is without organisations singling us out for special treatment.

I am talking of course about the purveyors of spam emails.

I am sick and tired of being offered a bigger penis, especially when I have to spend time working out the code in which they speak before I realise I am actually being offered a bigger penis.

“Update your manstick!”

“Be admired for your true male merits!”

“More meat is never excessive!”

I honestly thought that last one was from Dewhurst the master butchers.

But can someone tell me why is there no spam offering to “Update your mamories!”?  Why am I not being told that “More breast is never excessive!”?  If anything, these statements are more factually correct anyway.  Everyone knows that boobs can be as big as you want them to be.

It also seems that surgery is no longer needed for us men, with a simple drug regime offering all of the ‘excessive meat’ benefits listed above.  Not that I could ever be in favour of a daily regime of pill taking to affect sexual organs, as if something like that would ever be popular!

These pills I am consistently offered are just further examples of sexism though.  I have never seen an advert offering a pill that produces a smaller vagina.  I reject the claims that the invention of such a pill would lead to men all over the world crushing them up and putting them in womens drinks.  That would be stupid.  It might affect the potency of the Rohypnol.

Much like those of you reading this, I am a big fan of free stuff.  It is my favourite kind of stuff.  There are very few sentences in the English language that cannot be improved by adding the words, “…for free” at the end.  It is right up there with, “Ok, seeing as it’s your birthday.”

Which is why I was so please when I received an email a few weeks ago from The One Who Talks A Lot (TOWTAL).

“Do you want to come and watch the final day of the golf at Wentworth?” it began, before ending all enticingly with, “for free!”

I like golf, and I like free stuff, so there really wasn’t much a of decision to make.  I replied in the affirmative and looked forward to my day watching some of the best golfers in the world.

When the morning arrived, I offered to drive, as the event was sponsored by BMW, and BMW drivers had free entry to a few areas with complimentary drinks (I hope you are following the “I like free stuff” thread so far?).

As we drove the dozen or so miles to Wentworth I asked TOWTAL about the tickets.

“Oh, it’s a pretty good deal actually.  If you’re resident on the Wentworth estate you get free tickets.  My mates boss lives there, but is away so he gave it him, who gave it to me for today.”

“So, where are they?”

“Oh, you just need show this.” he said pulling out a small card to hang from the rear view mirror.  A card with the word, “Resident” on it.

“Is that it?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re sure we can get in for free with just that?”

“That’s what he told me.”

“Has he used it himself.”

“Well, not exactly.  No.”

I was nervous.  Both Quasifrodo and Equine Pimp on the backseat were also nervous.  The only thing worse than something not being free, is thinking it was free and then having to pay for it.

We parked in the free BMW car park, and TOWTAL engaged the security guard in conversation.  He came back a few moments later.

“Well.   It’s a bit like this you see.”  he began.  “It seems this pass only gets us free parking.”

“You mean like the free parking that we’ve already got?”

“Yes, a bit like that.  Only a bit further away from the course.  There is good news though!  There are still tickets available!”

So, ten minutes later, as the four of us trudged towards the course - one hundred and twenty pounds lighter as a group - we resolved never to partake in one of TOWTAL’s freebie scams ever again*.  And we also missed Miguel Angel Jiménez’s hole-in-one.

(*If you’re reading this TOWTAL, this does not include potential Silverstone tickets.)

Kissing dogs is so very, very wrong. I know some of you are starved of affection, but putting your lips on the face of a canine? That is just sick.

If any of you reading this happen to be dog owners and have kissed your animals, then I have a follow-up question. Did you wank it off afterwards? No? Then you are nothing but a prick tease. We all knew one at school, more than happy to slobber all over you behind the bike sheds but ran a mile when confronted with the ‘Little Angry’. Essentially this is what you are doing to your dogs.

Why lead them on?

“Oh fuck, it’s that two-legged bald pink wrinkly thing. I bet he’s been eating garlic again. For once I just wish he’d lick an arse before kissing me. Paws crossed for a happy ending this time though!”

But no, he will be lucky to get a biscuit. Which actually sounds quite good when it is written down like that, I suppose. A quick grope and a biscuit? Where do I sign up!

I also think it is a bit pretentious to think that your fancies you in the first place. I can imagine the animals at Battersea Dogs Home watching potential owners come past the cages and windows, thinking “I’m not fucking kissing that! I’d rather stay here thank you very much.”

Next time a dog pretends to ignore you, or behaves aggressively, do not take it personally, he just doesn’t fancy you.

The Bajan (Barbadian) people are amongst the friendliest I have ever met. People make this statement quite often, I know, but in this case it happens to be true.

There were, however, one or two character traits that did confuse me somewhat.

In pretty much every encounter I had with a native Bajan, it would take no more than a minute for them to tell me how long they had been doing their particular job. As if this was a good thing.

I have serious reservations about a society that suffers from such an obvious lack of drive and ambition.

“I been doin’ this for fifteen years now” said the man squeezing fresh Aloe Vera out of a cactus-like leaf for my sunburnt friend, G.

“Really? And where do you see yourself in five years time?” I replied.

He looked at me blankly.

“When was the last time you reviewed your career development plan? Have you considered a mentoring program?”

I might as well have been talking Swahili.

They wonder why this part of the world is not as developed as others, but to me it is clear. There is a pressing need for some sort of career advisory service on Barbados, and whoever gets there first will clean up. Give me five years and I could have every man woman and child equipped with an iPod and Blackberry.

I realise that you love reading my witterings on the screens that you are currently staring at. There is nothing wrong with that, it is perfectly normal. However, for those of you that prefer your entertainment in a real live tactile format, I have good news!

I have released a book!

Well, I have not released it my self, technically speaking. But the delightful Sarah Peach has kindly put together a compilation of my best post. There are some other people in and around my post I think, but the important thing is that I AM IN PRINT!

I have yet to see a penny from this obvious money-spinner, but I am sure this is an oversight. Sarah, the prankster, has been going on about giving all the money it makes to Warchild. She is so funny sometimes. As if I would allow my work to fund the training of child super-soldiers!

Anyway, you should all go here and buy a copy.

I will sit back and wait for the royalties to come flooding in.

After licking our wounds (not a euphemism) due to the previous nights lack of success, we decided to try one of the islands other infamous hotspots. This particular club, Harbour Lights, had an unusual door policy. For the equivalent of about six pounds you not only gained entrance to the venue, you could also drink for free. All. Night. Long.

Despite several minutes asking, “Yes, but where’s the catch?” I could not find one and so we took our place at the bar to drink our body weights in Barbadian rum punch. This was a business model that would clearly not translate well in binge-drinking Britain.

After a short while we got talking to a couple of girls from England. Soon after, G went off to dance with his, and I was left to alienate the other one. I have always found it strange how being geographically accurate can sometimes be seen as offensive. Facts are facts, it is not like I was making stuff up. Technically I was correct, she was an “Essex Girl”. Not that the accuracy of my statement seemed to help. I may also have said something about arriving in a Ford Capri, my memory of the exact details is a little vague.

As the night/early morning began to draw to a close I noticed G and his lady friend in a three-way conversation with another young man. As per the previous evening, this young man, and his group of a dozen or so friends once again looked familiar. But I had been put on alert after the previous evening, and I was absolutely certain they were not footballers.  He would be fine.

G returned to the bar a few moments later.

“Fucking hell.” he began.

“What? Blown out again?”

“Yeah, this time by the Australian cricket team.”

I believe this is what is known as Karma. If you benefit from a free holiday to one of the best resorts in the world, you are destined to be unsuccessful in your pursuit of the opposite sex. I suppose this is why I always do well in Bognor Regis.

I am back, safe and sound. I am sure you were all concerned at my sudden and unplanned disappearance, but I am glad we have reached that point in our relationship where not one of you needed to email to check I was OK.

Which I was, you know, if you were wondering and not wanting to seem needy by sending an email to check that fact.

Barbados is nice, but I am pretty sure that this fact is not news to you, and I am certain none of you want to hear about what a brilliant time I had whilst I was there. Or do you?

You would probably like me to focus on things like how I selflessly helped out my mate G after his girlfriend couldn’t make it at the last minute, only for us to suffer gay jibes at the hands of his colleagues and their partners also on this work-related ‘reward’ holiday. And how this forced us into downtown Barbados on our second night in the hope of meeting “some girls”.

As with every other holiday destination around the world that I have visited, it did not take long before I made my way to the nearest Irish Bar, in this case a place called McBrides.

There, stood dancing gently to the band were two very attractive young girls. G and I put our plans in place and bought some drinks to take over and say Hi with (it was happy hour, we are not made of money). Then, we noticed two young men return from the bar with drinks for them.

Booo! They had selfishly taken their boyfriends on holiday with them!

“He looks very familiar.” I commented to G of the taller blond one.

“Really?”

“Yes, I definitely know him from somewhere. The TV or something?”

Then his friend turned around and I realised where I knew them from.

Now, there are very few times where I will admit defeat in pursuit of a woman without even talking to her. I generally like to be told to piss off first, as ‘you never know’. But when you are faced with the challenge of taking them away from two twenty-something Premiership and International footballers, even I realise my limitations. Plus I did not have the hour or so to spend wooing them with my sparkling personality.

We decided to leave Joe Cole and Nicklas Bendtner to it, though they were pestered by quite a few holiday makers. It made me realise that my decision to write this blog anonymously was the right one. I would not like to be hounded everywhere I go. It looks like hell.

We moved on safe in the knowledge that this was a once in a holiday experience and we could surely not get gazumped by professional sportsmen again.

I am not always livid. Well, not every single day.

Today is one of those days.

By the time you read this I will be in the air.  This is because a series of extremely unlikely circumstances have conspired to present me with a free holiday in Barbados.   I know what you are thinking, “if anyone deserves such a treat, it is you Angry”.  And you are right. Sometimes these things are given to the most undeserving cases, but this is proof that sometimes the good guys win too.

I will be back in a week, so please be good whilst I am away.  Feel free to leave links in the comments below to anything you think is funny for people to browse to in my absence.

So, as they say in Barbados, Adios!