Do Not Read This Post! (Oh, Go On Then, As It’s You)

Man, what a day, and it’s not even over yet! People who read this blog will know that I’m not usually the kind of guy to dump on everything, and get all angry and such, but I really need to have a bit of a rant today. Usually, if I’m stressed I’ll turn on the PS3, whack on ‘Killzone’ and blast some Helghan scum into smitherines,

Unless you can trell me what a smitherine is, EAT LEAD!

but Mr Playstation has decided to die on me, so that ain’t an option. I’d smash something up in my house, but my Mum has come to stay and I don’t really want her to watch me go all ‘Hulk SMASH’ on the fruit left in the bottom of my fridge.

Those grapes won’t even see it coming!

So instead I’m going to have a moan on here, and release it into the ether, so you have been warned, DO NOT READ THIS POST! It’s only going to get worse from here.

So first, I arrive at work, and as usual, everybody else has turned up early and outside my vans I have at least 30-50 packages waiting for me. It’s a bit annoying but what are you going to do? Then 3 hours later, I have 60 packages outside the vans, and another 40-50 waiting on the line ready for me to load up. Do I get any help? F**k No! All I get is one of the drivers b*tching at me that I’m ‘not doing it right!’

Well you know what Mr Driver whose name I can’t be bothered to remember, F**K YOU!

The other thing that has annoyed me today is the bloody heat! Man, its oppressive isn’t it? It’s like the sun has become Kim Jong Un and is trying to bend us all to his will through heat exhaustion.

You know what sun F**K YOU!

Then, I realised that I still haven’t renewed my Tax Credits. Which in itself is annoying. Why do they even bother to say, ‘You need to let us know if anything has changed, or if it hasn’t changed.’ It just makes no damn sense, if nothing has changed why do they need to know? And, if anything changes in the year we have to let them know, never mind the fact that THEY ARE THE HMRC! Do you know the one institution other than my employer who know how much tax I pay HMR-F**KING-C!


If HMRC don’t know how much I have earned in the year, then how do HMRC know how much tax I’m supposed to pay? Why have I got to call THEM up, to say what THEY already know?

It’s just HMRC f**king with people, making it so damn difficult to claim for these things in the hope that people like me will just give up and not bother applying, either that or hoping that people like me will destroy their phones while trying to get through to their “help line”

Speaking of which…

When I finally did get through, the moron on the other end of line told me I needed to provide 2 years worth of P60’s for me and the Mrs, so I tore the house apart looking for them, unsuccessfully. I tried to give an estimate.

So I hung up, looked for the P60’s, and found something that gave me a close estimation for the both of us, and thought, to hell with phoning them up I’ll do it online.

So I phone them up for a second time, got through the automated security questions for the second time, got through to an advisor, who was obviously on work experience from moronsville, dumbasf**kistan, who asked me for my post code, which I gave,

Previous address?

Address before that?

Sorry sir but…

Finally, after resisting the temptation to google the office in which she works, and flying to it using the super heated wings of flaming righteous anger which had emerged from my spine, then ramming the P60s and current address down her slack-jawed mouth. I gave her my old post code, which surprise surprise worked. They obviously hadn’t changed my address on the system, even though I receive all my HMRC letters to my new house, so really it was a case of the so-called governments arse not talking to its elbow.

They’re too busy trying to lick it!

So you know what HMRC F**K YOU!

Finally, I just had a row with the Mrs, I dropped the kids off at nursery, called her up (she’s away at the moment) and politely asked if she could send me another £20 as ‘our cupboards are beginning to look a bit bare and I’m seriously beginning to fear for the fate of the grapes!’

Too which she replied ‘What you spent all the money already?’

All the money? I replied. £70 in a week! Yeah, supplies are running low, guess what, food is f**king expensive these days, especially when the closest shops are a Co-op and a Tesco Express, have you ever tried to buy a pair of chicken breasts in either of those places? It’s cheaper to go to a plastic surgeon to buy a pair of people breasts!

So you know what food prices F**K YOU!

GRR, yeah, I think I got it all out, sorry if I bummed any of you out, but to be fair, I did warn you. So for an apology/reward for making it to the end, here is something to lighten the mood.







Sex Sells! (Even By Proxy)

So I work for a multinational parcel delivery company, I’m not going to say which one because I have a strong desire to keep eating and I don’t want to lose my job. But trust me when I say it is a BIG one, and it is a company you will recognize no matter which country you reside in. The reason I’m writing this post is because I went to work yesterday, went to buy a coffee from the vending machine (yeah I have to buy my own coffee don’t get me started on that!), and on the wall was a poster which read.


This was accompanied by a very pixellated picture of a woman wearing a bikini (whether or not it will be the same woman I really don’t know), but it got me thinking. Is this really how a company in the 21st Century should behave?

Now I’m not going to try and say that I have never looked at women wearing not-a-lot (a casual glance at my browsing history can confirm that), or that I have never looked at a woman and objectified her. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s hardwired in my genetics to search for potential mates, so what you gonna do? I do just want to make you aware though that although I do that sometimes, I am capable of understanding that women are not purely sexual objects and that they have, like, thoughts and stuff. I’m not living in the 50’s!

But, like I said, the poster got me thinking, is just offering a bikini-clad babe good enough? Sure, where I work is a VERY male dominated environment, but what about the one woman who works on the vans? Assuming she is not a lesbian, why should she not get a mankini-clad hunk to wash her van?


Also, I don’t know if any of the guys who work there are gay, or even if they have latent homosexual feelings, but where is the option for them to get a beefcake to get soapy on their van?

I guess what I’m saying is that in this day and age, where people can openly identify as gay, straight, bi, or as guy who wants to be a girl, or a girl who wants to be a guy, or a person who wants to be neither! Is it good enough to offer just one option?

I’m not sure it is anymore, and I really believe that big companies and individuals alike should start realising this.

Very Inspiring Blogger Award







So Hugh and Toby over at (check out how he very nearly got married to Lara Croft here) have nominated me for a ‘Very Inspirational Blogger Award’, so please, if you haven’t already, click the link and show him some love.

The Rules For Accepting The Award.

1. Thank and link to the amazing person(s) who nominated you.
2. List the rules and display the award.
3. Share seven facts about yourself.
4. Nominate 15 other amazing blogs and comment on their posts to let them know they have been nominated.
5. Proudly display the award logo on your blog and follow the blogger(s) who nominated you.

Seven Facts About Me.

1. I still feel guilty about a book I borrowed from Sebastian Tarrier when I was 10 that I never returned. I lost it and was too embarrassed to own up so I spent the summer avoiding him.

2. I really hope that Humans will discover that there is or has been intelligent extra-terrestrial life in my lifetime, just because I would love to have the question ‘Are we alone?’ answered.

3. I love crisps! I could, and have, eaten nothing but crisps all day.

4. I secretly worry sometimes that I am like Edward Norton in Fight Club, and that the world might be a figment of my imagination. Maybe in reality im sitting in a corner, drooling, and talking to myself? Or maybe the world is like the Matrix and we are all just slaves to our robot overlords! Or maybe I am the product of someone elses imagination and I’m just waiting to be snuffed out with the right combination of prescriptions drugs.

5. Sometimes I think too much!

6. I really want to visit China before I die, when the kids are old enough the Mrs & I are planning a round the world trip.

7. I like to make up songs as I go about my day-to-day activities. My favourite being my song about cooking eggy bread to the tune of Peggy Sue.

The Blogs I Would Like To Nominate.

As it’s taken me an hour to write what I have so far using the On Screen keyboard (mine has died), I’m just going to list them and say that I really enjoy reading their posts and they really do inspire me to keep slogging away at my corner of the internet. So please, if you have some time click the link and see what they have to say, go on, what’s the worst that can happen eh?

Yeah so I haven’t listed 15, deal with it :p.

4 Things I Am Too Afraid To Google.

I like to write stories, and most of my characters tend to be criminals, be they murderers, hackers, or just plain ol’ fashioned bad guys. But being a (reasonably) well-adjusted, (mostly) law-abiding citizen means that I’m the complete opposite of a plain ol’ fashioned bad guy in the sense of the characters I like to write about. I will rarely use anything worse than a strongly worded letter against a foe who has slighted me.

So this leads me with having to research things that I have little to no experience with, and where better to begin researching than with the internet? I’m glad you asked, let me tell you.

What with the NSA and GCHQ keeping tabs on all our emails, phone calls and Google searches, I’m almost certain I’m one poorly executed Google search away from a team of SWAT guys kicking in my door and taking me on a little holiday to Guantanamo Bay. So I have to use what few reference books I have to gather what little information I can, and then top it off with a liberal amount of bulls**t in order to complete my stories, but I really wish I wasn’t to scared to Google…

What Is Gun-Powder Made Of?

I know that Gun Powder has been in use in China for hundreds and hundreds of years, it has many useful applications, not just in guns and cannons but in those oh so pretty fireworks for Bonfire Night. But what is it made of? How does one produce it? I know it must be relatively easy to do, otherwise it wouldn’t have been used for such a long time.

The problem with wanting to know this is that any books or legitimate websites that can tell you anything about explosives (quite rightly) don’t give people the information to make their own. I know there are a lot of people who might use that information to hurt others or themselves, but, I am not one of those people!. So the only way I can find out is if I try to find non-legitimate websites, and considering the fact that I don’t want SO19 taking me down Bad Boys style with their shiny, shiny guns I’m not in a hurry to try to Google The Anarchist’s Cookbook.


Speaking of guns…

What Kinds Of Guns Are There? Which Are The Most Useful? What Kind Of Ammo Do They Take?

I’m sure you all know that a gun in the UK is a very hard thing to come by, people can’t just walk into their local ASDA and by gun’s or ammo, and there aren’t very many resources for finding out about how to go about it. But I have no interest in owning a gun, I’ve said before that I’m pretty sure I’d do more damage to myself than to an attacker, and I don’t like the fact that if you are going to pull a gun on an attacker or intruder, you better be prepared to use it. But that doesn’t mean that I sometimes want to find out about them.

In my stories, most of my characters carry weapons, which tend to be either described as a 9mm, a Beretta, a Glock, or a Colt. These are every characters weapon of choice because they are the only guns I have even the faintest clue about, I have no Idea what kind of ammo they take, what their stopping power is, how heavy they are, or what they look like. But if you think I’m going to Google it you have another thing coming my friend.

So untill I find some kind of book on weapons all of my characters will  carry a generic gun, that shoot slugs, and makes a noise like ‘pew, pew, pew’

How Do You Make Poison And Which Are Totally Undetectable?

I once wanted to kill off a character by having the protagonist make poison, and then I realised that I had no way of finding out how to go about that. I know there are poisons out there, Deadly Nightshade, Arsenic, 3am Kebabs, but I had no idea how my protagonist could make any of them (The secret to a poisonous kebab are a tightly guarded secret).


I vaguely know that you can get arsenic from potato’s, and deadly nightshade is a plant, but since I am not a botanist or a 16th century assassin I am never going to find out.

So I ended up having to write a really awkward scene where the protagonist went into a generic pub, found a generic bad guy, and bought the equivalent of a glass vial with smoke pouring from the top and a big skull and cross-bones on the front. But sometimes a story requires something a little bit more special, and far less Googlable, something like…

How Do You Hack A Computer?

I don’t think I really need to tell you why I refuse to Google this. All I can imagine is typing it in, and then somewhere in the depths of GCHQ all the computer monitors turn red and a picture of my face flashes on the screen while stroboscopes flash and sirens blare and the words ‘BAD GUY BAD GUY’ spin on a constant loop on those digital ticker sign things.

But again, I could go down the non-legitimate route, find ‘The Dark Net’ and use Tor browsers and what not to find a forum. But do you know whats even worse than being a Noob on Call of Duty? Being a Noob asking dumb questions to a bunch of hackers! I might as well print out all my naked selfies and d**k photo’s and hand them out as leaflets around town.

If I’m going to email a picture of my d**k to someone I want it to be on my terms thank you very much.


Winters Kiss.

It had been a hard day, and a long night, the icy rain cut sharply onto the streets and collected into gently frosting puddles and created sodium yellow ripples that sparkled and disappeared as quickly as everything else in this town. I waited on the corner of the street, I was in plain sight, not how I usually play it, but hell, it’s not like tonight was going according to anyone’s plan but fates. Fate, what a bitch!

A trash can crashes to the floor further down the block, spewing its guts into the gutter and I turn to see a drunk staggering down the street, closing time had been called in every bar in town hours ago, the sun would be rising soon. It had obviously been a good night for him, I was hoping it wouldn’t end in a bad night, or at least a worse night, for me. He smiled as he neared me and asked me for a light, my hand moved automatically to the Colt in my coat pocket as I shook my head; I wasn’t going to risk pulling anything out for this creep except my trusty steed. The drunk shrugged and moved on, can’t say I wasn’t grateful, the Colt had bucked too much tonight anyway, and every cop in the city was on red alert after the mess Louis made of that theatre. A quick job he said, in and out, no-one will even notice us, he said. Yeah, right, five minutes in and there was enough lead in the walls to bring down a small army. Never mind the amount left inside the patrons.

I heard the rumble of a distant engine, and I looked down the street, and could see the oncoming headlights of a cherry-red Buick, her, cherry-red Buick. I felt that stirring in my belly as the car pulled up just a few houses down from where I was standing, the feeling you got just before your first roller coaster ride as a kid, that mix of excitement, fear and nausea. The headlights blinded me for a second and suddenly the world was a tunnel of brilliant white as she stepped out of the car, then she took the keys from the ignition and once again the world turned orange-grey. She walked over to me and I watched the way her waist swayed gently from side to side like the back and forth of the tides. She was wearing the red dress she wore when I first met her, and a hat pulled low to break the relentless onslaught of the rain, which also served to cover half her face in shadow, she always had a thing for the dramatic. I was glad I couldn’t see her eyes though; I never like what I see in them. She said something like “Where have you been?”

I shrugged and that’s when she slapped me.

“I’ve missed you too Baby.” I said as I allowed the cold rain to numb the sting, she always had venom in her swing, and always found ways to release it on me.

“Here’s your Goddamn money you jack ass!”

She thrust a paper bag my way, I could see her eyes from under the veil, only for a moment, those eyes that had seen too much, green eyes like the jealous rage of a jilted lover. As soon as I had caught a glimpse, she hid them away readjusting her hat which released a few strands of her chestnut hair that drifted across her face. I reached up to brush them aside, she allowed me to do it, and for a second it seemed just like the old days, then she turned away, just like she did before.

“How’s your new husband?” I asked.

She replied with another smack to the face, like a firecracker, short, sharp and full of sparks.

“I deserve that.”

“You’re Goddamn right you deserve that! I haven’t heard form you in three years and now you show your face again, asking for money. What’s it for this time? You knocked up some broad? Got mixed up with sharks again? What is it this time huh?”

“It’s nothing like that, it’s, business.”

“Business, yeah, I know all about your business

“Hey, you know what I do, I never lied about that, and I didn’t hear you complaining when little Scotty was out of the picture, thanks to me!”

“Thanks to you! You nearly got me killed that night!”

“But I didn’t did I! No, I saved your scrawny ass yet again, and you repay me by running off with him!”

She raised her hand again, I wasn’t going to take another hit from her, and I grabbed her arm before she could make contact.

“You get your hand off me!” She said, as she yanked and pulled herself free, “You don’t have the right anymore.”

The strands of hair danced across her face again, and I reached up to move them, she didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. I miss those days.

“Why d’you do it baby?” I asked.

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“We always have a choice.” I said as I pulled her close, the ominous rain lashed down in sheets, it cooled the heat but we both knew where this was going, it was the same place it always went. It had been too long since I had felt those lips press against mine and the feeling of her waist as I slid my arm around its slender curves; it was like the first kiss of spring breaking the winter’s frost. It had been too long, three years of blood and sweat and grime, but it was all leading to this moment. As if it could of lead anywhere else, she was always dumb enough to come looking for me eventually, and I was always drunk and stupid enough to wind up at her door. I kissed her again.

“It was always you baby,” I whispered to her “always you.”