Friday, April 3, 2009

Number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine…


Not just a feature of the worst Beatles song ever (the White Album? Come on Paul, Ringo George and John, you could have done better than that. After all, you wrote Love Me Do) but now the number of my newest follower. Welcome Cathy!

'Booze, shoes and tattoos' sounds like the blog of a hell’s angel with a foot fetish. But it isn’t, readers, it’s the blog of ‘Cathy’ my latest follower. Six foot three and 16 stone, bald, with bushy whiskers and a huge beer belly, that’s what your average Hell’s Angel looks like. Cathy, on the other hand, well it’s difficult to tell exactly what she looks like. But she’s flicking the V at the camera in her profile picture so we can assume that she’s a bit feisty.

We can also assume that she has tattoos and shoes and that she likes booze. The final assumption is more than borne out by her blog. She appears to drink a lot. Stella, in particular. Now you know me, readers, I’m pretty up to the minute with my views about things like womens’ lib. Like on the tube, I never give up my seat to a woman, because it’s condescending. If they ask, then that’s fine. They can have it. Especially if they’re pregnant, for example. Or crying.

Speaking of which, the other day I saw an advert on the tube for something called a Mooncup. This, it turns out, is an alternative to tampons or sanitary towels. At school these were called ‘mice’ and ‘crash-mats’ by the girls. Anyway, the mooncup is a flexible rubber cone that the woman pops up her unmentionable when she’s a maiden of the moon. It works on the same principle as when you have a leak in the roof and you put a bucket underneath it.

Anyway apparently it’s more ecological than the alternatives because it’s re-usable and I understand that it’s more comfortable too. As with the bucket, though, you just have to remember to empty it.

Sticking on the tube for a minute, I saw a woman with a badge on the tube the other day. The badge said “I’m pregnant, not fat”. I don’t know about you, readers, but I thought this woman was being harsh to people who are overweight. That’s prejudice all on its own. Who does she think she is? Some fat people might need a seat. It might be their glands, for example. Like my cat, Matthew. So I didn’t give her my seat. She could have dropped her kid right in front of me for all I cared, and I wouldn’t have moved. You SHOULDN’T be fat-ist. I felt like saying to her: “You’re ugly, too.” She had a hell of a hooter on her, I’ll tell you that much.

Anyway, like I was saying, I’m right up there with womens’ lib but I do believe in traditional things here and there. Like girls drinking pints of Stella? Do you have to? Couldn’t you just have a bottle, or a half? Or a glass of medium white wine? It’s just more ladylike, that’s all. I’m not saying you can’t play football, or be one of the police that’s allowed to carry a gun, or even be prime minister if you really want to. But do you really have to drink pints?

Anyway, I was supposed to be welcoming Cathy, who works in PR. That’s Press Relations. I have my first professional press relations lady following my citizen journalism blog. Tiny steps, readers, tiny steps.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

A new leaf

What a beautiful day it’s been today, readers. Not a cloud in the sky, the sun shining brightly. You can see with such clarity on a day like today. Such perspective. The first leaves are on the trees on my road. God, spring is such an energetic time, don’t you think? All that life bursting through. And that’s kind of how I’m feeling today.

I’ve got so much life in me, I feel energised. I feel like shouting: "I AM ALIVE!!!"

Obviously I feel quite sad about the end of things with Gill. After all, we were together for quite a few years. And there was a time when we talked about marriage and kids and stuff. But these things happen. You can’t just settle for things in this life, because you only get one chance. Unless you’re a Hindu, I suppose, and you believe in reincarnation. Reincarnation is part of Buddhism as well but, to be honest, I don’t really buy it. I’m more into just the whole, you know, calmness of the whole thing.

Anyway, so this chapter of my life is drawing to a close and I suppose I do feel a certain, sweet pang of tristesse for the whole affair. Gill said some stuff when we spoke about how she waited all this time for me to grow up and that she doesn’t even know if she’s going to be able to have kids now, because she doesn’t feel she can get into another relationship in the next couple of years. Then she called me pathetic and made some comments about one of the branch managers at her estate agents who asked her out at the Christmas party a few years back and she should have gone because he was kind and he had a BMW.

I let her have her anger (thanks Buddha!). But then I told her she was being unduly negative. First off, sure she’s 38 but I read the other day about a woman in India who had her first child at 70-years old. So technically Gill could have another 32 years to meet Mr Right and start popping them out.

Second, who’s to say she’s not going to get into another relationship soon. What would be so wrong with that? There’s no set amount of time you’re supposed to wait in these situations. You’ve got to follow your heart. She’s not bad looking for her age, especially when she wears that purple dress – I told her all this and I’m pretty sure she found it helpful. I also told her that Dave, my roofer mate, has always had a bit of a thing for her and suggested – gently of course – that I could ask that he calls her.

She said Dave was a chauvinist. I got a bit cross with her about that. He does have some strong views and they’re not to everybody’s tastes. But it’s part of his background. And he’s always been a good friend to me.

We were on the phone for ages, almost 20 minutes, and I thought at this point that it would be a good idea to disengage. I mean she can’t keep relying on me as her sounding board any more. She has to move on, to learn to be independent. I told her this and she started laughing. She said I didn’t understand anything about her or about life. She was really laughing quite hard. So I told her it was alright to cry, she shouldn’t feel like she has to pretend.

She said she didn’t feel like crying, she felt like punching me in the face because I’m such a ridiculous little child. Then she said she was stupid herself for trying to base a relationship on pity and maternal instinct, that she shouldn’t have allowed herself to be forced into the role of surrogate mother.

I told her to lay off my Mum, going on about that stuff. She said my Mum was going round there later for dinner.

My Mum’s so kind to people, that’s what makes her special. But I felt a bit funny that she was going round to Gill’s. But I decided to enjoy my first new night of freedom by going to the pub to see if Amber might be there. I felt like a chat about my feelings, having listened to all of Gill’s and been there for her.

Amber wasn’t there, though, and her phone was going to voicemail. Hey ho, there’s always tomorrow; the SECOND day of the rest of my life!!!

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

It's not you, it's me

Oh Gill, Gill. I can't believe it's come to this. I didn't mean to hurt you. When I took a job at Blockbusters I didn't set out to break your heart. But the fickle hand of fate intervened and I met Amber.
Sometimes it takes a change of perspective to make you realise that you've changed.

I don't mean to say you've changed. I mean one has changed. My exciting career as a Citizen Journalist is in its infancy, I'm going off in new directions, I'm exploring myself.

You're an HR manager for a string of estate agents in South London.

We've grown apart.

A few days ago on this very blog, I turned to my loyal readership to decide whether or not we should be together. As I write these words, there are 12 hours left in the voting, and it would take a massive swing in your favour to persuade me that we have a future.

50% of voters said that we should split, 33 per cent suggested that I cheat on you, while the remainder said we should stay together. It's pretty conclusive.

I was going to wait until the voting had finished, however, having read your comments on my previous post, I know that you've been reading the blog!

So, I suppose it's over. I never wanted it to end this way, I probably would have called, or perhaps sent a private text. But since you've read the blog and know how I feel about Amber, then I suppose the best thing to do is terminate the relationship here on the blog.

It's not you, it's me. We've grown apart, I hope we can still be friends after all this?

I won't say goodbye, that's too final, I'll say bon voyage.

I love you as a friend, you're more like a sister.

Got to go now, I've got a Frey Bentos in the oven and I quite fancy finishing the latest season on Pro Evo.

Yours

Bazzler :-(

ps. if you could post me my Coldplay album sometime this week that would great.

pps. can I keep the kettle, I know your mum bought it us, but you've got one and to be honest, I don't really think you need two kettles

Monday, March 30, 2009

Business models, new in town


A few weeks ago, on the tenth birthday of London's premier free newspaper - the Metro - I came up with a new paradigm in business publishing. The Oyster - the world's first adult entertainment commuter freesheet.

I've been working on a presentation that I plan to take to prospective advertisers. What to take a sneak preview?

Of course you do:

THE OYSTER

Good morning/afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Barry Newsdesk. For ten years I worked in media sales. I single hendedly witnessed the downfall of print media. But during that time, one publication bucked the trend, one publication grew where others whithered on the vine.

I'm talking about the Metro, of course.

WAIT!! I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm here to simply peddle out yet another freesheet wannabe immitator - like the London Paper or the London Lite.

But I'm not. It's true I've been inspired by the unlikely success of the Metro, but I'm going to bring you a whole new concept. And it's not just a concept, it's backed up with cold hard facts.

A few weeks ago, on the tenth birthday of London's premier free newspaper - the Metro - I came up with a new paradigm in business publishing. The Oyster - the world's first adult entertainment commuter freesheet.

Based on the Metro's groundbreaking business model of repurposing material and placing advertisements against it, the Metro revolutionised how the commuters of the world consume news.

Now I'm proposing to revolutionise how the commuters of the world consume bongo.

That's right, you heard me, I said bongo.

Grumble. Smut. Porn. Jazz mags!!

Forget the Internet, with all its fancy widgets and functionality, the Metro almost single-hendedly changed the landscape of the world beyond recognition. And besides, you can't get a signal on the underground, so mobile phones and laptops don't work, which is almost certainly probably half the reason no one reads adult literature while traveling to and from work.

Think about it.

Just for a second.

Sex sells, that much is obvious, you've only got step into your nearest newsagent to buy a four pack of Cobra and some Monster Munch the shelves are stacked with the stuff, or take a walk around Soho and you'll see it literally for sale all over the place. Or just nip into a phone box to make a call becasue the battery on your mobile is dead, you'll be greeted by genuine photos of busty blondes new in town who love their jobs.

Now, imagine a FREE newspaper packed to the rafters with smut. You wouldn't even need to hire people in luminous jackets to hand out the papers at stations, commuters would be literally clamouring for it.

But don't take my word for it. I carried out extensive research, asking a potential audience of millions of Internet users (many of whom almost certainly use the World Wide Web to satisfy their desire for grumble), whether the world was reading for a free adult entertainment newspaper. A resounding 60 per cent of voters agreed that, yes, the world is reading for a free adult entertainment newspaper.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking where on earth is Barry going to find enough filfth to fill the pages of a London freesheet five days a week, 52 weeks a years?

Well, that's easy. The Internet. It's completely riddled with the stuff. I don't have time to catalogue the sheer volume and variety here, but don't take my word for it. Go home and type something insanely filthy into Google. You can bet your bottom dollar that someone has not only already thought of it, but they've taken a video of it and uploaded it onto the Internet.

Trust me, The Oyster won't struggle for content. It won't struggle for readers. And now, I know, having sold you the concept, it won't struggle for advertisers!

What do you think readers? It's not bad is it? I thought I'd probably charge £1000 per quarter page. My friend Dave, the roofer, knows one of the blokes involved with CFCUK, Chelsea supporters' fanzine, and he reckons he'll be able to get some reasonable printing fees. I'd take care of repurposing all the material and all the journalism, so my overheads would be nominal.

I spent today going around the phone boxes of London collecting prostitutes' calling cards, I'll give them a ring later and see if they want to hear the pitch. After that, I think I'll probably go and see some of the strip clubs dotted around town, and then the sex shops of Soho. All in the name of research and new business leads, of course.

I wonder if I'll bump into Jacqui Smith's husband. The dirty tinker. ;-)

Who knows, if things are a success in London, maybe I'll take the idea into Europe, Amsterdam first I dare say, then Paris.

Friday, March 27, 2009

The chosen people


The Jews are a talented bunch. Think about it: Some of the world’s funniest people are Jewish, such as Woody Allen. Some of the world’s cleverest people are or have been Jewish, such as Albert Einstein (although he didn’t actually believe in the God of organised religion, and he was pretty bright, so maybe there’s something to take notice of right there). Some of the finest singers are Jewish, like Barbara Streisand. And some of the people you least expect to be Jewish are Jewish, like Bob Dylan. The world of cinema is packed to the rafters with wonderful Jewish actors, directors and – probably, who knows? – costume makers and key grips. As religious groups go, the Jews are probably the high achievers. Amazingly, less than 0.3% of the world’s population are Jewish, yet they’ve quite an impact on the world stage, a bit like the Irish and their theme pubs.

But who was the most famous Jew of them all? Well, would you believe me if I told you that it was Jesus? Because it was.

Judaism is the forerunner of Christianity in many ways. The older Christian stuff tallies fairly closely with the teachings of Judaism. It is also believed to have influenced a good deal of the Islamic faith. For example, you wouldn’t get a ham sandwich in the canteen at a Synagogue (the Jewish religious building) or at a Mosque. The reason is that both religions forbid the eating of pigs because they think they are unclean animals. Actually, and I don’t want to get in anyone’s face here, or naysay anyone’s beliefs, but that’s quite wrong. Pigs are basically very clean. They’re easily as clean as dogs, and dogs mouths are actually cleaner than our own! Not that I’d eat a dog, like they do in some countries.

Anyway, you’ve got to figure that, as far as eating goes, the Christians got off pretty lightly by not adopting the no-pig rule. I have to say, that’s enough on its own to keep me out of Judaism. I COULD NOT give up my bacon sandwiches/baby back ribs/pork belly/chorizo. I’m getting hungry just thinking about it. But, no pigmeat for the Jewish. That’s a hell of a cross to bear. I wonder if they can eat Frazzles?

One thing that’s different about Judaism is that the Sabbath is on a Saturday. Well, actually, it starts on a Friday night and goes through til Saturday night. So it kind of stuffs up your weekend because you have to stay at home on Friday night. It must be tough on the kids.

Sadly, because of man’s inhumanity to man, people of the Jewish faith have suffered hugely throughout the years, and been persecuted by lots of other races, not least by the Germans. Certainly, perhaps because it was so recent, the actions of the Germans are felt to be especially bad and are still known to rankle with Jewish people. Everyone knows about the holocaust from films such as Schindler’s List, the Dirty Dozen and the Dambusters, so we don’t need to go into that here. But suffice to say, the people of Judea have had a pretty rough time of it.

There’s nothing you can say to justify this kind of behaviour, but perhaps it stems in part from the fact that Judaism teaches that the Jews are the chosen people and that they are here to set an example to everyone else, which is a bit jumped up. That doesn’t make persecution right, though, of course. It’s disgusting and it makes me ashamed to be a gentile (the Jewish word for infidel). I’m just trying to understand these things.

It was still an issue when I was a kid, with Jewish people, like the Scotch, having a reputation for being stingy with money. I want to go on the record right here and say that I’ve got Jewish friends, I’ve been to their houses and, while I didn’t get any bacon, they were very generous and lovely. So that stuff about being tight is a load of old nonsense. A lot of it is down to Shakespeare who wrote a character called Shylock who was a nasty hook-nosed money lender and created a stereotype that was adopted down the years. He was used as the basis for the character Watto in the first Star Wars prequel. Anyway, like I pointed out, it’s a cruel stereotype.

That said, when I was a kid I had a Jewish guitar teacher called Mr Bloomstein. He was short, with a big nose and, not to put too fine a point on it, he was a bit thrifty. BUT, here’s the thing: the guitar teacher I had before him was called Mr Adams. He was also short, he also had a big nose, and he was also a bit thrifty. Was he Jewish? No he was not. He was, as far as I could tell, altogether without religion. This just goes to show that stereotypes are dangerous things. For example, you would be foolish to draw the conclusion, based on my evidence, that all guitar teachers are short, big-nosed tightwads.

The important thing when discussing Judaism is that we separate the Jews from Israel. Not physically, of course. To physically separate the people from their country would get them in a right old state (a Palestinian state, as it were!). Israel is, after all, their Promised Land. Although, it has to be said, if you don’t believe in their God, you can’t really take that promise too seriously. For example, I could invent a religion of my own and say that my God promised me Penelope Cruz. But if I flew over to Hollywood to claim my right, I’d probably get put in prison. And rightly so—Penelope is a beautiful woman, for sure, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to sexually harass her. And that goes for all beautiful women, not just Penelope.

No, what I mean is that Israel and Israelis aren’t representative of all Jews, like Catholics aren’t representative of all Christians, if you like, or the Taliban of all Muslims. So we must make sure we separate them in a discursive sense.

Israel, I think it’s fair to say, can be a bit bolshy. Like a spoiled little girl. Certainly it likes to have things its own way. For example, it is unarguably situated in the Middle East. However, it manages to get itself in to European competitions, such as the Eurovision Song Contest and the European Championship football tournament. This is politics at work, people, using populist events to generate solidarity between nations on grounds that simply don’t exist. There’s something not quite right about it, not unlike Israel’s 1998 Eurovision winner Dana, a woman who, it was later revealed, had a penis.

That penis, incidentally, was probably a roundhead and not a cavalier. This is because part of the Jewish religion is that all boys must be circumcised. Personally I find this a bit offensive. I’m happy to say it: I have not been circumcised. I own a foreskin and I don’t see what’s so bad about it that someone should decree that an entire race be forced to live without it. How can they make the decision if they don’t know what it’s like to have one, eh? And aren’t they insulting my foreskin by saying that they don’t think anyone should have one?

After all, if you’re religious, you believe that God made you. And on one of those days when He was making everything, perhaps in a quiet moment after He’d done the face, the finger and the foot (assuming He did it all alphabetically) He’d have thought to Himself:

“I know what that needs, it needs an extra piece of skin, just… there. Oh, now, I have to say, I’m rather pleased with that. I hope they don’t decide to cut it off!”

Still, Judaism, like a lot of religions, is basically run by a load of old men who think they know what’s good for everybody else. And, if what they think is that I can’t go out on a Friday, can’t have any bacon and they want to lop the end of my willy off, I think I’ll pass.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Decision time


Life is all about making tough decisions. Sometimes you have to be brave, sometimes you make the wrong decisions, but if you sit around never making decisions, you only have yourself to blame when things go wrong.

As regular readers will know, I've been getting quite close to a colleague of mine for some time. Amber. The thing is, I've already got a girlfriend.

It's an age old dilemma. When King Henry VIII was faced with the same problem he changed his religion and chopped the current incumbent's head off. I'm not proposing for a second that I do the same. As a practicing Buddhist I cannot condone violence. Particularly against the weaker sex. Even, and I want to make this perfectly clear, even if they have let themselves go a bit.

Last night at Blockbusters Amber admitted to me that she has been stealing out of the shop's til, even though she knows that I am store manager Rochard's eyes and ears on the ground, she feels wracked with guilt that Leigh got sacked, and is threatening to resign and tell Richard the truth.

The thing is, she needs the cash, there's a credit crunch and dance lessons don't come cheap. But more than that readers, in telling me, she's shown me that there's more to our relationship than a workmate crush. I think we've really got something.

I admitted to Amber that it was I, Barry Newsdesk, that informed Richard of Leigh's misbehaviour. We've formed a pact. "It'll be our little secret," she told me, and winked!!!

Well, I've not slept a wink all night because of it.

My mind is in turmoil. The reader poll has been such a success in measuring the weight of public opinion (incidentally, 60 per cent of voters voted in favour of free porn for London commuters, a statistic I shall build into The Oyster's media pack to take to prospective advertisers), I've decided to let you, the inhabitants of the blogosphere, decide whether or not I should leave Gill for Amber!

It's a world first, it's like Girlfriend Idol - only on my blog and featuring opportunity to be my girlfriend.

I already know the bookies' favourite, and I wouldn't want to swing opinion in either direction, but I'd say one of the contestants has got the X-Factor all right!!!

VOTE NOW....!

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Amber


I think I might be in LOVE!!

I feel like jumping up and down on the sofa like Tom Cruise did when he announced his marriage to that girl out of Dawson's Creek on the Oprah Winfrey show. Fair play, she's a lovely looking girl, (the one out of Dawson's Creek, not Oprah Winfrey), although I personally thought she was a little on the young side for Tom.

I've just had a pub lunch with Amber. We both had nutroast. I must admit when I saw someone at the next table tucking into the beef, I was a little bit jealous. But then, as Amber says, meat is murder.

I asked Amber out last night at the end of our shift at Blockbusters. She'd been a bit down all evening as Richard sacked Leigh on Friday. She couldn't work out why. I said that I thought Richard was a racialist, she agreed. So I said I'd take her out today to try and cheer her up.

She's such a lovely thoughtful girl, just like Mum. She didn't stop fretting about Leigh throughout lunch. To be totally honest, I was getting a bit bored of it, I did try and steer the conversation around to Buddhism or judo - she was way impressed that I'm a black belt (in judo, not Buddhism). Although, less impressed when I demonstrated a pressure point move on her causing her to knock her red wine over. I got a replacement, natch, even though technically it wasn't really my fault.

The thing with Leigh, though, is he was taking the piss at Blockbusters, you can't expect to smoke drugs in the storeroom and get away with it, not in today's troubled economic climate, which is exactly the reason I let Richard know what was going on.

I joked to Amber that there's no smoke without being fired, but she was in no mood for my witticisms. So I steered the conversation around to Richard again. Amber really seems to enjoy slagging off Richard. I let her know that Richard takes me seriously. I won't be pushed around by the jumped up little Hitler. I let Amber know that Richard even asked me to keep an eye on things in his absence. Sometimes girls appreciate a man of power. Though she didn't seem that impressed. She just wanted to talk about Leigh all the time.

Leigh's a lovely guy, I said, but he's hanging with a bad crowd. I mentioned that he seemed to have a lot of friends who came to the shop, and that the M&M stockpile was going down, even though no one ever seemed to buy them. Richard might be a wanker, but he's not stupid. Perhaps not surprisingly, this observation didn't go down too well!! You can't win em all, but I think it's important for Amber to see Leigh for what he potentially really is. I'd hate for her to throw her life and career at Blockbusters away over some wannabe gangsta rapper from Thornton Heath.

She perked up when I asked about her about her dancing. I mentioned that Flashdance was one of my fav movies, but she'd never heard of it. It's the one about a beautiful spot-welder who, against all the odds, becomes a dancer. I said it was similar to Billie Elliot, she'd heard of that, so at least I showed her that I'm not completely dance ignorant.

Amber looks a bit like a cross between a young Bonnie Tyler and that Diana Vickers out of the last series of X-Factor. I bet Amber would be great singing Total Eclipse of the Heart at karaoke. I suggested as much, but Amber just looked at me blankly.

I let it drop. Sometimes it's best not to labour a point. I'll bear it in mind though, should Amber's dancing career falter (you've got to be realistic readers, dancing is harder than it looks, and even if you're really good at it, it's difficult to really make any money out of it, look at Wayne Sleep), with Amber's talents she could probably sign up for X-Factor or perhaps become a Bonnie Taylor/Diana Vickers imitator.

They say imitation is the most sincere form of flattery. I've never understood that one. Surely flattery is the most sincere form of flattery. If I rocked up to my Mum's place in Lincoln wearing a floral dress and started banging on about Lionel Richie's latest album she'd probably think I'd turned gay. But if I rocked up and told her that she's the loveliest woman on the planet, the person whom I admire most, she'd be very flattered. See what I mean, readers, sometimes even well established sayings can be misleading.

I'm making it sound like the date was a disaster, but it wasn't, we had a good long chat about my Mum and about Amber's family. Like me, she's an only child. They say only children are spoiled, self-centred, egotists. But that's certainly not something that could be leveled at either Amber or me.

Clearly, though, we had a lot in common, we're both independent, creative individuals. We both like Coldplay. We're both vegetarians. I really think we were covering some ground, although like a lot of younger people today, she was constantly texting on her phone. I think it would have annoyed a lot of people, but I'm totally chilled, it's a generational thing, I know it's not offensive to multi-task your social networks. I'm on Twitter for heaven's sake.

There's nothing I like more than Twittering away. My friend Dave, the roofer, calls it Twatter, which just goes to show I'm much more in tune with the younger generation than with Dave's - even though Dave is actually two years younger than me!! The thing is, unlike Dave, the roofer, I'm down with the digital generation, I'm totally plugged-in to the Internet. Age is irrelevant on the Internet. Age has become totally democratised. Unless you're grooming children in chat rooms of course. Which is a whole separate issue.

Amber seemed to enjoy that we could speak the same language (I don't mean that we spoke English, I mean that we were on the same page culturally). In fact, I was about to ask Amber if she wanted to come back to my flat for a herbal tea and a look at my Mac iBook, but then Leigh arrived out of the blue, driving what can best be described as a Pimpmobile. You could hear the bass booming from the stereo as he pulled in the car park. "How the hell does afford a car like that on the salary at Blockbusters? Maybe there really is no smoke without fire." I said. Amber just shook her head, I think she was embarrassed for Leigh.

Leigh didn't even say hello to me when he came into the pub, he just said: "Come on then," to Amber, taking her by the had and almost literally dragging her out. So I didn't even get a kiss at the end of the date! :-(

Still, Rome wasn't built in a day.

I paid the bill and left, that red wine was pricey, the total came to over £30, I think I might be running into overdraft territory, I don't like to go into the red too much, neither a borrower nor a lender be. Perhaps I'll give Mum a ring and get her to transfer some into my online bank. It's either that or dip into the savings!!

Before that though I think I'll crack into a couple of Cobra and make myself a sausage butty, I'm bloody starving.

Newsdesk Out