Archive for July, 2014


Bloke-o-meter. 

 

Ampere-o-meter-vintage-HDR-0h

 

This couldn’t be easier. First you answer these six simple qualifying questions, then tot up your score and wham, you’ll know if you’re a bloke or not.

 

Pay careful attention, this is the important bit. Here is the scoring chart. A = no points, B = minus 1 and C = plus 1.

 

1# Do you know any of the words from Frozen?

 

A – Kind of, my daughter loves nothing more than belting out the chorus the moment she opens her eyes in the morning.

B – Hell yeah, I love it. I even have a Frozen onesie.

C – Fuck no. I’d sooner take a screw driver to my man parts!

 

2# If you don’t currently have facial hair, why not?!?! 

 

A – While I look good with a beard, work gets in the way and I’m forced shave.

B – Shave of course I do. How else would the triple formula moisture intensive balm work its way into my baby soft skin?

C – Shave, you’re shitting me, right? Without my beard/generous stubble, I’d not be able to wrestle bears, wrangle gators or dig tunnels with my top lip!! Come near me with a razor and you’ll leave a woman.

 

3# Do you feel a sense of pride when dropping your guts?

 

A – Sometimes I do; just not in public.

B – Fart, oh no, not me. I try to hold it in and should any accidents happen, my apple blossom scented boxer short liner takes care of it.

C – First you hold and clench, then you squat and when the pressure has built up to critical mass, you let go. Don’t mistake those wrinkles faces as signs of disapproval, hell no, its awe, they are in awe of you abilities.

 

4# You’re stranded, can you map read and get yourself to safety?

 

A – You’d think being ex-army I should be able to but I wasn’t too good at it. But, yeah, I reckon I’d be able to find my way…eventually.

B – Three little letters for you; G…P…S. Stands for go phone someone, no?

C – Using a map is like loosing an arm wrestle to a girl; it cannot be allowed to happen!! I don’t need a map, the tonne of buckshot lodged in my head always leads me north.

 

 

5# Do you read?

 

A – I do so at work, spread sheets, performance forecasts, etc.

B – Of course I do. I love Vogue and all the other glossy publications. Who’d have thought baby powder sorts out oily hair.

C – Yes, I read extensively. You’d be forgiven (barely) for thinking blokes don’t read. We have to. The world only spins on its current access due to the combined cognitive energies given out by qualified blokes.

 

6# Offside rule, do you know it?

 

A – Kind of, although I’d be hard pressed to write it down accurately.

B – Offside? Offside of what? Isn’t that when the tanning bed doesn’t give you a full 360 glow?

C – Not only do I know the offside rule implicitly, I also know when a ruck is formed. Ask dumb questions again and expect a trip to the emergency dentist.

 

Judgment time…

 

If you scored 1 or 2 then shame on you. You are are a woosy.

 

If you hit 3 or 4 then you’re a regular, so go roll naked in nettles to upgrade.

 

Flex those guns in celebration if you managed to hit 5 or 6. Well done son, you’re a proper bloke!

 

Matt..

If you think you can fill those baggy arse dungarees with full blokeyness, then don the wife-beaterand go to this Facebook page for stuff.

 

https://www.facebook.com/blokereport?fref=nf

 

 

Matt..

 

 

Ps, this isn’t my Facebook page.

 

Zenith…

http://shop.2000adonline.com/products/zenith_phase_1

 

http://shop.2000adonline.com/products/zenith_phase_2

 

I remember reading this as a kid and loved it’s dark edge. Might get it again to brush up on what I’ve forgotten.

After all it is my birthday on Thursday!!

 

Matt..

If you have a Nan, you must read this. Very funny.

“What should we think about death?”

 

 

To me this makes prefect sense. 

 

Matt..

scales-finding-balance-620x350

Not sure if I’m best qualified to write on this subject? But sod it, here is my two-penneth worth. 

I decided to write this blog after reading an article on the BBC sport site this morning. The article claimed the English FA are “overwhelmingly male and white”. Firstly the laziness of such a statement got right under my skin. Secondly, I couldn’t give a flying f*** if the savior of English football/sport happens to be black, white, German or Argentinian. Really, I don’t care. 

While I fully agree the non-white English minority need more representation across all sports played in this country, their position cannot be overstated. It shouldn’t be about us and them, it should be about a united England.

Take the current test series being played between England and India as an example. You’d be forgiven for thinking England are the ones on tour given the amount of Indian support. While I’m not saying you have to abandon your heritage to live in this country, I wonder if you gave English born minorities had greater representation then we’d see stronger and more diverse English cricket team? I’m convinced we would. 

Take that idea and apply it to all sports.

Honestly I don’t much like referring to any Englishmen as a minority. To me it’s the beginnings of separation that leads to segregation and mistrust. Aren’t all those born in England, English? Daily Thompson and Ian Botham were my childhood idols. It didn’t even dawn on me as a small boy that Thompson was black. Even when I found out it just didn’t matter. To me he was every bit the Englishman I wanted to become. 

A persons race or gender shouldn’t matter but unfortunately it seems to. I know so because after I’d applied to the fire brigade I was told by a disillusioned fireman at the time, I’d have a better chance of getting in if I were a black lesbian. Did that dent my optimism? No, not really. Did I use it as an excuse when I failed to get in? Nope, not one bit. Shit happens and you get on with it.

While all I’ve just said might just sound like generic politically correct dogma, it’s something I believe in.

I love rugby and I love my country. Christ, I failed to get halfway through the national anthem on either occasion I’ve been to Twickenham to watch England. I had to stop singing for fear of blubbing. The hairs stood up all over when the stadium reverberated to the sound of eighty thousand voices. It was awesome.

However, my son is half Irish and should he ever be good enough to play international rugby and chose to play for Ireland rather than England, then I’d be wearing the green of Ireland come game day – even against England.

Matt..

Ps, don’t read between the lines, it’s what you’re thinking, not what they’re trying to say. Also, I’ve tried proofing this but my daughter has a friend over and they’re jumping off the bed-box on to the bed…

Last Night in Ramsgate.

 

 

I read that comic as a kid!!!

 

 

Matt..

Beware, gingers have a safe haven!!

The Dude With A Blog

RED HEADS ARE in danger of going extinct due to the warming climate, if new reports are to be believed.
Red hair is thought to have developed due to the cloudy and wet weather in Scotland and Ireland as it allows carriers to absorb larger amounts of Vitamin D. The gene mutation results in red hair and pale skin which is more sensitive to light, so DNA in cells are more susceptible to damage and cancer. As a result, if temperatures rise, it might abolish the mutation with a new evolutionary response.

Only about 1-2% of the world’s population have ginger hair, but in Ireland 10% are ginger, with around 46% carrying the gene.
That’s a lot of ginger.

hgngh

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For me it’d be a tent miles away from anyone else. Okay, I know for sure I’d get annoyed without any internet and stuff and would have to relent occasionally but at least I’d have some peace and quite. You see I am by nature a keep myself to myself type person. Let me loose with some string and a knife and before you know it I’ll be living in a ditch, most likely starving to death but happy no one is around to pester me.

 

Catherine, my much suffering wife, is about as opposite a person as you could find to myself. She comes from busy Dublin, I come from a sleepy village in the south of England. She loves constant company, I love to be left well alone. She has a large extended family, I’m grateful I don’t. As much as I appreciate her family, really I do, I’m glad its not too often.

 

I know she’d like to move home but that can’t happen anytime soon. Why not? Well it’s unrealistic with the kids so settled at school and with a husband who really doesn’t want to move to a country where the weather is worse than home. Don’t get me wrong, Ireland is a lovely place but everywhere is as good as you make it, no? Anyway, we have a pretty good life here in England so why trade that in in the pursuit  of nostalgia? Okay, there is more to it than that, but you get what I mean.

 

Honestly, it’s not like I’m against moving away from England. About 10 or 12 years ago, before the kids had arrived, we were going to move to the states. I say were because it all fell through thanks to the British board of nursing not being able to tell the difference between their arse from their elbow.

 

The question is more current due to the fact that my nephew is about to move to Canada with the intention of finding somewhere there to settle down.

 

Where would you like to live?

 

 

Matt..

 

 

 

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A few reasons – firstly I fell asleep while watching the Croods earlier with the kids and any disruption to my sleep pattern is catastrophic; Lilly is currently in our bed sandwiched between Catherine and where I was until five minutes ago and lastly I watch a film that has made me take stock.

I only came in towards the end of the movie and to be honest its name doesn’t much. However, if you’re interested it was one where a guy, like his father, was able to go back in time and rearrange the past.

The premise of the film is in the message his dying father gives to him. He tells his son to go back in time everyday in order to notice and appreciate the small details without the stress of life keeping your head down.

 

What an wonderfully poignant notion. And that is what is really keeping me awake. 

 

Truthfully I worry I’m not spending enough time quality with my kids. Jesus, I frigging hate the phrase quality time. I just sounds like the beginning of an excuse. When I say ‘I worry’, what I really mean is I know I’m not doing enough of the right things. I know life gets in the way but that again is another limp excuse. Time to stop making excuses and get my arse in gear.

 

By definition, ask my brother as he knows me, I’m a selfish person when it comes to my time. I feel I’m owed time alone because of an often brutal childhood. One where I can honestly say I learnt nothing other than a work ethic from my parents. Well tough shit. That life’s long gone. I mean, you’d think at the age of almost forty one I’d have grown up by now. 

 

We all know deep down when we’re doing things we shouldn’t. We all lie to cover up our secrets. It’s like saying your waist is 30 when it’s 32, or your IQ is 134 when really it’s 132 (truth it just sounds better when I say 134) Why lie? Christ, I have a keen sense of person and I know when someone is lying or hiding something. 

 

If I continue to waste time what will do when Luke, my little Luke, moves out and no longer needs a cuddle and to tell me daft stuff? What when Lilly, the little sausage that she is, no longer fills the house with the sound of her singing? Life is too short and I can’t keep wasting it playing stupid fucking computer games or snaffling an extra ten minuets in bed of a morning. No, time to change a few things, I think.

 

Lastly, I’m not a writer, fuck, I’m not even an aspiring writer. Writers write and don’t find reasons to hide for fear they’ll embarrass themselves. Who gives a shit I’m dyslexic? Okay it annoys the hell out of me but, again, tough! Deal with it and stop dodging. I honestly feel, and this is no lie, my imagination is way to productive to waste hiding from criticism. 

 

Matt..

 

**Mood interruption. I’m currently wearing One of Catherine’s dressing gowns (my Liverpool one is in the wash and my Jedi one’s sleeves are too baggy and catch on everything) and by the god it’s way too small and itches like fark!!