I think it’s time to disappear.
I think it’s time to disappear.
How do you not know?
I was able to name every single one of these. Good or a bad thing? Definitely good.
If you have too much money and love music then I would suggest visiting your nearest Bang & Olufsen store. Their new BeoSound 8 docking station is just about the greatest way you can listen to music. I was in the store about five hours ago and my ears are still ringing. I feel as though I have been at a concert.
In the Glasgow shop they also have an 85 inch 3D TV that is just about the greatest thing I have ever seen. And it’s only £52,000!
With me being a modern man, I have myself a cellular telephone. I’m always taking photographs with it thinking “I could tweet about this later” but then I never do. But all that is about to change.
This is the inside of my car and also my knee. I took this because I’d only just had it valeted (they shampooed my carpets) and it was the last time my car ever looked this nice.
My dear friend Julie, who is from Englandshire, lived in Scotland for a brief while and loves our wonderful tablet. Being the nice guy I am, I let her know whenever I am about to have some. Note my terrible handwriting and deliberate misspelling of “fucking”.
This photo followed the most traumatic driving experience of my life. Less than two weeks after passing my test I took the trip into Glasgow City Centre. It was the most terrifying experience of my life and I was lost for nearly three hours. I have never attempted this since, and I will never attempt it again.
Do you think this sign knows something we don’t?
Yes, it definitely does.
This is my house trying to be the house from The Exorcist.
This was me trying to do modern art or something I dunno.
This was the night the Asda bakery section went on fire and instead of leaving everyone went outside and waited until the fire was out and then we all went back inside and continued shopping. In Scotland, nobody misses out on a bargain!
This tree got drunk and fell over. I had to climb over it and I got all covered in bugs and bird poop.
RELLIN ON THE REVOR
This is a photo from the same day as the above except I took this when we were lost in the woods.
The long & winding rooooad. This path is something like 3.5 miles long. We walked the entire distance and then flagged the nearest taxi to take us back to my car.
This is my desk at work. This is what happens when they take all our bins away in an effort to make us recycle. Fight the power!
I took this photo of our kitty on a night out by accident. Party hard etc.
That seagull there tormented hundreds of council employees for months. It had a nest up there in the roof and it was swooping down on all of us as we were going in and out of the building. People were taking golf clubs and umbrellas to work to try and kill it with.
That’s me. I’m in the rest of the photos so you don’t get to see them. I’m just too attractive for the internet.
But here is a photo of my mouth.
See? Too much for you to handle.
Let me start by saying that I have a crippling fear of any spider that’s bigger than one of those little penny spiders, and even those wee things give me the shits. So you can imagine my horror then last night at 1am when I was just about to begin a much needed sleep and I turned to see this on my wall:
It was 1am - my mum was fast asleep. Normally in these life or death situations she would arrive on horseback and save me. Not on this night. I had to face this beast alone and I had to do it now, lest it disappear from my sight and end up on my face during the night like a facehugger. So I run to the kitchen in search of the bug killing spray. The spray does not kill spiders of this size, but it will make them go “agh fuck what was that you idiot?” and start crawling down the wall to allow me to fight it.
BUT THERE WAS NO FLY SPRAY! Shit! What to do…? Aftershave! I ran back to my room after retrieving the most dangerous coloured aftershave I could find. I pointed and aimed and took a sharp breath. It was now or never, I had to shoot or forever regret my missed opportunity. So I sprayed, tsht tsht tsht. As expected, the spider said, “oh shit what the fuck did you do that for? Jesus Christ! Move I need to jump in the pool, this shit burns! FUCK!” and it started crawling down the wall TOWARDS MY BED. OH MY GOD CAPTAIN IT’S HEADING STRAIGHT FOR US.
FUCK! I hadn’t thought this through. My intention was to slay this beast, not mate with it. I must not allow this spider into my bed. Think of the trouble that got Michael Jackson into. Then I spotted it - on top of my shelf, glimmering like a diamond - an empty tub that once harvested candy floss from Harrods in London. I did not want to disgrace my beloved Harrods tub by using it to trap this spider, but I was fast running out of time. It was now at head level and could potentially disappear behind my headboard any second now. It was time to send the Harrods tub out in style. I grabbed it and ran toward the spider, slamming the tub over it. I had caught it, but this struggle was not over yet.
The spider froze. It knew I had the high ground, but it wasn’t prepared to take defeat gracefully. It stared at me, and I at it. And that is what happened for the next five minutes. We started at each other, the spider and I. My arm was shaking, my stomach was turning. The spider said, “hey man, I can cling to this wall a lot longer than you can stand there with that stupid tub. You’ve fucked this one up.”
“Fuck you spider!” I said. I began to drag the tub down the wall, visibly scraping the paint from my wall. The spider had no choice but to dive inside of the tub or risk being mashed up. It crawled up inside my tub and then, probably screaming, I flipped the tub over and slammed the nearest magazine over the top of it.
I had done it. I had, for the first time in my life, got one over on a spider.
I was the winner.
I took the spider to the kitchen where I turned the tub upside down, removed the magazine and put a bowl on top of the tub to make sure it could not escape and seek revenge on me whilst I slept.
And here is proof of my endeavour:
I wish I was Canadian.
I have become obsessed with a country I have never visited.
I just wish I could uproot a bunch of the people I know and have us all wake up in Richmond tomorrow.
If any Canadians see this and wish to take pity on a Scotsman, I am very tidy and quiet and I promise not to get in your way if I can live in your attic.
I want to go on a fantastic adventure.
I would start by taking all of my money out of the bank and then travelling down to wherever you get the tunnel to France (you can tell I’ve planned this a lot) and then I would get to France and I would just go somewhere. I have no idea where I would go. I would have no plan. I would just follow roads until I found my way towards interesting places like Paris and Berlin and Amsterdam and I would meet amazing people (old people, people with beards who used to be professors that hang around in cafes and libraries and art galleries, people who would make me feel totally uncultured) and these folks would teach me all sorts of amazing things and then I would meet someone my own age who was doing the same thing and we would become best friends and he’d teach me another side to life where there are cool underground bars and drugs and we’d get really drunk and dance around in a fountain in a city centre at midnight. We’d travel everywhere and nobody would stop us and we’d get chased by the police a lot because by this time my parents would have filed a missing person’s report (even though I’m 21) and everyone would be looking for me and sooner or later we’d decide we couldn’t do this anymore and we’d head home but then when we decide to part ways we can’t go through with it so we head for a seaside town and we’d steal a boat and get kidnapped by Somalian pirates who would grow to love us and us them and one night there would be a raid on their compound and all the hostages would be rescued but not us, we’d escape and travel like nomads through the African Continent. Then, about five years later, I would return home and there would be a big emotional reunion and they would make a movie of my adventures (like that movie Into the Wild) and I would be rich, so rich that I could do the whole thing all over again since I wouldn’t need to work but only this time because I’ll be famous hundreds of people would follow me on my adventure like the running scenes from Forrest Gump.
And then I would become a cult icon, and then I would return home once again and then at some point I would become Prime Minister and my party slogan would be “fuck it, live a little” (oh and my best friend from my first adventure would be my Deputy PM and together we would rule the galaxy.)
Yeah if my life was half as exciting as my imagination you would all be really jealous.