» Essential Items

Life Aims...
A long time ago, I began carrying around a piece of A5 paper in my wallet with some essential numbers on it. (This was many moons before the introduction of PDAs - or PDAs that I could afford at any rate). I can't really date the piece of paper, except that the phone numbers all have pre "01" area codes and, in amongst the numbers, is the phone no of one of my very first girlfriends. I guess this means this "essential" piece of paper has been in my wallet for over 15 years.

The reason I've not thrown this piece of paper away is because I scrawled on it, one daft and distrubed evening (and I suspect this isn't terribly original in any event), 25 life aims - things I planned to do with the rest of my life. They are (in their full glorious entirety, sitting under the phrase "Try not. Do. Or do not. There is no try."):

1. Make love to a beautiful woman.
2. Parachute/hanglide.
3. Write a book.
4. Sing in a band.
5. Play the drums.
6. Become extremely proficient in something.
7. Be happy.
8. Never lose touch with old friends.
9. Visit the world.
10. Try almost everything once.
11. Own a fast car.
12. Have few regrets.
13. Live in a foreign country.
14. Go to Glasto.
15. Drive someone wild in bed.
16. Complete my music collection.
17. Become famous.
18. Get fit.
19. Play sport for my county.
20. Watch England play.
21. Marry someone I love.
22. Stand up for my ideals.
23. Have a well paid enjoyable job.
24. Have perfect children.
25. Die happy.

Why do I keep this? Why is this essential? To keep me on the straight and narrow? To cross off the things I achieve? To persuade me to aim higher?

No - to remind me not to be such a twat.
(Fri 28th Oct 2005, 16:31, More)

» When animals attack...

Scolopendre
A few years ago I was enjoying an idyllic break in the south of Spain with my (now ex) girlfriend and her family. Ex-girlfriend is of German extraction as are, obviously, her family. Lovely people - but very, erm, analytical. Ex-girlfriend's father is a doctor and not short of a few bob, hence the rather nice villa we were staying in.

One morning we were eating a rather Germanic breakfast outside by the pool (think slightly overgrown "rustic" back garden, nice pool, plenty of ham and cheese, discussions about philosophy) when I felt something tickling my leg.

Thinking very little of it (some grass or a small wildflower perhaps) I carried on munching my sarnie. Suddenly I felt an extremely sharp sting/bite at the top of my left thigh, right next to my testicles. I screamed like a small girl and ran into the house. I then experienced the extremely nasty sensation of something biting/stinging me every 2cms from the top of my left thigh round to the top of my right arse-cheek.

I ran into the shower, shedding all my clothing, and watched in alarm and horror (as did my ex-girlfriend and her entire family - although not sure if the horror was induced by my naked body) as a 10 inch long centipede extracted itself from my shorts.

Leg and arse swelled up to approximately double the size - nasty fever and very painful bites. Still, at least there was a doctor on site to give me drugs. I am still extremely thankful that the centipede missed some particularly tender areas, but the feeling of a rather large insect dragging itself across my balls is one I won't be forgetting soon. My ex-girlfriend's father hardly helped matters by catching the bastard and pickling it in vodka. I still have the beast as a souvenir and nice reminder of the ex...
(Thu 2nd Jun 2005, 16:42, More)

» Job Interviews

Had an interview with a law firm once.
Or, rather, a series of interviews. By the time I'd spent over 6 hours wandering around the place, meeting people, having multiple grillings from various lawyers and several psychometric tests, an HR bod asked me to describe myself in three words. "Very very bored" I responded. Didn't get the job oddly enough.
(Mon 24th Jan 2005, 15:21, More)

» My Worst Vomit

Dracula....
Once when I was a much younger and sillier lad I had a major crush on a girl I studied with. She was amazing, long chesnut hair, aerobics instructor (you'll have to use your imagination for the long long legs and so on).

One night I thought that I was possibly in with a chance. I'd been trying my best lines and attempting to be as charming as is feasible given my meagre talents and obvious grotesque features. The dinner jacket helped though.

After we'd had a few bottles of red wine each (me I think 3 and a half, her I think just the one) we went back to her place. We sit, chatting, for an hour or so and things are going well. I suddenly feel the urge to return the wine to the vine and suavely sprint to the nearest toilet. I throw up for 5 minutes and it's mainly liquid which was fortunate, and mainly red wine which at least was still relatively fresh and fragrant. I then return to where I thought I had left off.

Sadly, my luck wasn't in that night and I ended up walking home, dejected. When I went to grab a drink of water in the bathroom at home before collapsing into a coma, I realised one potential cause of my failure to score.

After being sick I had neglected to take the time to fully mop myself up. I had bright bright red teeth, lips and chin and some nice red dribbles on my shirt - I looked like I'd been drinking blood....
(Mon 23rd Aug 2004, 12:04, More)

» World's Most Hated Food

When I were younger...
...we used to have lots of fun with food at the local travelling fairground whenever they came to town. Our speciality, being the adventurous, fun-loving, charming kids that we were, was going on the most sick-inducing rides and then eating odd combinations of food.

It all came to a very sorry end though when I was fed a hot dog to which crushed peppermints, candy-floss and jelly beans had been added to the undercooked sausage and raspberryade soaked bread. This, you understand, just after having spent 5 minutes on a particularly wild ride.

Laugh? Not when my T-shirt was covered with warm, minty smelling, pink vomit with meaty chunks...
(Mon 12th Jul 2004, 14:12, More)