In The words of Geoffrey Boycott- He's out. My autobiography

In The Words of Geoffrey Boycott:

He’s Out

It’s the 21st of September 1991, Armenia has just been granted independence, American track and field athlete Jordan Hasay was born (according to Wikipedia) and it’s the international day of piece. Also There was a James Bond movie on the telly, I know that because that’s the reason my dad was 5 minutes late for my birth. And In The words of Geoffrey Boycott, He was out!. I imagine my birth to be like something out of Casualty, with blood and lots of sweating doctors runners around using big Latin words   . However it turns out the images in my head are wrong and the only thing remotely interesting was some rather strong language from my mum (for some bizarre reason).

My full name is James Nigel (don’t say anything) Martin named after the famous Formula 1 driver Nigel James Mansell (My dads idea) if my dad had his way my first name would be Nigel but my mum put her foot down (Thank God).

No doubt over the following few months I was being passed from relative to relative like some parcel at a child’s birthday party. No doubt I was bought enough clothes to stock every Oxfam shop this side of Watford. However this also meant a few boring months not containing much excitment.

Untill one day......

The Severance

The story of why my right thumb is bigger than my left.

My dad is a fan of DIY, now being a fan of DIY is very different to being good at DIY, for example Brunel was good at DIY because most of his work never killed or seriously injured someone. However my dad is not Brunel so when he decided that he was going to re do the hallway it was met with an air of sceptisism. But for a few days all was going well, The walls were stripped, Doors sanded etc. But a construction site no matter how small is very dangerous for a one and a half year old as a result i had always been kept well away. However this particular day I decided to go exploring (Even Ranulph Fiennes had to start somewhere) So off I walked into the hallway. My mum (who was making bolgnese sauce at the time) said she was first alerted to a problem when she heard loud screams and screeches coming from the hallway. She rushed into the hall to find I'd pulled a loose radiator off the wall and onto my thumb and it was hanging on by a thread (my thumb not the radiator). So my mum in what she describes as "caring mother mode" (otherwise know as a blind panic) wrapped my thumb tightly in a tea towel ( I know what your thinking and no Florence Nightingale). At that moment my dads boss came round to drop off my dad's wages, So he did his good samaritan role and rushed us up to the hospital, Where my dad arrived shortly later.

In the hospital (and at this point I would like to add that despite being a toddler with half of his thumb missing and a blood stained tea towel wrapped around my hand we still had to wait a good three hours, But I suppose that's Blairs Britain for you) Now where was I?...Oh yes In the hospital the Nurses were quite shocked at just how well a tea towel from the Shetland Isles can absob so much blood. Never the less they managed to stitch my thumb back up (I dont want to sound harsh but it does look like Abu Hamza had stitched it up with his hook!).But the Important thing is my thumb was back together, Later my gran rushed round with chocolate and sweets becaus they had run out of Morphine and Paracetamol at the Spa.

Burlington and the dreaded Blue playground

There I was stood bolt upright, chest out. My bright green jumper glistened (sort of), my black trousers didn't, My shiny new shoes were polished up like a mirror, and my hair was neat. My mum adjusted my collar and waved me goodbye as I joined the other kids as we all lined up outside Burlington Infants School ready for our first step on the path to success. I knew a few of the people their; Matt , Jordan  and Wayne  so I wasn't a complete stranger. We were greeted by a tall thin man called Mr Lee who was the headteacher at the time, I'll always remember him not only because he was a nice guy but also because of the Roald Dahl book The Vicar Of Nibbleswicke where a tall thin vicar called Robert Lee is diagnosed as being dyslexic which leads to various mishaps and capers over the prununciation of the words 'god' and 'sip'. But i dont suppose that's important. Mr Lee took us all to our classroom where we met our fellow classmates and teachers. Our teacher was Mrs Simpson who looked more like a rugby player than a teacher-Think Lawrence Dallaglio meets Dame Edna. Mrs Simpson was a nice teacher (until Rachel  had the infamous chair wetting incident, Now known as The Wetter Gate scandal!)

One of the features of Burlington was blue playground which was a small area of blue stuff which was meant to be softer than concrete so if any of the first years fell over they wouldn't end up seriously injured. But we were only allowed to use it on our first and last breaks so at lunchtime we had to use the BIG playground (ooooooooohhhh). It was on the BIG playground where I met Ashley S, And Matthew W, -I didn't know it then but these two would get me into big trouble many years later.

Burlington was alright really, It was there someone realised how crap my eyesight is and that meant I had to have visit's from Mrs Pecora (Mother of former Aston Villa goalkeeper Antoni who now play's for North Ferriby) She would give me eye test's which meant I got to miss a few lessons and I got to go in the staffroom. Now when your young you think that the staffroom will be a grotto filled with mood ligting, bottles of champagne and exotic dancing ladies........It wasn't far off that ok there was no Mood lighting or dancing ladies but there was a few half empty bottles of Jack Daniels.

Tights, Skirts I wore them all

Soon though came the time where I had to make the move from Burlington Infants to Burlington Primary, This mean't a different set of buildings, different teachers, proper lesson's like science and maths and not just playing in a sand pit and reading Bif and Chip. It also meant we had to do swimming with Mrs Williams, now I dont swim well i'm more of a depth swimmer than a legnth swimmer. But it gave me a chance to be a bit creative with my excuses (apparently Saturday night fever wont stop you swimming especially first thing on a Wednesday). Also at Burlington Primary we had proper school dinners they weren't very good in fact they were so bad they put me off for life and I have never eaten school dinners since. However there was a plus side Mrs Bradley who was one of the nice dinner ladies and she didn't force you to sit and eat if you didn't want to. (The funny thing is this summer I ended up working with Mrs Bradley husband who's a joiner -It's a small world but you wouldn't want to paint it)

At Burlington they also had a weird fixation with theme days (like a pub) The first of which was a Tudor day we had to come dressed up as Tudors and prat around for the day. I dont know which Tudor I came dressed as but I know he wore tights and a large stupid collar. We had a huge Tudor banquet,Our headteacher Mr O Rielly was Henry VIII (the resemblance is uncanny) But that was where any similarities with the Tudor's ended as I very much doubt the reason Anne Boylen was killed was becauseshe would't pass Henry the plate of crisps, i'm also pretty sure the Tudors didn't have sausages on sticks and lumps of cheese on sticks.

They also liked performing plays at Burlington and after getting thrown off the nativity on the first night for saying there wasroom at the inn, And not getting a part in Bugsey Malone I was determined to land a place in the Twelth Night (at least I think it was that one, The one were the guy says "if music be the food of love") Anyway I wanted to play Malvolio but teachers pet Ben  got that role. But the good news is they must have realised my cosiderable acting talent as I got a part

I was delighted, Until I got the script that is, Would you like to guess how many lines I got? 20? 50? 300? NO I got 1 line 1 BLOODY LINE!. But it was my line and I was determined to make it my own. My role was the vicar and my line was, wait for it.......(drum role please) "I pronounce you man and wife". I did toy with the idea of improving my line and maybe delivering it through the medium of interprative dance or going through the whole wedding vow procedings (But i'm sure Bill Shakespeare doesn't need my help). I was even more annoyed when I saw my costume, It was a huge white T-Shirt, a black skirt and a sparkly head dress that was unfolded and draped over my shoulders. But i'm convinced I got the biggest laugh of the night when I came on sporting a Freddy Mercury style fake moustache that Callum had dared me to wear. Oddly enough I was never asked to do anymore shows after that but I did have to mime a song during a production of Joseph.

PR Agent Required

We here at Skanky Media inc. Are pleased to announce the opening of a new position.

We are looking for a dedicated, Creative and forward thinking Individual to be the Public Relations officer for none other than Tulisa Conto.....Errr From N Dubz.  The job will require you to follow Mrs from N Dubz around, (while holding your head in your hands). and being on hand to promote Mrs N Dubz good name.

Job Requirements

• The candidate must be creative, And able to come up with good excuses for severe 'negative publicity' situations, Such as Major drugs scandals, and Poor Blowjobs are commonplace.
• The candidate must also have a keen interest in shopping at Primark, and other such 'Chavvy' shops.
• An eye for Burberry, Argos jewellery and fake 'Playboy bunny' underwear (From Chelmsford market) is also an Advantage.
• Most importantly the candidate should be deaf, or Actually not mind listening to N Dubz.
• Being a Drug dealer/Baron with a BMW is also preferable.

Candidates are expected To work 150 hours a week, Although depending on events (Claims of affairs, Giving birth to a chinese baby etc) this could climb.  The Job is very well paid, the successful applicant can expect to receive £7 per week, plus bonuses including a £15 Argos voucher and a Hamper from Lidl at Christmas.  Any overtime will be paid in either Ecstasy tablets or 'Blowies'

Closing date for applicants is 10-6-13

Caravans, Candy Crush and Eurovision

This morning, As part of my recently alarming descent in an early midlife crisis I decided to go fishing, But not to catch fish, More for the peace and quiet and tranquillity of the rolling sea.That and the fact I'm quite willing to do a 'Reggie Perrin'. On my way to the fishing spot I have to walk through a caravan park, Which got me thinking, Why on gods earth would anyone want to stay in a bloody caravan ? I spent the four and a half hours I was fishing trying to think of one good reason, and I just couldn't.
For those of you not familiar with the whole principle of caravaning, I'll give you a short explanation. Firstly you need to buy a caravan, You have two choices, either one with wheels, which means you can take your holiday home with you when you visit the same place every year, Or a static, Which means you cannot. Either way you will have to spend an outrageously large sum of money, for lets face it, One room full of beige velour fabric and toilet you have to empty yourself.
Then you have to decide where you want to put your caravan, Because even if you buy one with wheels, you will inevitably end up going back to the same place every year. Where you choose to go is up to you, However according to the 'Happy Camper' magazine it is common to go somewhere very similar to where you live but with a slightly poorer climate. May I suggest Ulrome.
Then you have to decide which caravan site you wish to stay at, In most seaside towns Many semi entrepreneurial local people will have bought a few acres and stuck a few toilet blocks on them. Some parks cost more than others, the 'Bargain' parks are basically a field, a wooden shack with filthy toilet facilities and quite near a train line. The 'Expensive' parks are pretty much the same, but they have a small, overpriced newsagents on them. 
Then you have to decide what you are going to do when you've arrived. Most Caravanist's spend the first hour of their holiday wondering just why the several miles of drivers behind them were getting all 'Het up'. after that it's entirely up to you, But you will have to empty your own feces, shower with other people in disgusting toilet blocks, wash up and cook your own food. In between all that though, you can have much fun, sat on a fold up chair reading the daily mail with a drooping testicle hanging from beneath your beige shorts seems to be the 'In thing' with caravaners at the moment. Be warned though, Most caravan parks will not allow you to do certain things, Ball games, BBQ's, running, music, laughing, smiling etc.
It really isn't a holiday is it, Not when, for less money, and for less hassle you can stay in a hotel, have your food cooked, and shower in a warm, clean environment without having to worry that a middle aged, large, balding bloke is constantly staring at your John Thomas.
As I mentioned at the start of my post I'm entering a midlife crisis, Which means I'm either going to die at 42 or I'm an advanced developer, Either way, one of the causing factors to my mental imbalance seems to stem from my mobile phone. 2 years ago I knew exactly what my phone wanted, If it made a continuous noise someone was calling, so I could ignore them, If it made a one off noise someone was texting, So I could ignore them as well. And if it made an occasional beep it meant the battery was low, So I could charge my phone so I could ignore everyone. But nowadays I'm never sure. If my phone beeps now It could be a call (unlikely) a text (Unlikely) battery (likely) a friends request, a re tweet, a new follower, a life on candy crush, a sheep on farmville an Email or something to tell me that my burgers are ready on cafe world. And I mean, How am I meant to prepare for that, How can I open my phone and expect to have to harvest crops but then end up having to talk to someone? There really is no wonder I'm going crazy.
One good thing about this week was the Eurovision neighbour song contest, In which we (Great Britain) didn't do well, but we did better than last time so we did do well, If you follow me. Basically we entered a once respectable singer to sing a naff song and ruined what was left of her waining career. One thing that did strike me though is when the votes were read out from the various countries all the presenters were stood next to rivers, presumably so they could jump in after being forced to watch some Estonian sing a song no one could understand.
Next year we should just let a load of pissed up Geordie's sing 'Coming Home Newcastle' just so we could see the population of Belarus try and figure out what 'Ahm coming home Newcastle,Ye can keep ye London wine,Ahd walk the streets al day al neet,For ay bottle ay the River Tyne,' means.

Youth Police Commissioner...Only in England

So Today, It has been revealed that the country's first Youth Police Commissioner, is infact a drug fuelled, idiotic, racist who does silly things after a few 'Blue WKD's'. In my opinion that is exactly what you can expect by appointing someone called Paris.

But what exactly was 'Paris' meant to do? I mean, was she installed to help the 'Grown up' police commissioner to have a better understanding of the playstation generation? If so she's pretty much summed them up perfectly. Another 'Chantelle - Dimi' Full of underage sex and Greggs.
I assume if she indeed has any responsibility at all, Then I guess the people who live in the rural village of Kent can expect to have new laws stating that everyone must wear tight leggings (regardless of weight), that show a dark coloured thong underneath.
But I can't imagine she will have any responsibility, Because Lets face it, An adult Police Commissioner is next to worthless, So a Junior one is even less than that. She has however got a £15k salary for her crime fighting troubles.

If anyone thinks this is a dig at the young generation, Then it isn't, It's a dig at people called Paris, and other stupid names, I mean, Jeremy Kyle is innundated with people called Shazney and Wayne and Shazney's baby's father Kayden. But when was the last time something bad happened surrounding someone called Annabel, Or Ken?
Can you really see the dragons from the den entertaining 'Saffron's' Idea for 'EZ to enter trackies with a warming pocket for sausage rolls'

It does seem that Names are going silly, Last year in America (where else) more than one child was named 'Burger' I assume after the parents favourite things. So I can see in this country the name 'Hanging around Bus Shelters smoking Weed' will become quite popular in the next few years. Wich is a worry, Because When 'Saffire's doing her Work experience as a midwife she isn't going to be able to spell that.

innit mate.

50 Shades of Health and Safety

This, is the largely untrue raunchy, and somewhat arousing story of Alan, and his dream girl, Brenda.

Alan, sat his heart racing, as Brenda whipped, harder and harder, until gradually it became stiffer and stiffer. Alan loved watching Brenda make the custard at the works canteen. He watched intently as her pink and blue tabard wafted gracefully in contrast to her vigorous arm movements. Brenda was the 50 something cook at the factory and Alan was the site safety officer. They'd both been at the factory for over 30 years, but recently separated Alan had never seen Brenda in such a light.
"One of them lamps has gone, we'll get someone in to fix that before someone has a mishap" said Alan, his eyes guiding Brenda's to the faulty light fitting over the counter.
"About bloody time" replied Brenda in a strong Lancashire accent, Alan loved it when she talked dirty.

Brenda was laying it on, thick, all over his spotted dick.
"Ok, stop there love, " said Alan in a flustered out of breath style. As the custard oozed over edges. And with a glint in his eye and a wink, Alan and Brenda parted ways once more.

Despite having both known each other for so long Alan hadn't had the courage to talk to his blue rinse babe about his passions and desires. He may have only recently been separated but the flame from his last marriage had long seen been extinguished, ever since Carol, his former wife had been diagnosed with an Irritable Bowel. And it all became too much for Alan, who masterfully demanded he be kicked out, and that she must take the Audi, sit on mower and the House. Carol, had little choice but too agree, being forced to choose wheat germ over her husband of 22 years.

Alan had longed to see Brenda out of her tabard and in her weekend clothes, and with his separation meaning he now rented a bedsit on the high street, he could, as every other Saturday Brenda and her friend Peggy would go and get their perms done, by Val at Valduzair, and Alan could sit and watch Brenda as she got out of her taxi, on some days, she'd even show a bit of underskirt.

It was now mid July, and the temperature was hotting up, and Alan sat in his office one morning, sweating, but not just because of the intense heat, but also because of the nerves, because today was the day. Today he would have his way with Brenda.

Brenda was due in his office at 9 for disciplinary chat, after she accepted some bread rolls without having the invoice forms signed, in triplicate. Alan knew this was his chance, his chance to make Brenda an offer she couldn't refuse.

With 5 minutes to go, Alan's nerves were in tatters, he polished his name badge and slowly fondled with his cuff links, his certificates glistened on the wall behind his desk. And he reached down into his desk drawer to pull the steradent flavoured condoms (two birds, one stone) to the front. Then came the call from his PA....

To be continued

Location:Paradise

Phil Brown appointed new Pope.

After the shock news that Pope Benedict XVI resigned, The catholic church has yet again been rocked by the news that former Hull City Manager Phil Brown has been appointed the new pope. Pope Phil  will be assisted by Cardinal Paul Duffen. And the pair already have big plans to raise the appeal of the Catholic Church.
"We have a few plans to raise the global footprint of the catholic church' Quoted Duffen.
Pope Brown was on a sunbed in South Shields when he claims to have got the call from god. "It was quite a shock when I got the call, I was just having a bit of me time after been rejected for the Limerick job" Said Brown.
Sue Gold, the owner of the tanning salon said "Phil had just finished his usual 22 minute session, and had just rolled his trousers up for his fish pedicure, when all of a sudden I heard a polyphonic version of Sloop John B, Next thing Phil's on the phone"
After the call, Brown,53, grabbed the salons loud speaker, ran out into the street, and with rolled up trousers and and a heavenly glow began to belt out a rendition of Chesney Hawkes' 'I am the one and Only'
Messages of support have been trickling in for Brown, with West Ham manager Sam Allardyce saying "Phil's a lovely bloke, A bit clingy, But still a nice guy' and Former shampoo spokesman Jimmy Bullard spoke to us from his champagne filled hot tub in Ipswich 'Phil's a great man, Really, really clever.'
Brown has been out of work for some time, and has recently been turned down by a number of clubs including Hartlepool, Oldham, and the Houghton Le Spring WMC. It is also rumoured that Brown had been struggling with his finances, and was forced into selling his Racehorses to an Irish food company.
Martin Richards, Manager of the Durham Burton's store said "We used to see phil alot, he'd come in almost every day to get a new suit or scarf, He always looked very dapper, Now we sometimes see him across the road at oxfam, walking his dog Jay-Jay'
In his first public interview since been appointed pope, Brown, who wore a fetching Pink Shirt with Ralph Lauren jumper tied around the waist said 'I've got big plans for this religious cult, And without saying too much, I have a conversion that will blow your cassocks off'
Hours later Cardinal Duffen revealed an audacious attempt to Lure Ganesha away from Hindu, Saying 'He's the one, He's the lad that Phil wants, and what Phil wants, Phil gets'
However not all people are in support of the new head of the Vatican, One twitter user saying "Browns a fucking idiot, He's clueless, and is prone to mental breakdowns, I once found him dressed as a Victorian chimney sweep, running around lidl car park, making noises like a spitfire'  @BriHorton49, Former Hull striker Kamel Ghilas said 'It wouldn't surprise me if he didn't build a load more churches, then just leaves them empty for two years before selling them off as carpet shops' 
With so many conflicting opinions on Brown it remains to be seen how the Church will cope with their new leader

Diary of an 'Africa' animal.

Well for those of you who have been watching the BBC 1 series 'Africa', which I strongly suggest you do, you will have noticed a certain pattern developing. This is a largely un factual diary of any one of those creatures.


Monday

Bloody hell, it's warm here, we haven't had rain for 4 months now and I'm parched, I got hold of a few leaves yesterday but that's about it, I had them with sand, I was going to do ants, but the only ones I could find we're those buggers that nip. I saw a female animal of the same species as well today, Shirley I think she's called, Anyway I'm not going to bother with all that romance rubbish that humans do, I'll just go over and see her Tommorow, puff my chest out and give her a damn good seeing too.

Tuesday
Crikey that was close, I went over to see Shirley earlier, I was just about to make my move and another bloody bloke turns up, giving it large. It turns out he fancies her as well, I tried talking to the bloke, but he was having none of it, he started snorting and waving his claws/hooves/trunk/tail/stinger/horn around like a mad man, I could see he fancied himself as some sort of 'jack the lad' we had a bit of a scuffle, and I caught him with a peach of a left hoof, right to his temple, sent him flying. And it looked good in front of Shirley. Who was most taken aback with her rogering. Still no rain, this is getting daft now,

Wednesday
Well that's the last time I talk to that Shirley, after all the bother I went to just so she could get a bit of how's your father. She only tried to kill me afterwards, because "that's what they do apparently". I'm taking her on Jeremy Kyle next month and we'll have it sorted. Some fucker with a massive camera came along today and kept sticking that in my face, one of the elephants said he was from the BBC so I tried to ham it up a bit, this could be my big break. We've still had no rain, But the cameraman left a few crisps behind so I had them with a bit of sand.

Thursday
Well I don't bloody believe it, it's pissing it down, heavy as well, not just a bit of drizzle, just as I'd put my winter coat away. The rivers full so the hippos are as happy as pigs in shit, and now finally I can get some greenery down me neck. I think I'm going to have to go and see my mate Steve the buffalo about my sex life, I was giving it to Shirley's sister Monica last night, and the bitch tried to kill me as well. She broke my bloody leg, I don't know wether it's me, am I doing something wrong?. Anyway as I limped back to my pad last night there was a few vultures flying around over head, lobbing stones and being Yobs in general, it's about time the police did something about them. All the gazelles are scared to go out at night.

Friday
This rains taking the piss, the whole place is flooded, the good news is some other poor sod died last night so I managed to get a nice bit of meat for the first time in ages, I had it warm with a bit of wet sand. I was with Sylvia last night, she's Shirley's half sister, and she goes like a rabbit. She didn't get chance to try and kill me though, I'd barely finished wiping the old chap on the curtains when I turned around and some other bloke was having a go on her, slag. Overall it's been a fairly good week, Drought, Food, Fight, Intercourse, Flood. Anyway as I'm sat here writing this with a nice warm pint of mushed beetle them vultures are hovering over head, I wonder what them bastards want.....