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Don’t believe everything you read.  That’s what I’ve read, anyway.  But I also heard a bloke called David St Hubbins (named after the Patron Saint Of Quality Footwear) say “I believe virtually everything I read, and I think that is what makes me more of a selective human than someone who doesn’t believe anything.” Read the rest of this entry »

This is a story about men.  Met who met in a distant age, before everyone had iPhones and laptops and wi-fi and facebook and neither the means nor indeed the inclination for the constant, relentless barrage of shared information which, if we’re all honest, is just another welcome distraction from what we actually should be doing.

It was 1999, and I was starting university.  I had terrible dress sense; a velour luminous orange v-neck Cotton Traders shirt was the worst offender, usually accompanied with black shiny plastic-effect trousers.  Inexplicably I was single. Read the rest of this entry »

It’s doubtful Jordan read my last blog in which I asked her to go away, but she seemed to pretty much do as I asked, as she apparently spat her dummy out last night, refused to do another bush tucker trial (fucking lightweight) and promptly fucked off home.  On that note, and at the risk of this blog turning into a reality TV rant, please allow me one last X-Factor post, in which I’ll make more amazingly accurate predictions. Read the rest of this entry »

Last night my girlfriend accused me of being gay.  Not in a Stefan Posthma sense (Google it, but probably not at work), but in as far as she is convinced that I have an instant disliking for most successful women (i.e. those on television).  This is not true.  I have a disliking for most people.  Full stop.   Read the rest of this entry »