Hams to Damn

I am almost certainly not the capital city of the Netherlands. Unless I am much mistaken no part of my torso (or legs or head) hid teenage diary writer Anne Frank during the Nazi occupation of me in the second world war. I certainly do not house a museum of said teenage diary writer. No part of me houses buildings where legalised prostitution occurs: and sex being had by consenting adults in the four bedrooms in my spinal column is entirely free of any exchange of money or goods. You can forget buying canabis from a cafe about my person – just forget it. There are no moves to have the selling of cannabis restricted to citizens of me and there defintely isn’t widespread opposition to the plans nor fears it will affect tourism in me. I do discourage people from driving around my chest though.

Why am I labouring the point that I am not the city of Amsterdam? Well my friend and colleague Paul seemed to use me as a substitute for not being able to go to Amsterdam with his friends. This just involved lots of imbibing alcohol, before you start wondering about how many hand jobs I gave him. Paul and his friends have an annual trip to Amsterdam and he couldn’t go this time because of work. So, watching United in the leading European club competition (they were playing in Amsterdam – that’s why his so-called friends were there at this specific time when Paul was unavailable. Anyone who says they just wanted to go without him is being uncessarily mean.) and having plenty to drink with me.

We all laughed when Danny Glover, portraying Roger Murtagh in the Lethal Weapon, said he was “too old for this shit”. He was talking about running about with guns and leaping over exploding stuff but I think ‘this shit’ can be applied to most things. So when I say I am getting too old for this shit about drinking quite a lot you should laugh at the recognition of may inability to be the hip young booze smoker I used to be AND the intertextuality, referencing everyone’s second favourite cop-buddy film – after The Last Boy Scout natch. Go on then…laugh and then nod at the Lethal Weapon reference.

I am getting too old for this/that shit, though. However that doesn’t compute when I have had five or six pints and my head just thinks ‘have another 4 or 5 pints, you’ll be grand in the morning’. After those 4 or 5 more pints my head does start to think ‘your belly feels too full of gassy alcohol’, to which the obvious solution is to drink 6 or 7 gin and tonics…sorry I’ve lost my train of thought as my phone just rang. It said BLOCKEDon the caller ID display. How is that blocked? That is just an unknown number. A blocked call should not be ringing through on my phone. It’s not like my phone doesn’t have the capacity to say ‘caller unkown’ – because it does have the capacity to do it, that’s why it is not like it doesn’t have the capacity. It proves this by normally doing that. So what’s this fucking ‘BLOCKED’ bullshit all about? Is this your legacy Steve Jobs?

Puddle Britain

I noticed this puddle looked a little bit like the shape of Britain – minus Northern Ireland, though you might have got that from me saying the puddle looked like Britain and not saying it looked like the United Kingdom of Britain and Northern Ireland. Got myself in a right old pickle about whether or not Northern Ireland is part of Britain then didn’t I? That is definitely the most trouble this issue has ever caused anyone.

Puddle me this...