This isn’t going to be one of them entries where I try and do a proper review of something. I went to see Seinfeld tonight. He was good. He wasn’t in danger of outstaying his welcome, if you catch my drift. (Those of you still not having caught my drift, I mean he didn’t do a very long set.) If I’m paying sixty notes for something I expect not to be able to get to the end of the performance not being really uncomfortable because I need a wee that much (but am too stupid to either not drink two pints right before the thing starts or to sacrifice a minute of the show to have a wee so I can watch the rest of it not in immense discomfort). And after leaving and taking the long way out the Manchester Arena and going to the Co-Op and being in a queue for cigarettes while there was just one person on the tills and then walking past a few pubs that were too busy  before I got to the stage where I was so uncomfortable that I had to either make a wee or…well just make a wee really, it’s the only real solution to really needing a wee.
Standing around waiting for the show to start me and my friend Tom were throwing back a couple of lagers so that our respective bladders would perhaps cause us discomfort should the show run a satisfactory length – the only time my penis and the phrase ‘satisfactory length’ will appear in a sentence. Oh, I didn’t mention my penis before that. But I was talking about wee-wee time; what do you think I do it with? My ankles?
We’d got the beers at one of the many bars inside the Manchester Arena. They were £4 each. We then had a bit of a trot, following the signs for merchandise. It wasn’t a long walk. But there was no merchandise. There was just a sign saying ‘There is no merchandise for Jerry Seinfeld’. We probably stood there drinking a couple of frosties for about 25 minutes. In that time maybe 30 people a picture of the sign. What’s that all about? That’s definitely going to be one of them pictures on the camera that gets deleted with a ‘why did I think this would need recording for posterity?’ shakes of the head. 
The merchandise stand was opposite another bar. It was about 20 metres from the ones we had got our beers from. At this bar everything was 40p more expensive. People were still using it even though 30 seconds away things were 40p cheaper. I’m not a tight man. I’m definitely not a frugal man. I’m also comfortable enough financially for 40p not to the biggest deal in the world (sorry if you’re reading this in 1932 – 40p is not a lot of money in 2012: you can’t even get a packet of Polos for that now. NB Polos are a brand of mint launched in 16 years, they are renowned for having a hole in the middle and were 10p twenty years ago but now – 2012 – cost approximately £19) but I’ll be damned if I won’t walk a few extra paces for the same product at a cheaper price.
Also the bar was branded all over its front with Heineken logos. The lager it sold was Fosters. Or overpriced-for-no-reason Fosters lager beer.
 In my world ANYWHERE is too busy if I am not the only person there.
 When I saw the sign I thought about taking a picture of it to put in this blog, but thought better of it; this is what I do with my life, I mock and judge people who are pretty much doing what I do. I never said I wasn’t a hypocrite and if I did, well I’m a hypocrite – I would wouldn’t I?