Happy Birthday!!

Lord of Leisure Posted on by

I can't do this to anyone any more...So another year has been and gone, The Lord of Leisure is now the wrong side of 25, which only means the belly gets larger, the chins become numerous and the flatulence gets unbearable.

Basically, for all intensive purposes, I can no longer pretend to be young. For once I have to now face the stark reality of being 2/3 to 1/2 way through my existence and pull my socks up. So no more eating super noodles from a shoe, no more wiping my face using next door’s cat, and no throwing up in people’s hats.

Time to act my age. Time to get together a plan to define what I am to do with life and stand up, be counted, no time to stay below the masses without making any impact. No more should this manly man stand by while evil wanders across the land and up ladies’ skirts.

I feel sick now. Maybe I should slow down and just take it one step at a time, like trying to get dressed without getting stuck in the dishwasher again…

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Back Home

Lord of Leisure Posted on by

It's nice to go back to reality...maybe...

Sometimes a blow-out of relaxation is exactly what the doctors like to order if you come into the surgery holding a gun. I’ve been celebrating the fact that I’m off all week due to lies, treachery, deceit and possibly a court order if the judgement stands after the appeal.

It’s been a case of “back to reality” outside of London once more, as a last second journey to Manchester ensued to have just a fun time with fellow comrades in arms, raging against the world as we all like to do in our spare time. Drinking, losing badly in Blackjack and Trivial Protrusion, talking rubbish, all the hallmarks were there.

It was also the first time that I had ventured to Peterborough.

Now before you question how Peterborough, a city with things and stuff (actually I have no idea what’s really there), actually links in to all this, it was to meet up with a friend long time not seen and to journey up the rest of the way with said fellow to Manchester, a slightly different way of doing it but there we are.

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Here’s one for us tw*ts…

Lord of Leisure Posted on by

We’re all dead, or so would some of the press and scientists would have us all believe when a giant collection of metal donuts begin operating over on the European mainland on Wednesday, the day where hopefully other things will be happening which are less dangerous like farting in a lift, and people bungee jumping without a bungee rope.

Forget the terrorists, Americans, tubs of lard and clowns destroying us all and wiping us all from existence, it’s now nuclear physicists now who are the enemy. Soon they will switch on the Large Hadron Collider, which basically will send tiny bits of matter smashing against each other and then they see what happens.

The big f**ker which scares people. Always scares people, big things...

It has cost billions of Euros, taken since 1994 to get to this point and the whole thing has been about seeing what happened just after the big bang with extra parts for anti-matter and dark matter thrown in for good measure.

One problem with this grand enterprise is that there are concerns that the machine will create forces which could destroy the earth and possibly the entire universe when it gets going.

Read that sentence again and just allow a few moments for it to sink in.

Destroy the entire universe.

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Finding the way

Lord of Leisure Posted on by

Dave Goodman’s Purpose Piece

I find myself a bit lost in recent times, I go to work, come home, find more interesting ways to waste vital minutes of my life without picking the mushrooms from my feet.

Motivation is a waning commodity in these times where the long hours of work practically drain you of energy and you find that the best you could hope for when you get home is to eat more cheesy snacks and catch up with who is sleeping with the cat on your favourite soap opera.

Some of the time I do spend writing on this blog, along with a few other places, some of the time is spent reading “The Rules of Wealth” and crying afterwards, but then the bulk of the time, is lying on my back, counting the cobwebs on the ceiling.

Not very exciting is it?

But I wandered across to Dave Goodman’s website, a place where a man in London also is struggling to do things and he wrote a piece about trying to achieve something, due to the result of the modern world giving us more free time and the constant pressure that we should be achieving something in our free time.

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I know what you did last sunday…

Lord of Leisure Posted on by

And in the effort to keep up the REM related posts in recent times, last weekend, I went to see the band at Manchester’s cricket ground, the scene of the earlier cricket and later drunken stupor while trying to watch England do something on the field.

Now normally, as you would expect a manly stallion such as the Lord of Leisure, he would have been accompanied by a playboy model, or failing that, a cheap group of prostitutes who are more than happy to be paid by the hour for standing on a field filled with drunk people.

However on this occasion it was not to be, due to laziness (a true sign of being the Lord of Leisure) the decision was made to take someone else along.

Now, we cannot just bring this person on without some grander introduction because this is a person who helped make this all possible. So we’ll steal the top gear introduction: Some say that the big bang was started by a noise coming from her arse, and that she eats Jehovah’s witnesses who dare knock on her door.

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A sideline.

Lord of Leisure Posted on by

Guess who I stood in a long line for at Waterstones today in the vain effort to say about 10 seconds of drivel and then get escorted out by big burly men who would be more than happy to introduce you to your bottom? OK, that didn’t actually happen…

Hard at it. And they're signing books.

Yes, it actually is Mr Michael Stipe from R.E.M. and David Balise, the man who has been taking rude pictures of them for over 6 years, and now there is a book full of pictures now out in shops for people to buy if they so choose.

I feel like I’m the man on the moon…

Boy, you belong in Hell…

Lord of Leisure Posted on by

During the bank holiday weekend back in reality as I’m now beginning to equate the London experience with the rest of Britain, the opportunity was taken to watch Hellboy 2: The Golden Retriever.

In a no doubt rush to get some more cash from a franchise born from comic books, The film was released on Wednesday for all to see, laugh cry etc. And why not? As mentioned before on the tome of silliness, there hasn’t been really anything other than the Dark Kite to get excited about at the box office, and of the films to come out, the majority of them have been sequels, perhaps now finally bringing home the bacon of truth, which is that Hollywood has ran out of ideas.

What do you mean we've ran out of coffee?

So the reasons for watching Hellboy 2: The cash-in, were that a) the first film was actually rather good. 2) It looked one of the better films out at the current time, considering what else is out there right now and iii) It was a Saturday night. Aside from dancing like someone suffering from Motor Neuron disease, drinking till our eyes bleed or drugging an unsuspecting person to violate, what else can you do at that time?

So there you are. The reasons behind the choice have been laid bare, and just like Get Smart, the expectations for the film were not overly huge, again as a result for a lacklustre summer blockbuster fest.

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That smarts….

Lord of Leisure Posted on by

I suppose that you could argue that when it comes to the summer blockbusters this year, it’s been about as exciting as listening an accountant talking about the colour grey. Can you name more than 3 films you’ve truly been excited about without being drugged by your supposed best friend and then dragged along so they don’t feel lonely?

So far, we’ve had the knight in dark clothing wooing us all with his magic abilities to talk funny and drive big things really fast, all in the vain attempt to keep us all safe from the dead guy. But aside from that, so far the only other film that even attracted my attention and possibly some other’s as well, was the load of Hancock with big Willy. And we all know how well that turned out don’t we?

Nothing like an early moring jog.

So I guess when it came to the new remake of a TV series, Get Smart with Steve Carrot, the guy who actually did a really good film called the 4 year old virgin, which after complaints from parents was turned into the 40 year old virgin, the expectations were at an all time low.

It had won out for viewing against the Mummy goes to Iceland, in which the cast appear simply to try and keep their film careers going, and the other film which you may have had shoved down your throats with bizarre adverts: you don’t get mess all over Zorro with everyone’s favourite shouty man, Adam Sandal.

So after all that, the film just had to show up on the big screen and it was already better than you thought. So with that in mind, as the mind had ceased all other brain function, is it actually worth spending time in the dark to see?

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The problem with blogging

Lord of Leisure Posted on by

What the hell do you write if the best you can come up with so far from the week, is waking up, going to work, and then going home? A blog is an ongoing narrative and therefore requires the finest in writing material to keep the people coming back for more and more. Failing that, some lols and writing in txt speak about how everything is s5it.

Never mind, perhaps something will come in my next outrage about something which is in the grand scheme of things of little concern to most people. Like those darned elves or why bread never lasts more than 5 minutes when you blowtorch the thing.

Mind you, I have gotten tired of the homeless people taking one look at my shoes and deciding I have money. If they saw my bank balance, that would say actually, he doesn’t. It’s at the point now, where basically I’ll have start thinking about asking them for a spare 50p.

The only difference truly is, that I go to work to not be homeless, and at least to keep some money coming in so the bank doesn’t cry and then they make me cry. Why don’t they do that?

Bugger me, that sounds heartless. I’ve become a southerner…merde.

Well given a choice, and the sad fact is, that no matter what happens, I still haven’t got a pot to wee in once again, I’m taking the night off tonight from doing nothing, and instead am braving the outdoors of drunk city workers and “happy they got more money, cos they’re greedy b******ds” tube workers, to watch Get Smart, the film which they say is not very funny. Well it was either that or messing myself over Zool or whatever that thing with Adam Saddle is called.

Maybe I should investigate that growth on my elbow while I’m busy at it?

Cater for the portly gentleman…

Lord of Leisure Posted on by

The place where our sad tale begins...Now it’s rather unusual to remark on this, I know I’ve had this issue for a number of years, but now it’s more accute.

To be fair, I’m a portly gentleman. OK, I’m a chubby f**ker who’s life involves not women, wine and a cigar as most people in this cosmopolitan slab would believe, but mounds of greasy bacon smothered in Angel Delight. We have a working relationship. I buy it in huge quantities, and in return, it lets me stuff it down my arena-sized gob. There’s not much talking, and there are no questions asked.

I’ve been this size for a large amount of time, pardon the pun, and therefore have been used to knowing which shops tend to stock items which fit, for example, the NEXT chain of stores in the UK are great for tops of all shapes and sizes. But if I were to try and fit into their range of trousers and jeans, I would cut off circulation to the man-sacks and proceed to walk funny.

However, it appears that either I have grown a full 20 inches around the waistline, or the sizes of clothes in the capital seem to favour those with less meat on them than a chicken nugget.

The same size shirt, which I bought up north, same collar size of 17 inches etc, of which still fits me today, I wear it often without any trouble, and when trying on another shirt at the store, I was a spitting image of the Fatboy Slim Album cover with the big man/small t-shirt motif on the front. It was unbelievable what had occurred in the space of 20 seconds. It was as if my stomach had been exposed to gamma radiation and then got very angry.

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