Here is yet another afternoon where I have absolutely no motivation and feel like crap. The residual food poisoning effect is still not helping to lift my spirits and I feel very melancholy indeed. As soon as I sit down to do some work I hit a snag and have to walk halfway round the building to find someone to help sort it out. And this sudden run of nice weather does not aid my lack of office motivation.

In an effort to relieve the boredom I spent about 5 minutes creating a rap about what I do all day to the tune of "Ice Ice Baby" by Vanilla Ice. I have sent this to a couple of my co-workers and they have enjoyed it muchly. The highlight of the day was lunch and this is what I done:

1:30pm luncheon was administered by Marc Haridimou, the lunch lady of our department. I do enjoy a later lunch, it leaves far less of the afternoon to suffer through. With my pockets light of cash I had to make a pit stop. I left the workplace and proceeded down the road to collect some money from an earlier drug deal. Then I popped into Alldays and bought a sammy and a drink. I proceeded to drive to Steven Paul Allen's very own "House Of Allencox". It was here that I witnessed the awesomeness of Steve's new DVD player. This bad boy upscales run-of-the-mill DVDs into 720p resolution, which is very nice indeed. I experienced, first-hand, the power of the upscaler by whacking in "Spider-Man 2" and watching the bit where Otto Octavius' experiment goes awry. Satisfied that the televisual signals had been upscaled into my brainium, we switched the little fuck nut off and stuck on "Mario Strikers" on Wii.

Steven Paul Allen then set about extinguishing any hope that I might have of winning at something. The first game was a tight 1-0 defeat, with the only goal coming from a cheating little toad called Toad. He jumped over the goalkeeper and walked the ball into the net! What an annoyance! The second game was a torrid affair. I lost 7-0 or something like that. Very shite. The third and final game was actually quite alright, and I managed to take a 2-0 lead through a process known as a MegaStrike. This is where a number of shots are fired in succession at the opposing goalkeeper. It is now the job of the other player to use the Wii remote to block the shots. Steven Paul Allen managed to save 4 of my 6 shots, thus giving me a 2-0 lead. He soon equalised. In fact he took a MegaStrike of his own accord, but I managed to save them all. The game went to sudden death and he scored with Birdo, firing an egg at the goalie and knocking him down. This one is indefensible.

After our Wii session we headed back to work. Steven Paul Allen drove all the way back with his arm hanging out of the window.

Last night I had a rather bizarre dream. It wasn't a very coherent dream, but I shall try my best to provide a sensical retelling.

So for some reason we were in South America, it looked like Havana or Tijuana. The "we" that I refer to is myself, Steven Paul Allen, Marc Haridimou, Jay Joseph and Carl Wright. I think there might have been another couple of people there, but as far as I am aware it was strictly limited to co-workers. The reason that I thought it was Havana or Tijuana is because there were a lot of Mexican and Hispanic people wearing Hawaiian shirts and aviator sunglasses. They all had moustaches. In fact they looked like the archetypal bad guy from Miami Vice or any similar 80's TV show where Mexicans/Hispanics were the bad dudes.

We were at the airport and decided to hail a taxi to get us to our hotel. We managed to flag down a coach to transport the five of us, lovely stuff. On our way to the hotel we were passing through a barrio when all of a sudden these nasties jumped out and shot the coach driver, then scarpered. This proved to be somewhat of an annoyance, and we ended up jumping off the bus and chasing after these criminals. We were, of course, unarmed.

We ran into this side alley, up some stairs and into a room with loads of people painting pictures. The pictures were awful, like something that a 4 year-old would paint. Through the back room there was a Mexican version of Currys Digital and they had loads of DVD players. Marc Haridimou stole one of these DVD players, which wasn't advisable considering we had just witnessed a murder and the bad guys knew what we looked like.

We got back to the coach and I drove us to the hotel. On the way we were naturally chased down by the same criminals who had killed our driver. I informed my fellow passengers that there were guns under the seats in the case of an emergency. I don't know how I knew this, but it came to be true. We got some guns and started firing upon our pursuers. I killed a couple of the gits myself.

Then we got back to the hotel and sat down in this big hall to eat chicken strips and watch the original of "The Poseidon Adventure" on the big screen.

It totally slipped my mind that I had an appointment with the hygienist this morning at 9:30am. I woke up a bit later than usual, owing this to the fact that I didn't have to get up until 8:15am. After I finished in the shower I phoned Marc Haridimou and explained that I would not be in to work until about 10:30am. I drove over to Banstead to the dentistry of sound. I got there a bit earlier than I needed to. This is due to the fact that I needed to send a letter by air mail. 78p for a stamp, what a gip.

Then I went to the dental practice and waited for about 15 minutes to be seen by the hygienist. When it was my turn she called me in and said "Have you ever seen the hygienist before?", I replied with a solemn "No". It was clear that I would be in for a treat. She wasted no time in forcing open my mouth and scratching around with a miniature pick-axe. She "de-scaled" my teeth and flossed them and all that. Then she showed me how to brush my teeth. It was nothing I haven't seen before. So I paid for my appointment, £41, and went back to work.

All day I have been feeling the new gaps in my bottom teeth with my tongue. It's really quite horrible actually. I am left in no doubt that the digging around in my mouth has contributed to my overall shit feeling today. I just want to go home and go to bed and watch a film. Nothing more, nothing less. This is a side effect from my hangover of yesterday, of this I am sure.

Last night I went to Strada in Reigate with my Dad and my Brother. We had originally planned to go to this place in Dorking called The Arkle Manor, it's meant to be quite nice. So I drove us there and we got there at 8:10pm. We went and waited by the door to be seated. We must have waited for about 5 minutes without being served, the people who worked there were just ignoring us as they walked by. Eventually this spotty geeky teen came up to us and we asked if they had a table for 3. "The kitchen's closed, it closed at 8pm" came the reply. Well, this was beyond belief. How could a busy place like that close their kitchen at 8pm? There were loads of people there, all waiting to order their food. I find it hard to swallow that the kitchen would just shut down as of 8pm on a Sunday evening. This is why we went to Strada.

At Strada I had antipasto misto, which is a combination of prosciutto, salami and buffalo mozzarella. Then I had a bufala pizza, which has tomatoes and buffalo mozzarella on it. It was quite nice but it was a rather big pizza. As I was eating it I was wondering if I would ever finish it. It was the world's longest pizza.

I washed it all down with a coke.

Lifted from an MSN conversation with an ex-co-worker.

Michael says:
i'm sure i recall you abused an easter egg at woolworths, one of the nice £19.99 ones, with a good square punch from the top of the easter egg stack in the stockroom

Ian says:
oh but of course, i used to love sticking it to the man

Michael says:
poor overpriced easter egg

Ian says:
i once ate an easter egg as well

Ian says:
just because the box was damaged

Ian says:
i tucked into it and it was bloody lovely

Michael says:
all the tastier for being so wrong?

Ian says:
God yes

Following on from my idea to make and eat a crisp sandwich, I made the decision to catalogue the chain of events leading up to the consumption. Please feel free to follow along with the simple step-by-step instructions.

This is the kitchen. This is ground zero for the crisp sandwich manufacturing. This will be my workbench for the next 5 minutes.

It's quite literally a fridge filled with fish (third shelf, if you please). Here we will find the cheese (second shelf) and the tomato ketchup (just out of sight) for the sandwich. These are integral ingredients.

This is the cheese. At this point I have already noted the crumbly nature of the beast, and I'm not looking forward to trying to applicate the cheese to the sandwich base.

The crisps have been retrieved from the cupboard. This is the "meat" of the sandwich. Salt & Vinegar is the only way to fly Crisp Airways.

The marinade is finally here. Resplendent in it's squeezy bottle and "Stay Clean Cap", it's a sauce fit for a king.

And last, but certainly not least, the bread aroud which the whole thing is built. We are finally ready to make the sandwich.

Here is the food laid out in a scientific formula format. I made the plus signs myself using electrical tape.

The unveiling of the cheese is a momentous occasion. As I had feared, the cheese is crumbled beyond recognition. This will not be a pretty sight.

I managed to catch the ketchup mid-flow. You have no idea how hard it is to take a still photo whilst operating a tomato ketchup bottle. No idea whatsoever.

Just look at the state of that cheese! It's not the end of the world though, I'm going to be turning it into poo in a short while.

Adding the crisps is my favourite part. I can't resist helping myself to a couple whilst I toss them onto the sandwich. "One for me, one for you".

This is my second favourite bit. The reason it is second in line is because I enjoy eating it the most. You get such a satisfying crunch, as if you were breaking the bones of your enemies with just one hand.

10 out of 10 for presentation. Laid out on a plate with the remaining crisps as a garnish. That serviette will come in handy too. It's on one of those lap trays with the beanbag bit at the base. It's no coincidence that it's my favourite tray to boot.

99% complete. As you will see, I have coupled the solids with a glass of ice cold nice cold milk. It's in a Guinness Extra Cold glass. I like to pretend that it's Guinness that has inversed it's colour. White Guinness. The Cricket is on and that is the smug mug of Anil Kumble that you see before your very eyes. All that is left to do is eat the little bugger.

Whew! I made short work of that one. I save a few crumbs for the sandwich fairies. It is right and honourable to leave crumbs on the plate.

And don't forget, they don't have a National Crisp Sandwich Day, because every day is Crisp Sandwich Day. Try one today, you won't be disappointed.

Let's discuss the last couple of days. If I provide a synopsis then I should be able to learn from my experiences and prevent myself from repeating some of my ill-informed decisions. And we're off!

Friday

Our meeting presentation at work on Friday afternoon ended a bit earlier than expected and we were allowed to set off home about 15 minutes before the normal time. This meant that my journey over to Woodmansterne to play tennis and football would have a much earlier ETA than projected earlier in the day. I told Satpaul and Chris that I'd be over about 6:15pm, but I actually got there at 6:00pm. I should give credit to the management for letting us go early. Judging by my revised arrival time it would appear that no dilly dallying took place during my stint at home getting changed and digging out my tennis racquet and football.

So I got there early. This was fine, it gave me time to check my equipment. I pumped up the football because it was mightily flat. This was fine. I then went to check my tennis racquet and to my disdain the grip was covered in a white mouldy substance. It was a good thing, then, that I had brought along my Sister's old tennis racquet. This was not mouldy. This was fine.

Chris turned up at 6:11pm, perfect. Satpaul is always late and he turned up at 6:20pm. I don't quite understand this, because Satpaul lives much closer to Woodmansterne than I do, yet still he cannot arrive anywhere on time. This is not helped by my severe punctuality in all circumstances.

So we played a fair bit of football. This crazy guy who always used to come into Woolworth's was milling around and wanted to join in. "To me!" he muttered. We ignored him. He had done this before, and he's actually rather rubbish and annoying and probably has a knife. He didn't take kindly to our shunning and uttered some profanities under his breath. "You're shit anyway" he mumbled as he walked off. "I'm out of your league" was his final retaliation to our nonchalance. I'm certain that he intended to turn the insult into a pun, and he succeeded at this greatly. Maybe he's not much of a cunt after all.

After kicking it around for a bit, we got bored of Football and decided to give tennis a bash. It had been about 6 months since I last played in Goa. It was way hot then, mondo man. On Friday, no sooner had we started a match, than it started raining. My service was pretty good considering my rusty form. I also hit a handful of non-refundable shots that Satpaul couldn't handle. It ended up 6-3 in the end, I managed to hold my serve for a couple of games, which was well brown.

The rain made the surface too slippery to mention, so we left. The others went off to play Pro Evo, but I just wanted to get home and have a shower. So I did. Then I downloaded a couple of albums and Steven Paul Allen textualised my mobile phone. I went to meet him at Riley's pool club in Redhill, wherein we are all members.

When I arrived he was with Joseph Benjamin Phillips (more commonly known to his contemporaries as Ben Phillips) and Chris Cooke (The Count Of Monty Christo). It was apparent that both Ben Phillips and Steven Paul Allen were in a far worse state of disrepair than Chris Cooke. I think he was pleased at my turn uppance, another adult to tend to the kids.

The music was very very loud indeed, and it was really awful music too. The worst combination in history. I find it to be in bad taste when the fucking teenagers who run the pool club decide to turn off the jukebox and put on music of their own choosing. They shouldn't be allowed to do it, we pay for the privilege of being able to choose our own tunes. Thankfully once they chucked out a few of the chavs that were hanging around, the music went off and the jukebox came on. I started the ball rolling with these ditties:

Joy Division - "Love Will Tear Us Apart"
Blur - "Beetlebum"
The Prodigy - "Smack My Bitch Up"

I always like to start with Joy Division. It went down well with Chris Cooke but he maintains that The Smiths are better. I like The Smiths too, they are warm. Steven Paul Allen was less impressed with "Beetlebum", he called it a "Dirge" and prayed for it to end. I had noticed him start to become a bit rowdier and more abusive and loud. I was wondering if he was going to be shown the door because he kept throwing his cue around and getting angry. I felt like his babysitter.

We were asked to finish up by the kid that worked there, so we did. Steven Paul Allen and I won overall, but that was only down to the misfortune of Chris Cooke, whom had potted the cue ball whilst playing the black into the corner pocket. Winners by default, but I wasn't very proud of it. Steven Paul Allen said "I love it when I win like that".

So we went and sat down because Steve had put a load of songs on the jukebox. He boasted of how he had put on "No Limit" by 2Unlimited. When one song came on, Steve and Ben both jumped up and started dancing around in circles, spilling their lagers all over the place. I rose from my chair immediately and said "Right, that's it, I'm off", so I offered a lift to Chris Cooke who was more than happy to jump in my conveyance. We left in a hurry. I dropped Chris home and went to bed. Not in my car; I drove home first.

Saturday

After sleeping in until 10:30am, I was rudely awoken by my Father asking if I had done any washing and fed the animals. I replied "Negatory" to both and decided that it would be best to do these tasks. So I did, it's not a long story.

Then I sat around for a spell, watching Cricket and whatnot. Then I decided to respond to a letter I had received from my friend Rachael. I went out to Redhill to purchase a decent notepad and some white envelopes. I ended up buying a 200 leaf "Pukka Pad" for £2.99, this was bought in WH Smith. I like the pad, it's got those perforated bits so that you can tear out the pages cleanly and they're still A4 in diameter. I had to go to Woolworth's to buy the envelopes, but it was no biggie.

When I got home I sat in the computer room and used the desk to rest the pad on. I stuck on some music and wrote away. By the end of it my hand was killing, I have no idea how I used to be able to write so much in exams at school, it's a mystery to me. Then I packaged the letter up and got ready to go out in Reigate.

I walked down into the town at 7:45pm. The destination? The Blue Anchor. I stopped at the HSBC to get some cash out, £40 in all. Then I met up with everyone in the pub. It started so well, chatting away to all and sundry, getting slightly inebriated, it was all good. Then we moved on to The Bell, which is quite possibly the smallest pub in the world. Out the back in the beer garden, they had a DJ playing some precocious beats. I stood under the rain shelter and drank my Guinness in relative comfort. After a while we headed back inside and got a taxi to The Sun in Redhill. This is a Wetherspoons establishment, and it's pretty awful. In the toilet there was some black guy manning the aftershave and hand towels, he was singing "I'll take you to the punani shop" and "Wash up for the punani". Charmed, I'm sure. I avoided conversation like the plague, because I would no doubt have to recompense him for his lullabies and wise words of wisdom.

I was feeling a bit peaky by this point, I had consumed in the region of 9 pints of Guinness. I felt a bit dizzy, so I went outside for some fresh air. I ended up slouched against a wall in the rain. I hid my downfall rather well though, and there was no cause for alarm to my compatriots. When they headed off to Liquid/Envy, I decided to make my escape. No sooner had I shook hands with Paul Rodgers and exchanged our goodbyes, I walked up the road in the opposite direction to the taxi rank and threw up a hefty slab of vomit all over the floor. Luckily no one even noticed my plight, and I managed to honk up a fair bit all over the floor and in a planter before I recovered a little. Once I was finished painting the town a shade of pizza, I headed to the taxi rank.

I ordered a cab to take me home, it's only a 5 minute drive but it takes ages to walk, and it was chucking it down like you wouldn't believe. "Five to ten minutes for the cab, sir" came the response. So I waited. And I waited. And I waited. When I got tired of waiting, I decided to wait some more. I was waiting for around 2 hours in all. I went and bought a burger from the place next door: Favorite Chicken. It turned out to be my least favourite foodstuff ever and I ended up binning the over-salted chips and shit laden burger. I cleaned my hands by wiping them on some wet leaves that were hanging over a fence. It was just like being stuck in the wilderness without a sink.

I had sort of decided to walk home because I couldn't be bothered to wait around any more. So I stuck my iPod on and got walking. Within minutes I was soaked through. Then I remembered that the last time I went to Liquid/Envy, I managed to get a cab from the train station opposite. I thought I'd give it a try, and no sooner had I arrived than I managed to hail a taxi and get home.

Once home I drank a pint or two of water. Then I went to bed. Then I got really dizzy like you do when you know you're going to be sick, so I quickly got out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. If my bedroom door had been open I might have made it to the toilet in time, but as it turns out the door was closed and I had to open it manually. As I was walking from the bathroom door to the toilet, a journey of roughly 3 metres, the vomit had made an appearance in my mouth. The pressure was too great to handle and there was no way I was swallowing what I had just expelled, so I let loose into my left hand, managed to catch most of it, and knelt down next to the toilet. I threw my handful of salty chips and shit burger into the bowl and proceeded to expunge the rest of the contents of my stomach into the toilet. I then went back to bed and was able to sleep. This is why I like being sick, it's an instant gratification that allows you to return to some semblance of normality.

Sunday

I awoke to the angriest headache in the world, the pure silence of the morning was too loud for me to bear, and I had a raging slash building up. 7:00am. I lethargically rolled out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. The piss was not going to hold for long, but I had to clean up the two piles of puke, remnants of the exploits not 5 hours ago. One pile on the floor next to the toilet, and another on the toilet seat. The toilet seat one was fine, it wiped away very easily. The floor pile was more persistent. I was holding in a mighty piss all the while, but I managed to keep going long enough to clean it all up and disinfect the area. I then took my slash and retired to bed. My headache was keeping me awake, so I went downstairs to drink some cold water. I then remembered my salt water trick, this usually cures my hangover.

I placed a few grams of salt in a glass tumbler, filled it a quarter of the way with cold water, mixed it around and downed it in one. I then washed the taste out of my mouth with clean fresh water. Then I took two Panadol Extra or whatever they were and went back to sleep. When I awoke fully at 10:00am my headache was a thing of the past, and I felt fine.

I got up and drove down the road to get the Sunday papers and a bottle of Coke to settle my stomach. I then went home and finished off the other half of the Pizza Express American Hot pizza that I started last night. This is the same pizza that is scattered over a small area of Redhill as you are reading this. I read the papers and drank my Coke. Then I fed the animals and emptied the dishwasher. After my work was complete, I sat down to watch "Ravenous" and drank some Diet Coke that I found in the fridge in the garage.

Then Dad came home from fishing. We have 4 or 5 trout in our fridge as a result. He read the papers and now he's in bed. And that brings us up to about ten minutes ago. I can't see much else happening today, I feel quite lazy because of the hangover. It's still in my system, normal service will not be restored until tomorrow morning now.

My Brother is back from Spain this evening, and I don't know what we're going to do about dinner. It might be time for a cheese, ketchup and crisp sandwich now. Actually, there is no "might" about it, it is definitely time for a CKC sammy.

That's all for now.

I have never understood what makes "Crazy Golf" so crazy.
Does it belong in an asylum?
Does it flap it's hands behind it's ears and make bizarre sounds?
Does it mess with your emotions and feelings without remorse?

I have never understood the purpose that wasps serve.
Surely they exist only to ruin your picnic,
And to fly in through an open office window and terrorise your co-workers.
It is for these reasons that I actively seek out and destroy them.

I have never understood the inner workings of the female brain,
And how you think everything's fine, when in reality it's not.
At what point do you realise this? And why is it always too late?
If I had my way I'd make all women pass a screening test.

Because I thought it best to post this in a place where more sufferers are likely to read it, I chose to turn this comment into a posticle. Please read on. It concerns the Thought Activated Jukebox mentioned in my previous post. Ginger's comment is up for review first. Check:

gingerwooton [Member]
27/07/07 @ 12:21
Thought Activated Juke Box is the best musical invention since sliced bread.

Is this device implanted into our heads- like a personal juke box or is it a box in the corner of the room?

Can it be activated by more than one person, so you could have mind over music battles with your R n'B loving nephew Ryan?

What happens if you get an annoying song in your head and you have a personal implant device fitted. It would send you RADIO RENTAL, this is where this term comes from.

Have a lovely weekend,

Gingerwooton.

And now for my retort. My chocolate retorte:

Yon Wooton, I thought it was you that I heard stomping from the horizon to my gates. How could I mistake the pitter patter of Wooton soles for anything else besides?

I am fond of your rumination over my ideas. And here I will now riposte in good faith.

The TAJ (manufactured by Mahal Industries, an Indian sublet) can be activated by many people at once. This leads to a music war which is sure to keep the neighbours awake at all hours. The only problem for young Ryan is the TAJ works on a seniority system. If an older listener wants to cut short the torrent of R n' B oozing from the speakers they can override the distasteful music with something far more clement. Ryan is going to piss.

Also, if coupled with the iBod (which is the name for the bodily based iPod) you can stream the songs from TAJTunes (the TAJ version of iTunes) straight into your brain so as not to disturb anyone else with your eclectic jazz hip hop fusion with disco wings on. Your brain signals will automatically filter out annoying songs, so you no longer have to put up with "My Humps" or "Is This The Way To Amarillo?" if you don't want to.

I hope this helps to alleviate the initial thought symptoms that you have suffered. Do continue to read on about my ideologies.

I thank you all for this lovely day.

One thing I really cannot tolerate is what happens sometimes when you walk down the corridor and someone is approaching from the opposite direction. More often than not you will go to move out of the way, only for the aggravant to move to the same side. This will then cause a lightning-fast reflex reaction wherein you will move to the other side, only for the approaching scummer to move to the same side again. What ensues is an awkward dance between the two parties. This is very ungainly, and often under-appreciated as I would much rather get to my destination without having to have a game of silly buggers with some bow legged freak show.

This is exactly what happened to me when I undertook my recent visit to the scanning copier located on the top floor of the central block at work. It irked me so, and I felt compelled to address this occurrence within the confines of my latest blog post. Of course, the reason that I was en route to the scanner was because I have a new peace offering for your very eyes.

You may or may not take note of the title, but it is aptly named "Ideas For Things". I say that it is apt because they are, quite literally, some ideas for some things. Some of these ideas have been bubbling over inside my mind for quite some time, others came jumping out from the back burners as I was partaking in the list writing activity.

Please direct your mouse cursor onto the picture itself and issue it with a deft left click. Deft left if you will. This will cause the metric expansion of the matrice and you will be able to view it in a much more agreeably customary resolution. Also, you will heed the footnote placed upon the root of the page. It says "Finished" and this is your cue to stop reading and start mulling over what you have just witnessed. Get on it now, before meganeck comes around with the beady little eyes and vanquishes your internet use like so much rotten meat.

Sweet Jesus I just had breakfast at work. It was very much appreciated. It's like a little treat to myself for enduring another week of work, especially after the busy nature of yesterday which was Thursday. I only had time to do one lowly blog post, and this will not suffice. Today I will be on top of my game, and don't you forget it.

This afternoon we have a meeting which will involve some form of presentation and a lot of boring work-talk. It's during these presentations that I tend to drift off and think about ideas for sketch shows and short stories. I have had a couple of ideas this morning that I can flesh out during this meeting. One idea came to fruition over breakfast when some people were telling us about being taken to one side to be told off for using the internet outside of breaks and lunches. I suggested that a form of diversion be made towards the individual "spies"...

One of these would involve throwing a Yorkie over yonder, thus rendering the vicinity completely clear of all females. Women only want what they can't have, and because Yorkies are purported to be "Not For Girls" this only makes them salivate more at the fact. It's generally accepted that once women have had what they want, they soon become bored and move on to the next thing. This is where the Cadbury's Buttons will come in handy, raining a hail of chocolatey bullets over a wide area, like a shrapnel grenade. This would lay down a good base of covering fire whilst some brave office soldier can get up close with a Mars bar cannon and secure the area with nougat and caramel.

But the mother of all weapons would have to be the Double Decker. This would be like the "Little Boy" or "Fat Man" bombs that were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It would be absolutely devastating and would surely buy us a good deal of time to avoid doing work. The Double Decker would be deployed from the other side of the building. This would provide a safe range for us to operate within, ensuring that no backdraft from the explosion of chocolate and nougat and the resulting panic that would likely ensue. I choose the Double Decker because it has a large mass and is rather weighty. You may think it would be wise to supplement the Double Decker with a Toffee Crisp, but the puffed rice would cause havoc in years to come. I can see it now... U.X.O. all over the shop (U.X.O. = Unexploded Ordnance). It would be like hell on earth.

It would be the dawn of a new evil.

Lunchtime came and went because it was a Godawful "early lunch" today. This means that you go for lunch at 12:30pm and return at 1:30pm. It also means that once you return from lunch you have a whole four hours of work to get through. I prefer the later variety as this leaves you with only 3 hours of work to shuffle through. But nevertheless, lunch was consumed heartily. We went to Fillz in Reigate and I got myself a ham and Brie brown baguette. It was absolutely gorgeous and no word of a bare-faced lie. I just like the brown variety of baguette, it is really is premium.

But listen up, because before we ventured to Fillz we had to go via my abode. That's right, Jonathan "Jay" Joseph and Carl Wright jumped in my car and we headed back to my home. This is because since my Mum and Sister went away on Tuesday, I have forgotten to feed the animals. These animals constitute 2 guinea pigs and 2 rabbits. These belong to my sister. I was afraid that some of them may have passed on to the other side due to lack of food, but when I arrived home they still had a plentiful supply of dry food and some water left in their bottles. The little scamps were running around as if someone had set fire to them, clearly these animals are not dead.

So with the animals fed, and ourselves fed soon after, we are back at work and ready for the afternoon.

Kickboxing was undertaken last night, a few more people came this week including the mighty Graham Benton. He's very good at this kickboxing malarkey, and it shows visibly. He is fast and powerful and accurate with both sets of limbs. A sight to behold. There was also this other guy called Chris who is a friend to Jay. This guy was a bit reckless and inaccurate with his punches, throwing his whole weight behind them and often missing. When we were sparring he was putting more power in than Jay wanted and ended up scuffing my forehead and giving me a tiny little shiner on my left eye. I'm cool with it though, it's all part and parcel of the kickboxing ethos. Punch or be punched. I did not exact my revenge because I felt nothing for the guy.

Last night I watched a bit of the "Top Gear Polar Special". This was class. Clarkson and May got in a kitted out Hi-Lux truck and thrashed it to the North Pole. They took 3 days to travel a whole mile. It was well good. Clarkson went a bit stir crazy and ploughed the truck into an ice boulder. This fucked up the chassis and the shocks came off, as well as the reserve fuel tank. May was not happy. Hammond took a dog sled, probably a by-product of his high speed wipe-out a few months ago. I wouldn't want to get in a truck with Clarkson at the North Pole, not after witnessing his nonchalance at the gravity of the situation.

Clarkson and May only bloody won it.

Over the last few weeks I had amalgamated a collection of empty drinks cans. Quite a few of these were my own, consumed over a period of nearly 4 weeks. There were a couple of donations received from (clicky please) Steven Paul Allen (clicky please) and Gemma Herrington of Contract Management fame, but by and large it was my own doing. I was very proud of this accomplishment, even though it was taking up a fair chunk of desk space. It is more than correct to state that the overall deskular capacity was impeded by the can collection.

One day we had a visit from a nasty little parasite that I like to call a "Wasp". This yellow and black cunt was hovering around the cans like an Ethiopian in a lunch queue. I took an instant dislike to this behaviour and decided that I would have to sate my murderous tendencies if my can collection, and colleagues, were to be safe from his sting-y ways. Not wanting to ruin any of the cans within the collection, I grabbed my notepad and coerced the wasp from the can area. He landed on the corner of the desk, so I gave him an almighty whack. The best thing about wasps is that they are comparatively slow to get out of the way, especially if you liken it to killing a fly. The notepad connected ever so cleanly with the little shitter, and he fell to the floor. I took this opportunity to put the boot in, quite literally actually. I stamped on the little shit, which killed him rather effortlessly. A few of the office ladies rejoiced at my slaying of the wasp. I picked him up and popped him in an envelope and stuck it in the recycling box. Hopefully one day I'll be writing on some recycled paper and notice a little bit of wasp embedded within the paper. There's always the hope.

Anyway, these words will all turn to steam, so just have a look for yourself at the mighty can collection aplenty. There is 15 or something like that. You will also see Spidey standing guard over his haul and the mobile phone reclining as if it owns the fucking shop.

Stop clicking it, you'll make it sore.

Oh how I did laugh. It was all so enjoyable, wasn't it? I'm talking about the reinstating of the tooth yesterday afternoon. Everything is back to normal for now, which is very nice indeed. Understandably it all feels a bit weird, a bit foreign if you will, but it's nice to be able to smile at people and look like a normie again.

I won't go into much detail, but the end result is that my tooth has been re-affixed and should last a bit longer now, at least until I can afford the £3000 implant of heaven and hell. The most annoying thing about having my tooth stuck back in is that the teeth no longer fit into each other like a glove, my bite is a bit lopsided to be fair and it's actually making my neck hurt. Strange how even the seemingly disassociated things are connected, eh?

So after my appointment I paid my £206 inc.VAT and left the dental practice. Good riddance. Because of the fact that my tooth had just been re-applied, I was unable to eat any really solid foods. I looked around at home but was unable to find any preferable soup in the cupboard. I opted to pop out and get some good stuff. I bought some more bread, some Cream of Chicken soup, a banana Yazoo and a Mars drink. The soup was lovely, I had three slices of bread buttered with Flora Light. I washed it all down with my banana Yazoo. The Mars drink currently resides in the fridge.

After this I started making a new fruityloops track. It's a bit of an ambient affair, and hopefully when I return home this evening I will be able to continue work on it. I'm going to amalgamate it with some atmospheric guitar sounds courtesy of my very own Guitar Of Power (tm). It's going to be immense, and the first Gang Of Clowns track that fuses electronix with analogue instrumentation. A hybrid of sorts.

Then I went out to the pub to see Graham and we had a good old chat about relationships and the female condition. It was very funny to say the least, and it was good to see Graham after a 2 week hiatus. I then drove back home, put out the rubbish and went to bed, which was very enjoyable. I was awoken at 6:30am by my Dad informing me that the washing had been left out overnight. Oh dear God no! You certainly cannot leave washing out overnight, it's criminal. I asked if it had rained and he said "I don't think so". It was clear that it had not rained because there was no trace of precipitation out in the real world. I glanced out of the window at my car and he was as dry as a bone. "No rain here, bub".

I was awoken again 20 minutes later by Dad saying "I'm going to work now, do we need to put the dishwasher on?". I replied with an affirmation of the fact and this is actually what transpired just before I left. I also took the washing in because it was a nice thing to do. It was only slightly damp, but this is because it didn't dry entirely yesterday. I feel that I made a bold, but well thought out, decision to take the washing in, namely because it looks to be rain this afternoon. If I am correct in my assumptions then I shall loudly rejoice from the highest mountain. Or I might just pop up box hill and talk loudly over the valley.

Yesterday afternoon was a really good one, I'll be totally frank with you. It was pissing down with rain, so I had to sit in traffic all the way home and it took just under half an hour to drive 1.5 miles. This was absolutely fantastic, and no mistake. With the effects of the anaesthetic wearing thin, I had regained my ability to speak almost perfectly normally and it didn't feel like I was drunk. I still had a rather nasty headache, but this was probably from the stress of the drilling and the force that Marcus Clery used to drill the holes in my mouth.

So I finally got home and sat down to eat something. Bubble and squeak is the norm for Monday nights, because it's all left over from the previous Sunday roasticle. I didn't mind too much, the potato ratio was rather higher than usual thanks to a combination of roasties and boiled tatties. I consumed this dinner with hearty aplomb. My Dad was watching "Syriana" but I didn't want to get into it because I had come in a couple of minutes after it started. I can't bring myself to do that with films, I have to watch them from the first frame through to the last, and that includes the credits. I love credits. They are called credits because they are literally giving credit to the people who helped to make the film possible. That's why they are called credits. Credit, geddit?

So I retreated up to my room to watch a film of my very own choosing. I chose "Duel", the one that Spielberg did before "Jaws". It's about this guy driving this little red Plymouth and he comes across a big ol' rig that tries to run him off the road and kill him. It's actually very very good. There's this one bit where the truck overtakes him and he shouts out to the truck something along the lines of "Oh, it's like that, is it Charlie?". I like how he says "Charlie" as if it's an insult. Take that, you little Charlie.

It was towards the end of the film that I began to nod off to sleep. This is the done thing these days: Get home, start watching a film, miss the end because I've fallen asleep, wake up stupidly early and be unable to get back to sleep. I woke up and turned the DVD player off and went to bed properly. I didn't even bother to pull the blinds down, that's an indication of how reckless and unpredictable I am. I woke up at 3:30am to a red sky. I had my wake-up slash, which always wakes me up a bit more. Then I went back to bed and couldn't get to sleep. It was at this point that I put on "Bowling For Columbine". Whilst I was watching this I started to think about Marmite on toast with a glass of milk. When the film finished I decided to follow through on my plans to eat this princely breakfast. I watched the highlights of yesterday's Cricket (not many highlights considering the match was drawn due to bad light) and got into my usual morning routine. By 8am I was completely ready for the day ahead.

I carried my Mum's and my sister's luggage downstairs and left it by the door, siphoned out all of the water that had collected in the cover on the boat, and set off for work. I arrived dead on 8:30am which was most fortuitous. You can tell that the schools have begun to break up for summer because the roads are a lot clearer than usual. This is lovely, it means I don't have to sit in traffic for half as long as I normally do each morning. And that is as good a point as any to end this post about falling asleep at 8pm and waking up at 3:30am the following day. Now repeat these words with me:

"Oooh, grubbly"

This lunchtime I had my first of two appointments at the dental practice. The second one is tomorrow afternoon, 3:30pm to be exact. But let's not get ahead of ourselves, let's explore the lunchtime appointment that took place today. Let's.

So I left work at 11:45am. Got to Banstead at 12:05pm, great timing. I walked from The Woolpack car park ("For Patrons Only", mwahahaha, take that Dr. Richard Kimble) and got there with minutes to spare. Marcus Clery, a cheeky chappie, gathered me from the waiting room and I went and sat down in the big chair. I produced my tooth in an Extra Mints box, he laughed at this. And then he coughed. He had a bit of a cough, which was not very reassuring considering he was going to be operating a drill within the confines of my mouth.

I put on these big glasses to stop bits of my own teeth from getting into my eyes. This was a good idea, because no one wants to come a cropper on account of their own teeth. Then he set to work injecting my mouth with anaesthetic. It hurt more than I remember, but I was hungover the last time I had an injection in my mouth. It just helps to be drunk sometimes. My eyes watered and it looked like I was crying. Maybe I was, who will ever know? That's the beauty of mouth injections, you can get away with having a bloody great cry and no one will bat an eyelid.

Well then, with my mouth becoming number by the second, he tilted the old chair back and went to work with a drill in my mouth. There was still a tiny bit of feeling in the first tooth that he drilled into, but I didn't care. The pain hurt so good. Then he stuck some white filling stuff in there and they cured it with a blue laser. It was like Buck Rogers doing dentistry, all futuristic and shit. Then it was time for the second filling on tooth numero dos.

This one didn't hurt at all. In fact it was lovely. He pasted it up and cured the fuck out of it and I was happy as Larry. He then sent me packing, so I returned to my car in The Woolpack car park ("For Patrons Only", blow that out of your trousers, Dr. Richard Kimble) and drove back to work. It was a serene drive and I kept forgetting what I was doing. I kept looking out of the window, which is not advisable practice when you're driving, especially when you're bombing down narrow and winding country lanes at 60mph. I returned to work at 1:15pm, which was pretty good going if I do say so myself.

Join me tomorrow when I will be getting my tooth stuck back in. It's not a long story, but it's one that you are all sure to love.

This Ian Dulley for Channel 9 news, signing off.

On Saturday afternoon, as I was watching "The Fugitive" with Harrison Ford, my tooth came loose and fell out. Curse you, Dr. Richard Kimble.

Initially it would stick back in and stay there until I pulled it out, but then this coating of adhesive stuff came off and since then I have been sans tooth. It's really quite annoying, it feels all weird. Because I have quite big teeth (they're like piano keys) the gap is absolutely massive. And it feels like my teeth are too big for my mouth now, because I keep getting my top lip caught on the corners of the teeth next to the gap. I am making a conscious effort to hide my gap from onlookers, and it is for this reason that I stayed in on Sunday and didn't venture out of the house. At least there was Cricket and Golf on TV, otherwise I would surely have gone mental.

Other than the tooth incident, I was entirely ruthless at pool on Saturday. Satpaul came over and we played exactly 10 games of European pool, no more, no less. I won 7 of these. This left him with a wholly pathetic 3. Normally it is the other way round, with Satpaul handing me a pasting, but that is usually on the American pool table. We all know how easy American pool is. Stupid bucket pockets.

So after this comprehensive victory, we played some Wii. Then Satpaul left and I started watching "The Fugitive". This brings us full circle to the beginning of our story.

On Friday I watched "Blow" with Johnny Depp.

This is the latest Sharpie offering. It was drawn some days ago but it is some of Sharpie's finest work. Please have a look.

As you will note, there is a man providing recon from a tree. The tree is of a deciduous nature, possibly a fir tree. No one can tell for sure, as this is the beauty of Sharpie, it draws whatever it wants to draw.

So the man is essentially a lookout, for the neighbouring swarm of Ninjas (which is the collective term for a pack of Ninjitsu) take great pleasure in felling trees. Unfortunately the tree in question is in danger of falling victim to the evil ways of the Ninja, so the man will have to play it cool if he is to protect his leafy home from an imminent attack. I think he has some branches and imported fruit at his disposal, and it's just as well really.

Godspeed to you, Tree Man!

It really is tipping it down here, it is actually raining cats and dogs. I wouldn't be surprised if frogs started falling from the sky, a la "Magnolia". That was a good film, I should buy it on DVD. It's like what "Crash" could have been like if it was any good. Everyone raves about how good "Crash" is, but no one gives credit to "Magnolia" or "Short Cuts", which were both made earlier than "Crash" was and feature the same multitude of narratives all linking the characters together at the end. That's the end of that little snippet.

Now we look back to yesterday and reflect on the events. I took an early hour at work and decided to stop in Reigate on the way home to get my hair cut. There's a guy in there called Toby who I prefer to entrust my hair to, but yesterday when I walked in he was cutting someone else's hair and I had to settle for this kid of 19. He was OK but he took his time like you wouldn't believe. I was in there for about an hour while he kept readjusting the length of my hair. I wasn't very happy with the length and kept asking him to take a bit more off. He said "It's better to take off too little than to take off too much, you can't stick it back on". Well, obviously I don't understand how hair works so I was very surprised to hear this revelation. It's a good thing I have never tried to re-adhere my hair to my scalp, otherwise I could have appeared very foolish indeed.

So once that was out of the way I raced home to wash off all the shitty little hairs that had crawled down my neck and my back. This is why I hate having my hair cut, it's so uncomfortable. I need to rush back to have a shower and remove these little fuckers from my epidermis. I initially wash my hair with the shower head over a bath. This removes most of the annoyance before I step in to have a full shower. This is highly preferable as otherwise I would end up with tiny little hairs all over me, which would cause discomfort in the extreme.

With my shower going better than expected, I got dressed and had something to eat. Chicken Kiev was the order of the day. I like it when you stick the knife in and all the Garlic-y goodness comes rushing out the top like a geyser, or a blowhole.

After this event I drove to Tesco to buy some shampoo, shower gel and deodorant. They didn't have any of the Head & Shoulders Menthol edition, so I had to settle for the Tesco own brand stuff of similar nature. This was 84p for 300ml compared to £3.44 for 500ml of Head & Shoulders. This was very shrewd and I felt like Alan Sugar.

I then went back home and started watching "The Fugitive". About 10 minutes in I got a call from Hannah, my ex-girlfriend's sister. She was having trouble updating her iPod. I thought that rather than explain over the phone I would pop round and provide a walkthrough of the whole thing. Well, I'm glad I did because I don't think I would have been able to explain it very well via telephony. I sorted the problem and stayed around for a bit, chatting to her Mum and all that. I was even forced to watch the final episode of "Sex And The City". It was OK, I sort of enjoyed it. Well, I liked that "Big" bloke, he was cool. And he had a big coat, so he more than lived up to his name. The best bit was when he found out that Sarah Jessica Parker had received a slap from this Russian guy by accident and when she told Big he held his head up, sniffed the air and said "Right, where is he?". I liked the fact that he sniffed the air. Big is like a dog.

Then I left at 11pm and got home, brushed my teeth and went to bed. That's how it all happened.

As promised, I have returned with more stories from Woolworths, as the titles implies. Here is a small selection for your enjoyment and perusal. Now enjoy and peruse them. Enjoy your perusal.

We used to have a helium canister in the stock room at Woolworths. This would provide endless hours of fun for myself and others around me. I have since heard that it is bad to inhale helium, especially directly from the receptacle. I don't care though, we're all going to die at some point, some of us sooner than others. I might as well speed up the process so as not to draw it out any longer than is absolutely necessary.

So when I was bored, which was 99% of the time, I would make my way to the stockroom and get to work on the helium canister. I would inhale a lungful and then scream at the top of my voice in the highest possible tone that I could muster. It was really quite funny. I also did the old trick of singing Bee Gees songs in my helium induced high. This went down very well amongst the older constituents, make no mistake. I even phoned my girlfriend at the time and spoke to her in a high voice.

Once I walked into the stock room, took a deep breath and screamed out "Let's Party!". I didn't realise that the manager was at the back of the stock room. I beat a hasty retreat and denied all knowledge of the incident.

One time I wanted to see what effect it would have on me if I breathed in nothing but helium. That means no breaths of normal air in-between. I had read "Sphere" by Michael Crichton a few years earlier and they had to breathe helium at very high pressure underwater as it didn't form bubbles in the blood like oxygen does. Thinking that I would be just fine I set about breathing helium as if it were normal air. After 4 or 5 breaths I stood bolt upright, staggered around as if I were very drunk, and fell in a heap on the floor. When I woke up I judged that about 5 minutes had passed since my blackout.

Another thing I liked to do at Woolworths was scare people. One day we had a delivery that included loads of pillows. The box they came in was positively huge and as soon as I set eyes on it I knew that it would become an implement in my quest to scare the bejesus out of someone. I waltzed into the stock room as if I were The King Of Woolworths and spotted the massive box right down the end of the stock room. As the cogs in my head were turning, this guy Luke said to me "That box would be great for hiding in and jumping out of to scare someone...". "Rats" I thought to myself, for I had planned to scare Luke with the box. My plan was to scare someone then force them into silence whilst I went about scaring another poor subject. Realising that Luke could potentially give the game away, I took him to one side and inducted him into the masterclass of scaring.

With Luke as my stooge I hatched a plan to scare my friend Chris. With the aid of Luke we would coerce Chris into the stock room, or at least wait until he came in. I would already be planted in the box, poised to jump out and scare Chris. It was a seemingly foolproof plan.

So I got in the box and began the long wait. After about 10 minutes Chris came into the stock room. Luke did a good job of diverting attention away from the box. I could hear their footsteps approaching my hiding place. But something was wrong. I didn't twig at first, but when I heard the jangling of keys I deduced that Steven, the store manager, must be with them. My fears were confirmed when I heard his voice. "Shit", I thought to myself, "I'm stuck in a box, my manager is mere inches away from me, and I have nowhere to go". My only hope was that they did not move the box, otherwise I would be rumbled. It was then that I noticed a crack of light in the corner of the box; it was coming apart at the seam! All three of them came to a standstill right next to my boxy home. Luke began drumming on the box with his hands, which in turn caused the gap to widen considerably with every hit. I tried to keep out of the light, for this would reveal my position. With the gap increasing exponentially I had to weigh up my options: Stay in the box and look like a right div, or go ahead with the plan and incur the wrath of Steven. I had made my choice...

With a mighty roar I leaped out of the box and grabbed Chris around the shoulders. He screamed and jumped about 6ft in the air. Steven was equally alarmed by my unexpected arrival and jumped back into a stack of Easter egg boxes. Luke was laughing maniacally. After the initial buzz I apologised to Steven. He found it quite funny actually, so I had earned my reprieve. It was as I was stood laughing at my exploits that Chris pointed out some blood on my arm.

Upon my swift exit from the box, I had caught my right arm on some large staples protruding from the seam of the box. A couple of deep cuts adorned my arm, one on the forearm and another on my bicep. I still have the scars to prove it, and I'm very proud of them. They remind me of a time when I scared the shit out of two blokes.

Tried my hand at kickboxing last night after work. Jonathan "Jay" Joseph from work had booked out a room at the YMCA that we all recently joined, which was nice. £3 per lesson which is not bad at all, considering we got an hour and a half out of him.

So I rocked up there straight after work and, as usual, I was the first one to arrive. My motto is "Better early than late", and I stand by it. I changed into my gym attire and awaited the arrival of the others. First of all George The Temp came in and got changed. I said "Hello" and then went to put my stuff in the car. Amanda arrived along with George and she was getting changed as well, it was all happening. Then we went and waited in the room, which was actually a creche. It was filled with playmats, so we cleared them all away. They had this room filled with games and videos and crayons and everything you could imagine. If I was a kid again I would have loved it even more.

Then Jay and Carl Wright turned up with all the kickboxing gear and a stereo which we were promised would be pumping out Hip Hop and Gangster Rap. I was looking forward to this. Then Marc Haridimou and James The Temp arrived and got changed in the play room. They took their time, but that's because I had spotted Pop Up Pirate in there, so they were probably having a bash at that.

So we all got started. Paul Rodgers was running late so we soldiered on without him. We did some light warm ups such as running on the spot, star jumps, some stretches, and so on and so on and so on. Jay said that the majority of injuries occur when your body has cooled down a bit, so it's important to keep moving and keep warm. Wise words. The room was absolutely boiling and by the end of the warm up we were all sweating like dogs in heat. There is almost no cause to use metaphor here, save for the fact that none of us were, in fact, dogs.

Then we started with some simple punches, just jabbing really. Double jabs, it was well good. So we all went round in a circle, taking it in turns to throw punches at Jay. Unfortunately Jay is not one of the people on my hate list, so there was no malice in my attack. Then we moved on to some more combinations, then had light sparring with each other