Instead of documenting Hitler's demise, wouldn't it have been better to make a film about the greatest board game ever made? It is my understanding that "Downfall" is a very good film as it stands, but I can't help wondering if perhaps a feature length film of two people facing off against each other in a game of "Downfall" would be more entertaining. I suppose you could also call it "Face Off" too, but I don't think they'd be able to convince Travolta and Cage to appear in it. I reckon a more likely cast would involve ex-Blue Peter presenter Tim Vincent in the role of the prodigious semi-blind priest, and the perenially typecast Danny Dyer playing a black German U-Boat commander.

So Steven Paul Allen has written about his old bike. Here is a bicycle related story from me, I call it "Pavement Pandemonium":

Pavement Pandemonium

We're going years back here, probably 12 years or more. I would have been 12. I used to go round to my mate Jack's house in Chipstead every so often, we'd hang out, I'd stay over maybe, and we'd do whatever it is that 12-year-olds do. Or maybe whatever it was that 12-year-olds used to do before knife crime was invented.

So this one time, I was round at Jack's, and we were riding our bikes up and down his road. He lived on something of a slope, nothing too harsh and unforgiving, but still it was a slope. I had already decided to try to break the sound barrier by pedalling with all my strength down the pavement. This was my quest.

So I cycled to the top of the road, prepared myself with a few deep breaths, then set off down the road at full tilt. As I screamed past Jack's house, I threw him a glance and shouted in exaltation. Unfortunately, in the process, I did not notice his next door neighbour exiting through his front gate laden with heavy boxes to deposit in his car. He didn't stand a chance. I plowed into him at top speed, sending him flying into the bush and me into his car. My face connected with the windscreen, but the inertia carried me further down the street. I ended up in a bloodied, crumpled heap, the bycicle coming to rest atop me. I composed myself and cycled off before the neighbour had a chance to catch me.

Flame On

Another funny thing that happened was when I stayed over at Jack's after a party, along with this weird kid called Stuart Birchwood. We were sitting by the pond in Jack's garden, where a couple of lanterns were still alight from the previous evening. Jack and I were talking away, while Stuart occupied himself with fire. I told you he was weird.

We paid little attention to what weird Stuart was doing, he appeared to be coating twigs in molten wax and setting fire to them. He must have progressed from this to setting fire to flowers and small bushels, because in the blink of an eye he had set fire to this bloody great fir tree. Now, these two fir trees were prized possessions to the family, so it was not ideal that Stuart had set fire to one of them. I ran indoors and called 999 to order a fire engine. They arrived rather quickly and set about putting the blaze out. The whole bloody thing had gone up like a tinderbox, engulfed in a matter of seconds. There wasn't much for the firemen to do.

By the time the blaze had settled, there was nothing left. The tree was completely vanquished. The best part was when Jack's father returned home to find one of his beloved trees decimated. He actually cried, it was well funny.

So my folks got back from Florida yesterday morning. They have returned following a two week absence, during which time myself and my younger sister have had the run of the house. Oh, it's been a glorious time, apart from the mess caused by said sister. This is an irksome situation, and I'll tell you how.

After spending most of the day out of the house at work (from around 7:45am - 5:20pm), I would return home to find the kitchen in a state comparable to the house of an old man who never threw anything away and then died. It was much like an episode of "Life Of Grime", where those poor clean-up crews would have to go in to houses where the dirty old occupant had hoarded all their garbage so that every room was filled to the brim with crap, usually in carrier bags.

Okay, so it wasn't that bad in our house, but my sister does seem to have an aversion to the dishwasher, choosing instead to pile the dirty dishes into the sink and leave them there for all eternity. In fact, one day I returned home and found that her and a friend had prepared an eaten a couple of plates of nachos. I deduced this from the trails of cheese and doritos crisscrossing the kitchen floor. And the dirty plates in the sink smelt of salsa and melted cheese. When confronted with the obvious question: "Why didn't you clean up after yourself?" the reply came back. "I was sunbathing". Well, that's a concrete argument right there.

So I would get into the habit of cleaning up after myself as I went along. This was the righteous and true path, taken by someone who has lived in poverty for three years of their life. On a couple of occasions I was not able to load my spent utensils and crockery into the dishwasher, as it was full of stuff already. I say "full" but it was just really badly loaded. If there was a course you could take in how to load a dishwasher, my sister would get a big fat "F". Epic fail.

You can imagine my outrage when my sister implied that I hadn't done my fair share of cleaning up. My philosophy? If you've used it, you clean it. Seems like one of those statements that goes without saying, but with my sister being who she is, she just couldn't let it slide, even bringing up the fact that I almost ran over our next door neighbour the other day. My bad.

All things aside, my parents returned with a few American jovialties. You see, they have just completed the transaction of buying a house in Florida, just outside of Orlando. Orlando, it turns out, is not the capital city of Florida. No no, I was wrong in my assumptions. It's actually a place called Tallahassee. But anyway, I'm getting off the beaten track here.

They've bought this place, it sounds quite good. So this is another place that we can go and spend Christmas at, and it provides an excellent opportunity for Summer holidays. The only succinct disadvantage is that there tends to be a lot of Americans in America. And I noted that, amongst the sweets and various American foodstuffs that my parents brought back with them, 95% of the goods contained peanut butter. They do peanut butter everything. I don't think I'll ever understand the American obsession with peanut butter. I'll eat it, but I don't want to have it with everything.

We've got peanut butter M&Ms, peanut butter Oreos, peanut butter Reese's Cups (which are actually pretty good), peanut butter peanut butter, and anything else you want to put peanut butter with. It's absolutely ridiculous.

Another thing I heard, which made me laugh no end, was that they have drive-in banks in America. Drive-in banks! What's next, a drive-in toilet? Drive-in hairdressers? These people must be stopped. If all they do is eat peanut butter and sit in their cars while making transactions, then it's no small wonder that they're all fat bastards.

I'm looking forward to visiting and driving through a bank. I'll take photos, rest assured.

During my time spent working in an office, I have experienced a number of strange "Office Phenomena". Office phenomena are unexplainable happenings within the office environ. There may be a variety of strange phenoms, but none are stranger than that of the male pee cycle.

At certain times of the working day, I catch the urge to make use of the facilities for waste management. These urges usually appear at roughly the same time every day, but can occasionally fluctuate depending on environmental factors (hot weather, cold weather, hangover, etc). So whenever nature comes a-knocking on my pelvic floor like a Jehovah's Witness at the door, I tend to respond more or less immediately to the call.

Now then, once I have arrived at the toilet, I make my way into the cubicle and perform the necessary task. Come on, we've all done it, there's no shame in it. It is whilst I am in the cubicle that I take note of the comings and goings of other facility users. It has gotten to the point where I can identify a number of people based solely (no pun intended) by the sound that their shoes make on the tiled floor. If someone blows their nose, it's a dead giveaway, don't even try to test me.

This is all circumstantial, I'm here to talk about the pee cycle.

I'm sure you have heard of the phenomenon of the female menstrual cycle. It is supposed that women who spend a long period (no pun intended) of time in close proximity can end up unknowingly synchronising their cycles so that they all have the painters in around the same time. It's never been explained, but it is scientific fact.

Well, I'm proposing that men who spend a long period of time in close proximity can end up unknowingly synchronising their toilet breaks so that they all need to go at roughly the same time. I've not been able to wholly prove this as there have been a number of variables, but riddle (no pun intended) me this:

Why is it that every time I go for a slash, I end up seeing the same people entering or leaving the toilet?