I may be dull but I'm chatty and like to have a good conversation - if I followed that by GSOH then I could have a winning personals advert. However, there are some things that not even I will put up with when it comes to holding a conversation:-

1. Hearing about people's ancestry. I don't care if your Great, Great, Great, Great Grandad was living on a barge in some Canal when they took some random census in the mid 18th century or how his daughter is mysteriously listed as being someone else's child. Unless your story involves a 16th Century Monk transcribing Holy Grail as Holy Blood which means you can prove that you are a direct descendant of Lot's Wife - the one who became a pillar of salt - then I don't want to know. (Sidebar: If you are interested to know how my Ancestors came to own the Largest Diamond in Colne - I will get my dad to tell you.)

2. Seeing other people's holiday snaps. "Ooooh, another picture of a waiter called Manuel! And you've got another four CDs to come?" This also goes for holiday videos, unless they are funny enough to get on Harry Hill's You've Been Framed. This does not include any photos taken by My Television Wrecking Canadian Girlfriend who has been in Canadia for the past few days. I am genuinely interested in her photos - I will not be faking interest just to get to the end of them so I can score.

3. Moaning about being bored. What is worse than someone moaning that they're bored? Someone moaning that they're bored and then when they're offered something to do, they don't do it.

At work:
"MB, I have nothing to do!"
"You could write an exploratory strategy on how we could use a Semantic Web 2.0 front end, using SOAP and XMLHTTP, as a way of synergising our communication strands and improving our interactability and personalisation. You should also include how this meme will help us work towards our global strategic and developmental needs as an organisation."
"I don't want to!"

At home:
"MB, I have nothing to do tonight!"
"You could write an exploratory strategy on how we could use a Semantic Web 2.0 front end, using SOAP and XMLHTTP, as a way of synergising our communication strands and improving our interactability and personalisation. You should also include how this meme will help us work towards our global strategic and developmental needs as an organisation."
"What?"
"Sorry I find it hard to switch off after a long day.... You could come over here and do my dishes."
"I don't want to!"

Note: There is a difference between being bored and lazy.

---

You will notice that I have not included the weather on this list. For one simple reason, talking about the weather gives people like me a good "in" when it comes to conversation with strangers and semi-strangers. Take Today - the weather is very strange in Manchester. I went out of the house in my sunglasses and "spring" jacket and it's a nice bright day. But the person next to me on the tram wasn't out of place with their gloves on.

So be glad that the weather is so random because if you're caught in a hail storm on Spring Bank Holiday, someone somewhere will now be able to hold a conversation with a stranger about it. These strangers may fall madly in love with each other and make lots and lots of babies.

Support Global Warming - It's about the continuation of the Human Race.

It is raining!!! In May!!!! In Manchester!!!!! Who'd have thought it?

I walk to the tram. I try really, really hard to rein in my Gene Kelly gene and not start signing in the rain.

There is a wicked wind whirling up the road. The rain batters against me, soaking me to the bone. What is curious about this picture is that I have an umbrella in my hand but I do not have it up. It is just not worth the effort.

Ever since my faithful red and white striped umbrella went to the big Lost Property box in the sky, I've had to put up with a really cheap and nasty black umbrella that my Mum bought me. We're not even talking about a Tesco umbrella or even a Primark one - this was probably purchased from the local Market. It's the sort of umbrella you see half stuffed into a bin on a Friday afternoon.

It has a tendency to turn inside out in at the slightest hint of a gust. This makes it far too much work when there's a wind. I'd rather just get wet. And I am only going to work so I could quite easily spend half an hour getting paid to dry myself on a radiator. Plus, everyone I work with dresses more like Jarvis Cocker than Sven Goran Erickson.

Plus you have to factor in the reality that my hair is now much shorter and I have some wax in my desk drawer so the need to keep my "do" in pristine condition has decreased.

I wait for the tram and wipe the resevoir of water from forehead. There was enough water there for the entire county of Kent to wash their 4 x 4 s. Hosepipe ban, my arse.

I get on the tram and reach my destination. The wind has subsided slightly and I decide to risk my umbrella. With a flick of the wrist, I extend my umbrella. As I raise it to open it, making the correct lightsabre like noises as I do so.

Are you interested in knowing why I decided to put my umbrella up? I have come up with a formula which you can use to calculate the "MB Co-Efficient of Umbrella upness."



Where on a scale of 1-10: R is the strength of rain falling, U is the resilience of the umbrella, W is the wind speed, H is the importance of keeping your hair dry and P is the need to stay looking beautiful. And don't forget Pi. Mmmmmmm Pi. Once the co-efficient goes above 22 I will put my brolly up.

"Why don't you put the telly on, I won't be long." I say to my Canadian girlfriend across the living room. She wants me to go over to the sofa so we can talk about shopping, feelings, intimacy and other girly stuff. "I'm just want another couple of games of Blast Billiards. But don't forget that the remote's knackered."

She sits on the floor in front of the TV. Two minutes pass.

"Does it normally make a fizz-ing noise?" she asks. "And does the screen normally go black?"

"Yeah sometimes, it's been doing that for a couple of years - some problem with the Freeview box Turn it off and back on again." I say using my best 'IT help desk' voice.

One minute passes.

"It doesn't want to turn back on." she whispers. I'm pretty sure that she is just suffering from female-inability-to-work-technology-itis. I pull myself from the computer and look over. "Does it normally have smoke coming out of the back of it? And does it normally smell of burning?" she adds.

"Only when it explodes." I reply.

Having a TV that has exploded does not phase me as much as it would with some people. Firstly, I have been looking for any excuse to buy a brand new LCD TV. Although, I was hoping to wait until my Birthday so I didn't have to pay for it (or all of it). Now, I could get one for the World Cup and see England crash out spectacularly in perfect crystal clear LCD technology. In fact even before the smoke has abated, I am looking in the Argos catalogue for a replacement.

And the second reason I am not worried is that I don't actually watch much telly. I'm at home for about two and a half hours a day * : I spend half an hour eating, half an hour tidying and packing my work bag, 59 minutes and 59 seconds on the phone to my Canadian Girlfriend ** and the other half hour surfing internet and reading blogs and stuff ***. This severely restricts my TV watching time.

So, once the World Cup is over, it boils down to only owning a TV so I can watch "My Name is Earl", which will have finished and won't be back on until the new year. And once you have factored in all the associated and unavoidable costs - I would have to get a DVD recorder and a Freeview Box - you're talking about the best part of thousand notes.

What to do?

If I do decide not to get a TV, I'll still get a TV license though. For no other reason than to keep them off my back. £150 is worth it if it means not getting a letter in a red envelope every two days saying "The Man" is absolutely going to visit me tomorrow, or at some point soon - y'know when we can be bothered.

"Are you mad at me?" she asks.

I thank her. Whatever I decide this is a blessing in disguise.

* This does not include mornings or time spent asleep in bed. Although if anyone knows a way I can watch TV while asleep - let me know.
** I am on a BT plan that allows free calls under one hour.
*** Since the Evil Overlord has installed new web filtering software at work, I am unable to do this during work and therefore am forced to do it ON MY OWN TIME!.

After saying our fifth and final goodbye I leave my Canadian Girlfriend and find the start line, reassuring her that even though my shoulders look all muscular, my pecs are bulging and I look drop dead gorgeous in my "Under Armour", there is very little chance of one of the female runners jumping me, pulling me into the bushes and molesting me. To calm her fears, we agree a compromise. She will look at the photographs that are taken of me running and employ her observational powers to see if any girls are following me around and then use "The Internet" to find them and kill them.

I am in the orange wave and will be starting first, a mere ten minutes after the elite women runners. It is important in this day and age that while women are treated equally in the workplace, we still give them a little head-start when it comes to running - it is a sort of athletic affirmative action. It also makes sure that they are home in plenty of time to get the kettle on for when their husband has finished.

Running is a very isolating, lonely and individual sport. I am stood amongst serious runners. There is nobody in a novelty chicken suit round here. They all stand, staring straight ahead, quietly contemplating, using positive visualisation, seeing themselves finishing and shaving seconds off their personal best. Most of the runners were even ignoring the very drunk group of "Hens" hanging out of the Novotel window above the start line. The guys next to me were discussing the "Hens" in a hushed tone. I can't see any of them as I don't have my lenses in * although I am reassured by one of the guys that mine is a "right stunner".

* - Please note: This is an age old traditional superstition and has nothing to do with me forgetting them.

The government says that we should do cardio-vascular exercise to a level where you can barely hold a conversation with someone. Since I am running with runners and not with people dressed as Batman - I do not expect to be able to hold another conversation until I cross the finish line.

Fred Flintoff fires the gun and I set off. After 2 km, there are an equal number of people passing me as I am passing and I settle into my stride. During the run I manage to see Billy, the old guy who stewards the cricket. I am surprised to see him. The stewards had to be there for 5 in the morning to guard the course and with the rain teeming down I would've thought he'd have stayed at home. Still I suppose everyone has a price, even pensioners. This will keep him in Butterscotch "pick and mix"s till his next pension.

I see and wave to Sign Guy and Mrs Sign Guy. He is holding a sign saying "Run Faster!" while partolling the end of our street making sure none of the runners decide to do a "Paula Ratcliffe" on our doorstep. I missed Matt's Gran, who goes to early mass and walks the half mile to the course to see us both every year. I missed Colin, which is a surprise because he's a very big guy. And I did see several runners who fit into the "Body from Baywatch, Face from Crimewatch" category.
I cruise across the finish line, arms aloft, taking a whole minute off my 10k personal best. I grab my goodie bag and make a mental note not to open the t-shirt and medal as I could make some money by selling it on eBay. I walk towards the Town Hall engulfed in a space blanket.

"So, did you see me?" I ask my Canadian Girlfriend after meeting her at our agreed post race meeting point.

"No I didn't. I had a really good spot too but people kept coming in and standing in front of me." She is short but you know what they say about small packages.

"Why didn't you use your pushy American, sorry North American, attitude?" (I really must stop making that mistake) "You could've mixed in some British-ness and whacked them with your umbrella."

"Yeah, but I had my coffee and my bags and was playing with my Nano. I didn't have any spare hands" The iPod nano further reinforces my opinion on small packages.

We retire back to her place for a fried brunch. I am exhausted. I do not expect to get out of bed until it is time to go home and sleep.

So what's it like being a dwarf in a big person's world? Well it's pretty much the same but everything appears bigger. Much, much bigger. My life is like your life would be if you were stood next to Peter Crouch all day.
MB is away

I am a guest blogger!!!

MB is spending the next week saving his energy for Sunday's Great Manchester Run so he has asked if I would mind stepping into his shoes and taking over for a week. Let's get the awkward bit out of the way first.: Yes I am a little person. I am a short person, a dwarf or, if you like, a midget.

I know what you're all thinking - it's the first fucking question anyone asks me: "What was it like living with Snow White?". Firstly, she was not that pretty - she's no Kelly Brook. Sure she was probably the fairest in the land but that's not saying much when your only competition is

• Ariel the former mermaid - she had abandonment issues and that singing crab would follow her everywhere


• Sleeping Beauty whose narcolepsy was a real turn off in the sack


• Little Red Riding Hood who only liked guys who treated her mean


• Repunzel who would spend hours just combing her hair

Secondly, she was so ungrateful. We dwarves not only worked 14 hour days down t'mine and continually resuscitated her when the Evil Queen tried to kill her but we also had to do all the house work. And what did we get in return? As soon as a Prince comes along, she abandons us.

Enough of my issues. I left our Dwarf commune in the mid 60s. This was a time of upheaval for all of us. That was when Sneezy was taken away by Glaxo-SmithKlein Beecham to help test their latest antihistamine. Bashful had an epiphany and now carves out a career on the US motivational speaker circuit. And for me, it was about then that I started to feel Happy.

I should take this chance to point out that when we settled out of court there was no admission of guilt and there are no ill feelings between Happy and I. I will always maintain that it was consensual.

Of course, I was hoping to have retired a long time ago but Disney really shafted us over the merchandising and back in 1937 our Union wasn't as strong as it is now so we got paid in Magic beans. So this has left me poor and destitute. I am restricted to appearing in Christmas Pantomimes, Guest Blogging and doing book signings at Comic Book Conventions where people think it's funny to come dressed up as a Gamorean Guard.

Dear Sir,

I find it most disheartening and somewhat depressing when I pick up your esteemed newspaper. I am not talking about the news that Halliburton are about to take over Iran; I am, of course, referring to the Quick Crossword. I turned to it the other day to find that four of the clues were about classical music. 16's 3rd 6 was one of them, I believe.

I can't remember the last time there was a clue or answer that related to "modern" music. For example 50 Cent's most popular tune, "In Da Club", is only 2-2-4 letters long and contains very few unusual letters and so would fit nicely into a crossword. Keane is also an anagram of "A Knee".

What I am suggesting it that there could be some warning signal so I don't get my hopes up that today will be the day when I can finally finish a crossword without resorting to cheating of one form or another. I suggest maybe changing the mast head or placing a subtle red triangle in the top left corner of the front page. This will stop me getting false hope and getting giddy when I turn to the crossword.

This warning sign could also be used when the crossword contains clues about other subjects I know nothing about - such as literature, Latin names for flowers, Kings and Queens of England and what women really want. Of course this triangle would not be needed on a all occasions. It could be left off if the answers are "Marcel Proust"*, "Ficus", "Richard III" or "Rimsky-Korsakov".

Yours,

MB

* - I learnt most of what I know about Marcel Proust from the "Seaside Summarise Proust Competition" sketch on the Monty Python CDs. So I know he wrote a la recherche du temps perdu and that he also owned a Haddock.

Manchester (Reuters):- England manager Sven Goran Erickson, just days after announcing his World Cup squad, was left reeling by the news that veteran goalkeeper MB announced his retirement from international football.

MB, who was once on the payroll of Manchester Untied, explained that it was a tough decision to make but he felt that it was in the best interest of the national team and would help extend his current playing career.

He began his career playing for Inter Ya-mum during his University days and controversy was never far behind. He was involved in an international scandal when he called for a goal kick, claiming the ball had gone over the line, only after being beaten at the near post during a top of the table clash. This lead to accusations of cheating and a call for the introduction of video replays in the Friday 1-2pm 6-a-side league, or at least the establishment of referees.

After that he went on loan to Camp Frankie, Reassuringly Expensive and the Geography Department B-team. His nomadic career continued after University, involving short spells at the Planning Department of Wigan Council, the bunch of lads that Ian knows who were short a goalkeeper and the team that played indoors in Altrincham who had the blonde girl who played on the wing.

Later in his career, as the stress of playing started to take a toll on his aging body, he began playing every other week for Bolton Council, a team which was littered with internationals from as far a-field as Salzburg, Warsaw, Glasgow and Oldham. This is where he enjoyed some of his best form and this led to talk of an England call up should a comedy terrorist decimate the entire professional and semi-professional football ranks.

Speaking at a press conference today and holding back the tears, MB said "It was a very tough call to make. I have been considering it for a while and the last straw came when I wasn't picked for the England squad. After seeing the likes of David James playing for England, I thought it was only a matter of time before I got a call up. I have read in the press that Erickson was worried about taking two people who look like Peter Crouch, just in case he accidentally substituted the wrong one - but I think this was just a smokescreen."

When asked for his reaction to the announcement, Sven Goran Erickson said "To tell you the truth, I had never even heard of MB before today, so he didn't stand much chance of getting in the squad. I mean come on, why would I pick someone who has never kicked a ball in the Premiership". He then added a winking smilie on the end of his sentence.

Although Fifa's Sepp Blatter was more conciliatory and admitted the international game would be worse off now that it has lost one of it's characters.

I am the sort of person my dad would hate. I am washing my car. He would not hate me, though, because he hates clean cars. On a hot summer's weekend he would sit in his armchair, wearing nothing but his blue Ethel Austin Y-Fronts, watching UK Style and deriding the "real" man next door who would be out doing the gardening, painting the gate post, putting up a fence or washing the car. He would sit and tut to himself while he wiped the toast crumbs from his beard.

(Please note: this toast would have been consumed in the kitchen since he has banned us from eating in the lounge after they had a brand new carpet installed 20 years ago.)

Washing the car in a block of flats is always tricky. It is made easier by the fact that I am on the ground floor. Not only can I sit and watch Number 52 make out with his girlfriend when she drops him off but I can also pass buckets of water through the window.

And then there's the neighbours. I have to move my car to a parking spot which is not mine. Doing this can lead to being ostracised by neighbours and carries the same social stigma as wearing real fur coats, eating Nestle's chocolate, voting BNP or going to a Take That concert. Should anyone challenge me, I am ready with my defence - "Would it be ok, if you wouldn't mind, please, thank you, if you could possibly find a way to borrow my space until I am done."

I also have excuses set up for if I am confronted by someone claiming that the "Leasehold Agreement" doesn't allow me to wash my car in the communal area - my excuse would involve punching them on the nose. Should I be challenged by someone talking about a hose pipe ban, my argument would be three-fold - "Firstly, a hose pipe ban in Manchester is as likely as Wayne Rooney making the World Cup. Secondly, I am not using a hose pipe." The third part of my argument would involve punching them on the nose.

I spend a lot of my life making up excuses up in case I am challenged by someone asking why I am doing what I am doing.

I move on to waxing my car. A woman appears at her window / balcony on the other side of the development. I wait; expecting to be told off for something. She does not say a word. I wonder if this brazen beauty has bobbed up to observe my bristling and bulging biceps bursting out from beneath my wife-beater. Or maybe she's wanted to see some alliteration.

After a few minutes she flicks a cigarette from the third floor window. It pirouettes and flutters in the wind and lands on the ground.

I return to waxing.

I go to watch the "wrong" kind of football. No not "Rugby football", nor "American football" - I go to watch women's football. I go into deepest darkest Bolton to watch the team I used to manage. This is the sort of area where there are 2,000 people living and only two surnames and people walk down the street and say "Give me Six!"

We parted company by mutual consent at least according to Georgie Thompson on "Good Morning Sports Fans", Sky Sports News. And it had nothing to do with them only winning one game in my one season in charge. We were in transition... There were lots of young players and I oversaw a difficult time in the club's history. We had a lot of unsung players that year and the work that they put in behind the scenes was unbelievable. And when I mention that this year they have managed to win 5 games, you will see that I laid a good foundation.

Ooooh, I feel like I should have one of those advertising boards behind me.

My Canadian Girlfriend is not with me because she does not want to seem like some jealous, possessive stalker type girlfriend who can't bare to think of her Boyfriend being around a dozen sweaty female football players. Although if anyone asks, I am not to repeat that and to say that she is busy. I do not know what she is worrying about, everyone knows that any girl who plays sports is either mentally ill or gay.

Of course, because of this, I was not surprised when I was not interviewed for the England Manager's job. Even though I submitted my CV and relevant print outs from "Football Manager 2005".

Although I'm not bitter.

Strange smells on trams stops are not unusual. Firstly, the personal hygiene of public transport users leaves a lot to be desired and secondly, it seems like tram stops are the place of choice for builders to smoke dope.

But this smell is something different. I gradually wander around the platform trying to pin point it whilst pretending to text on my phone so as to keep my real purpose under wraps. And then I notice some burning coals on the other side of the track. I would act surprised as this is not normal but nothing surprises me anymore.

So I get on the tram and it travels one stop and there is a commotion. And there's that smell again. And all of a sudden clouds of black smoke. The driver leaves his cab and sticks his head out of the door. He returns to his microphone and announces "Could everyone move to the front unit for health and safety reasons!"

We are on fire. I think that qualifies as a health and safety reason.

As everyone piles on to the front unit, the driver is supervising. Then some smart alec points out that the smoke is actually coming from the front unit. So we all have to get off that one. And just as we get off that one, my phone rings.

The driver returns to the depot and leaves us stranded on the station in the middle of nowhere. I answer my phone.

"Hi it's your dad here. I'm just driving by your work - fancy a lift home?"

So I rejoice in the miracle of timing and wait for my dad outside the station.

"Thanks a lot for this dad, that was real lucky. Hey what happened to the back of the wing mirror?"

"Well a few weeks ago, about thirty or forty cars were done over by vandals on the other side of our suburb - they were smashing windows and breaking lights. And then last week I noticed some other cars were vandalised just round the corner. So I decided to park it down the drive."

"What!! They came down the drive and vandalised it???"

"Not exactly, As I was backing it down the drive, I clipped the bin with the wing mirror and the back fell off. It is so tight, I couldn't open the door so I thought I'd get it later. And then as I continued on backing the car down - I ran over it."