Crime!!!

Real life crime!!!

I am walking home from the gym and there it is. Two police officers stood in the door way of a house which looks like it has had a brick thrown through the window. They stand in the official police officer stance which involves putting both hands on the neck of their vests, presumably to make sure that the vests do not float away.

They are carrying a menagerie of tools and equipment on their utility belts. I am tempted to ask for some bat-anti-mummification tablets just in case King Tut the mad professor from the Egyptian museum tries to kidnap me.

The Police officers are doing a very good job of guarding the house. They have used at least 2 miles of yellow police tape to mark off the houses front yard so no one can get anywhere near the window. I am glad to see my tax money being well spent.

They stand by the open door. I try and look in so I can get an idea of what has gone on. Purely from a concerned local resident point of view and not from a busy-body gossip point of view. The Policeman on the left notices this and slowly reaches for his radio and tilts his head towards it. I put my head down and scurry on.

I can't believe am now living in a high crime area!

There was fare dodging, bricks through windows and someone keeps ripping the "Work at Manchester United" adverts off the windows of trams and depositing them in the bins on the Metrolink stations.

And speaking of crimes - who decided that "City Shorts" were acceptable fashion garments? Wearing trousers that only come up to your knees does not make you look like Sienna Miller - it does make you look like someone who bought the wrong size of trousers though. Mango, Next, River Island and the rest - I hold you guilty of mass fashion genocide.

When I take a moment to think about all this I shake my head in Daily-Mail-disgust. Something needs to be done about this before it escalates to more serious crimes like affray and drinking in the street.

And I know the man to do it!

"I can't believe you're not getting a ticket..."

"I never buy a ticket, you don't need one. I've only got caught once." My Canadian Girlfriend replies.

"Well I wasn't going to mention this but I had a dream last night about you getting caught without a ticket. And I got off the tram to wait for you and while you were being questioned I was playing Super Doku on my phone and I got cold hands." I start to worry. I don't like cold hands.

I can't believe My Canadian Girlfriend is a willing criminal. This shouldn't come as a surprise. After all the only thing we hear about on the news is how all crime is conducted by foreigners. If she gets a criminal record, the home office are bound to want to deport her. They could make an example of her as she is very photogenic and would look very hot being led up the plane steps on a flight back to Canada. Plus they know where she is which is very important. And if she's not where she should be, she'll be at my house.

I do not want her to be deported for no other reason than I heard that they only show Adam Sandler movies on the deportation flights. And she'd probably have to share a row with someone from Guantanemo bay who is being tortured / interrogated.

I wring my hands and put a disapproving face on. "I'm not saying you should buy a ticket but I bet that that Mountie fellow do on Due South would arrest you and give you a lecture on morality!" I say trying to use an example she would be familiar with.

"It's not like I've murdered anyone. It's not even a serious crime it's like parking on double yellows, being drunk and disorderly or punching a police officer."

I cannot put up with this blatant disregard for the law.
I put my money in the ticket machine and purchase her a ticket.
We do not get stopped but my hands do get cold.
Fucking Manchester Summer.

"What have you done?" I say with a resigned impatientness of someone who's going to be asked to do something they don't want to.

"Nothing. I turned my computer on and the network didn't work so I deleted..." my Dad replied with Luddite mischievousness.

He carries on detailing all the things he has done which equate to "nothing". His company network is very much more complicated than it needs to be as it is only connecting two computers together. But he insists on throwing technical challenges my way by fiddling and introducing "easy to use" software like Norton Internet Security.

But I am his (unwaged) Director of IT - or at least that's what it says on my Makro card - so I shouldn't complain. One of the downsides of working in IT is that friends, family, neighbours and strangers in the street feel that they can ask you anything about computers and you don't mind giving up your spare time for a Busman's Holiday. (I do not mean the short lived ITV quiz show of the same name as that would be fun as it involved state of the art graphics.)

To further emphasise my point - if I was a gynecologist, would you ask me to:

"pop round and have a quick look at the wife's snatch as a favour for a mate. It was working fine the other day but I was messing around with it last night and it just doesn't seem to work anymore"?

Resigned to missing Australia vs Croatia I potter round and see if I can solve the latest Rubick's Cube of a computer problem he has set me. I disconnect this from that and run one thing and another and change a box from ticked to unticked and before you know it it's working.

Like a kid at Christmas, I can see his hands twitching waiting to get back to messing with his computer. I temporarily consider restricting the access he has on his own PC but before I can...

"Son, I've broken it again..."

I am exposed to comedy!

Real comedy by real comedians not these half arsed comedians who write 'funny' blogs because someone in their office once told them they were "dead funny". Although I don't know how anyone can be funny at 11:30pm on a Saturday - in fact we left My Canadian Girlfriend's City Centre Crash Pad about the time we both normally go to bed.

I am going along to see if I can learn any tricks of the trade (Shorthand for - can I steal some jokes). We sit down towards the back - not too far back to make it look like we're hiding but far enough back not to get picked on. This was especially important as there were only about 30 of us in an auditorium for 200.

First up - Jo Caufield; a tall skinny blonde who moved the microphone stand because she was worried it made her look fat. She was very funny and looked like your best friend's mum, her delivery was very fast paced and yet thoughtful. Her jokes mainly revolved around girly things like TV, slagging off her husband and shopping. She also told a wife swap joke which sounded very familiar.

Sample Joke: "My local shopping centre is a huge glass building which looks like a Burberry Bomb has gone off inside it."

Next was Reggie Hunter - the reason we were here. My Canadian Girlfriend and I had seen him on "8 out of 10 Cats" and booked tickets for this show almost immediately. He started well by picking on two easy comedy targets - organised religion and Wigan. He used some very rude words too. And then he admitted he was a bit drunk. And high. And his act went downhill from there. Which is a shame because he provided a couple of the best laughs of the night. I'm sure he'd be amazing if he was on his game.

Sample Joke: "So what blasphemy is, is that you're offending God. Here's a supreme being who created all the Universe, the trees, the animals and the stars and then gets offended by what I say - how insecure is that?"

Ben Bailey closed the show and was really very funny - I would highly recommend catching him if you get the chance. He talked about funny little things in life like dialing the wrong phone number, how a donkey sent him an email and how to make sure no one sits near you on public transport. His focus on the strange foibles of the English (U.S.) language and the intricacies of human behaviour was very impressive.

He also asked if there were any illegal immigrants in the audience. Despite me prodding her and trying to raise her hand, My Canadian Girlfriend decided not to reveal herself.

One encouraging point to take from the night was that every now and then I heard a joke that I thought I could improve on - either by adding a line or by giving it a different emphasis. Another thing I will take from the evening is that the show must go on. Even if you're only performing (or blogging) in front of 20-30 people then they have a right to be entertained. Not everyone can perform to packed houses every day.

Hmmm, this is getting too introspective and live-journal-y.

So I'll finish with the cheerful thought that the nights are now drawing in and we're on a march towards Winter.

I have made a New Year's Resolution!!!

I know it's a long way from New Year but how else could I have started? "I have made a life changing decision which will alter my behavioural pattern and make me a better person and I did this at the start of June." That just trips off the tongue doesn't it.

My resolution is simple. I am going to keep my opinions, ideas and suggestions to myself - unless I am explicitly asked for them. Usually when someone makes a decision like this they point to a specific incident which shocked them into shifting their conduct into a new paradigm. I do not have one of those. This is just a choice I have made because I am worried that some people think I am a nosey busy body. I have no proof of this but when I am not around I know people spend all their time talking about me behind my back - and I have decided that this is what people must say about me.

I have been doing this for about a week and it is murder.

At work two colleagues were discussing how to get Foo to work with Bar. I knew full well where the tick box was to consolidate Foo and Bar and that all you had to do was introduce Widget A and everything would be ok. I even checked on my own computer that I could do it and left the window helpfully open on my second monitor hoping that they'd get the hint.

After twenty minutes, my blood was starting to boil. I could just about burst when they talked about ringing a consultant and asking them. I nearly broke when one of them said "Annoying Work Colleague may know about Foo and Bar." I'd rather have my nipples pierced, have a chain put through the rings, then have that tied to a ravenous pitbull while being taken up the wrong'un by Avi Glazer than give her the satisfaction of solving this problem. But I can't poke my nose in - that would be rude. Even if it would save the-place-where-I-work-that-if-I-named-I'd-have-to-kill-you money and time.

So I waited till they'd gone to lunch and fixed it for them.

Incident 2: Two people discussing football in the gym: "I think England stand a good chance of winning the World Cup!" I'll stay out of this and won't put them right. The gym is not a place to discuss football. I find football fans are more amenable to being told they are flat out wrong after they have drunk 16 pints, especially if their team has just lost. Go on, try it.

I can stay out of this one. I'll keep my opinions to myself, providing they don't say "That Rio Ferdinand's a good player and such a nice man too."

And Finally: I was lying on my bed drifting off to sleep when two of my Neighbours started to hold a conversation in the car park by my bedroom window. Nice Nikki and Grubby Graham were talking about the old chestnut of car parking. (I do not know Nikki well enough to say if she is really "Nice" or not - I am purely using alliteration to remember their names. Also although I have only ever met Graham a few times when we were both coming in from working out, he has was quite dirty but more in a Sweaty rather than grubby way)

"Well someone was in my spot so I parked in yours - I hope you don't mind." said Graham.

"Not at all, I recognised your car so I didn't really mind. And it was so nice of you to leave a note. I just left mine in that gap there." Nikki replied.

"It's that girl with the purple car again - I told her that if she did it again, I was gonna clamp her. Are you sure you're OK leaving your car there?"

At this point I wanted to fling open my window and join in the discussion. See, you are not OK leaving your car in that gap as I found out to my detriment. The Girl from 22 likes running into cars parked there and leaving a note telling you that it's completely your fault for not parking in a marked spot despite giving her a gap the size of Belgium to move her Ford Ka through.

But I didn't join in. I held it in, rolled over and went to sleep.

I am also finding it hard to shake myself out of this mode when I am actually asked for an answer or opinion. The hawker must've pigeon holed me as being really rude when I ignored his "Rose for the Lady?" question.

I give myself a treat!!!

I have some washing up to do. I open up my bottom drawer and take out a brand new dish cloth and scourer. The way a new cloth drifts across the plates and bowls takes the pain out of washing. And having a brand new scourer will zap the burnt in stains off those pans.

Oh what the heck, I'll go the whole nine yards - I'll open a new bottle of fairy liquid too.

My life is - in equal parts - exciting and sad.

An (almost) Minute by Minute recap of England's victorious victory over the great football nation of Paraguay.

Minute 4:
Oh heck, here we go. England begin their march to their righteous place as world champions. After all we invented the game, conquered the world, had the World's bestest ever Empire, are the only nation to have invented a useful language and after we'd done all that we even had time to play a quick game of croquet with the Deputy Prime Minister.

Minute 15:
Is there a giant spider sitting on the roof of the stadium? Will Peter Crouch get his head caught in the web?

Minute 22:
There are two flies buzzing around my light. It is hard to tell if they are fighting or if they are trying to shag. It looks like they're dancing. Or they could be in a "C'mon then!" like stance.

Minute 34:
Atishooo! My hayfever is really bad today. I am one of those people who actually suffer from an allergy to pollen and not one of those Johnny-come-latelys who just pretend they are allergic so they can get high on Clarityn. I've even had two super drowsy rhino tranquiliser antihistermine pills today. Should I have a third?

Minute 40:
Where did those Mars Ice Creams go? I'm sure there were 4 this morning and I only remember having a few of them. Surely the only explanation is that the mystery ice cream fairy came in and ate them all. Unless Doc had one.

Half Time:
Like most blokes, I like to get up and stretch my legs during half time. However, unlike most blokes I also spent his half time making some Puff Pastry. My Canadian Girlfriend is over for her special romantic Birthday dinner - which I plan to fit in between the Sweeden game and the Argentina game.

Minute 50:
It's getting hot here. I'm starting to wilt. I wish I was a footballer who was paid £100,000 a week, could do fitness training 7 days a week and has spent a month or so aclimatising in Portugal. If I was one of those then they'd be no excuse for getting tired would there?

Minute 62:
There are more flies in the room now. I must invest in some bug spray to poison the bastards. Either that or take the bin out on a more regular occasion.

Minute 72:
I think I'll have a little lie down. I can still watch the match from my recumbent position.

Minute 100 and something:
Oooops - I seem to have had a "Rio Ferdinand" moment and I drifted off in the middle of a game.

Now all I need is to get suspended on full pay for 8 months and negotiate a contract for £110,000 a week and then come up with a classic TV show like "World Cup Wind-ups". Give the guy a Bafta. Then maybe he'll fuck off.

We go to watch X-Men 3: The Last Stand. More to the point, I go to watch X-Men and My Canadian Girlfriend goes to watch Hugh Jackman take his shirt off. Overall, the movie scored Tomato on MB's Fruit Movie Rating Scale. (Yes, Tomato is a fruit!) It would've scored Lychee if it weren't for Fraiser's growling.

The movie itself offers a series of ethical and moral dilemmas which Wittgenstein himself would've been proud of. Should we be striving towards a culture which is so homogeneous that everyone fits in? A world where everyone walks around eating McDonald's, drinking Pepsi and wearing Nike? Or should we find a way of celebrating people's differences and embrace those of us who prefer Adidas?

I'm not sure I'd take a cure if I was in that position - I think I'd like being different. But as a middle class, Guardian reading, white, male aged 20-45 - I am not really in a position to talk about being discriminated against and standing out from the crowd.

But all this deep philosophical thinking is swept to one side once Halle Berry goes all Albino and puts in her white contacts and Hugh Jackman loses his shirt.

Vinne Jones puts in a turn as Arch Duke Ferdinand of the Spanish Inquisition, which I for one wasn't expecting. Fortunately for Vinnie, he is playing the Arch Duke playing Vinnie Jones - so he is not too stretched. While, Patrick Stewart and Sir Ian Mckellen show that they have more acting talent in their little fingers than the rest of the cast put together.

At one point "Angel", one of the 'new' X-Men, stands up and unveils his wings. He is shirtless - which is a running theme throughout the film. My Canadian Girlfriend leans over as if to whisper something. I preempt what she's going to say.

"No I don't - he's much bigger than me. His shoulders and biceps are larger but he barely has any of his 6-pack showing." She looks shocked that I had correctly guessed what she was going to say.

As we walk out of the movie, I begin to consider which X-Men power I would like. Being able to read minds would be cool as would being able to control the weather. I could've commanded two days of rain at Trent Bridge and single handedly saved the Third Test.

A Toothpick Blonde appears from behind one of those metal things that hold the velvet rope in place. She slinks over in her all white Promo-Girl outfit. "Hiya," she says flashing her bright white teeth, "Would you like to come over and review the film you've just seen in the '3' movie review booth." She bats her eyelids.

"No he wouldn't!" my Canadian Girlfriend growls. I feel her vice like grip tighten on 'The Twins' and I suddenly realise what X-Men power she has.

As far as I know the world has not ended.....

I've often wondered what happens to people who predict the end of the world and are wrong. What happens the next day when they have to face all their friends, family and colleagues who they spent the day before telling them exactly what they think of them.

Even if they're right - it's not like they can go around saying "I told you so!!"

"You're ringing your hands a lot do you want some moisturiser?" my Canadian Girlfriend asks.

She's very observant when it comes to things like that. And if she's noticed that then her pretty little mind will be ticking away and follow it up with the next logical question. She is very intelligent like that. There is a short silence.

"You only do that when you're upset about something. What have I done?"

"No it's nothing you've done." I reply. I hesitate. "Do you think I look a bit too gay today?"

I am wearing a blue vest, jeans and my Oakleys. My hair is styled no different from normal in a fatter than usual Hoxton Finn with the tips still showing the blonde colour I have had for the past month or two.

"Not at all. Why would you say that?"

"Didn't you hear those Football Fans at the Tram Stop singing 'Who's the Rent Boy in the blue?'?"

"Well they're probably just jealous. I'd take that as a compliment if I were you. Rent Boys are notorious for having kick ass bodies and tiny little waists. And they're usually very pretty boys too."

"And they sell their bodies for sex." I remind her.

There is silence. As I said earlier, she's very clever and always knows what I am thinking and what to say to make me feel better. I'm sure she'll dig herself out of his hole with ease.

"It could've been worse," she says. I look up with my I-very-much-doubt-it look on my face. "They could've asked you to do a Robot Dance and called you to Peter Crouch."

She is right. That would've been worse. I am currently very torn about my likeness to Mr Crouch. He is gaining "Cult Status" and his popularity is on the rise - I am thinking of cashing in and joining a "Look-a-Like" agency. Maybe I'll get to cut the ribbon at an Aldi or a Netto. I have even been perfecting the robot dance.

Although all this will be short lived, so I should cash in when I can. By the end of this month, when England crash out of the World Cup on penalties to Portugal (which is what it says on the Excel Spreadsheet I filed in), his popularity will plummet and he'll be a national laughing stock again.

And those people with the "Peter Crouch is a Cult" banners will only have to change one letter.

I am up and getting ready for work.

I put last night's Manchester Evening News on the recycle pile, it is still open at the Sudoku page. It is half complete. You will be pleased to learn that I have actually learnt how to do Sudoku (with a little help from My Canadian Girlfriend and a book called "Sudoku for 2 year olds"). I notice that the MEN one is very small and there's hardly any room for the pencil marks. I chuckle to myself about how I now know all the sudoku lingo!

My Canadian Girlfriend is back from her trip and I am going to see her after work, so I need to take a change of clothes with me. I pick up my clothes from the neat pile they were thrown into on the floor. I give my trousers a quick shake to see if both of my socks are still in there.

And a spider falls to the floor!!!

There was a spider in my clothes!!!

I hate spiders!!!

Once upon a time, I heard that on average you eat about (insert number) spiders per (insert time period) while you're asleep. Even if the true figure is only one per life-time - then that is one too many. Ever since I was told that, I have slept with one of those little barbecue sauce tubs from KFC on either side of my pillow. If I am going to eat a spider, then I sure as hell want it to taste as nice as possible. I considered getting a deep fat fryer but that would just be silly.

I watch as the little eight legged cretin scuttles towards the skirting board.

There was a spider in my clothes!!!

It could've laid it's eggs inside my trousers. They could hatch and catch me unaware when I'm watching the Simpsons. They'd crawl under my skin and possess me and turn me into some sort of Man-Spider. And knowing my luck I wouldn't get any of the cool side effects like being able to spin a web for flying through cities, have a special sense which tingles and be able to pull Kirsten Dunst. I'd end up with all the bad characteristics - like having 8 legs, eating flys and being eaten by mate after intercourse. And I'd be forced to travel the world with a crap circus that included the world's tallest midget, Mysterio the Mind Reader who can answer any Yes / No question correctly on average 50% of the time and David Blaine.

There was a spider in my clothes!!!

Apparently, I found out later, having a spider in your clothes is supposed to be good luck.

But obviously not for this particular spider since the last thing it saw before burning in spider hell was the bottom of my Size 11 "Work Shoe".