Earning your crust...

Idea (deep) panned...

I hate a lot of things, it helps to pass the time.  One of the things on my list is people's insistence that when it comes to food you can make it yourself just as easily as buying something ready made.

Hummus is a classic example.  I can be sitting there happily working my way through a pot of hummus (perhaps red pepper hummus if I'm feeling particularly saucy) and without fail someone will tell me that they can make hummus.  Well woop de flipping do Ramsey, give yourself a pat on the back.  I would have brought out the good silverware and if I knew I was snacking in the company of such a culinary genius.

Any dick head can make hummus, it's really just two ingredients and when you think about it that way it's the equivalent of someone boasting they can fix themselves a bowl of coco pops.

Because of that, there are some people who will look down on you for buying hummus ready made.  They preach to you about just how easy it is to make, 'after all it's just chick peas and water'.  Sure that does sound easy, but I tell you what sounds even easier, going to aisle two at Tesco's and buying a VAT of the Arabian treat ready for consumption

My time is precious (it's time consuming to hate so many things), so I like to take as many short cuts as I can and cheat my way through life.  I like convenience and clearly I'm not the only one.

Domino's pizza are reporting record sales and rightly so, for truly the people who work there are gods among men.  Sure it's true that with Domino's there is no gain without pain and I have been at the sharp end of many a black out poo after consuming a jalapeno laden beauty the size of a human head, but I would do it all again.

The reality that a man on a bike can bring you piping hot, cheese aggressive food in a box right to your front door shows just how progressive our society is.  Not even Bin Laden could find fault with this aspect of Western Society (rumor has it, he was a closet Pepperoni Passion fan).

It's their innovation that is so dam impressive and I'm not talking about their website, or mobile app (although I do commend them on making it so easy to order food that you can almost do it accidentally...3 consecutive Sundays), no when I say innovation I'm talking about the pizza itself.

Recently Domino's have introduced the concept of a hot dog built into the crust....wow.  Just take a moment to think about that.  Order a large pizza and with a 14 inch diameter you are talking about taking on a 2 foot hot dog in addition to the pizza (good for you).

It's such a fantastically ridiculous concept, you wonder who dreamed it up and then that starts to get you thinking that actually, it must be someones job to come up with these ideas!

This lucky duck probably has some great title like 'Head of Pizza Innovation'.  Imagine it, playing such a key role in so many peoples happiness on a weekly basis, you would be like a more useful Jesus.

It's Q1 2013.  In an office somewhere a high powered management team have sat round the table in Domino's towers discussing how in the name of sanity they were going to beat the previous years record sales and make more dough (BOOM!).  They needed ideas fresher than their vegetable toppings and they look to one guy for this.

Up steps the Head of Pizza Innovation, he dims the lights in the boardroom and turns on his projector.  Everyone in the room waits with baited, slightly garlicky breath in anticipation of what they are about to witness.

'Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to the Domino's Hot Dog Stuffed Crust (TM)'.

There is a long pause, a deathly silence fills the room as all sit open mouthed and wide eyed at what they have just seen.  The CEO (Chief Eating Officer) starts a slow clap, which quickly builds momentum, perpetuating into a crescendo of stand up applause.

'He's done it again', 'What a guy', 'Please enter my loins and provide me with child' are just some of the cries.

The presentation is flawless, there are blue print designs of the pizza, giving granular details on the dimensions.  There is thorough market research, as we learn that the same 80% of people think that the pizza crust is rubbish, have at some point eaten a sausage.

There is cost analysis down to the last detail, proving that people will be willing to pay £2 extra for a hugely grotesque circular hot dog, set against the cost of £0.20 to buy enough pig genitals for production.  Heck, this thorough bastard has even patented it!

Sure it's not full proof, there is limited appeal to the vegetarian market, which is a shame as they should be guaranteed money given that they are typically too weak to leave the house in search of food, but you can't win them all.

But then again, most likely these are the same cretins who would probably chastise you for not building a pizza from scratch and actually maybe this is the true genius of the 'Domino's Hot Dog Stuffed Crust (TM)'. So majestically insane is the concept, that you simply couldn't build it from scratch which means that it is possible to eat a box of cheese in wondrous, blissful, peace.

Head of Pizza Innovation, I salute you for knocking the stuffing out of my adversaries and placing it into my pizza crust.

Going out on a limb

Alex and the one armed girl...

It was my very first experience of the wonderful world of online dating.  The big city hitter that I am, I opted for a free dating website on which to pop my online cherry.

I setup my profile, with a write up befitting of the major player that I am and carefully uploaded a series of hand selected photos of me from days when I was thinner in waistline and less thin in hair follicles.

A cautious start as it was my first foray into the world of virtual love, I had at this point viewed a few lady profiles, but had yet to take the next step of initiating communication.  On these sites you can view who has looked at your profile and one of the maidens I had perused, clearly enamoured by my general handsomeness, sent me a message.

An attractive looking girl with a good write up, I got in touch and we exchanged a few messages via the site.  We went on to swap msn details and a delightful chat ensued.  She lived in London, worked for a company my previous company had done some business with, everything checked out.  A bank holiday was coming up, so I asked what her plans were and whether she would be free to grab a bite to eat and a few drinks on the Monday.  We agreed a time and place to meet and swapped numbers.  She had but one request, that we have a chat on the phone before we met.  An online dating novice, this didn't seem an unreasonable request to me.  Maybe she wanted to make sure that I didn't have a voice like David Beckham? Maybe she wanted to make sure it was a man's voice?  So I agreed to give her a call the following evening after work.

That evening was a Friday night, so I gave her a call and got her voicemail.  I left a message explaining that I was now out with friends, but would try and reach her the next day.  The following morning, horribly hung over after indulging in a few too many glasses of vino maison blanco, I was recovering on the settee in the living room.  After a while I realised I had left my phone in my bedroom and when I went to get it I had two missed calls from my online suitor and a text message.  The text message read,

'That it was not a problem for her or any of her friends, but that she only had one arm and wanted to make sure I was okay with that'.

Panic set in. The first thing I thought was how the hell did I not notice this is any of her photos!  I logged into the dating site with immense speed and viewed her profile.  Four photos, a head shot, right hand profile and two with friends standing over the missing limb...bollocks.  My mind was going into overdrive and I was wrestling with my conscience on what to do.  Had she deceived me?  Should I be dating someone who is dishonest?  To an extent she had certainly told a few fibs, but nothing to the degree where I could actually justify calling off the date.  So fearing I would go straight to hell otherwise, I texted back that of course it wasn't a problem at all and that I looked forward to meeting.

Countdown.  The next day, one day before the date, I was having a few drinks with a friend.  I told him that something bad had happened and revelling in the consistency of my life tragedy he was eager to know more.  I explained what had happened and foolishly leaned on him for advice.  Prior to receiving the informative text, I had agreed to go for pizza with the fair lady, what the flip was I meant to do?  If I offer to cut it up for her is that patronising?  If I don't offer is it rude?  My social consciousness is in hyperdrive at the best of times and I was metaphorically soiling myself at the prospect of how badly I would get this wrong.

Luckily my friend demonstrated class and remarkable insight when explaining that she would have lived with one arm for a number of years, so would have Darwinially adapted to the predicament.  He hypothesised that she may have some kind of hat with a fork attached to it, so that she could hold the pizza in place with a mere nod of the head whilst cutting with the remaining limb, or maybe she would just drag the pizza over the side of the table and just lower down and munch straight into it. 

It is people like my friend which is the exact reason I had to go on this date.

So the big day came.  I was so worried that I was going to put my foot in it by saying something like 'do you want a hand with that', or 'I've got to hand it to you', 'you and what army', 'no strong arm tactics', 'pull the other one', 'is your favourite Star Wars character Hans Solo?', 'you seem armless enough' (I have more).

I waited at the station and fairly promptly she arrived.  Luckily she was easy to recognise.  When telling this story people often ask about the missing limb.  For the purpose of visualisation there was no prosthetics and it was the the entire limb that was missing.

The date was actually okay and generally without incident.  I decided the best thing to do would be to just act as normal as possible and I think that was the right thing to do.  There were a could of awkward moments though, the first came when walking through Covent Garden in central London.  There was a street artist that she recognised and wanted to watch.  After the performance everyone clapped and I didn't know if clapping would be an arrogant display of my dual limbed state, or whether I should offer up one of my hands to create a co clapping scenario.  In the end I just clapped.  There was also a moment when she went to get some drinks in.  I offered to go with her, but she said she would be fine.  Logistically baffled about how two drinks could be carried sans hand I didn't want to make an issue out of it so just sat down.  Turns out she just did two trips from the bar, simple really.

If I'm honest, I went into the date thinking about how I would legitimately not go on a second date.  Luckily, she gave me a pretty good get out.  Having just split up with a long term live in boyfriend that she was planning to marry and have kids with, she was dead set on finding someone to help fast track her back to marriage and kids.  At the tender age of 22 and being a male, that kind of commitment request is petrifying at the best of times so I explained that I thought we were looking for different things on different timescales and she agreed and understood.

My very first Internet date, it is still the most memorable, but unfortunately it was by no means the worst.

Wish you were her(e) - haha, timeless‏

My dad's bigger than your dad...

I imagine it all started with an aggressive (possibly drunken) game of dares or oneupmanship between two Arabian Sheiks;

'Do you know what Terry, i'm going to build the worlds largest shopping mall'

'Yeah so what, I'm going to build the worlds tallest building'

'Yeah well that's nothing I'm going to build the worlds largest aquarium and do you know what, fcuk it I'm going to throw a few actual penguins in for good measure'

'Yeah well...um...I'm going to build an indoor skiing slope'

'What's so impressive about that'

'It's going to have real snow...'

'Ok Terry I think that's quite enough Shesha and Moonshine for you young man'.

I have heard people describe it as Disney land for adults, or even Miami on speed. I am here referring to Dubai, a country I recently visited on holiday.

An incredibly ambitious country, I have been told their aim was to essentially make the Guinness book of records some kind of tour guide for the country. This in itself may have caused some issues, as I can't see a muslim state happy to be sponsored by an Irish stout. In the same way that a man of diminutive genital growth may acquire a Ferrari, maybe Dubai is the biggest worldwide example of compensating. For them it's not enough just to have shops in a shopping mall, they need to have Egyptian style pyramids, the worlds largest aquarium, or a ski slope avec actual snow. By way of comparison all Bluewater offers is a Burton's and knob sockets from Essex.

A country of contradictions, where you can't hold your wife's hand in public (unhappily married men take note, if you want a country where it is actually illegal to show her indoors public affection outdoors then book those tickets now), and yet prostitutes and even worse Emirates air stewardesses commonly frequent public house establishments.

God knows how Brits abroad romance ladies in Dubai. As a common frequenter of public house drinking refineries, I know first hand and through observation that no one in England would be married/pregnant if it was not for the drunken confidence to make that post 11pm 'winning time' drunken lunge in a Yates wine bar.

What do you do in Dubai? What replaces the drunken lunge? What goes in place of the tried and true dance floor grapple and grind (tm)? Don't tell me people are just sharing their feelings, that would never work.

Now don't get me wrong, making lady romance on a public beach is silly and easily avoidable, but when an inebriated pass in a club towards a member of the lady folk lands you in jail, how is it that every expat is not in prison?

I only had one 'big' night out in which I let my drunken auto pilot take the wheel, but I still managed to find time to lose the people I was with, spend 40 Euros (not an accepted currency in Dubai) and if receipts are correct somehow frequented the VIP area of the club we were in (those of you that know me will verify that I really am not a very important person). I woke up miraculously in my hotel the next day, to eventually find my phone in a cupboard and my wallet under my bed.

Now, luckily my general levels of attractiveness meant that there was no fear of night club courtship occurring, but for handsome ladies and gentlemen who are used to winning the dance floor battle of the peacocks surely the laws present some problems.

I was actually concerned that greeting my friend with a customary peck on the cheek (after all I am a continental new man) may lead to a spot of porridge. I had a plan B of kicking it old school with a 'greeting bow' or a businessmanlike firm handshake just in case.

In Dubai to even run a bar, you need to be able to offer accommodation for the night, so all bars are joined to hotels (don't worry these are fancy joints, they're not just strapping on a Wetherspoons to a Travel Lodge foyer). As an Englishman who could sleep in an iron maiden after enough sherry spritzers I can't really understand the logic of this and surely everyone knows no matter how drunk you get humans are designed with an inherent GPS system that somehow gets you home.

Dubai has a population of 1.8 million, only 100,000 are actually originally from Dubai. The country is built for tourism and foreign business investment, the retailers are all UK and US high street names, they have all your usual UK/US fast food restaurants, there are office buildings that are modelled on Canary Wharfs Gherkin and even some of the bars are named replicas of famous west end establishments.

Essentially if you would like to live in Britain with a bit more sunshine and a bit less knifing and don't quite fancy Benidorm then Dubai should be your cup of hummus.

When they first built the worlds largest aquarium it sprung a leak. They have thousands and I mean thousands of fish in this thing, including sting rays and sharks. Can you imagine being the guy working the day shift when the leak struck, trying to keep a shark alive by stuffing its head into one of a thousand emergency gold fish bowls.

When they first opened the worlds largest building the lifts broke. This building is over a kilometre high, if you were the OAP that was half way up to your roof top pent house suite, you would be pretty upset when your stannah stair lift packed in.

A kilometre high...you would have to suck a sweet just to stop your ears from bleeding when using the lift. Imagine leaving the building only to realise you left your car keys upstairs, you would have to call your work to let them know you were going to be late. For someone in my physical condition I would have to hire a sherper just to ensure safe route of passage to my front door. Imagine being the delivery man having to lug the corner suite faux leather sofa up to floor 117, that would be a bad day.

Despite all this however Dubai is in recession, even more so than the rest of the world. Apparently they don't know the meaning of the word recession, that's okay there are a lot of words I don't know the meaning of too.

They built a slick modern rail system because traffic congestion was so bad, by the time they built it recession had kicked in and traffic had eased significantly, isn't it always the way. Plans to build a Disney World and a Jurassic Park style dinosaur world (Terry, you crazy rascal) are now on hold. A lot of the buildings that were partly built are also on hold. On the plus side however this is making holidays there cheaper, so hey, silver linings and all that.

And if you like fantastic food and swanky bars then I can definitely recommend Dubai as a great eating/drinking holiday.

I hope that they do come out of recession and that long term tourism does drive their economy, ambition such as there's deserves to be rewarded.

Every time I go on holiday (apart from that Easter trip to Lanzarote) I imagine what it would be like living in these countries long term, the different lives I could and in some cases maybe should have led. What might have been if I just had a slightly larger pair of testicals and just took more risks in life.

Looking through my rose tinted glasses (back of Spec Savers) I had that same feeling when leaving Dubai. I can definitely see why people would want to live out there for a few years, the weather, friendly people, tax free riches and great night life, but on reflection I guess long term I would compare Dubai to a fake pair of breasts. Sure, great to look at, great fun too, but after a while you would long for something a bit more real.

A Modern Christmas Tale

Christmas, a time when mistletoe replaces rohypnol...

It's that time of year where Noddy Holder can eat again thanks to Royalties and everyone puts aside the fact that their Bernard Matthews turkey most probably contains bird flu.

A time when all that is left of Brazilian rain forests is a small strip down the middle, as everyone simultaneously feels the need to express their 'genuine' desire that friends and family have a 'merry' Christmas via the medium of a card (apparently a text message or fax lack sentiment).

This year parents everywhere will be explaining to their kids that Santa has been hit hard by the recession, so has had to lay off a few elves and use an energy saving light bulb for Rudolph's nose. Subsequently, there may be a Tesco's basics satsuma in the stocking and you're buggered if you think your getting a Nintendo Wii this year sonny boy, my lad, my son.

The RSPCA are campaigning that it's cruel to make reindeer's fly round the world in one night and unfortunately British Airways which was plan B has gone tits up thanks to the Unions.

Don't worry though Santa, you can blame any delays on the weather conditions which are probably worse than the North Pole at the moment, or perhaps put it down to the extra safety measures that are in place due to the continued threat of terrorism (stop funding them with those pirate DVD's).

The kids were going to find out sooner or later that it was all a facade and that Santa is as real as Jordan and Peter's divorce (topical). Perhaps they wouldn't feel so stupid for believing in him in the first place if Santa wasn't depicted as some fat bloke with magical flying reindeer. If Santa was built like Usain Bolt and flew the Bat Plane then maybe it would be more plausible.

Remember that moment when you found out that Santa wasn't real and you thought to yourself, yes with the power of hindsight it does seem a trifle odd that this rotund fellow can cram both his massive arse as well as every kid in the worlds gifts into a sleigh and manage to circumnavigate the globe in a handful of hours, but who am I to call my parents a liar and it's nothing as ridiculous as that God lad.

Maybe subconsciously we just go along with it as it's much easier to say Santa has sh*t taste in jumpers than to relay this same accusation directly to ma or pa. To be honest I was part glad to find out that Santa was make believe, even as an innocent child growing up prior to the era when Glitter really hit his stride, I was still not keen on the idea of this old bearded bloke sneaking into my bedroom in the middle of the night (don't make me place an injunction on you Santa).

Perhaps the real tragedy is that some parents who, whilst not wanting to be labelled liars by their first born but hard up from the recession, will tell their kids that unfortunately NHS waiting queues were so long that Santa couldn't get the gastric band operation needed in time and died of clogged arteries caused by the consumption of too many mince pies.

But anyway we persevere, we put a synthetic plastic tree in our living room and dress it up with figurines of Santa (the fat jolly one, not the Usain Bolt Bat Plane one) and glitter and gold. We praise Jesus by competing with our neighbours for who can have the highest wattage of fluorescent lighting adorned around our humble abode.

Random pensioners knock on your door demanding money for charity in exchange for raping your ears with a medley of Christmas Carols (this does not count as contributing to society, you still serve no purpose). 'Do they know it's Christmas time at all' they sing, in reference to all those impoverished in Africa. No they don't is the answer, they don't have a bloody clue. Firstly they are predominantly Muslim countries that don't celebrate Christmas and secondly don't go telling them it's Christmas as that's one more thing they are going to get upset about missing out on.

Meanwhile the rising number of vegetarians means that nutmeg is now becoming a popular alternative to turkey (can't catch bird flu from a nut Mr. B Matthews). The package now legally having to explain that nutmeg contains nut. Now I'm a big believer in the motto better safe than sorry, but if you have a nut allergy and eat a type of food that has the word nut in it's name then both Darwin and I think you should die. Unfortunately medical professionals funded by my taxes will probably keep you alive.

Young couples, not yet burdened by the financial ball and chain that is children, will exchange gifts of equal value. The girlfriend or wife, will compare their gifts with those received by their friends and sisters after which their significant other will either receive a tirade of abuse or adulation (money can't buy you love, but it can save a lot of aggro). The man may contest that his gift came from the heart, alas the girlfriend would prefer it came from Tiffany's.

For families it is a reason to get back together...and then quickly realise why you left it so long in the first place. Mothers and Grandmothers will insist upon watching hours of soaps, with their festive themes of betrayal, brutality, loss and dogging (sorry that last one was Steve 'Phil Mitchell' McFadden in real life, I get confused). Will someone die in this year's extended finale? No, just my soul. We will further smite the allegedly Jewish Jesus with the mass consumption of pigs in a blanket, (pork wrapped in pork) and then to add insult to injury Cliff Richard will dance and sing on his grave and grow rich off a lazy remix of the Lord's prayer (I bet Jesus didn't even see any royalties).

The Queen will have to put in a shift, give a speech, wear a hat, the whole shebang, she's got the rest of the year to relax so for this one day she can dance to our merry tune. Alternatively maybe they can give Prince Phillip a turn this year?

Back to TV and Macauley Culkin's family will leave him again (and eventually so will Michael Jackson). Adverts will tell you that there is literally nothing more important than buying a new sofa (even though they won't actually have the one you want in stock until 2011). 'Buy now' they say, 'pay 54 years later in 1,179 easy month instalments', it's good to know we have learned from the recession.

But for everything, we must be grateful for the get out of jail free card that is the Christmas period. Turn up drunk to work on a Tuesday, hey it's Christmas. Didn't get that proposal over in time, no problem it's Christmas. Just recreated a Nazi style underground bondage orgy with the help of 15 prostitutes, come on it's...no Max Moseley, not even at Christmas.

Twit for Twats

Alex Cornford is currently doing...nothing of interest.

So Twitter...really do we have to do this now too? A social phenomenon, a revolution of the blog format, or a condensed version of Heat magazine for those that found Heat a bit of a heavy read. I'll admit I'm weak I signed up, curiosity got the better of me and I needed to find out what all the fuss is about. Imagine my delight to find out it is basically just an elaborate version of Facebook's status update. I now have 15 people following me, despite the fact that I have never actually written a post. More frighteningly I don't even know who most of them are. My guess is that a lot of people like the strong and silent type, or that society is full of numerous clinically bored individuals who literally have nothing better to do than to follow blank pages (was this really part of the grand design God?).

Living your life vicariously through George Clooney is one thing, but when you are moist in anticipation awaiting my latest update it's time to jump. I can't condone, but can understand why gossip hungry over oestrogened lady folk may want to follow Jude Law, after all he is quite dreamy and it is of course imperative to conclude that he is also a great and deep guy before buying the topless poster for the bedroom wall. Hey you may even be able to find out what makes him tick so that when you do meet you can be his ideal girl (and you will meet as he 'tweets' abouts his favourite coffee shop regularly, so by pitching a tent and keeping vigil outside said coffee shop you're bound to bump into him eventually...before the men in white coats carry you away). After all he doesn't care about looks, you just need to have a great personality and a kind hearted disposition (or do a stint as his nanny). And yes I'm sure the life of a celebrity is pretty good (unless you're currently Tiger Woods, don't see him tweeting too much of late - naughty boy) so maybe they do lead such an exciting life that they have interesting daily updates worthy of regaling to Jo and Josephine public, but why would anyone want to follow my daily life? I could tell you what I watched on TV last night and give my opinions, but then so can the TV Guide. I could let you know that I have eaten chicken nuggets and chips for the third day running as there was an offer on a Tesco basics 60 piece bag, would that entertain you? Would you like to hear about my train being delayed due to signal failure, or that I ran out of toilet roll so had to get creative and use a Flash wipe and now have a rash that I don't feel like going to the doctor with? No of course you don't, it's all mundane tedious tosh.

What perhaps makes the whole thing even more incomprehendable is that within the confined bubble of this site Ashton Kutcher is king. Yes this is the same Ashton Kutcher that was the star turn in such cinematic masterpieces as Just Married and of course the unforgettable Dude Wheres my Car. The very same Ashton Kutcher who rose to fame in stellar comedy That 70's Show and the man that brought you the ground breaking Punk'd. Apparently there are more people 'following' Ashton Kutcher than CNN. Of all the people to stalk, why him?

Because that is essentially what Twitter boils down to, it like Facebook is the acceptable face of stalking. As I have always said why follow someone online, when you can follow them to their home... I guess in a society where you can actually ask a qualified doctor to staple your stomach, even the stalkers are becoming more and more lazy. In the dizzy hey day of stalking, real effort would have been put in, rubbish riled through, binoculars purchased (I'm a keen bird watcher, honest, yeah whatever Bill Oddie we know the sordid truth) but no more. Shares in infra red goggles have declined while mouse wrist supports have gone through the roof. The phenomenon of Twitter hasn't gone unnoticed by the big fromages at Google and Microsoft and such is the impact it has made that 'tweets' are now listed in their respective search engines so that people can search for the very latest social commentary in the same way you would search for the nearest cinema, or adult jazz.

For those of you less nerdy than me, what this actually means is that if you are the very first person to comment on a unique subject that people are searching for they will invariably read your 'tweet'. No longer is the word of Google confined to coding monkeys, you my friend can potentially have your voice heard by the world. It's almost like Google (one of the most largest, most powerful, most most companies in the world) is endorsing you! If you were the guy who first found out that the worlds most famous golfer had almost certainly at one point put 'the tiger in you' (not such a clever strap line now is it Frosties) and 'tweeted' about it then once the story broke, you would be one of the most influential people out there.

Now chances are that you are not going to break a big story, but think of the personal misery you can inflict upon your not so loved ones. If you think that Susan in accounts is a slag, then by gum 'tweet' my good man and tell the world! Before long both Google and you will think Susan is a slag and that's got to count for something.

So knock yourself out, slander your ex, tell your computer illiterate mother in law exactly what you think...just don't follow me you massive weirdo.

p.s. in a recent poll Peter Andre was voted the tenth most influential person on twitter, I hope you are proud of yourselves.

Sounds Impressive.

I'd Guava use Papaya...

If I was to ask you what is Bifidus ActiRegularis, would you know? No of course you wouldn't, you wouldn't have a clue, no one would. And yet if I was to give you the choice of two generic brand yoghurt's of the same flavour and then added that one contained Bifidus ActiRegularis, without a moments hesitation you would opt for the one with Bifidus ActiRegularis.

And why do we act this way, the reasons my friends is simply because it sounds fancy. It sounds bloody impressive and as ridiculous as it sounds people don't like to admit that they have no idea what Bifidus ActiRegularis is in case they sound stupid, as if you would become the point of ridicule for not knowing. So rather than take the very reasonable course of action of questioning it's merits further, you keep quiet and assume that it must be good for you.

The clever people at Danone cottoned onto this and launched a whole advertising campaign around their Activia range of yoghurt, they even stuck in the term 'digestive transit' for good measure, the shrewd swines. And the end result? The weak willed, easily convinced, sheep like fools like me went out and bought some. For all I know Bifidus ActiRegularis could be latin for knob rot, but subliminally I guess my mindset was that a company like Danone wouldn't have spent so much money on a national advertising campaign and 'celebrity' spokeswoman Nell McAndrew if it wasn't something revolutionary to the world of yogurt. As soon as she uttered the words 'stops you feeling so blurted after a big meal' in her dulcet northern tones I was convinced.

But what would of happened if I had delved deeper? What if I hadn't been concerned that drinking buddy Dave thought I was a 'plank' for not knowing my ancient greek for yogurt related terminology, what would I have found? According to the official website http://www.danoneactivia.co.uk/,

"Activia contains probiotics - live microorganisms which, when eaten live and in sufficient quantities, have a beneficial effect on our health – so it is classed as a probiotic product".

So to clarify, the yogurt contains little, living animals...ok not too sure about that, I don't even like to eat sushi in case it makes a late comeback, let alone something that is still alive. And actually thinking about it, if this yogurt helps with my 'digestive transit', surely that's just science talk for its going to make me poo more? Don't laxatives have the same effect and as far as I know doctors aren't advocating laxatives as the answer to fatties prayers. The more you think about it, the more it sounds less appealing, but it's too late now I have already bought the required quota from them, making their Activia range a massive success.

And it's not just yogurt that warrants additional consideration, shampoo companies have been peddling the same rubbish for years. Who cares that a conditioner contains guava extract. If I gave you a banana, would it ever cross your mind to start mashing it into your head the next time you took a shower. No of course it wouldn't, only the mentally deranged would think to do that, if anything you would need to spend a considerable amount of time washing the fruit OUT of your hair, so why should it be any different for papaya, or apricots 'extract'?

For the sake of argument, let's give these companies the benefit of the doubt and say that coconut was good for a glossy mane like finish, how the hell do they find this out? Can you imagine being the first guy to 'research' washing your hair with and avocado? Even if you found out that it was good for you how do you tell someone without them thinking you're an idiot? If someone told me that they had tried washing their hair with fruit, my first and very reasonable question would be to ask what had compelled them to do so? You would have to make something up, lie that you were out of shampoo and that the only thing you had in the house was an avocado multi pack. Even then you would have to manifest some sort of hair related emergency (should such a thing exist) that prompted you to entertain this bizarre act.

And its not just fruit that is allegedly good for your mullet. People would have you believe that a winning mixture of eggs, vinegar and mayonnaise will give your barnett the matt finish you have always wanted. Even if this was true, what would the point be? Sure you may look attractive from a distance, but as soon as people were close enough to realise you smelt like a fry up any initial interest would diminish pretty rapidly. Still credit to the marketing manager for thinking outside of the egg box, with sales dwindling because our nation refuse to eat anything outside of cheese and pork, they obviously realised that eggs needed to serve an additional purpose in society to ensure share prices remained buoyant, so why not spread some rumours that it works wonders as an alternative to L' Oreal. Slogans change from 'Eggs, fast food and good for you' to 'Eggs, vinegar and mayonaise, because your worth it'.

I understand the need to make a living, but why don't they try going for something that's more plausible? '5 a day' was always an ambitious sales target for fruit and veg companies to meet, but rather than trying to supplement takings through ridiculous measures like 'carrot cake' (as if your going to try and slip a vegetable into one of my dessert dishes) why not go for something more believable? Fruits generally smell nice, so why not try telling the credit crunch nation that rather than paying fifty quid a pop on eau de toilette, than an equally good measure would be to crush a punnet of strawberry's under each armpit? Hell you could even spin some nonsense that the strawberry absorbs through your pores and contributes to the consumption of your '5 a day'. Sales increase, government health targets get hit (sort of) and you never know, some people having filled their fruit bowl to the brim may actually take the extreme and more traditional measure of eating some of it.

Fruit eaten in large consumptions notoriously gives you the runs, therefore assisting no end with the 'digestive transit' meaning that you don't have to buy litres of yogurt in the first place...or do you?

Just as you think you have relinquished the grip of the yogurt barons, Danone, aware of the threat strike a deal with fruit companies to include fruit in the base of all their Activia yogurts. Capitalising on the fruit based addition, they then go aggressively after the shampoo market, as of course, obviously, yogurt makes hair softer. So in full yogurt will give you shiny soft hair, helps with the old digestive transit, smells nice and can be used to moisturise skin (why not), is there anything this miracle in a pot can't do? Danone, I'm back in, sorry for every doubting you.

Now if you will excuse me ladies and gentlemen, I need to go buy a tub of Bifidus ActiRegularis and see if applied correctly it can cure erectile dysfunction.

God created the world in seven days...what a cowboy.

Apparently God is Omnipotent, but being God he should be able to find a cure for that...

So God created the world in seven days eh? The only way that is feasible is if he built Poland first and got the Polish builders to muck in for the remaining days. Even then, seven days is a bit of a push, I mean Rome alone took more than a day to build so inevitably corners had to be cut.

Subsequently for every Sistene Chapel, Mona Lisa and Venice we have a Bluewater, a London Olympics logo and a Croydon. All in all planet earth is a bit like a B&Q kitchen, at first glance it looks great, but on closer inspection every things not quite as it should be.


Yes the big man created The Northern Lights, but he also created personalised mobile ring tones. If ye be faithful, then the genius that cooked up the 'crazy frog' was indeed the big cheese himself. What was wrong with 'ring ring', it did the job required? Now days if your phone goes 'ring ring' people think you are trying to be retro or ironic. You have to wear garments from Top Man just to pull off the overall look.

Why is it that people feel the need to express themselves through every facet of their being. Clothes I can accept as a form of expression, but a ring tone? Are these people thinking, 'if I have a hilarious ring tone, then people will in turn think I'm hilarious', no they won't they will think you're a twat. It's the modern day equivalent of the guy in the office who chose to demonstrate just how 'crazy' he was via an outlandish tie. Society is mocking you and you deserve it.

Perhaps the king of the ring tones is rap 'superstar' Akon with one of his biggest selling downloads being the appropriately titled 'Lonely'. Appropriate, as anyone who downloaded it deserves to be shunned and subsequently very bloody lonely for a long, long time. Almost as criminal a use of the mobile phone is text voting. I am of course talking about the type of vote systems commonly associated with 'prime time' Saturday night entertainment programming, the X Factors and Britain's got talents of this world.


The British public bleeding their bank accounts dry at £1 a pop so that fat bird Michelle McManus can claim her 'rightful' place as winner. Truly it was considered to be a victory for the morals of society... but was it really? On the crest of a media wave, people may have cared enough to vote for her and buy the first single, but pretty soon they stopped caring and stopped buying. Much like any realm in society, you can love a fat bird for a night, but not much more than that.

Perhaps even more worrying are the people who like all the contestants equally, so not wanting to see any of them lose, vote for them all? Were walking head first smack bang into a global recession and yet Jo public are squandering half their gyro just because they are torn between their love for pug faced Eoghan Quigg and boy bland JLS. It's scant consolation, but if God is Omnipotent then he has to sit through all of this, that's karma for you (apparently he was partial to the musical stylings of Bad Lashes but ran out of credit shortly after the quarter finals).


We all have bad days in the office, so mistakes can be forgiven and God advocates forgiveness (convenient that) so we can forgive him the odd X Factor and the occasional Frenchman, in fact it will probably be great bargaining power for all of us when arriving at the pearly gates. When having a chin wag with that Peter bloke, he will probably ask a few difficult questions before allowing entry, such as 'Could you not have afforded just three pounds a month for that charity?', or 'could you not have paid an extra twenty pence to get the fair trade bananas?', to which you can then retort, 'Fair enough, but let's get some perspective. What about that Hitler bloke, or even worse Kerry Katona? I mean bloody hell she won mother of the year. Twice!' Adopt that line of argument and there's no way you won't get in, in fact they will probably give you a twenty pound voucher to spend at HMV just to keep stum.

So maybe that's it, everything in life is intentially not perfect just so we can all feel ok the next time we tell a homeles couple kissing to 'get a room', or tell our neice that there is no Santa just because we are a bit strapped for cash around Xmas. If the big guy can drop a few clangers, then justifiably so can we. Ultimately no matter how terrible a human being I am, I will be able to sleep at night knowing that no matter what happens nothing I can do will be worse than giving Celine Dion a record contract and for that, God, I am eternally greatful.