Cat Video

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and one of them is the vets.

Today I was happily helping Alex in the garden, using a wood chipper, which is my second favourite machine! My favourite is the paper folding machine in the St Albans Lib Dem office, which is what I like to think people mean when they talk about the Lib Dem Party Machine. It was going well, as shown by the fact that I still have all my fingers (despite Joe constantly trying to tickle me with long branches). Then I got a phone call from my sister, in tears, asking me to drive one of our cats (the obese one, not the epileptic one) to the vet. So that was fun.

I ran home, realising how unfit I am, as I rarely do any exercise. I was spluttering and panting after about five... runs? I haven't run in such a long time that I've forgotten the word. Steps? Paces! After about five paces. I wondered whether the vet could have a look at my breathing while I was there. I got home and suddenly thought of something.

"Is the car here?"

To which my sister replied, "oh, no. Mum took it to work."

So I have no car. That could make driving to the vet slightly more difficult.

We tried to ring the Animal Taxi service, the phone number of which had been given to us by the vet. As I tried not to laugh at the concept of an Animal Taxi (I know it wasn't appropriate, but picture it!), the phone said that the number wasn't recognised. The number that the vet had given us. Brilliant. The vet has one job and it can't even get that right. Well, two jobs, I guess. Giving out the number of the Animal Taxi (hahahahaha a taxi full of animals!) and saving the lives of animals. Only two tiny little jobs and still they fuck up!

I considered ringing Steven for a lift (mainly because he'd have to say "just coming!" He'll get that reference.) but decided that'd be unfair. Partly because Steven is allergic to cats. By this point Azurro (the cat; not the one at which Joe once chucked a full can of beer) seemed to be slightly better, so we decided that it would be safe to walk him the half hour to the vets. And by walk him I mean carry him in his cat carrier box thing, rather than walk with him like a dog. As I mentioned, Azurro is huge, so carrying him was a struggle. Apparently I had to carry him because my sister is a girl. Isn't that where feminism falls down? Nope, that's something idiots say. Anyway, I found a comfortable enough position where I could sort of rest the box on my belt buckle, which was practical as long as my shorts didn't fall down. We got to the vets, which is a depressing place, and always reminds me of this amazing moment from Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe. As that clip sprung into my mind, I accidentally laughed in the face of an ill dog.

The rest of the story is boring. Basically, they're keeping Azurro at the vets overnight to do blood tests and x-rays, he's probably alright, the problem is something that I forgot to listen to. Something about a hernia. Then I went to see the new Transformers film and it was fucking terrible. But I had a good time anyway; during the trailer for the new Harry Potter film, a trailer which must be as long as the actual film, Dan (see, not all my friends write blogs) asked me if Voldemort and Harry kiss in this one. And I asked if the trailer for Cars 2 was a trailer for Senna. Well, we had fun. Leave me alone, my cat is ill.

I will leave you with a picture of Azurro in a bath, and the Blue Man Group video that this blog is named after. Enjoy!

Midnight Swim

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and one of them is cancer. Yeah that's right, I said it.

But enough of that now. Instead, something slightly different. Here is a 5 stage plan for you to follow if you're ever going swimming.

1. Swim in a lane next to one in which a swimming lesson is taking place.

2. Pick out a child. (Not physically, obviously. That can get you into all kinds of trouble. I just mean select one of the children in the swimming lesson. The criteria for which child to pick is entirely up to you. Why can I see this blog being read out as evidence in some kind of court?)

3. Learn the child's name. (Again, the method you choose to do this is up to you. Ideally, pick a child with the same name as you.)

4. Swim in exactly the same way as them. Copy them precisely.

5. Follow the instructions the teacher directs at 'your' child.

Ta-da, free swimming lessons! You're welcome.

Oh and I am in no way responsible for any legal repercussions you may face as a result of this blog.

I'll leave you with the Incubus song that this blog is named after. Enjoy!

Stop at the Station, Get on the Bus, Head to Town

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and one of them is the price of buses.

Obviously by that I mean bus fares, I haven't tried to buy an actual bus. Though I doubt that would be much more expensive. Also, I realise that complaining about the price of bus fares is something characteristic of old people, but so is casual racism and incontinence, and rarely am I casually racist.

So today I needed to go to town to buy a present for my mum, because it's her birthday tomorrow, and for my aunt, because she's my mum's twin so it's her birthday tomorrow, and for my dad, because it's his birthday tomorrow, and for my dad again, because it's Father's Day tomorrow. Needless to say, I no longer have any money. Anyway, it was raining so I got a bus, and my exchange with the bus driver went exactly like this:

Me: Single to St Peter's Street please.

Him: That's £2.20.

Me: [Pause] £2.20?

Him: Yes.

Me: For a single?

Him: Yes.

Me: To St Peter's Street?

Him: Yes.

Me: St Peter's Street St Albans? [Expecting him to say, 'Oh sorry, £2.20 is the fare to St Peter's Street Texas.']

Him: [Getting annoyed] Yes.

Me: [Turning to get off the bus] Well I don't have enough then, sorry.

Him: How much do you have?

Me: About £1.60.

Him: Ok, that'll do.

And he gave me the ticket. And I was really happy! Until I realised that even £1.60 was still extortionate. Just to contextualise this for anyone unfamiliar with St Albans buses; that would be a 10 minute bus ride. I wouldn't expect to pay more than £1.20 for a single. And that's still way too much. Fucking £2.20?! Is it a magic bus? Does it fly? Are the seats made of gold? Is there a free iPod with every fare? No? Then I'm not paying over £2 THANK YOU.

I did also have a £20 note on me (I'd done a Dan) but I was worried that if I handed him that he'd only give me £1 change and blame it on constantly increasing fares. By the way, if you happen to live outside the UK, a word of advice; bus drivers LOVE it when you try to pay a couple of quid fare with a £20 note. Try it, it honestly makes their day. They'll love you even more if you hand them a £50. Trust me.

Anyway, I'd be happy if stupidly expensive bus fares were just a tax on the lazy, but it's more than that, it's practically an abuse of human rights. I felt violated. And it's all David Cameron's fault. I feel like I've been raped by David Cameron. I'd also like to thank that bus driver for letting me off the ridiculous fare and only charging me a slightly less ridiculous fare. And when my mum, dad and aunt open their shit presents, I'll say 'I'm sorry, but I spent all my money on the bus fare. You shouldn't be annoyed at me, you should be annoyed at David Cameron. Besides, he didn't get you anything.'

Thanks for reading, the title of this blog comes from the Big D & The Kids Table song Stop, Look & Listen (Shake Life Up). I will leave you with that song, enjoy!

Nothing Left To Say But Goodbye

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and one of them is this argument for the existence of God.

By the way, this is going to be a very short blog. It was meant to be a tweet but the quote I'm going to talk about is over 140 characters. And I'm not going to use TwitLonger because I'm not a dick. Seriously, that thing just defeats the point of Twitter.

Loads of my blogs start with me saying, 'I actually really like' whoever it is, before going on to complain about something they've done. And this blog is no exception.

I actually really like Tom Hollander. I know Rev was a bit rubbish, and he was probably miscast in Hanna, but he was absolutely brilliant in In The Loop and briefly (so far) in The Thick Of It, so that's good enough for me.

But in an interview in this week's New Statesman, Hollander says: 'Intellectually, it's so easy to disprove the existence of God - a five-year-old could do it - so it's far more compelling, for me, to think there might be one.'

I mean, well, exactly. I can't really add anything to that. The stupidity of the argument is self-contained. There is, in the words of Audioslave, 'nothing left to say but goodbye.' I'll leave you with that song. Enjoy! And goodbye!