Olympic Year

"I test drove one of those eco-friendly cars the other day. It was a lot like Knightrider, but instead of solving crimes it just said "How you doing?" to trees."

On Saturday/Sunday I managed to visit two pubs that I had only visited once previously and both in 2004.

The first was The George on Great Portland Street, London. I was last there in October 2004. It's difficult to describe how it's decorated. I suppose you could say it's somewhat Victorian / Edwardian. It's a Greene King pub, so doesn't have any overly interesting beers, but does have quite a nice menu. When I was here previously, there was a mix of celebrities in there. John Snow, the Channel 4 newsreader, was enjoying a drink and chat with 2 members of Placebo - this was a sight that I never expected to see. On the other side of the pub was the comedy writer Arthur Smith - he has one of the finest London accents there is. There were no celebrities there this time, but it doesn't detract from it's majesty.

The second pub was Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem Inn, Nottingham. The last time I frequented this pub was in April 2004. I've been back to Nottingham several times since, but never managed to revisit the pub. It's a very special pub as it's the oldest one in Britain. It was built in 1189 AD which makes it 819 years old! It looks as though part of the pub is carved into the rock base which Nottingham Castle sits upon. It's fantastic to think about the many people who have sat there over the ages. Knights, Monks and perhaps Brian Clough. I had a lovely pint in there called 'Last Trip' by Hansons and Hardys brewery. It was 4.3% and had enticing fruity aromas. They serve food there, but I was unable to view a menu. I sat in the 'Museum Room' part which is basically a stone alcove and very cosy. I could have fallen asleep there quite happily.

I aim to visit both these pubs again! And not leave a 4 year gap this time.

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Whilst driving along the M1 to Nottingham, I spied a Mercedes Van which appeared to be some sort of Mercedes-Benz transport van. The back of the van was partially visible and I could see that there was a sporty Mercedes in there with the registration plate F1. I thought to myself, oh I expect that cost a fair bit.

I mentioned it at work today and found out that there was a quite a story behind it. That number plate had just been sold for around £441,000 at auction to a businessman. He had then had it fitted to his Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren - a car which cost around £317,000 and is £124,000 cheaper than the numberplate which now adorns it. I was staring at a car whose total worth was around 3/4 of a million pounds.

My car is roughly worth £400.

Independence and Golf Balls

"I went out in the height of fashion last night: Stilts"

I was quite lucky as a child as my parents allowed me independence and responsibility.

In 1991, when I was 8/9, I would often go to work with my mother during the summer holidays. She worked at a shoeshop in town and I would spend my time hanging around in the staffroom and strutting around town. Exploring town was a lot of fun. It was the first time I'd been let loose on my own. I didn't have to traipse round Littlewoods, Marks & Spencers as I did when I was with my parents. Instead, I was able to go into Dixons and play on the Atari Lynx and NES.

Another highlight, was going into the Westgate Co-op store and playing in the lifts. I managed to briefly make friends with a couple of crazy kids in that lift. The three of us then spent the afternoon running around town, but towards the end I think they were just trying to run away from me.

So, 1991 was the first year that I was allowed in town on my own. However, the next year I was to top even that!

It was Summer 1992, one of my favourites in fact. It was one of those Summers where you never really knew what was going to happen next. One moment you'd be chasing your dog round the garden, the next you'd be carrying out daring raids on your friends chocolate collection. It was also the first time that I was allowed to get the bus, on my own, into town!

I live in a small village outside a medium sized town and the bus journey is about 20 minutes. I remember being sat on the bus and feeling so pleased with myself. Absolutely no-one else in my year at school was allowed in town on their own. Let alone allowed to get the bus on their own! Surely it would see me rise to 'coolest kid at school' status, but it didn't. Although I did get to buy a Simpsons figure for £1 from The Pound Shop, so it wasn't a complete waste of time.

Even now when I tell people about it they're quite shocked. They can't believe that I was off doing things like that at such a young age.

It was early tastes of freedom that encouraged me to push the boundaries time and time again. I remember at the age of 11 I was allowed to roam around Peterborough on my own for a short while. Although to be honest, as a 7 year old I was allowed to go running round Bath on my own. That's quite impressive for a 7 year old. I remember I bought a neon pink golf ball that day. They were quite big round my way in 1990.

1997 saw my first solo trip to London. I was 14 and had gained some 'natural' maturity, but it was still quite a feat. Whilst I was there, I saw what I took to be a 'parade' against animal cruelty. I decided to march in it and it was quite enjoyable. However, I soon began to realise that there were very few women in this parade. I also noticed that a lot of the men were kissing. It turned out that I had got involved in the Mardi Gra Gay Festival which takes place in London every summer. I quickly exited the whole event and then learnt the intricacies of the Circle Line on the London Underground. In fact it was the same day that I first saw a very funny street entertainer in Leicester Square. He was a black chap and quite the Londoner. A natural crowd pleaser whose final trick was to spin on his head several times. He makes a very brief appearance in 'The Rules of Attraction' as part of the 'London Montage' made up of camcorder footage. I don't know if he still appears at Leicester Square, but he was there for a good few years.

I often wonder whether I would give my child, if I had one, the same sort of independence. I'd like to as it didn't do me any harm, but what if something happened? You could never forgive yourself.

Dancing

"I don’t believe in the concept of post-feminism. I mean, the posts late
enough as it is without women getting involved."

Back in 2001 I was a very silly goose of an 18 year old and used to find various ways of amusing myself at work. Most often, these attempts at 'funning myself up' took place in the toilets. I remember how I went through a phase of messing about with bleach. The cleaners would often leave bottles of bleaches in the toilet; I would elicit some sort of fun by taking these into the the cubicles and squirting the entire contents into the toilet. Perhaps I thought I was sticking one finger up to the man. Then again, perhaps I was just angry with the unsanitary conditions of our toilets.

My favourite act of madness, though, was to dance in the toilets. I would strut in, check my hair in the mirror, make sure that no one else was about and then perform some freeform dancing. Occasionally I'd incorporate a more traditional dance such as 'The Mash Potato'. It was a classic case of getting a thrill from the fear of being caught. I never was caught, but the thought of it sparked unknown pleasures. The thought of someone catching me, whilst high kicking and hip-thrusting, affected parts of my anatomy in ways that I would rather not discuss.

As with most things, the thrill soon wore off. I continued dancing for some time, but the bleach squirting did not last long at all. Just recently, though, I have decided to resurrect the 'dancing'. However, whereas the original set up involved me dancing all round the toilets alone, this time it's slightly different.

If I wander into the toilets and can see that there is someone in a cubicle, then I know that the time is right. I hurry into the cubicle next to them and then shut the door. I then position myself so that I am facing side onto the other 'toiletgoer'. They are not aware of this, unless of course they are peering over or under the divider between the cubicles. When I am ready, I begin to D.A.N.C.E.

As in 2001 it is mostly freeform, but with the occasional traditional piece chucked in for good measure.There's less of a chance of getting caught, unless of course I fall over. However, it makes me laugh to myself no end and I think I'll carry it on for some time.

My mother is very proud of this. Just the other day I heard her on the phone saying: "Ben? Oh he's getting on very well. Only the other day he was dancing the polka next to a chief executive".

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I've recently booked tickets to go see the glam/electro/psyche rave/ band that are Late of The Pier. They're probably the only 'scene' band worth seeing. I've seen them twice before and their live show is phenomenal. They strip down to their chests which are painted with some geometric patterns and occasionally get a masked wizard on stage.

Now, I'm not usually one to get into the spirit of things as it's so easy to come across as a loser. However, I am making an exception for this Late of The Pier gig. I intend to craft myself a nu-rave t-shirt for the event. It will consist of lyrics, the bands name, holograms, neon mesh and various little bits and pieces. I shall no doubt post some pictures here for you to see.

Terrorism, Madness and Arrogance

"I tried to sign up for a signature writing course, but couldn't complete the form"

I see that a plane has crash landed at Heathrow Airport. There were no injuries, but it hasn't done anything to soothe my fear of flying.

The one and only time I have flown was back in November 1998; I went to South Africa for two weeks.

South Africa seems to be in stuck in some sort of timewarp. The whole time I was there, it felt like I was back in 1992. Very odd. My parents have been back several times and in 2003 they brought me a South African music magazine back. Pretty much every single artist featured looked like a badly styled early 90's musician. Believe me, it's not pretty.

Anyway, yes! I flew in 1998 with no trouble. No fear, no nothing. The only thing that annoyed me was the fact that the whole flight process seems like some sort of nightmare. You can't sleep, there's not much room and sitting for 12 hours in one spot is thoroughly life sapping.

A few years after that I suddenly began to think "But what if the plane had crashed? CRASHED?!". I can't remember whether this was before or after 9/11, but that event certainly didn't help.

Since 9/11 how many planes have been involved in terrorist plots? None! That doesn't stop me worrying though!

I have, however, looked into the options of 'safe' flying - where the chance of terrorism is low. The following points show how you can reduce your chances of death.

1. Don't Fly At All
This pretty much guarantees no chance of dying from aviation related terrorism. Unless of course you work in a tall building. This option is not for me though. Although I don't feel the urge to backpack around the world, there are a few places that I would like to visit - Tokyo, New York, Paris and Italy. I will have to fly there somehow!

2. Don't Fly From The UK
Due to the UK's alliance with the US, we have become a target of terrorism. You only have to look at the horror of 7/7 to see that people want to hurt us. A plane taking off from the UK is ideal for a terrorist to hijack. You could be in London within half an hour at the most. Therefore, it would perhaps be best to fly from a country who haven't done too much to upset the extremists. Bulgaria, for example. There are however two problems with this:

A - How would I get to mainland Europe? The Channel Tunnel? HA! Again it's a target for terrorists. A bomb goes off in there and then the sea floods the whole damn thing. I could of course go by ferry, but again there are potential dangers. A terrorist could hijack the vessel and go down the Thames in it. The Houses of Parliament would then be a prime target.

B - I'm too tight to pay the extra money.

3. Take A Private Flight
Did you not hear me? I'M TOO TIGHT TO PAY THE EXTRA MONEY!!!

4. Book A Ridiculously Timed Flight
This is the only viable option I have come up with so far. I need to plan my flight times, so that they're not at peak times. Why would a terrorist want to nosedive into London at 4 in the morning? It's not going to cause as much death or carnage is it? I also need to aim to arrive in my destination at an off peak time. I don't think it should be so hard to arrange. This also has the added bonus that an off peak flight should be slightly cheaper.

I hope that you find this of some help.

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I bought a CD single for the first time in years yesterday. Note that I said CD single, as I have bought several vinyl singles in the recent past. A lot of bands I like release vinyl only releases, so it's good to get them. Sometimes they become worth fair bit of money, but they also look rather smart.I dare anyone to deny the magnificence that is the cover to 'Reptilia' by 'The Strokes'.

Getting back on track, the CD that I bought was NW5 by Madness. I was pleasantly surprised to hear that they had a good single out. In my opinion. It could easily have been plucked from their peak. It has all the classic Madness trademarks - A sweet yearning chorus, a hint of nostalgia and a sax solo. I don't usually buy CD singles as they are somewhat of a ripoff, but I was genuinely moved by the song. It gave me a warm feeling to see that men in their 40's were still capable of pulling a rabbit out of the hat.. That was why I decided to reward them with £2.99 of my money.

I met Suggs once, actually. It was in Leicester Square back in Spring 1999. I shook his hand and he seemed to be a thoroughly decent chap.

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My GCSE history teacher once called me the most arrogant person she had ever met. I was laughing about that today and recalled a funny incident from 2002. Please note that I'm not arrogant, I just like to wind people up. So, here is the scene:

I am in the back of Laura's car on a Friday night. Laura is Sam's girlfriend. Laura is driving Sam and I up town. Laura is moaning about how I'm arrogant and a pisstaker. Sam leaps to my defence.

Sam: Nah, Ben's alright.

Ben: I'm sorry, Sam, but I'm going to have to correct you there. Ben is ALWAYS right.

Sam and I start laughing. From what I recall, Laura then attempted to crash the car.

Ciao!

"I bought a new bike today and I really don't know what to do with my old one. I wonder if it's recyclable"

Now that I'm 25, I've begun to ponder my place in the world.

I really don't know where I fit in in society. If I walk in to Wetherspoons pub, then I struggle to want to interact with the majority of the inhabitants. They generally want to be loud and talk about 'proper' things such as Radio 1 DJ's. I always used to think that indie clubs, would offer me somewhere to fit in, but they're mostly full of loud scenesters talking about 'proper' Radio 1 Dj's such as Jo Whiley.

Does it bother me though? No, not really. I've never had any real desire to be hugely popular. I'm happy with the friends I've got, so that's all that matters.

It doesn't make social events any less awkward though. Maybe I should pre-plan interesting things to say to people. Train myself to hold a conversation that doesn't just involve nodding and the occasional tilting of the head. The problem is, the sort of things that tickle my conversational bone are usually quite nerdy.

For example: VENDING MACHINES!

My god, I am OBSESSED with their control panels! Usually, you just key in a code and then get a Mars Bar for an exorbitant price. However, if you know the right combination of key presses, you can access the control parameters! A whole new world then lies ahead! I imagine you can change the prices of each product and maybe change the display message.

I always get a little jealous when I see the vending machine engineers at work. All that knowledge they hold in their manuals. Sweet Jesus! I'm turning green with envy as I type!

If I ever win the lottery, then I would like to have a workshop full of all sorts of machines. And not just vending ones! I'd perhaps have photocopiers and fruit machines as well. With the help of operator manuals, I would tinker away. I could explore all the hidden possibilities that most people are not meant to see. I guess, in a way, that it makes me nosy. I want to know EXACTLY what's going on below the surface.

Perhaps, I could learn some little tricks that I could use it to gain friendship. I could hang around vending machines and dish out wisdom to the machines patrons.

By now, you're probably thinking that I should get out more and perhaps you're right.

However! HOWEVER!

If you found yourself at a vending machine and had 5 pence less than you needed for a Mars Bar, who would you want there with you? Me or Jo Whiley?

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My doctor once told me that I had a geographic tongue. Frankly I was shocked. I mean, was she trying to say that my tongue looked as though it had been around a bit? Did it look as though it had been to exotic places seeking pleasure?

No!

She meant this:

"Geographic tongue (Erythema Migrans) is a common condition that causes a characteristic appearance, which experts recognise instantly. The tops of the tongue, sides and occasionally, undersurface of the tongue develop irregular, smooth red areas, which may look like the outline of a map. There are usually wavy white lines next to the red patches. You may notice that after a few weeks or months the position of these lines and red patches change. This is why the condition is called erythema migrans in Latin, as its position changes and moves."

Cats and Sleep

"I did a dot to dot puzzle for the first time today. It was as easy as 1,2,3"

I awoke at 5.50am to find myself 42 miles from home and 40 miles from work. Luckily, I had been at my girlfriend's over the weekend and she just happens to live 42 miles from my home and 40 miles from my work.

It’s scary thinking about what could happen whilst you're asleep. You could end up anywhere. Luckily I don’t sleepwalk, but perhaps I should stop sleeping in the nude. Just in case.

I always manage to get to work on time when travelling from my girlfriends. Usually with several minutes to spare. Yet, when I'm travelling from home, I struggle to get in on time. I think that it's a simple case of complacency. With only 2 miles to travel from home, I can be a bit lazy and lie in bed for longer. I also use the bath as an extension of 'lying in'. I can lie there for a good half hour without moving. I cannot be this lazy at my girlfriend's as she has a shower.

The whole experience has taught me something important - Man works to a much higher standard when faced with obstacles. Also, my petrol bill is getting alarmingly high.

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My girlfriend's cats are retarded. One of them is called Angel and is the feline equivalent of a dumb blonde - desperate for attention and dribbles on you. The other is called Muffy and is the feline equivalent of Phil Spector - A sociopath. I hope you didn't think that I was insinuating that a cat had been responsible for the 'wall of sound' production technique.

Anyway, Angel is an irritating cat, but does enjoy being stroked and offers some sort of companionship. Muffy, on the other hand, only comes to you once a fortnight and then only to lick your nose. Despite this, I have been trying hard to win Muffy's friendship. I would see it as some sort of social success; it would also reduce the amount of dribble stains I have to endure. However, the constant rebuttals from 'that' cat have proved too much and I have given up on it.

To prove that things would never be the same between us again, I took some action last night. Muffy was sat, with her back to me naturally, when I took a tin of catfood from out of the cupboard. Her ears pricked up at this, so I placed the can in front of her. She sniffed at it a bit and then looked at me, hoping that I would open it.

It was then that I struck!

I took a tin opener out of the drawer and placed it in front of the cat. I shouted "EAT BITCH!" and then left the room.

I had won!

I awoke this morning to find my favourite jumper peppered with claw shaped holes.

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Someone said to me yesterday that writing a blog is a lot like joining a gym; I think he's right. At first the enthusiasm is there, but slowly it dies away. I'll have to wait and see if I keep this up. A blog does, however, have one advantage over a gym. Before and after writing my blog, I do not have to take my clothes off in front of other undressed men.

Blogged!

"If you wanted to find the most unpopular, weirdest, weakest kid at my school then you had to look no further than me. As I was usually beating him up and stealing his dinner money. "

I spend a lot of my time obsessed with my past and I thought it was a good idea to start a blog. It would help my hunger for precise dating of my life. I have an uncanny memory for things. I always associate a minor event with something major that happened around the same time. For example, I always remember the date that I ended up in hospital for eating too much hash and tripping off my nuts. It was 23rd May 2001. Now, I can remember this as I was due to go to my Brother's flat in Uxbridge that weekend. I was supposed to go down on the Thursday, but due to the previous nights drug hell, I had to go on the Friday. So, why do I remember the date of this 'holiday' to Uxbridge? It's quite simple. I'd started a new job the month before and these were the first days off I'd had from it. You see. No wonder it sticks in my mind.

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I drank some Red Bordeaux last night that I got for Christmas. It was very nice, but I can't help thinking that I should spend an obscene amount of money (Around £100) on a superb bottle of wine. I'm told it's like having an orchestra unfold in your mouth. Although, somewhat more comfortable I hope. I, for one, do not want a string section anywhere near my epiglottis. Or my postcode, for that matter.

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I'm the member of a lottery syndicate at work, but just recently I've begun to wonder whether I should leave it. I've been thinking about what would happen if I got enough money so that I never had to work. I decided that the most likely outcome would be that I become an alcoholic. It must be quite an easy trap to fall into. I expect that I'd get up, take refuge in the bathroom with an array of Molton Brown products, have breakfast, check the internet and then it would be lunchtime. I'd have something hearty, perhaps porterhouse steak and vegetables, then I would think "What would go nice with this? A dinner guest? No, a nice glass of Pinot Noir". Well, I think I'd want a Pinot Noir. I've never actually drunk any. Anyway, the bottle would be opened and I'd have a few glasses and then watch a film. A few more glasses later and I'd have finished the bottle. You must understand that if I drink a pint of beer every day for more than 3 days in a row, I feel that I am somewhat of a bum. Without work we are rather stranded. I imagine that's why so many unemployed people turn to drink. It's not simply because they're depressed. It's quite the opposite. They've got the luxury of no responsibilities. Maybe I'll leave the syndicate and maybe I'll invest in a wine rack.

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In late 2001 my mate Sam had a girlfriend called Laura. She used to do whatever he said, so I came up with the following gem of a joke:

Q. How many Sam's does it take to change a lightbulb?

A. None. He just gets Laura to do it.

I doubt anyone outside of my social circle circa 2001 finds that funny. Least of all, Laura. Perhaps you can appropriate if for one of your friends. Let me know how you get on.