Posts tagged as 'London'

Now The Olympics Have Blown Over…

Now that the London Olympics have blown over, I feel it’s time to write a few words about them. You’d forgotten they even happened, hadn’t you? As our mainstream news media isn’t completely saturated with Olympic fever any more and we’re back to the ‘classic’ murders and kidnappings from the pre-Olympic era, everyone has all but forgotten the momentous month we had recently. You couldn’t glance at a single publication without Sebastian & Coe slyly raping your eyes, as everybody and all of their dogs put pen to paper in honour or the London games. But here I am, fashionably late, to remind you that they did actually happen, and, although my blood boils at people milking things to death (by that I am not referring to poorly-trained dairy farmers, more so people who turn their birthday into a birthweek; you’re not the bloody Queen, come on now) I do ...

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The Wild NHS Chase

The NHS. Doctors, nurses, and their associates. We don’t like to see them. Nothing necessarily against the individual, but it isn’t all that often you pop in to see one just for a chat and a cup of tea, is it? There’s usually some form of pain or discomfort that takes us to our GP, and (the vast majority of) people don’t tend to get their kicks from pain or discomfort. I found myself in this position, and somewhat foolishly thought getting seen by a GP, or in fact anyone with a relevant professional opinion, would be straightforward. Think again.   I’d had a stiff neck and shoulder for a couple of days by the time I thought about doing something about it. I’m one of those people that will usually just wait and see how things pan up, and something like a stiff neck which I deduced was probably due to ...

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Moving, Just Keep Moving.

Moving, just keep moving. Til’ I don’t know what I’m saying. I’ve been moving so long, the days all feel the same.   I’ll break it to you now, this post has nothing to do with Supergrass, but there’s always time for a plug. I haven’t quite worked out what it is about that track that has it cemented in the “Best Supergrass Song” slot in my memory banks, but I’m pretty sure it’s all down to the bass and piano in the chorus. I can’t sit still to it, I really can’t.   Anyway, onwards to the main feature, all about moving house in London Town. You may have heard horror stories, or you may have heard nothing at all (I’d go to a Doctor about that if I were you. In fact, you’re probably used to the fact you’re deaf by now, don’t worry about it.), but I’m going to share my ...

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Sunday’s Ground Gears

The title of this post goes as far to suggest that whilst Sunday is the day of rest for misguided Christians, it is always without fail a day of frustration for myself. But alas, it isn’t. I don’t spend my Sundays doing a great deal as a precautionary measure; the fewer things I come into contact with, the fewer things can rub me up the wrong way. It just happened to be this particular Sunday that a couple of things buried themselves in my skull and tagged themselves under ‘annoyances.’ Maybe I was especially succeptable to irritations that day (unlikely, I just have to think about the possibility of it raining within the next few months and I’m fuming), or maybe it had come to my attention that I should write a blog post and set about observing potential subjects. I’ve got a post in the pipeline about my recent experiences ...

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This is a Circle Line service to: Where you started.

Oh hai everyone. Remember me? I know, it’s been a while hasn’t it? I’m like that Great Uncle you only ever see at weddings and funerals who knows everything about you but yet you haven’t the foggiest who he is or how he has anything to do with you. All you know is that he is one of the messiest eaters of sausage rolls you’ve ever seen, and he is in dire need of a nasal-hair-trimmer. Well no, I’m not like that at all. I don’t know anything about you, my nose hair hasn’t reached embarrassing lengths yet (although there’s probably more up there than on my brow), and I can pack away a dozen sausage rolls with minimal crumbage. It’s probably the fact I douse them in brown sauce prior to engulfing that binds all the pastry flecks, but back on track, it has been a fair time since ...

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