Posts tagged as 'moan'

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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…And I’m Feeling Good.

On Sunday night I'm going to make one hell of a mess in my underpants in a field near Reading. I haven't quite deduced whether it will be defecation through amazement or ejaculation through excitement but one end is sure to blow. What's happening on Sunday? Reading Festival closes with the help of Matt Bellamy, Chris Wolstenholme and Dominic Howard. “Whoop-de-do”, I hear the naysayers utter, “maybe they can play the same set we've seen for the past two years including both Wembley gigs and the Glastonbury headline slot from last year.” Well, yes, maybe at first glance this shouldn't be as clearer contender as it is for my highlight of the weekend. This will be my eleventh time seeing the Teignmouth trio, and like many have fallen out with them a little with the most recent album. It is also notable that the set-list has been pretty solid for the ...

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How to ensure a bartender thinks you’re an idiot [Part 3]

And so we have arrived at the final installment of this series; and I hope you've enjoyed yourselves to a certain degree, however miniscule. This could have no doubt been bashed out as a two-part piece, but trilogies just generally the done thing aren't they – and true to style just like a majority of every other trilogy finale, this closing chapter really scrapes the barrel and makes you question why you ever liked one of the first two. If you fancy reminiscing on the good times we once shared, all that time ago, you can find parts one and two here and here, respectively. And so without further ado: expeliarmus! Initiate a game of “Guess The Mixer!” This complaint is a new kid on the block – and I've no idea how it came about. It involves a customer asking for a spirit and then just expecting the bartender to know ...

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Schmow Patrol

You would be excused for thinking this post could have been written two years ago, however I would argue that it's just fashionably late. So, Snow Patrol. The Irish-now-Scottish fivesome. They bug me. But I did once like them and thus I cannot banish them to the hate list to perish with the likes of Jamie T and Florence. Whilst I can't add them to a growing list which I will surely complain about at a later stage, I can give them their own post, and a report on my personal (irrational, unorthodox, yadi yada) fluctuating opinions of the Bangor boys. They made it onto the scene in 2003 with Final Straw, and you could be forgiven for thinking this was a decent debut. Alas, it was their third – and I think the title says it all. Two albums had been pushed out previously – Songs For Polar Bears, and When ...

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How to ensure a bartender thinks you’re an idiot [Part 2]

If you missed part one, you can check it out here. So we've checked off most of the common complaints – now we're delving into the depths of my personal niggles. And I'm easily niggled. I have nothing witty to say, let's continue... The late Guinness. Okay so this is nothing new; the call for the late Guinness has been a ball ache ubiquitous in bartenders worldwide. This is of course due to the fact that a properly poured Guinness takes time. Thankfully, bars have developed in the bartender's favour and now usually come complete with dreadful taps that murder the drink and leave you best off pulling the whole pint straight up. Still, in those sacred places where a proper Guinness is more than a dream, it's a real pain. Hanging around for peanuts. You've just bought a round for £19.90 and you've paid with a twenty. This is the time to leave the ...

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How to ensure a bartender thinks you’re an idiot [Part 1]

This is part one in a series of a currently unknown number, which I should probably confess has a somewhat misleading title. The complete collection will be a list of things which, whilst working in various bars, have come to grind my gears. And being just a miserable and unreasonably intolerant person means that the title should be: “How to ensure a bartender thinks you're an idiot, providing the bartender is Thom Curtis.” There will be certain entries which will have undoubtedly caused distress for a high percentage of all bartenders, and there will be some which just nark me off personally. So share in my pain, or write me off as a decent human being altogether. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin. Flash your cash. “Oh, I'm sorry sir. It's lucky you're waving that twenty pound note in my face, I was completely oblivious to the wall of people wanting to be ...

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