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Thursday, June 25, 2015

Operation Don'tbeaf******miserable****

Yesterday I was a miserable bastard.

I don't being a miserable bastard.

So I initiated Operation Don'tbeafuckingmiserablecunt.

First up was a shopping spree:





Then a quiet beer:






Then I treat my tastebuds to some absolute beauty:










Then I wrote to Happy Socks to tell them that I wasn't happy:














Am I any less miserable?  A bit.  But then I realised...whoa!
























Finally, I promised you some tits.  As I am still not totally un-miserable, I enclose just one nipple:















































Oh, you were expecting a sexy lady, weren't you?

























































ps It isn't me.  I'm not that fat.










But tonight I have beers with old colleagues, tomorrow my dearest Italian friend is making me a meat feast pizza, Saturday I have leaving drinks for a good friend, followed by a roast on Sunday and meeting a Twitter buddy in the process.

And next weekend, each day is with one of my very favourite immigrants, plus I have booked two days holiday for next week (only because it will be too hot in the office - 35'C is possible outside) and it is just two weeks until I switch my fucking computer off and go snort loads of crack off the backside of the fattest gay Guardia Civil bloke I can find.

Yes.  Ibiza.













It was worth reading all of my utter drivel, wasn't it?

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

James vs Happiness Nazis

Happiness Nazis.  I am sure that you know one or two.  As soon as you dare consider dribbling out a tiny bit of dissatisfaction about your life, they are onto you telling you what percentage of the world’s population do not have clean drinking water.

Wonderful.  So now I have a guilt trip on top of being miserable.


The thing is though.  I want to be a Happiness Nazi.  Or at least share the Happiness Nazi’s constant joy of life.  The guarantee that every day will be a happy, sunshine-filled day of smiles and joy.

How do they do it?

There isn’t a clear pattern.  Some seem to have found spiritual salvation in religion.  Others love every day of their job.  Some are married or in strong relationships.  Others are just good at hiding their bad moods.  I clearly don’t qualify for any of these.

Or they have babies.  Fuck that.  Practice would be nice though.

I don’t want to get rid of such emotions as anger and frustration, as they are fairly easy to channel into positive reactions.  But I wish I could have an instant miserable off-switch.

Thankfully it doesn’t happen very often, maybe once every 2-3 months, lasts a couple of days and then it is all life is sunshine again.  Or at least sunshine with fair weather cloud.  Though I am hating the sunshine being in this hot office.  That really doesn’t help my mood.

There isn’t a single reason why I have woken up unhappy.  Nothing has changed.  There is no rational reason why I was happy last week, but not this week.  I know, totally irrational.  Stick your swastika smiley up your arse.

I do need a rest.  I spend all week working, with 2.5 hours travelling every day, then the weekend arrives and I spend most of it studying.  Not quite sure if going to Ibiza in 2 weeks qualifies as rest.  And as soon as I get back I will be house-hunting and then in August moving house.  Oh joy.  At least last time I moved house I didn't fuck up so maybe I have worked out how to do it now.

But like there isn’t a particular reason for being miserable, there isn’t a particular fix.  Does Michael Gove mind sentences that start with the word "but"?

Tomorrow I will write a this-is-why-i-am-happy-again blog post.  Probably.

It will be filled with pictures of gravy and beer.  And maybe some tits.

I do have a plan for tonight.  It doesn't involve studying.  Or cleaning my room, or ironing or any other inane bullshit.  Actually most of the plan is bullshit but it's my kind of bullshit.

For now dear Happiness Nazis - Fuck off and let me be a miserable bastard.

And if that fails, I get paid on Friday so I will go buy some ecstacy and a hooker.

Or maybe some holiday clothes.

By the way, if I ever shave off my mullet, I am considering growing a Hitler tash to replace it.

Thursday, June 04, 2015

My First Ever Funeral

I went to my first funeral on Monday.

I feel lucky in very many ways with my life, I’ve not really had to suffer grief or hardship – although my school years were miserable, violent and hellish, they do pale into insignificance I feel compared to many throughout the world.  And nowadays my life is pretty much full of glitter and gravy.

It was a semi-close relative that passed away.  Not a blood relative and he had been ill for a while so it wasn’t unexpected.

I don’t like going into details about other’s lives on my blog, given that it is so public so I am not going to extrapolate about whom it was.

Having never been to a funeral before, I really didn’t know what to expect.  It was quite upbeat, and hopefully the last time I have to listen to country and western music.  I was a pallbearer, which was a real honour.  I was rather nervous about it – if I put a foot wrong anywhere else in my life, interview, date, job, nightclub toilet, whatever, it doesn’t matter.  This did.  Hence my nerves.

It all went swimmingly fine and then we went to a local pub and had a plate of sausage rolls.  There may have been some other items on the buffet too but I am unable to clarify.

The one over-bearing thought at the end of the day was just how lucky I am to have such a great family.  It is really touching to see how everyone came together.  I do wish that they were a little closer to hand, but one cannot have everything in life.  Yet.