God Bless You Mr Dougal.

TIRED LIKE A FOX

2011-05-21T11:53:00.003+01:00

Tis my final day in the Norge, after I return to what some call normality and others call hell. It's been a relaxing week and a bit but I now have to return to the bank and ensure that the wheels are turning and ensuring everyones postcodes look right and not fraudulant.

Fuck it, it's apparently the rapture today anyway so hopefully I'll be dead by then.

Yep, going into heaven requires cartoon women with large breasts and a look of curious satisfaction to pursuade.

HELLO!

Have to keep this quick as A, we're going to get some bits from a supermarket in a minute and B, it's the end of the world today so I'm limited for time. Not being religious I find myself at a loss of how to spend the last few hours of my miserable life until I I'm left on a ravaged earth with nothing other than those above sat watching my death on God's hand watching my gruesome death. Of course this is completely justified because everyone knows a good virtuous person is one who enjoys watching the deaths of others. And we all deserved it because we didn't agree. However in reality what's going to happen is a lot of Doom Prophets will be out of pocket tomorrow having sold their belongings and given up their jobs and we'll all just get on with our lives. Until a few years time when some other mad man will gain enough followers and say the world is ending resulting in the process repeating, ad finitum.

Until presumably the world ends.

I was going to put something more relevant here but upon finding a picture of George Lucas apparently bumming Yoda I got sidetracked

There are three things I feel worth learning from the events of "the rapture" anyway so that we can hopefully learn something and move on.

1: The world ending is not a quick process, it will not happen fast no matter how much we will it, in fact it will be a slow gruelling process inwhich people will continue to kick around for years afterwards because we can't let it go. In fact the world will probably end because of a overreliance of unrenewable resources but hell.

2: People can be made to believe anything, so long as it involves subordinating others and a feeling dominating others. I'm not against religion, in many way it teaches a good moral code and life lessons. But when a leftover message from centuries ago of how you have to follow a certain religion of face death in the most horrible of ways, then I start to stop listening. Metaphysics and modern day world do not mix all too well.

3: The media love a good story. Or in this case a terribly stupid story. Which to them is a good story. I was blissfully ignorant about the end of the world till yesterday and now today everyone and their nan knows about the rapture. It's a few individuals in the world who like to waste their belongings on the grounds that a 89 year old told them they wouldn't need them by 6pm. Sod it all. This is now worldwide and we've only got the mass coverage to blame. Bollocks to it anyway.

So there we go, the end of the world lessons. But one thing begs asking.

What about people currently in space? Do they escape the rapture or not?

Sod it all anyway!

Andddddd.....

Fin!

Tom XXxxxXX

MOVED

2011-05-14T15:07:00.005+01:00

I have moved and will move again.

This is to resemble moving. Jpegerific. Whatever happened to terrible clipart, the ones that you could buy from poundstretcher promising 1000's of pictures of badly drawn day to day objects. Those CDs made my childhood, you could buy them cheap along with discount copies of Dogz 3. Whatever happened to Dogz 3? Well they just made Dogz 4. Simple enough.

GØD DAG!!

Or should I say

GOOD DAY!!

Sat in Haugesund not particularly doing an awful lot, Rikkie is working the days and tilling so it gives me enough time to fill in the blanks of what has happened over the last few months et al. "It's been quite eventful" as a historian might say about the industrial revolution, "a lot has happened". One such thing would be the royal wedding, but unfortunately that would have no relevence in my life whatsoever but as a point of reference for what is happening in the world; there you go. Firstly I have moved. As if Manchester wasn't enough I have upped and relocated to the closer to hometown joy that is Leeds. There are benefits to this, I know Leeds well, it has various pub I like to frequent. I know people in Leeds, I can see Arnold Bray and Ronnie the Rhino more than once a year, however Leeds lacks one thing that really would help in life.

Werk. As per usual. The problem here being that Rikkie cannot find work and I'm still in bank job, which is fine if I'm content with spending my life in the darkest corner of a back office looking at something which closely resembles a mixture of the matrix code and a haunted spreadsheet. So away I go looking. In Olso.

So Rikkie has now got work. In Oslo. Oslo is better than most of England. So I did the maths. Olso>Leeds. There we go, maths away. So from this I've decided to try and get out of England. 45% because of David Cameron too. And his massive forehead. But plans in motion and all let's not dwell over careers and all the joys, let me describe some commuters like I used to.

The all new professionals- These are two lads, about my age who catch the train at the same time every day. They are the perfect bridge between what can be described as "the younger generation" and "old cuntish businessmen". But these aren't too bad. Same cannot be said for...

Dance music Businessman- Dance music businessman must have been into rave during the eighties. He looks borderline last of the summer wine material and listens to the most lo-fi dance music through earphones which must make more noise outside than inside the ear. It strikes me as strange that such an smartly dressed man can listen to such modern shit.

The soggy boy- College goer who seldom appear on the train, I'm undecided whether his long hair has wet or unwashed. Looks like an explosion in a gaudy factory. Wears clothes with silver on. Annoys me, but only through the jealously that I can no longer dress like a train wreak anymore.

And lastly...

The rival boots man- On commuter trains there is usually little room to sit, especially since Guiseley is the last stop before the city. This makes standing places highly sought after, each carriage has 4 leaning bars near to the train doors. We both run for these, in the land of the blind, the leaning bar man is king. Each morning on the platform we position ourselves to near where to door stops so that we can sieze these places as soon as possible. As he wears large boots.

Devil looks pretty male to me.

Kind regards,

Tom.

PS; will proof read later when I give two shits.

DANCE DANCE DANCE DANCE

2010-10-26T18:50:00.003+01:00

Sorry I'm not sure what heppened there, I phased out and it was October. As for the previous months I can only summerise what happened during the period.

Buses and Chaps.

(That's clearing house automated payment system...)

HELLO!

It has been roughly 6 years since I last web logged about the recurring infrequent joys contained in the period that I call my life. Where to be begin to update you? Personally I know myself well enought to say that my short term memory is the worst part of the grey matter in my head so I shall describe what has been happening in the long term.

I have joined a gang. Not a biker gang, for I do not own any form of two wheeled vehicle nor multipled wheeled vehicle for that matter. This therefore excludes me from being in any car gangs if you are not very bright, like say Mr Tiger Little. However it is a gang of bus users, yes I have become a commuter. This transition was not one that stands out as a proud turn in my life, however a necessary one, say a 17 year old learns that they must stop playing with Lego. A commuter to me is someone in London who goes to a job which the countries masses of corperate centre relies on. I am neither in London or doing anything that will change the world.

But a gang none the less, which is odd because it is a silent gang, in that we do not talk to one another, but rather eminate a mutual respect because we got up early for reasons we don't like but we won't like the man deter our spirits. In this gang are three people, we alone are enough to know that between us the gang is big enough and strong enough to conquer fallowfield.

Wouldn't be difficult, it's a shithole.

So who is in this gang? Myself obviously, and you know myself, that big coat wearing twat I am, I would say I'm the nearest to the leader as I am the bravest, yes, I wave down the bus in the morning (That's the 7.30 Finglands to Piccadilly I'll have you know) (Fuck those Magic Buses). First to the stop, the most punctual some say, is Mr Beenie Hat, he's a middle aged man with a black hat on, he's the muscle if anything. He could punch through a stagecoach bus some say, straight through like bullet.

Second To him is Tiny Woman, she has the powers of conversation with bus drivers, and the ability of being small, which would come into hand if, say, she was asked to go into a small cupboard. She arrives slightly after Mr Beenie Hat, the rebelious one some say, and has a +1 combat multiplier on fire attacks.
DOGS IN SNOODS!

Love Dougal

XxxxX

(I'll check the grammer later, any mistakes can fuck off)

The mundane constant

2010-06-12T14:03:00.008+01:00

Sat at flat, it's been about a billion years since I've posted a response. But alas I feel an imperative to do so due to having the free time, I've spent the last 6 months in a self replicating cycle of actioning bank shit and sleep. This circular lifestyle has altered time, and now I feel the world is shuttling faster than ever and I shall be 60 before I know it.

Bullshit aside.

But yes I feel like the last 6 months of working have gone faster than say, any half a year on record. Which leads me to believe that there is either a government conspiracy to speed up the time of day, say what was once 24 hours is now, 2 days, and each day is now 12 hours. Maybe I'm just getting old and notice things less, the pent up commuter inside of me is taking over while I shuffle to my mundane location of work and chow down my side portion of metro while looking at numbers on a computer screen. That must be it, I've turned into the person who gets on with his life rather than arguing with the existance of trees or anything else for that matter. Three years of philosophy at university is the equivalent of a brief spell of a psychiatric problem, but rather then attempt a cure, they just cut your head open and poke some more grey matter. And you pay for the priviledge. So am I blaming 3 years in philosophy for my speeded up perception of time?

Yes.

Problem is you eventually have to come back to Earth, after spending 3 years saying how can we never know anything, value is relative, and we can never know there is cake on the table, you're demanded to live in the world you've just picked apart, like trying to wear a jumper that you've just unraveled for the hell of it. So now going into the 'real' world riding on your highhorse fed on meta-ethics and empiricism, a man will approach, shake his head at you and send the horse off the the glue factory. And you get employed as a cog changer in the same factory. Just for the sake of irony. So yes, having to live in a world which you forgot existing about 3 years ago causes the simple solution/problem posing as a solution that we turn ourselves off in order to cope with the mundane constant work.

Don't ask questions, forget the anarchist dreams, and just get on with it, because we've released how much effort it is to live, and costly.

Don't forget costly.

So here's my pact, I'm going to earn enough money to get by, and then on my 30th I'm going to establish myself as an arachist leader. See how far that gets me.

Don't forget plans children. If you're not working towards something, then something is very wrong.

Dougalx

Fat nacks and blank cheques

2010-03-11T10:49:00.004Z

Alas I am am having this week off due to my fat neck. this started on monday when I awoke in great pain having laid on my neck for a long peroid. I've tried jabbing it with a pin. But regardless it means I have a relaxing week off work costing roughly, one weeks wages.

Could be mumps, could just be a fat neck.

HELLO

T'as been a long time since I last web-logged, and to be honest the reasoning behind this has been long distance travelling or a war or something. I've just been busy being the bank worker, so busy I forgot subtle things like eating, or going outside, and inadvertly, this blog. It's been a fun combination of sitting on a bus, sitting on a computer, and sitting watching the wire. But alas this week I've been told to sit at home and get better, and I'm not allowed into work till I'm all clear. It's almost exactly like being unemployed, only this time I'm being ordered to do it.

Ah well

I'm getting sick of 3D, people forget that the rest of the world is in 3D, so just go out and be amazed. I forget the only way anything can be interesting is if it's on a screen. So I hear. I went to go see Alice in Wonderland and it was not good. It might have been good if it didn't know it was a 3D film, but instead things needed to be running towards the camera as if they knew where it was being filmed from.

It's not what I expect from the writer of the lion king, the plot was the least 3D thing about the film. I'm overstepping the 'my birthdays in June and there are no pantomimes in June' Alice, just because I'm ill.

It's not like High Definition has been haunting our adverts and popular culture for long anyway, it's just a 'where can we take it attitude', what can we sell the masses next. First colour, now better colour, and now better colour and it's 3D. But it remains to say no matter how big your telly, and how elabourate the picture, it'll never change the fact that 98% of channels are utter shite.

Well lastly most overused line in a song.

"I woke up this morning"

closely followed by

"I don't know"

Keep on truckin'

Dougal
XXXxX

The mexican and the love song

2010-01-24T19:31:00.004Z

It's been a few days since the massive two and a three and since I've consumed a bottle of tequila with small norweigan in the form of frozen margaritas. And tonight after slaving over a warm to hottish stove and subsequently stuffing my face with enchiladas I thought I'd settle down and tell the tale of a few nights ago. I'll keep it short because I want to watch the wire.

So anyway I found myself in Leeds, an event which must have happened about 40 times before but alas I've never counted the amount of times I've been to Leeds. However this time was rather special as it meant I would be in attendance to a rather special band, one I hold most dearly, I mutter here about future of the left. On arrival after a day of making sure the customers of Halifax got their fix of online banking needs I was ready to unwind and dance tipsily like a tit in front of many who would never see my face again. Fine by me.

So there I was with my three karass, Mr Bray, Sir Barnstormer, and Miss Whiteley. After a burger king of goodness we shuffled to a place reknown for it's trilby hat wearing punters, also known as the Cockpit. But alas it was sold out.

I'm not one for finding back doors and solid snaking myself into places but at that point I would have done a hell of a lot to get into that next room where the gig was taking place. The other three had already ownership of three tickets, and unfortunately for this lummocks he was without. I asked at the bar, bordering on asking if they were willing to be bribed and they said they were virtuous people who cared about being shut down because of capacity reasons. I begged with the doormen, but they were the usual door men and immovable from their door protection, but in all my panicking I did not realise there was another way.

And that other way is called Jack Egglestone.

Jack Egglestone is the drummer for future of the left, I spotted his near the door and quickly attempted to seize his attention. I explained my case to him and explained that I'm an avid fan and stalk their forums too much, and god damn it he said I could go on the guest list. It was mainly good luck, someone else had dropped out and so there was a space, so I had entry, so long as I could perform a quick name change to Mike. After that I approached a very confused doorman who had to simply assume that until that point I'd forgotten my name was on the guestlist. And once inside Future of the Left were good. They were so good. And in a drunken state I must have thanked Sir Egglestone fifty times. And quite rightly so, the man's a legend.

It was my first time seeing the band Kong, and they too were very very very good. And after sleeping on a floor with a bag for a pillow I headed jollily back to manchester with Ronnie the Rhino. All true.

And now I will watch the Wire, ring the landlord and dring margaritas

And this will be very very very very good tu.

Keep on truckin'

Dougal XxxxxX

REPENT!

2010-01-21T18:10:00.003Z

Good evening .

Due to forseen circumstances I cannot write too much. It has been a long day and I feel the need to sprawl out on the sofa and convince myself that omelettes and scotch will make tomorrow any different. However I am living a lie. Tell it to the jury.

So I am alone in sexy flat as young norwegian has gone shopping in the huge mass that is commonly called 'the trafford centre' but is more commonly known by people from Yorkshire as 'Meadowhall Manchester'. So in the mean time I am left to defend for myself for the time being and dwell and the day past. My new job concerns 'actioning new' and I am in a department in an office building with teams with elaborate names, ours is something to do with smoke and mirrors. It's all more exciting sounding then it actually is, and all in all the job consists of pressing enter a lot and telling students that they have terrible terrible credit ratings.

We all have terrible terrible credit ratings though. Credit is the biggest farce since Rice Crispies being advertised as exciting.

I have been calling a few unemployed people this week asking how they are getting their money, it's quite interesting really because they want the accounts so they act really serious like they're speaking to someone who knows what he's doing. And all these letters have my name on them, I've never wrote these letter, I do not know what they say. I assume that's why they call it smoke and mirrors though, it's all a show, you expect an elaborate bank office where people in suits have machines that pack letters for them, but no, in reality you have me. God help you.

So this week I have mainly been bitching about Magic Buses for the hundreth time, it's just three times so far have they shut the doors and driven away when I ran to it. So fuck it, next time I see a magic bus I'll bottle the twat. If that even works.

Here is a picture of a house in Hull

Good day sir. And remember this; A banker is a fellow who lends you his umbrella when the sun is shining, but wants it back the minute it begins to rain.

And now I shall go before I rip off Mark Twain some more.

Dougal XxxxxX

'...and a happy new year'

2010-01-02T15:08:00.003Z

Just keep this short due to Bond films being on television and lack of effort.

Two thousand and ten, or twenty ten, or two nought one nought. Either way it's still another year on the list, and one very close to what the mayons called the end of the world or possibly their calander maker forgot to keep going after 2012. It's still not a good film.

So anyway I have been employed by the old bank to do something with other peoples money, all for the generous amount of minimum wages. Still I've spent the last month doing something else for banks, but mainly the job was writing numbers of pieces of paper and laughing at passport photos. But what can you do? But this time the job comes with perks, yes, this time I get to use a phone. A phone I tell you! And training is given for once! Perks all around, with plenty of banter.

So what a year it has been, with many movements and masses of travellings to hither and dither. I've always had the question put to me, where do I see myself in a year? Well a year ago I didn't think I'd be living in Manchester, by this logic I have no idea where I could be. Russia perhaps. Space? Who knows. But regardless, I'm glad I'm not in Goole. Or in a mouldy Hull house.

More later, when I can be bothered.

Hitler duck? What did you expect from Disney.

Love Dougal X

I told her on Alderaan...

2009-12-28T18:26:00.003Z

I'm having trouble with electric fields, and all I can get out of my turntable at the moment is a buzzing, so before I kick it into the future I shall listen to the Neon Neon CD I got till I've heard all the 12 songs about the life and doings of John DeLorean.

It's been a short and eventful festive season, filled with shocks and awe and many a present giving and taking. I recieved four wash bags, so I believe the giving part was mainly clouded by the hidden message that I should get a bath, although it could be interpreted as well that I spend too much time in the bathroom. I now own more moisturiser than could possibly be used in the space of my lifetime. At least my face isn't flaking off. For now. Tigermilk!
So yes, eventful, full of buying and selling, much like a stock market of christmas cheer, but with more drinking. Since I have reached my quota of drinking, I shall furthermore cut out on alcosauce till the next christmas. So the bottle of Jager and two bottles of single malt are going to have to wait for all the joys of consumption. I would state this tale mentioned here to be the worst experience;

Alas I was returning to the joys of Hull, and down the Clive Sullivan way I passengered, and towards the joys of the Hull christmas market I was anticipating. I'd been sliding to work every day and through seeing the massive Manchester district of a christmas market, wouldn't have minded some overpriced staring at sweets and mulled wine. However on arrival of Hull I couldn't help but think something was wrong, it felt quiet, bordering on empty, like an area where the apocalypse has been announced and a few stragglers have not been informed. I had to purchase a bathrobe for a small Norwegian from La Senza and had a heavy night at the usual haunts in the previous 12 hours ago. So in La Senza I felt like a pillock, and upon finding out I had no money on me, had to go run and borrow some off siblings. But I felt it was all in good humour, until it wasn't and became awkward. I still cannot get over how small it is now, Manchester suddenly feels like the norm, Hull now feels a thousand times smaller, and the 115 bus route now feels walkable.

What I'd do to be able to own the Adelphi. I'd kill to be a young Paul Jackson. But in a way I could imagine that being my own Hell.

I would post a painting of a little house down Ventnor street, but unfortunately I cannot find my camera lead. But if it's any condolence having kicked my turntable into working I can inform that Tigermilk is an amazing album and you should probably hit yourself in the teeth for not owning it.

I'll add it later :D I'll end on a proverb, you lucky twats.

To be happy for an hour, be drunk

To be happy for a year, fall in love

To be happy for life, take up gardening

FIN!

Love Dougal XxxxxxxxxxX

No idea

2009-12-13T14:30:00.002Z

I've got to do a lot of things, but first I must explain I have no idea what the previous blog is about. I remember some odd things about last night, like singing Pato Banton and UB40s redition of "baby come back" and queuing to get in the Royal only to leave as soon as we got to the door.

Interesting.

So if I could have my perfect dinner party this is a list of people I would invite.

Lugwig Wittgenstein- father of modern philosophy, autistic Austrian millionaire who stalked Bertrand Russell and lived around the corner from where I live now in Manchester.

Kurt Vonnegut Jr- Sci-fi writer and all around liberal. Wanted to sue the tobacco industry because smoking hadn't killed him.

Kim Deal- Pixies bassist and front of the breeders. It was between her and Frank Black, but she waved at me at Leeds Festival in 2004 so she makes the list.

Beck- unsurprising as I spent a couple of years only listening to Beck, but I can imagine he'd weird it up.

Zooey Deschanel- Damn you Ben Gibbard, but to be fair he wrote the song "such great heights" and with this I cannot compete. And even if I tried I'd be beaten to death by a small Norwegian, so I'll just keep this dinner party hypothetical.

And...

...Fin

Love Dougal xxxXxxx

A drunken rant

2009-12-13T03:35:00.006Z

Jager is warming, in the same way that you can heat your self in winter by toasting your self up by licking ice. But regardless i've attempted the first jager based labotomy so I can write a new blog.

And hell it worked.

So all you are shouting (all -3 of you) why haven't you updated this awful piece of your besetted internet. And my excuse is in multiple areas. And this may contain spelling mistakes, as I'm not using my small Norwegian associates laptop which runs a spell checker as she needs to work, and I'm a tad sloshed.

It happens to us all, particularly this point of the year.

So first obvious excuse is that I have a job doing things for a company which I cannot tell anything about for legal reasons. Hehe Cheeky legs. But I'm banking like a banker, one that doesn't have the drive of Gary Bray and I'm doing my best to not get sacked. I feel I might get taken on if I don't write too many blogs, of which the content the daily mail cannot find a story from. And lets faucet, 10% of the daily mail is about incompetant bankers, and 25% is about animals in gay waistcoasts and the rest is about foreigners doing this and that, and we really don't like them doing it.

My head is acutely spinning.

Tonight it took us about twenty minutes to realise we shouldn't go in a Goole club. The only time before I ended up dancing to a mirror and sticking out my tongue to stretch it, and this time we didn't get over the threshold. And that is a good word.

McNulty rocks and all that jazz.

I would post a picture, but I haven't been painting, or am near any camera to photograph anything. But I shall leave the image of Alistair Darling doing the Hustle

Brain shutting down now..... James Cameron...

...is shit...

For a good time call 0871 222 3330 ;)

2009-11-24T14:20:00.003Z

It's true that in Manchester you are never more than 5 feet away from a bus. This is because buses are bloody everywhere, to the point where they are allocated to individual people. And crossing the street has to be planned with military precision or a 'magic' bus will run you into the tarmac.

Good day!

It has been raining for forty days and forty nights in Manchester, and it's got to the point in the uear where you have the put on the room lights mid-afternoon. I'm sat poking at people via email asking if they would be so kind as to give me a damn job, while also stealing amazing gingerbread cookies bought from Ikea. Ah Ikea. It was yesterday when we dragged our sodden corpses to that massive blue splot and returned. Ikea is similar, or even interchangeable with the word Hell to me, there is something about the size of the store daunting over the landscape that terrifies me. And to have to follow a set route around the store gives the feel that you are not shopping, rather something more exciting, like visiting a zoo. But you are shopping, and with the set route system you are being dragged through seventeen hundred more metres than you wanted to walk.

One of the most depressing sights I've ever witnessed was in Ikea. For the celebration of an invention of their 'billy' bookcase (30 years since it's conception) Ikea was throwing a special event to advertise this, and some bright spark had found a very interesting way to do this. You see Billy is also the name of William Shakespeare, and of course that means to advertise the Billy Bookcase it would be a great idea to get 3 fully grown men to dress up like William Shakespeare and do a performance. But unfortunately there are no stages in Ikea, however the whole world is but a stage, so they found these three men an alcove in Ikea where virtually no one stopped to watch their play. And then the fire alarm went off after a car caught fire outside the entrance. And on that day I saw three men dressed as Shakespeare stood in Ikea a dull car park shivering in tights.

And the days are so dull, today I got dazzled by the lights in the lift. I guess my eyes aren't used to the brightness. Roll on Spring.

Actually it isn't even Winter yet.

I'm hibernating.

Love Dougal X

If only we could all be Martin Sheen

2009-11-16T14:58:00.006Z

"If you're going through Hell, keep going!" said Churchill, probably on a day similar to today with the rain and the coldness biting his nips. And he was right, who'd want to visit Hell? However if you're going through Hull, it's alright to stop off at Princes Quay.

Good afternoon!

It has been a slow day, week and month, filled with more twists and turns then the plot of Midsummer Murders, but I cannot complain, as in this time I have had chance to master my technique of making Chai Tea Lattes. However I can never make them as good at they do at Sun Cafe. Never will, they've got powers beyond me. It's small things like this that make me miss Hull, things like the Adelphi Club and McCoys, and now I find myself in a city where I know no such spots and do not have the financial stability to go out every Monday with Tim Lee to drink and guitar it up in front of an unwitting audience.

Hull probably doesn't miss me, I kept kicking it.

I was thinking the other day about motto's after a bizarre job application required me to ask the question what is my motto and why? I'd really never paid any attention to this idea of my life having a phrase which restricts my actions, and I spent the week walking around dwelling on how I could have a motto for my life. I asked my dad, but his didn't seem to capture what I wanted. Apparently the Donnelly family motto is 'keep quiet and carry a big stick'. It was later on when I was sat in Red Chili when I thought of rules that I've held all my life.

'Always eat all the meat and never leave a pint'.

Scary face.

And finally I was wandering towards my weekly visit to Wasim, when I noticed a usual shitty nightclub poster covered in girls in bikinis. The tagline was 'let's get bungalowed'. We need to stop nouns becoming verbs and adjectives needlessly.

Love Dougal

XxxxX

Unemployment and the hive mind old women

2009-11-09T14:51:00.000Z

Good day

Today has been a stressful but constructive day, and I shall type a more elaborated account rather then simply staring out of the window and describing what animals there are. Okay I'll quickly do that as well...

1 Magpie

That is all, so anyway now I've got R.E.M playing and the flat is warmed up and I can feel my hands again I will proceed. Today began with a blog about the animals outside my window, this was to avoid anything such as making breakfast or putting on socks. So with a wiggle and a scoot I was out in the cold of Manchester walking towards the curry mile to beg for a job. It was a definite mile and half walk and not a bus ride because every cold morning about 200 students fill the bus stop, pavements and roads waiting for a magic bus. The whole process of getting on a bus and takes as long as it does to walk into town, and with the added of someone sat on you.

So on arrival a nine I was welcomed by a queue of dolers. I felt awkward but it was the usual routine, stand like in the school yard and wait to be let in, except with the added note that the people at the front were drinking cans of Holsten Pils. I would have joined them but thought it was a bit early. My drinking threshold is ten o'clock.

But since this morning I have two interviews, so Woop! And then got top player on Team Fortress, and then Sonic did a hadouken, and the ink cartridges I got from Argos only took a minute to arrive.

But it was while I was buying ink cartridges in Argos when I noticed it at first, there were tell tail signs, then when I ran to dodge a tram I was certain, that old women have a hive mind. It started with tell tail signs such as old women talking to anyone as if they were close friends, but then I found other signs that most old women have similar tastes in clothes and perms. And then it hit me, they must share consciences and thoughts. What else could account for them referring to anyone as 'love' and having deep conversation before saying bye like they'll see you again tomorrow.

Definitely hive mind.

I would post a picture of the omelet I conjured the other day, but because I can't find the camera lead have Goole underwater instead.

Love Dougal

X

Things that were outside my window today

2009-11-09T08:20:00.001Z

It's cold today as I haven't yet put on any heaters. So as I wander around my flat at an ungodly hour I shall inform you what was outside my window this morning, as well as pouring a bowl of cornflakes.

Outside my window was

1 gray squirrel

Various magpies

An orange cat

And now I'm going to bother Wasim and ask him for jobs. Fun times!

Dougal

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I prefered the devil when he was red and blamed that guy

2009-10-26T13:46:00.000Z

This cat is called Sissi, she is fat

I was just about to walk towards what is popularly labeled Manchester when I though I'd wangle onto the internet and vent about the lack of cornflakes in my flat and the amount of bowls that were unwashed today. Alas I have not had any cornflakes today. It's all about Weetabix anyway.

So Hello!

I've just been reading through the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy after the longest recorded book reading hiatus ever since records began. It's been about 6 years since I last picked it up. But anyway it's so I can transfer immediately to the 'tribute' by Eoin Colfer as soon as possible, so at the moment in between applying for everyfuckingjob I'm also reading about the famous Krikkit Wars. Amazing. But anyway for now I am sat in the usual space, assuming the position, and while I read what the internet has to offer and listen to various features Spotify can hand over.

The past weekend has involved spending what should be my rent of cheap alcohol, dragging lost Goolies around Manchester to buy more cheap alcohol and swearing at little AU children.

If there's anything the world can do without it is AU children. They flock in their waddles with their sports hoodies on and accents and occupy space that could easily be occupied by someone five times more objectively useful. They talk on their phones about what happened the previous night and how they ended up at the generic nightclub name here and saw a number of people who either abbreviate their name by shortening it and adding Y to the end. And they take their shorts and peroxide hair to the nearest group of clones of themselves and then proceed to stand in queues at supermarkets buying nothing but sainsbury's own vodka and cola.

Perhaps because I have as much motivation as fucked treadmill but I do not 'get' these people, and perhaps because I have some deep desire to be them is the reason I find the strength to hate them. Perhaps I wish I could walk around in shorts all of Winter and wear a badly produced hoodie with my witty team name printed on the back and consider myself cool.

Perhaps next time I walk around student areas I'll walk on my side of the pavement, and they can walk in front of a bus.

And don't even mention rich students.

Lots of Love

Dougal

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Ghost in a wishing well

2009-10-23T23:55:00.000+01:00

Good evening

I've spent many days now watching the magpies and squirrels raid our bins from the park we back onto. Those little things to do, watch as the tiny creatures tag team the bags, a crowd of magpies and a straggle of squirrels sit on the wheelie bins rim as one jumps down into the arena and wrestle the bin bag into an inch of it's life. Apparently the current champion is a fox who waltzes down ever so ofter.

I'm starting a betting racket on it.

So yes tonight I have mainly drunk while watching The Usual Suspects. There is no pun meant there I can assure, I have never seen the film before and guessed the ending. To do this I used a particular philosophy I hold when it comes to mysteries and crime dramas. Every film can be reduced to Scooby Doo, in the most basic of sense. Let me be Frank.

Never mind. It is called Scooby Doo Logic

In Scooby Doo we are bombarded with numerous characters which are not the usual 5 or 6 if you want to include that little fuck Scrappy Doo. With these characters you know you already know who the culprit is, and besides it's no fun if the person responsibly is someone external and not introduced to or else a twist is pointless. You might as well have Simon Weston being responsible for everything, I'm not sure why but it's true. Motive should be found along the way, usually by Thelma because she's the least sexual attractive of her and Daphne and therefore most intelligent. Oh Daphne. Maybe Thelma's just a late bloomer. Where was I?

Yes! That was it, in Scooby Doo logic there is usually a mean character, like in most crime drama. It is usually never them, this is the ringer, someone who has been thrown to you to make you think it's them because of their attitude when in fact it's the friendly gardener who knew about some gold buried under the building site where he's been dressing up as a ghost to scare people away from. Bastard kids, but Daphne can be forgiven. It's not her fault.

So I conclude with a question; Daphne or Wilma?

Life is terrible. But jager is not.

Love Dougal

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To begin at the beginning

2009-10-19T12:09:00.000+01:00

Hello

'I've moved', that's what you're thinking "you've moved because you thought you were too good for Myspace. Well you're wrong get back into the dark corner you are typing at and die, and never darken my towels again"

To that I will reply "okay".

So let me bring you up to speed as someone else would say, I'm living in Manchester with a flat I cannot afford, in a country where the job climate has drove off a cliff while drink driving and within the boundaries of my diminishing funds I have developed an addiction to gnocchi and kinder eggs. And how do I feel? Alright really, if not slightly cold. It's not all doom and gloom, I have a few things to keep me sane, namely a bottle of emergency Jagermeister and a small Norwegian for company. To get me out and about I have a lax routine of visiting my friend Wasim at the Job centre, wandering about parks in a strictly non-seedy way and attempting to sing.

I've been in this situation for a month and a half now, and expect to be like the hairy man who sits next to the cash point at tesco in a few days. Fat chance. I'd never be able to grow a beard like that. It's impressive, but it is known that most homeless people end up so because of beard maintenance. So I'll never be homeless because of my lack of being able to grow facial hair, obviously. But just to be safe I'm looking for any line of work in Manchester, except dirty street work posted by scam companies. I've even applied for customer service at a bingo hall.

Living the dream.Just so you don't got empty handed, here is a photo of a giraffe I painted for 1000000 giraffes.

Now be gone. I'm going to lie down and listen to dark side of the moon for the somethingth time.

I said good day sir!

XXXxxxXXX