Steven Paul Allen's Stories of Woe

I've stopped biting my nails for Christmas and the reason is so that I can eat chocolate coins with relative ease. Normally it can be a bit of a bugger opening the coins without nails, but I have foreseen the troubles ahead and grown my nails specially. Today I got my first chance to enjoy prizing open a chocolate coin and I can confirm my nails were long enough and did the trick a veritable treat. What a treat.

Now onto what I would do if I was prime minister. It is quite simple; I would abolish pavements in favour of conveyor belts, like the ones you get at airports to aid in the long walk between terminal and gate. All you would need to do is waterproof the system and you’re away. I would also be in favour of building aerial runways between your bedroom window and your place of work. Everyone would have one, but only if they wanted it mind. Next up on the agenda would be to outlaw councils, all they do is pick up your rubbish and I for one am quite happy to take mine down to the dump, rather than pay £70 a week to have it picked up. A road network committee would be set up to deal with the roads and they would get 100% of the revenue raised from car tax. Petrol tax would be abolished, this is a fact. I would also reduce VAT and remove our brave boys from Iraq. I'd have them patrol the southern coast whilst we fire lumps of compacted waste into France, I jest of course. I would fire the feral and the feckless into France.

I went to a party on Saturday night and in order to get there we caught a taxi. I could not believe what this insolent, and also petulant, taxi driver did. He allowed the windows to steam up with no regard for his passengers. Steamy windows. Sure he had somehow managed to keep the front window clear of condensation, but the side windows were a shocker. I would have never allowed such a situation in an automotive and this taxi driver should hang his head in shame and allow himself to be condemned to a pit containing snakes of a particular classification (I would choose either the black mamba or the gaboon viper). This taxi driver had clearly been recirculating the air, unacceptable. He has been found out and must not be allowed to drive with such a carefree attitude toward condensation.

I have two suits in the whole wide world, as of last week I had never washed the trousers that make up 50% of each of my suits. So, I decided to wash the trousers, I left the jacket side of things. I am of the impression that these need not be cleaned as yet and I also can't be bloody bothered to take them to the dry cleaners. Trousers, they can be washed at home in the beast of bodmin, and this is what I do. Seeing as it is a bit nippy at the moment we have had the heating on in the abode, and I took advantage of this phenomenon in order to dry my trousers. I placed the trousers lovingly and carefully on the radiator and waited for them to become dry via heat exchange between fabric and what is essentially a piping hot heater.

I checked up on my trousers during this process and what I saw was quite unexpected, but quite alright. The side of the trouser that was exposed to the air had gathered little beads of water upon its surface. Part of the evacuation of the dampness from the trouser, no doubt. Once they were fully dry I hung them up in my wardrobe and waited for an applicable time to wear. This time came around soon enough in the form of a day at work. I put the trousers on and they were immediately drawn to my legs. By the time I got to my workstation they were all over my legs like a lampshade. It was as if the beast of bodmin had applied a layer of prit stick to the inside of the fabric.

When I visited the toilet and took my trousers down the crackling released was akin to the sound of rice krispies being covered in milk. This solved the problem temporarily, but the electric charges that have built up in the trousers is immense and will not relent. No sooner had I pulled my trousers up and made the short walk back to my desk the trousers were once again locked in an embrace with my legs. The friction appears to make them very frisky in terms of electrical charges which in turn attract the trouser to the leg. I am now getting used to my trousers electric property, but it has been a steep learning curve.

On Saturday I was shopping in Asda, as I came down the soft drinks aisle I noticed the limeade and picked up a 2 litre bottle. I was considering buying it as I like green colouring. In the end I made a decision not to procure. Before I replaced the bottle I gave it a bloody good shake up and turned to Chris, whom attended the visit with me, and said "that'll give someone a fucking shock when they open it". He told me not to be so stupid, and that the fizz will have dispersed by the time someone buys it. I like to think he is wrong.

On Monday I started the day in the same way I have today, and Tuesday for heaven’s sakes. I made myself a breakfast fit for a king I tell you. It comprised four frankfurters (everybody loves 'em), two fried eggs, two slices of toasted wholemeal bread and a half tin of spaghetti hoops. What I do is place the two eggs upon a slice of wholemeal a piece, and I then place the four frankfurters next door to them. Then, and without warning, I take the pot of freshly heated spaghetti hoops and smother the lot. I do this in an aggressive manner, and unnecessarily so. I then frog march the plate, of what has now been declared breakfast, into the front room and munch up the bloody lot. The tendency is to cut a slice of frankfurter onto the fork and then smite a sector of the wholemeal and egg stack with the same fork. I then use the knife to plough some of the spaghetti onto the fork and proceed to scoff it up. This is the tendency and this is what I do.

Good Things Come In Threes

Hello

I am writing this to inform of three separate events that occurred in sets of three over the weekend. Here’s the rundown:

On Friday I drank lager, On Saturday I drank Cider and on Sunday I drank wine
On Saturday I watched my three favourite films in this order: Demolition Man, The Cable Guy & True Romance
On Saturday I went to Asda and bought three bottles of cider: 2 were 'Green Goblin' and 1 was 'Old Rosie'.

Now tell me if that's a fact, am I lying?

Christmas Shopping Spree, No Stopping Me

Hello

I have completed my Christmas shopping bar one delivery. The shops I have utilised are: Tesco, Island Cosmetics, Amazon, Cargo Home and Rankhour. All procurements were made online bar Tesco, where I actually managed to venture in store. I have successfully dodged the disgust that I always feel when confronted with a shopping centre full of Christmas shoppers. All that is needed is to wrap my offerings and sit back in front of the radiator.

Messages Of Sorrow

Hello

Today I was making my way back from the toilet to my work station and nearly bumped into a couple of people. This occurred as I was taking an acute angle round doorways so that people would not be able to see me coming should they be a coming through the door at the same a time as moi. The first was a burly woman. I hugged the corner close and she came storming round just as I was about to turn. She actually stopped and said sorry, but I surged on not offering any condolence of my own. The second time occurred at the stairs, again I was hugging the corner as my assailant came plundering along in the opposite direct using my line. As we nearly bumped he said sorry and I just put my head down and forged on. I did not say sorry to him, it was not my fault.

Friday Shower

Hello

On Friday I went to Wembley Arena to see Bill Bailey. He was quite alright, quite unexpected, but quite alright. Kevin Eldon made an appearance as a German speaking advertising executive for a portion of the show, the joke was that Bill translated what Kevin was saying and it was all rather over the top with silly images on the big screen. It was all in good jest, and I enjoyed the segment. What I did not enjoy, however, was the journey from Baker Street to the arena. Up till Baker Street it had all gone splendidly.

First up the trains were delayed as some prat at Baker Street had done something, I don't know what, which had caused a bloody great bottleneck going up the escalator, it was a veritable cauldron of people and it took a while to clear the way.

The second and more severe problem was the weather upon leaving Wembley Park. We had to walk over a km from the Station to the arena and it was chucking it down like it was going out of fashion, like a monsoon it was. I also desperately needed a piss having had three cans of beer on the train. Half way down Wembley Way I had to stop and run into a car park to relieve myself. As I ran back to catch up with the others I caught the kerb and almost went a right pearler right down Wembley Way. It was only a reactionary twist of my torso that righted me and I just managed to keep my balance. By the time we got to the queue to get into the arena I felt like I had been in a shower, should have taken some shampoo.