Sunday, 29 April 2007

That’s Why I Like Reading

I only looked into the second chapter of We Need To Talk About Kevin before I tapped the mat repeatedly . . . enough is enough. I did honestly try to dig into it but I was going nowhere at an alarming pace. It was like forcing yourself to eat; you begin to question if you actually like what you’re ingesting. I offered the book to a friend who has to return her copy to the library, she was far from eager to accept my ‘generous’ offer. She had eaten more of the book than I had and has no real urge to see if it gets better. What a shame, I guess I’ll find some other use for it, summer is almost upon us and bugs must be killed.

I’ve only read the first chapter of the now engaging novel Half Of A Yellow Sun, yet already know that I’ll likely finish the whole book in half the time it took me to read one and a half chapters of We Need To Talk About what’s his name.

The book was written by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, a female novelist whose writing style lures me in with great ease. I’m looking forward to the following chapters with expectation.

Adichie is a charming show-off.

In the first chapter she has set up an open story which may lead in several directions, subsequently removing its predictability. The reader has been convincingly sent to the early sixties, enigma floats in the air, and she has introduced a solid writing style, displayed historical, political and social knowledge, and still managed to make me laugh out loud. There was even sex . . . nothing too raunchy, but you get the impression that the book can, I might just go there. Lord knows Ugwu (the young male protagonist) wants it to go there!

I cannot relate to Ugwu’s position, but elements of his character remind me not only of my early teens, but also of my current naivety and disapproval of untimely change.

You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, neither by its first chapter, but I can see myself enjoying this novel and looking for others written by Adichie. She reminds me why I love reading. Losing yourself in a book helps you to forget about the racket going on outside (and also inside) of your head. It’s a form of escapism that allows the mind to adventure and the body to rest. Let’s see where it takes me.

A to the . . .

Tuesday, 24 April 2007

Writers Block 101

When I walk along the streets little children run up to me and ask how I got so tall. I tell them to eat their vegetables, drink lots milk and stay in school.

When I cycle along the streets teenagers ride up next to me and ask how I got so trim. I tell them to stay on their bikes, do 8 min abs and diamond press-ups.

When I jog along the streets adults run up close to me and ask how I stay looking so young. I tell them that I’m only 22; I’m supposed to look this young.

When I surf the World Wide Web bloggers hound me down and ask how I manage to update my blog with such consistency. I tell them to listen up close, real close, because I’ll only say this once.

(OK, ‘some’ of this never actually happened)

Ak-Man Combats Writers Block

Here are a few tips

One . . .
I’ve always found it easy to bang out a quick post if it includes senseless ranting; this also makes good reading. Loads of things annoy us all, get it off your chest and have a little bit of fun with it. Tell us what kind of celebrities you hate and why you hate them; tell us about the driver who cut you up this morning; remind us that everything you can’t purchase in a 99p store is getting more expensive.

Two . . .
A quick and easy post can be made by just generating a list of things which interest you.
My favourite films which no one else likes
Ten great ways to spend £100
Things that will damage your computer quicker than the internet

Three . . .
When you are in the mood to write, try to write more than one post. This way you’ll end up with a backlog of articles you can post up whenever you please. Just copy, paste and publish. Then get back to work, or back to reading other peoples blogs . . . or whatever it is you all do when you’re online.

Four . . .
OK, I guessing most of us used this tip when we had to rush an essay or two in our time. Grab a chunky ‘quote’ of someone else’s work, paste it in and briefly explain why you ‘stole’ it in the first place. It’s not quite plagiarism is it? Not quite your work either but it fills out a page.

Five . . .
I haven’t used number four yet, and I am also yet to use number five which is pretty much similar. Search YouTube for a newly uploaded video, paste it into you blog with a little bit of info and click on publish. Easy.

I’m sure you all have some other tips and tricks, dish ‘em out. Stop being greedy!

My next post will be Ten Ways To Blow £100 . . . Just to show how easy it is . . . 10 is a lot actually, lets see how many I can get up to.

A to the . . .

Friday, 20 April 2007

Get Me Off Of This Train

Preferably before I SCREAM!!!

I just generally don’t like other people, especially when I’m tired or hungry. If I’m both then you may see a tear swelling in my eye if you look close enough. This shouldn’t be hard to see considering how closely we’re crammed into this train carriage.

What happened to personal space?

Rush hour is only tolerable when you have a seat; life looks better from that angle. It’s easier to read a book, a newspaper or whatever. You can relax you legs and crank up the volume on you mp3 player. You can wrestle for the armrests. If you’re extremely tired you can use the adjacent strangers shoulder as a pillow; you might get a troubled look but you’ll be sleeping so who cares? It’s a free world after all.

I grabbed a copy of the Metro this morning while I sleepwalked my way to work, and noticed an interesting little piece about the stress of commuting and how we deal with it. A few interesting points were made.

One . . .
Singing, humming or talking to ourselves

I don’t know how this helps people deal with stress. At best people will discretely veer away from you, providing you with more of that precious personal space. You might even be lucky enough to score a seat . . . falsetto.

Two . . .
Planning for the day ahead or after-work activities

It’s just way too early for this . . . and if I’m on my way home, then it’s way too late also. Unless it’s a Friday and this that case I’m probably banging out text messages.

“R U Cumin 2nite?”

Three . . .
Working on a laptop, writing or reading and always make the effort to travel outside of rush-hour

Is travelling outside of rush-hour even an option for most people? I’ll drop this issue right here, but only because the Metro is a free newspaper. You won’t see this kind of crazy talk in The Guardian. Yes, everyone, stay at work till seven and then . . . oh, that’s the original problem, we’re all leaving at the same time.
OK, I really will stop now.

Four . . .
Getting angry with other commuters or admiring attractive people

I don’t know who writ this, or if their job is even secure. OK, yes it was in bullet points but I just don’t understand whether or not they are giving me permission to ‘wild out’ on public transport. I try to keep my cool when people annoy me on the train, but I might just have to reconsider if it will help me to ‘de-stress’.

I like how they have fused anger and lust together so casually. The two emotions that can fast-track your applications to jail and Hell.

Five . . .
Listening to music or audio books

Yes I must listen to my music this loud so stop looking at me like that before I exercise point four!

Six . . .
Oral gratification – from chewing gum, talking on a mobile, chatting with other commuters or eating

Yeah, I was disappointed too, thought they were going to take this in another direction.

Seven . . .
Abusing substances such as tobacco and alcohol

I was waiting for a train last week and was offered a beer (Stella Artois). I’m usually up for freebies but politely declined the generous offer; this didn’t stop him from taking to me though. I felt sorry for the guy; his wife won’t let me bring alcohol home . . . I guess she is cool with him coming home drunk though.

Eight . . .
Meditation or prayer

This requires a focused mind, especially with ladies breasts pressed against you and sweaty men’s armpits in your grill (how’s that for ambiguity?). I’m 6’2” though so it’s not an issue for me (the armpits, I’m still a man).

Nine . . .
Seeking counselling or medication to cope with stress

I’m guessing that they don’t expect you to do this during rush hour. Wouldn’t it be cool to unload your problems to someone while you travelled home though?
“Ak, this is just between you, me and all the people in this carriage”

Please . . . just get me off of this train.

A to the . . .

Tuesday, 17 April 2007

I'll Pick You Up At 8

It’s easy to find single people, that’s never a problem. Finding someone compatible . . . now that’s where things get a little bit tricky. There’s always going to be something you don’t like about a prospective partner.

She smokes
She is too clingy
She is a gold digger
My friend(s) ‘banged’ her before
Only Tyra can pull of that forehead
Her husband will disapprove
She did hard time
My mum won’t like her

The list goes on . . . and on . . . and on unfortunately. You have a little bit of fun, find any old excuse to break up, and then go your separate ways.

Rinse. Wash. Repeat.

After playing the ‘game’ for some time it begins to lose its gloss, its appeal, its allure. You tell yourself ‘I want more, I want something serious.’ But where do I look? Which rock have you left unturned, which channel have you not pursued? It would appear that you have exhausted every avenue.

You’ve met people in bars and clubs, supermarkets, train stations, through education and sometimes the issue has been work related. Friends have set you up, this includes blind dates, and you’ve also hooked up with your friends. After all, it worked for Monica and Chandler. Your mum has brought somebody home and left the two of you to ‘hang out’ while she conveniently pops out for something. You’ve signed up to face-pic, pic-face, hi5, 5hi, MySpace, Friends Reunited, Uboot and so much more!

If you haven’t been on one of MTV’s dating shows as of yet, not only are you missing out on the experience of a lifetime, but your true love is possibly one show away.

I’m going to give all you singletons out there the heads up; I’ve whittled it down to three of the hottest shows!

1. Date My Mom
Allow me to give you the rundown.
One man dates three mothers. After the three dates he must pick one of the daughters to date based on the impression he gets from her mum. Good fun ey?

This is the show you go on if you’re looking for wifey. I wouldn’t suggest that you go on Date My Mom unless you’re “serious, serious”. Personally, I’ve vowed to never introduce my mum to a girl I’ve coupled up with unless it’s serious, serious. So I have no desire to date your mum unless I’m looking for an instant wifey.

The show’s appeal rests in its mystery. You don’t get to see the girl you’ve selected until the end of all three dates. Most guys will ask the mums what their daughters look like; this is a rookie mistake. Most mothers reply generically . . . Brittany Spears, Beyonce, J Lo, etc. I recommend that since you can’t see the daughter, you should spend your time finding out what she is like and if she is what you’re looking for. Yes, I know I take this too seriously but I’m here to save lives!

At the end of the day you hopefully go home with the treasure and not the trash. On one particular show a young man left with the talking trash (something like Oscar the grouch from Sesame St.), Oscar the grouch asked the young man when he’ll take her out for the date and he replied . . . “I’ll text message you.” If that isn’t a burn then Pro Evolution Soccer never changed my life in 2003.

2. Next

The Rundown.
You’re given the privilege of dating up to five individuals in one day. You date them one at a time and if you’re not feeling them you just say “Next”, and can move on to another option. You pretty much have five shots at finding a sweetheart. However, for every minute they stay on the date they earn a dollar. If you decide that you want to take the person on a second date they can either agree, or keep the money they have earned. The show ends at this point whether they agree to a second date or not. So Mr. Lucky might not date all five girls.

Ugh . . . so much more complicated than Date My Mom.

So why go on Next? Well, option is a beautiful thing. You can evaluate physical appeal, personality and compatibility in a matter of minutes, or in some cases seconds. Don’t like the menu . . . “Next”

The only downsides to this show are that you may get a weak selection of girls (or guys), or the girl you’re feeling might no be feeling you and she’ll leave with the cash . . . not so lucky now are you?

In spite of minor technicalities I’d love to go on Next . . .

A Nigerian girl
An ‘alternative’ girl
A nerdy girl
A bitch
A Nigerian girl

3. Dismissed
MTV’s legendary dating show . . . and also my personal favourite.

The Rundown.
If you don’t know about Dismissed then it’s highly likely that you just aren’t ready for it either. One guy, two girls, and two dates at the same time; at the end you dismiss one of your dates . . . oh it’s on!

So I sit back and let two girls fight, squabble and bitch at each other to win my affection. Girls have fought for me in the past, and competed for my adoration. This is pretty much the opposite of a humbling experience.

OK, so it’s only two girls and not five, not great odds to be honest, but if you get two good options then it’s quite likely that you’ll enjoy Dismissed more than anything you’ve experienced prior.

Each girl also gets a Time-Out card. This entitles her to 20 minutes of alone time with you (and the production crew of course). It is these time-outs that are likely to sway your decision, as the girl will stop competing and show you what she is all about. Some individuals use this as a chance to engage in deep and meaningful conversation; others ‘wisely’ use it to kiss-and-grope.

Apart from more women on the date, what else can you ask for?

So log off of your computers all you ‘digital pimps’, and stop spending all of your money in night clubs quenching the thirst of gold digging’ ho’s!
“What’chu drinking darling?”
Stop asking all your friends to ‘hook a brotha up’ and please, oh please, stop following all the hunnies to church!

P.S. All of you shy guys who struggle to approach girls might want to disregard the above shows and look toward something more elementary like Wanna Come In.

A to the . . .

Saturday, 14 April 2007

Provisional Ranting

Excuse me while I break away from my natural style of blogging, to a more well know approach to being heard. It would seem that most bloggers are in fact professional grumblers. I don’t know who is handing out the certificates, licences or permits so I’ll be careful as to how I protest my issues. I don’t want the officials coming after me . . . “Licence and registration please sir.”

I want to have a little whinge regarding the fluky buggers who passed their driving test first time round.

I don’t know the procedures people go through to acquire their driving licence in other countries, but here in the UK only a few things harder to achieve. On a good day you’re more likely to win the jackpot on Deal Or No Deal than to pass you’re driving test. You see, just like Deal Or No Deal passing your diving test is pretty much based on luck, and not how well you can actually drive. I was driving way before I took my test (for the first time) so what was all the fuss about? “Give me my pink card!”

OK fair enough, my first unsuccessful attempt at the test involved me driving on the wrong side of the road, but no one was harmed so what’s the big deal? . . . Or no deal. The second and third time . . . I don’t even know why I failed on subsequent attempts; they were just making stuff up (real talk). This cost me over well £100 each time, and I aint balling like that.

When I passed on my fourth attempt I was pretty damn relieved. The examiner told me that I was even ‘lucky’ to pass . . . what a jerk. Where was the luck? I drove, you sat there and we both came back alive. Before he told me that I had passed I wasn’t even sure . . . I had pretty much done the same things twice prior and failed. There is just no correlation.

When people tell me that they passed their test on the first attempt I’m like,

“So f**king what?
You think you’re better than me?
You wanna throw down right now?
I’ll kick your ass b*tch!”

And I’ll do it as well, because I’m petty like that. You’re not better than me; you just got lucky on the day . . . and exhale.

A to the . . .

Friday, 13 April 2007

We Need To Talk About Your Thesaurus

Here are some of the thoughts that cross my mind when I read Lionel Shriver’s fictional novel We Need To Talk About Kevin.



What does that word even mean?

This book has had me baffled and I’ve only completed one chapter. I thought the objective of the first chapter was to reel in the reader and leave them with the desire to read on. Shouldn’t each chapter in fact fill you with that compulsion? It however seems that Shriver had a different objective in mind, ‘let me confuse any reader who hasn’t eaten an entire dictionary’.

Her frustratingly complex diction caused me to read the first chapter twice, and I am now uncertain as to whether I even wish to complete the book. Maybe chapter two has much more to offer and will leave feeling like less of a ‘dumb-head’.

Another aspect of this book that irks me is that the chapters are supposedly letters to a man who appears to be her ex-husband. I feel your pain Frankie boy . . .

Dear Franklin,

I feel dreadfully sorry for you and now understand why you left your wife. If the burden of a family trauma wasn’t enough, you also had the unwanted role of listening to a woman who speaks as though she studies the thesaurus in her spare time. Some words were not made for conversations, letters or even an academic thesis. Yet they spew from her mouth like dung from a cow’s backside. Visualise this for a second please.

Franklin, I sincerely apologise for any words I have used which may have caused you to recollect bitter memories of your beloved Eva (not Longoria unfortunately).

Yours empathetically,


I’ll give Lionel Shriver (isn’t Lionel a boys name?) some credit for at least keeping the element of mystery floating in the air. The unknown parts of this book, its theme and Orange Prize for fiction in 2005 causes me to consider that maybe, just maybe this novel has more to offer than a bunch of obscure words.

Shriver shows off her flair effortlessly on occasions. Her style switches, although sometimes bothersome, can be admired in the first chapter. She flows with poise connecting technically sound paragraphs with colloquially loose phrases reminding the reader that she is not actually a robot programmed to churn out five-hundred page novels.

My plan is to get through the second chapter with the hope of being astoundingly gratified. I hope that one day the completion of this book will benefit my life. Maybe I’ll mention it in a job interview and be instantly hired. Maybe I’ll be on date with a nice lady, let’s say . . . Jessica Alba . . . I’ll mention the book and she’ll respond in a smitten like manner “I want to have your babies”. I could even use my newly acquired knowledge to run for Mayor (of London); my campaign strategy will pretty much orbit around this book. Who wouldn’t vote for me? Come on people, Ken (Livingstone) hasn’t read a damn thing in the last decade apart from Oyster Card pamphlets and Olympic Games proposals.

Only good can come from this.

A to the . . .

Tuesday, 10 April 2007

Some Peoples Opinions Are Stupid; I’m Sorry, That’s Just My Opinion

Unfortunately we live in a society where everyone is entitled to their own opinion, no matter how stupid this opinion may be. When it comes to opinions, no evidence is needed, no facts must be presented and there is usually no right or wrong answer. One man likes the Borat movie, another thinks it was dim-witted and boring (bar the naked fight scene in the hotel). The problem which I have is that anybody can make outlandish or nonsensical comments and present them as facts. I am indeed a highly opinionated man, and in addition I also love to argue. Don’t bring your opinions to me . . . unless of course you think I will agree with them.

Here is a list of observations that I couldn’t be bothered to research into; this leaves you with just my opinion. If you don’t agree with these statements you are stupid, I’m sorry, that’s just my opinion (see how easy that is?).

Anyone who watches Deal Or No Deal (at least) twice and doesn’t understand the game is stupid. It really is as simple as it appears, you guess boxes and that is as complex as it gets. Why is the show so interesting? Well because we want to see greedy people go home with less than £1000. I watched the show today and the banker offered a lady £44,000 and she said “No Deal” . . . silly woman left with £8000 and a pissed off husband. He was seriously pissed; I honestly thought he was going to cry.

KFC’s Zinger Tower Burger is the best chicken burger bar none. I’ve tasted the Chicken Royale and the McChicken Premiere so f*ck your opinion!

Some people still believe that 2pac is alive; it’s amazing how a dead man can have more of a life than some people.

Tyra Banks’ breasts are the best thing about America’s Next Top Model. I applaud the shows producers. Yeah the show has other interesting factors, but her breasts are top trumps.

Being black isn’t deemed ‘cool’ anymore. I hate to be the bearer of bad news but it looks like ‘black’ has run its course for the meantime. We’ll be back though, probably when the new 50 Cent album is released, or when Densel Washington plays another bad guy. Whichever comes first, it’s cool with me.

Big Brother is played out now, why are they holding auditions for another series? You had a good run; it’s well and truly over unless you stop filling the house with phoney extroverts who turn out being depressed and unbearably mind-numbing.

Fergie of the Black Eyed Peas is a poor mans version of Gwen Stefani. This wasn’t really evident until she decided to release a solo album. The formula for her first single London Bridge is too similar to that of Holla Back Girl for my liking. I’ll restrain myself from making this case stronger; no one wants to hear an educated opinion after all.

In my opinion this is the worst entry I’ve made on this blog site. Why did I post it up? Well just to make a point I guess. If you have missed the point . . . well, if you have missed the point then this is in fact the best blog entry I have made.

A to the . . .

Friday, 6 April 2007

The D.H. Routine

Some time ago I was in a bar with a few friends and we got chatting to some ladies. The ladies grouped up after a while and went to the toilet together (as they do). While they were gone one of my friends taps me and says, “What are you talking to that girl about? I can’t think of anything to say.”

I just laughed and shrugged my shoulders. The truth was that I wasn’t too interested in the girl and I was basically chatting sh*t. The girl was laughing at my jokes and falling for my corny lines. I wouldn’t say I’m the smoothes cat out there, but I know how to keep a girl interested. One of these ways is my self developed D.H. Routine.

What is it?
It’s simply a routine I developed for getting a girls attention.

I openly admit to watching Desperate Housewives, it’s a great show and I’ve seen every episode. It has an attractive cast of ladies (Eva Longoria), black/dark comedy, enticing drama and it is extremely well directed. Seriously, you need to check out the framing, scene switches, motion camera work and creative angled shots.

Expectedly I catch a little bit of heat when I tell people that I watch this show as it is supposedly for girls. Instead of trying to convince unacquainted people otherwise, I decided to put my energy into something more rewarding . . . getting digits.

I’m Giving It Away
I wouldn’t really class myself as selfish, self-centred maybe, but not selfish. I want to share my routine with some of you guys out there. It’s just to give you a little bit more artillery when you’re called for duty. This is not my most creative, diverse or charming routine, but it works effectively and is a great ice breaker with a get out clause.

This clearly doesn’t guarantee you anything. If you don’t have enough game you don’t have enough game. No routines, chat-up lines or fancy suits will save you.

So With That Out Of The Way . . .

Step 1 – Select a Lady
You’re in a bar with some friends and you spot a tasty looking lady. She’s with some friends and it looks like she’s is having a smashing time. You don’t want to stroll over, disturb their fun conversation and look like a jerk . . . no, that’s the easiest way to ‘see what you can do with o2.’

Step 2 – The Approach
Now you don’t want to directly approach your lady of choice or she’ll instinctively get defensive, you want to approach the group. You want to appear slightly ambiguous, but certainly harmless. If you’re using this routine, you may also want to appear like a fun loving guy. Open up the group, “Excuse me. Can I get your opinion on something please?”

Step 3 – Run The Routine
You’re ideally with a friend at this point, one who is willing to play along with the routine.

“Do any of you watch the show Desperate Housewives?”
It doesn’t matter if they have or they haven’t watched the show, they should have heard of it and at least be a little bit curious as to where you’re going with this.

“My friend here is taking shots at me because I watch it. He is trying to say that the show is just for girls and that I’m gay because I watch it. What do you all think?”
They’ll chat some sh*t and confer with each other. Don’t pay too much attention to what they are saying; just try to gauge how interested they are in what you’re saying.

Now you want to get your feet wet with the girl you have your eye on. But you still don’t want it to appear as if you are working game on her or she’s going to act ‘long’. Throw one or two questions at are her friends and try to get them laughing first. Then turn to the girl you’re interested in and ask “If you were chilling at a guys house and he urgently wanted to watch Desperate Housewives, what would you think?”

If she gives an uninterested response you might want to retreat (like a coward), but if she’s all smiles and gives a detailed response then its game on. Joke around with the group a little bit, but keep your focus on her. If your friend isn’t a waste of space he’ll also be keeping the group engaged leaving you with ample opportunity to start working solely on your girl of choice.

Step 4 – You’re On Your Own
I’m sure you all have your own unique ways of working game, no further steps are required, just do your thing. If the girl seems interested do your thing. If she doesn’t seem interested, do your thing. If she seems cold and is unresponsive you might want to fall back on this one and pursue an alternative.

Before You Ask
Yes I have used this routine on girls, and yes it was with positive results (not always though).

Credit: This post was highly influenced by Neil Strauss’ book titled The Game. I recommend it for both guys and girls. It’s entertaining, insightful and exceptionally amusing.

Now lads, go and get you some digits!

A to the . . .

Thursday, 5 April 2007

Chronically Obsessed

Aye Aye People, I was tagged by a crazy dude called Sebastien!

So I must admit to five things that I am obsessed with . . . 5!

  1. Food
  2. Pro Evolution Soccer 6
  3. Tyra Banks' Boobies
  4. Football aka Soccer . . . Arsenal FC
  5. Mood Muzik 2 (Joe Budden Mixtape)

So now I'm tagging these people . . .

Lady T


Carol Cooper



What to do with a Meme: Copy the questions into a new post and answer them.
Tag some different bloggers. Go back and let the person who tagged you know that you did it.

Wednesday, 4 April 2007

‘Like Father Like Son’ or ‘Mamma’s Boy’

I was peacefully watching Hollyoaks in my room this (Tuesday) evening, escaping from the realities of life that must be put on hold for thirty minutes. Just then, my sister bursts into my room, “Dad wants you.”

My pops had got back from work a short while ago. I went downstairs to see what was up, he looked smug and my mom looked quite worried. My pops extended his hand for me to shake it. As we shook he said “I’ve got you the car.”

OK, OK, back up for a second.

I’m planning to get a car before August, so I’ve been
talking about cars to anyone who will listen (and anyone who won’t). Pops
happened to be one of those who would listen, and comment, and offer advice. It
turns out that Pops ‘knows a guy’ who sells cars (at suspiciously low prices); I
don’t ask too many questions. Pops isn’t a shady character; he just works with a
lot of people that can get ‘stuff’. This is to be expected though, he works in
Hackney (there I go generalising again).

Monday Pops tells me about
this friend, he is selling a Mitsubishi for £500. I tell him I’m interested, I’d
like to know more.

Tuesday . . . “I’ve got you the


My dad is shaking my hand with a big grin. My mum looks exceedingly apprehensive, and I’m standing there bemused.

My dad put down a deposit on a car I haven’t even seen before! He was so happy that it was hard for me to even grasp the reality of the situation. He was waiting for gratitude which never came, my mum quickly wiped the smile on his face as she adopted the role of the concerned parent and began to poke holes through his ‘good intentions’. As the quarrel heated up I sat on the couch, zoned out and let my brain catch up with the occurrence.

Both parties have strong arguments.

Dad: I’m trying to help you get a ‘great’ deal. These kind of deals don’t come around too often. Why can’t your mother see this son?

Mum: How can he expect you to buy a car that you’ve never seen before? Don’t agree to anything you’re not sure of son!

So there I was, listening to their verbal grappling match. I’ve been in this position before, several times in fact and I’ve learned that the argument is rarely as important as whose side I’ll take. Especially when they both have my best interest at heart.

I know most of you are likely to agree with my mother’s argument. It would seem illogical to buy a car without even seeing it. We’re not talking about Nike trainers or mobile phones. Yet at the same time, I’m sure we’ve all been in the position where someone else gets an eye-popping bargain and we ask them twenty-one questions about it. It’s usually a case of them knowing the right people, or being in the right place at the right time.

“Why didn’t you get me one” we yell enviously. I guess my dad didn’t want this to be the case with me.

I (obviously) decided that I wasn’t prepared to shell out £500 for a car that I hadn’t even seen. So yeah, we went to see it.

My dad was too tired from work, and too angry at my mum to drive. So I had to get behind the wheel. The more you drive, the more you appreciate the passenger seat. As I drove I got a text message, which I read after we pulled up (safety first). It was from my mum:

Do not comi your self to any financial
implication you are not sean for. please.

OK, dodgy spelling, but you catch the drift.

I had a rough idea of what the car would look like when my dad told me the model. So I wasn’t too surprised as I stood in front of the dark green Mitsubishi Colt and was given the keys for a test drive. As soon as I saw the car I knew I wasn’t going to buy it. There was no mass appeal, I wasn’t drawn to it in the slightest. It had a broken side view, dodgy passenger seat and a chunky dent in the rear bumper . . . oh, and a few bolts hung loosely off the back of the roof where a spoiler used to be. I had no desire to kick the tires (that’s what you do when your checking out a car right?) so I just jumped right in, twisted the key, shifted the car into first gear and rolled on. I must admit, it was a nice drive. Smooth gear changes, and not a lot of noise coming from the car either.

After playing with the vehicle I was asked “Well, what do you think?”

I had been thinking about this question whilst driving around. I wasn’t in an elaborate mood, and knew that my fathers ‘rep’ was riding on this response. Regardless, I kept it simple, “thanks, but no thanks”. No need to waste anymore time right?

The drive home was quiet, a few words here and there. Pops didn’t show any emotion about it, but it felt like I was letting him down. It’s as if I’m saying mum was right and you were wrong (which is only true because I didn’t like the car). I couldn’t buy a car just to play dad’s advocate.

Ugh . . . so I guess I’m a mamma’s boy.

A to the . . .

Monday, 2 April 2007

“Sunshine Plays A Major Part Of The Daytime”

The temperature is rising and London isn’t looking as grey lately. Summer is on its way and people are going to get excited at the prospect of getting out last years sunshades. I’m going to buy a new pair.

We’re pretty much used to crappy summers here in London, we get good weeks here and there but there is always and tone of uncertainty (it’s going to rain) . . . even in the midst of a heat wave.

Understandably people tend to get a little bit carried away when the sun has got her hat on. You don’t have to be in shape to walk around half naked, you don’t need to have a nice car to pose at traffic lights with the windows down and the system up. Water fights have no age limit; couples get ‘carried away’ kissing in the park, arms and legs get abused my gnats (but you have to leave the window open because it’s too hot), people pass out on the underground trains because it’s too hot, cold drinks are overpriced because it’s too hot, people bring their fans to work because it’s too hot, children get to have classes outside because it’s too hot, “I cant concentrate miss, it’s too hot” . . . and before the heat even peaks everyone complains that it is too hot.

Dear Summer, why is it that we have to be on and off?
You know I miss you when you’re gone and you’re gone a lot.
Warm days just remind me of times,
When you brightened up my day with your radiant shine.
It’s like you’re teasing me, and every sign is misleading me,
I’m infatuated; you’re barely in need of me.
I try to tell myself I’m in love with Winter,
Wrap up warm and snuggle up with December.
It just aint the same, why do we do things this way?
F*ck it, I’m the one to blame.
I should have known you couldn’t be tamed,
When I asked you to stay the night, and you refused to stay.
You’ve always got somewhere to go, and that’s cool with me.
‘Cos every time you come back round, we’re making memories.
It’s an issue of the heart, every year I grow older,
One day you’ll tap me on my frozen cold shoulder.
-By Ak-Man

Metaphorically speaking of course.

A to the . . .