I love the internet. Not only does it allow me the possibilities to go and troll lots of uppity people, blather on and on about my simply ridiculous points of view and moan about a whole manner of things, it also lets me not have to talk to anyone face to face.
I don't like people. I don't like the general public. I like my friends, sure, and I like my family. When jobs have forced me in the past to interact with people I have obliged, but in general my rule of thumb is people should be avoided at all cost. It's nothing personal, I'm sure you are a great laugh, a nice person and a gentle yet thorough lover. I just don't care.
That isn't to say I'm a total recluse. Of course I go out. Sometimes I'm not entirely happy about the places I get dragged to, but I go. As much as I dislike dealing with the general public, the thing I'd hate more is to sit inside hating on strangers. That would just be odd.
Anyway, I digress. Christmas Shopping. Where as meeting random people for a laugh in a nightclub is one thing, wandering around town with fistfuls of bags of presents is quite another. That is not exactly my idea of fun.
This is where the internet stepped in. For the first time, I did every single last bit of my Christmas shopping (all right, I bought ONE thing in a shop) online. And from only two websites – IWOOT and Amazon. It was brilliant. It was a revaluation. Frankly, it was damned near erotic.
But do you know what the absolute bestest thing in the whole wide world is? It now means that either over the weekend or next week when I go into London to look at all the pretty lights, shop displays down Regent Street and have a mulled wine in Covent Garden, I can do it without the burden of shopping bags. And that, my dear friends, is what it is all about.
Thursday, 17 December 2009
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
Drinking Theory
Right, I think I've just about recovered from my weekend of helping someone move hosue. I don't mind if I'm still feeling spectacularly craptacular on a Tuesday if it is because I've been out debauching, misbehaving and pouring a few litres of controlled poison down my neck. In that scenario I do a little dance of joy and sing the praises to the alcohol gods. Unlike many, I accept hangovers as part of the fun. If going on 60 hour benders was easy then every sod would be doing it. No no, hangovers are some deity's way of making sure that only the strong go on such manic drinking sprees.
Sure, you get the weekend warriors who think it is hardcore to go out on Friday AND Saturday night. Don't get me wrong, it is commendable. The drinking of the beer is a highly respectable phenomenon and should be done as often as possible. Students too are good at this, as are estate agents and recruitment consultants. Those are pastimes that seem to be fuelled by booze.
I myself cannot deny that I enjoy a hearty drink from time to time. Although life as a freelancer often means that invoicing levels are directly related to my blood alcohol one, when the bills are paid drinking is one of my favourite hobbies. That and my aquarium.
Actually, though, when you think about it drinking pretty much defies logic. Back in the dark, distant and dingy past of a few years ago when I was still being given some form of an education, one of the classes I took was Psychology. It was actually pretty good fun. I nearly did it at Uni, but then realised the thought of spending another 5 years in education both bored and terrified me. Being a writer that lives month to month is much more rewarding.
Our Psych teacher was actually pretty cool for, you know, a teacher. Not only did Dr. B know her stuff, she also knew how to deal with a bunch of 18 year olds. Sometimes she would do little friendly experiments on us when we got a bit know-it-all, whenever a phone went off she would over analyse the ring tone and we would get onto some terrific tangents. One day, thanks to a big social event the night before, literally her entire class was hung over. How any of us had even made it into college was a mystery. Dr. B tried valiantly to teach us the lesson plan but it was to no avail. We were just counting down the time until the bell so we could head into town for some grease.
In the end we started talking about drinking, which made most of us wretch thoroughly. Who on earth would want to think about drinking in the grips of an almighty hangover? Then she told us something quite interesting. I still find it interesting. I will now tell you, and hopefully you will find it interesting.
Drinking so much alcohol that you fall down wetting yourself in a doorway before eating a Spaniel kebab from a hairy little man and falling asleep on the stairs pretty much defies logic and psychological theory. In theory, after your first hangover you should not want to drink again. We all know about the reinforcement theory of how people learn behaviour – if it is positive, you do it again where as if it is negative you don't. Well, as anyone can tell you, being hungover is most definitely a negative. Yet people still do it. I suppose you could argue that the amount of fun you have before the hangover begins outweighs the hangover itself, but frankly when you are that drunk you've blacked out for most of the fun times and just have a searing headache and wobbly bowels.
Yet people still go drinking anyway. I just find that interesting. Now, anyone fancy a pint?
Sure, you get the weekend warriors who think it is hardcore to go out on Friday AND Saturday night. Don't get me wrong, it is commendable. The drinking of the beer is a highly respectable phenomenon and should be done as often as possible. Students too are good at this, as are estate agents and recruitment consultants. Those are pastimes that seem to be fuelled by booze.
I myself cannot deny that I enjoy a hearty drink from time to time. Although life as a freelancer often means that invoicing levels are directly related to my blood alcohol one, when the bills are paid drinking is one of my favourite hobbies. That and my aquarium.
Actually, though, when you think about it drinking pretty much defies logic. Back in the dark, distant and dingy past of a few years ago when I was still being given some form of an education, one of the classes I took was Psychology. It was actually pretty good fun. I nearly did it at Uni, but then realised the thought of spending another 5 years in education both bored and terrified me. Being a writer that lives month to month is much more rewarding.
Our Psych teacher was actually pretty cool for, you know, a teacher. Not only did Dr. B know her stuff, she also knew how to deal with a bunch of 18 year olds. Sometimes she would do little friendly experiments on us when we got a bit know-it-all, whenever a phone went off she would over analyse the ring tone and we would get onto some terrific tangents. One day, thanks to a big social event the night before, literally her entire class was hung over. How any of us had even made it into college was a mystery. Dr. B tried valiantly to teach us the lesson plan but it was to no avail. We were just counting down the time until the bell so we could head into town for some grease.
In the end we started talking about drinking, which made most of us wretch thoroughly. Who on earth would want to think about drinking in the grips of an almighty hangover? Then she told us something quite interesting. I still find it interesting. I will now tell you, and hopefully you will find it interesting.
Drinking so much alcohol that you fall down wetting yourself in a doorway before eating a Spaniel kebab from a hairy little man and falling asleep on the stairs pretty much defies logic and psychological theory. In theory, after your first hangover you should not want to drink again. We all know about the reinforcement theory of how people learn behaviour – if it is positive, you do it again where as if it is negative you don't. Well, as anyone can tell you, being hungover is most definitely a negative. Yet people still do it. I suppose you could argue that the amount of fun you have before the hangover begins outweighs the hangover itself, but frankly when you are that drunk you've blacked out for most of the fun times and just have a searing headache and wobbly bowels.
Yet people still go drinking anyway. I just find that interesting. Now, anyone fancy a pint?
Sunday, 13 December 2009
Blow by Blow of a crap weekend...
Friday
11:00 – Wake up with hangover
12:00 – Make it downstairs, attempt to work
16:30 – Give up for a bit, try to beat brain into action. Order Pizza
17:00 – Think you finish working for a short Friday. Eat Pizza.
18:00 – Realise you have another job to do. Get indigestion.
20:00 – Finally finish working, start driving to Cambridgeshire
22:00 – Realise the E14 is closed, do 4 junction detour back down the M11
23:30 – Finally get back on track
23:45 – Get pulled over for speeding. Although not getting ticket, get mocked by hot policewoman for not having a criminal record.
00:00 – Finally reach destination.
02:00 – Bed. Sleep.
Saturday
05:00 – Get woken up and get into van.
06:30 – Stop at service station for chocolate and Ribena. Buy copy of The Sun as, frankly, a white van has to have one.
08:15 – Get to flat. Start moving lots of heavy things downstairs out and in to van.
11:00 – Finally finish. Start drive to new flat location.
12:30 – Get to new flat location. Find out that we got there before the person who we are helping move because they stopped for lunch.
13:00 – Person who was the most hated in the world redeems themselves by bringing sausage rolls and cakes.
13:30 – Start unloading truck full off stuff. Double the stairs as before and a time deadline.
14:30 – Work at full pace non stop for an hour. Rain starts.
15:30 – Finally finish dumping boxes, furniture and other miscellaneous crap in flat. No time to hang around as van has to get back
16:45 – After mad dash, get van back
17:00 – Think day is done. No chance, get phone call saying shopping must be done.
17:30 – Finish getting shopping. Finally head back to house.
20:00 – After getting back, find that toddler needs looking after. Play with energetic infant for few hours.
21:30 – Dinner. Nice.
23:00 – Finally pass out through exhaustion.
Sunday
10:00 – Wake up but steadfast refuse to get up before 11am
11:00 – Get up.
11:05 – Get burdened with energetic toddler again.
12:15 – Start driving back home towards London.
13:45 – Get stuck in M25 traffic.
14:00 – Get stuck in M25 traffic.
15:00 -– Get stuck in M25 traffic.
16:00 -– Get stuck in M25 traffic.
17:00 – Get stuck in M25 traffic.
18:00 – Make it home! Realise that Monday morning deadline jobs need to be done. Consider working.
18:20 – Post unfunny blog post
11:00 – Wake up with hangover
12:00 – Make it downstairs, attempt to work
16:30 – Give up for a bit, try to beat brain into action. Order Pizza
17:00 – Think you finish working for a short Friday. Eat Pizza.
18:00 – Realise you have another job to do. Get indigestion.
20:00 – Finally finish working, start driving to Cambridgeshire
22:00 – Realise the E14 is closed, do 4 junction detour back down the M11
23:30 – Finally get back on track
23:45 – Get pulled over for speeding. Although not getting ticket, get mocked by hot policewoman for not having a criminal record.
00:00 – Finally reach destination.
02:00 – Bed. Sleep.
Saturday
05:00 – Get woken up and get into van.
06:30 – Stop at service station for chocolate and Ribena. Buy copy of The Sun as, frankly, a white van has to have one.
08:15 – Get to flat. Start moving lots of heavy things downstairs out and in to van.
11:00 – Finally finish. Start drive to new flat location.
12:30 – Get to new flat location. Find out that we got there before the person who we are helping move because they stopped for lunch.
13:00 – Person who was the most hated in the world redeems themselves by bringing sausage rolls and cakes.
13:30 – Start unloading truck full off stuff. Double the stairs as before and a time deadline.
14:30 – Work at full pace non stop for an hour. Rain starts.
15:30 – Finally finish dumping boxes, furniture and other miscellaneous crap in flat. No time to hang around as van has to get back
16:45 – After mad dash, get van back
17:00 – Think day is done. No chance, get phone call saying shopping must be done.
17:30 – Finish getting shopping. Finally head back to house.
20:00 – After getting back, find that toddler needs looking after. Play with energetic infant for few hours.
21:30 – Dinner. Nice.
23:00 – Finally pass out through exhaustion.
Sunday
10:00 – Wake up but steadfast refuse to get up before 11am
11:00 – Get up.
11:05 – Get burdened with energetic toddler again.
12:15 – Start driving back home towards London.
13:45 – Get stuck in M25 traffic.
14:00 – Get stuck in M25 traffic.
15:00 -– Get stuck in M25 traffic.
16:00 -– Get stuck in M25 traffic.
17:00 – Get stuck in M25 traffic.
18:00 – Make it home! Realise that Monday morning deadline jobs need to be done. Consider working.
18:20 – Post unfunny blog post
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
