Wednesday, September 03, 2008

Jeezy Creezy

Sitting there, minding my own business on the tube this morning.

Lady next to me taps me on the shoulder. I go through the mental checks – iPod’s not too loud, paper’s not in her face, haven’t put my bag on her foot…what does she want?

“Excuse me” she says, “are you a Christian?”.

I am very polite, as one always should be when dealing with those less fortunate than oneself. I do not tell her that in fact I am probably the least Christian person on the carriage, and that I think God is on a par with the Loch Ness monster, but less likely to be real. I just smile, like you would to a small - yet potentially dangerous - child, and say “No, I’m afraid not”.

“Oh”, says the nutter (for so she has proved herself to be), “I have this overwhelming feeling that God has a message for you”

“Really” I smile. Again, I do not say “Isn’t he a bit too busy to be making personal calls? Have you checked it is the right number?”

“Yes. He wants you to know that he will soon be taking you out of this situation that you are in, and that you should feel comfort from that. You will soon be free”.

“Oh. Um. Thanks”.

And she beams at me. (As in a big smile. Not, like, a great beam of celestial light. Cos then maybe I would have been more impressed with the Heavenly Postal Service).

Now. Is it just me, or is that possibly the least comforting thing a nutter on the tube could say? I know I don't look that great in the morning, but I'm pretty sure I don't come off as some sort of crack addict or beaten wife or anything. I have no obvious situations I want to be freed from. I'm really rather happy with my lot at the moment, as it happens.

"You will soon be free". Come on, that's just God doing Mafia speak.

So now I'm just looking over my shoulder for thunderbolts. And I'm going to avoid crossing the road today. Just in case.

Bloody God-botherers.



Thursday, June 05, 2008

Welcome to Three-fail

I don't know if it is just me, with my seemingly magnetic ability to attract idiots, but I don't have much luck with customer service types.

See my post on Dell. I rest my case.

Or I would rest my case, but I'm afraid I have to shake it into wakefulness for another round, this time concerning those ever-helpful bods at 3 Mobile.

Don't worry, it's not a longwinded rant. I'm really not cross about this one. Like Ron Burgundy when Baxter eats the cheese, I'm not angry. I'm impressed. With the sheer level of idiocy.

It's a quickie. And here it is:

My phone broke. This happens. I took it to the 3 shop (one of those ones in a Superdrug, where you can't tell if they are shop assistants or muggers, you know the ones). They sent it off on a three day repair on Monday. And credit to them, it came back into the shop, all shiny and fixed, today.

Of course, when I switched it on it went mental beeping away with hundreds of voicemails and texts from lots of terribly important people trying to get hold of me (it's a social whirl being me, it really is).

And here's the thing.

One of the messages was from 3.

Telling me my phone was ready for collection.

Let's see if we can spot the flaw in their logic, shall we?



Monday, June 02, 2008

Fancy Dress Picnics - the next big thing.

So. Last year. some time after the Oranguwasp debacle but before the whole Free-60 issues. Roger and James are in a pub.

Many good ideas have been hatched in pubs. Like the underwater helicopter, the Guinness Book of Records (fact), theory of relativity. Probably.

Now, claiming its own wonky pedestal in the slightly spinning Pub Ideas Hall of Fame, we bring you:

The Fancy Dress Picnic!

Oh yes.

The thought process was simple. Fancy dress is great, yes? Picnics are brilliant, no?

You see where we're going with this one.


The rules are simple.

1. Come as your favourite animal.
2. RSVP to Roger or James with your animal. Then, that's it, that animal becomes yours. Nobody else can copy it. This does, of course, mean that the last people to reply will have to be some sort of zoophyton, but eliminates the tiresome possibility of 75 tigers and 3 dogs.

And that's it.

So. On 2nd August 2008, in broad daylight at 1pm, the momentous inaugural Fancy Dress Picnic will see Clapham Common tranformed into a riotous pageant of fur, feathers and fins as the animal kingdom descends to eat sausage rolls, play frisbee and attempt to pour beer down their throats without smudging all that carefully applied facepaint.

I'm gonna be a lemur.

James is gonna be a shark (hammerhead).

It's gonna be big.

This is the Facebook Event

Just don't come as a bloody cat.



Friday, May 16, 2008


..and it's an Elite.


(Although, to be fair, don't get an Elite. It sounds like a spitfire is sitting under the telly. But maybe that's just the sound Free makes).

Right, got to go. Busy organising the company trip to Thorpe Park. It's all work, work, work....



I am NOT a Happy Bunny!

And yes, I know that ^ is a CAT and not a BUNNY. But that's not the point.
The point IS, in a word, ROGER.

Y'see - you may've noticed that this blog's tagline is:

"Conversations we have had with Growdups".

Which is fine and good and all grand and wot not. However. Some things don't get reported that often.

A bit of background. Roger and I bonded over a love of killing Zombies. Killing Zombies is fun. Roger knows this. I know this.

Thusly we are friends.

Also - Roger and Me - aside from wandering Clapham Common of a night time, hunting the undead - we are also gamers.
I am a Nintendo boy through and through. Always have been, always will be. Roger is also a Ninty fan. However, we both love gaming as a whole, (although we both secretly hate the PS3 - it's a GEORGE FOREMAN GRILL... No Really!) and as such, owning other consoles are allowed.

Roger used to have an Xbox 360, in a previous life as it were, and this was fine and allowed and there was no problem with this whatsoever. However, when said life ended and new life was embarked upon, some things had to be left behind. Namely: Roger's 360-dom.

Not a problem.

I have Wii.
Roger haz Wii.
We both have Resident Evil 4 (aka - Resident Wii-vil - say it)

Life is good.


Roger decided she needed a new job.

Roger looked around for new job.
Fine also.

Roger got an interview for a new job.
Fine by me.

Roger gets into a conversation about gaming IN THE INTERVIEW
Fine. It happens.

Roger mentions that haz Wii, but misses her 360ness.
This is also Fine.

Roger says something like: "So yes. First pay packet? 360 all the way!"
Fine. Who wouldn't.

Roger (two days later) receives letter outlining 'benefits'.
Normal stuff, pensions, holidayz etc...


"as an additional welcome to the team we'd like to offer you an xbox 360 bundle of your choice, to the value of £300. Let us know which one you want and it'll be on your desk on your first day. Beats waiting till payday..."


"as an additional welcome to the team we'd like to offer you an xbox 360 bundle of your choice, to the value of £300. Let us know which one you want and it'll be on your desk on your first day. Beats waiting till payday..."


"as an additional welcome to the team we'd like to offer you an xbox 360 bundle of your choice, to the value of £300. Let us know which one you want and it'll be on your desk on your first day. Beats waiting till payday..."


A job interview! Nay, a job OFFER, that includes a freakin' XBOX 360 l33t as part of the welcome pack?!


Most people get forms to fill in, courses to go on, new laptops, crackberries etc etc...


I am not happy about this turn of events, as you can well imagine. Yes I love my Wii and yes, I am pleased that Roger has re-joined the ranks of the Wii-60ers out there.

But I am without such l33tness and I want an Xbox. I want one yesterday plskthxbai.

S'not fair.



Wednesday, March 12, 2008

(Shaolin) Monkey Business

So, apologies for not posting in a while (bad times). But part of the reason is that I've got a new job (good times).

There is a whole other post regading the way I got said job - which James is harrassing me to complete, and I will, I will - but in the meantime I just wanted to share something.

I don't start my new job (yes James, I know, details to follow...), until the 1st April. So I'm still here, coasting through the old notice period. And today I get this email, thusly:

"We need to put a new fridge on the building account. Just a standard domestic one. The one at the moment is on its last legs, due in no small part to finding a monk in it after a show one night during their last visit..."

I will miss this place.



Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Working Life

Roger and I have a running joke that one day I'm going to get, and I quote:

"found out"

If I do, I'd like to think it would happen a little bit like this:

Can I Touch Your Shonkey? - Click here for funny video clips

Not that it will ever happen though.
Both Roger and I have managed to master the skill of blending in with Grownups quite well of late (at times).

Which is a shame because The Shonkey would quite frankly, Rock.



Friday, February 01, 2008

Politics. No, really.

I've noticed we've been a little off-topic recently so I'm going to bring us back to the old school origins of R&J today with a little run in I had with some bona fide grown-ups last night.

Yesterday, I went to a pub quiz. There were a few folks I knew there, but most of the team was made up of a bunch of people I'd never met before. Now, I'd like to state at the outset that they were all very nice. But they were most definitely Grown Ups.

They were all Involved in Politics (I'm using the capital letters advisedly here, to indicate the true seriousness of this statement). The following was actually said upon introduction: "Hi, I'm X, this is Y and Z, we are all into politics. We work in politics, we watch it on TV, we read about it, we just love politics." Seriously. As a positive thing.

Possibly in reaction to my barely-disguised terror, X went on to excitedly tell us all about the 'Super Tuesday Super-All-Nighter' they had planned next week. O...k.... um, please explain. "Well", she bounced, "Super Tuesday is the day when all the States hold their first-round elections." (Are you scared yet?) "And we set up each of our TV's to pick up a different news broadcast so that we can watch coverage of each state as it happens, all night! It's SO much fun!"

"Ahh, I it's like Eurovision but just really, really boring?"

They did not like this. Tough crowd.

Later. Mid-conversation.

X: Blah blah de blah [insert politicians name here], defected from the Tories and is now the only Labour MP to have a butler. Isn't that hilarious!!!
A [A is, I think, on my side]: I bet Gordon Brown has a butler.
X: No. No he doesn't. He has staff.
ME: I bet he doesn't either. If I was Gordo I wouldn't have a butler. I'd have a monkey. He's PM, he can have anything he wants, I'd have a monkey.


X: Well, he has one doesn't he, Prescott.

Hilarity ensues.

ME: No, really, I'm not being satirical, I mean, he's the most powerful man in Britain. Fuck it, if it was me, I'd have a team of monkeys to do my bidding. In bellhop suits. One to open the door, one to hold my briefcase, one to polish my shoes.....

X: Ah, like the cabinet.

They nearly wet themselves.

ME: ...and the butler one would be called Pierre. It would be brilliant! And he'd smoke a little pipe and ride a tiny bicycle.


What is wrong with this crowd??

X: So. About the mid-terms.

And we lost the quiz. All that politics but you don't watch QI, do you?



Thursday, January 24, 2008

Funniest Film of 2008

(although only see the film if you fancy a laugh)

Alien vs Predator: Requiem

Or as I would've called it:

"Predator swats Aliens like flies until he meets the, ahem, 'Predalien'* who then kicks Predator's ass all around the screen at every opportunity right up until the quite frankly ridiculous ending which is so bad it will remind you of Cube 2, (which sucked)"

But I doubt that would've fit on the poster.

Moving onto the film...

Here are some choice scenes:

:Man leans on Sheriff Truck, dressed in Sheriff's uniform.
:Man gets into Sheriff Truck but...

...just in case there was still any doubt...

:Camera zooms onto "COUNTY SHERIFF" which is written on the side of truck and allows you to... read... it... really... slowly... just in case you STILL DONT KNOW WHO THE MAN IS.


:Boy delivers Pizza to girl.
:Girl likes boy but has dumb boyfriend.
:Boyfriend doesn't like boy which is made clear by crass comment as boy arrives but...

... just in case there was any doubt...

:camera zooms in on girl's boyfriend who gurns and stares in a comedy WWE wrestler fashion.


:Head chef to waitress:
:Supremely obvious "THIS MAN IS GOING TO DIE!" line alert!

"Don't worry, I'll see you in the morning..."

:Man dies within minutes.


:The 'Survivors' turn up at, what can only be described as, the local corner shop.
:Hero-esque Man: "Where are the guns?"
:Girl (pizza girl from earlier) walks two steps into the store...
:Girl: "Over here!"

Really - that one you just HAVE to see to truly get how hilarious it is.


An homage to Final Destination:

:Blonde walks down corridor.
:Eponymous Hunter fights off a couple of Aliens.
:Eponymous Hunter uses two off-worldy ninja stars (bigger and sharper and make slicy noises when they fly through the air) to dispatch his assailants.
:Off-Worldy Ninja Stars fly through the air and kill Aliens
:One carries on flying and nails the stupid blond bint to the wall!


I actually lol'd at that one. Whoops.


So in equal measure: DONT SEE THIS FILM and DO SEE THIS FILM

And the ending?! OH MY GOD. The ending is HILARIOUS. But I won't ruin it. Promise.


Put it this way, y'know that bit in Mystery Men when the Blue Raja says:

"I didn't expect to see you so... SPOON!"

Yeah, that bit. Imagine the last line of AVP2 said in that way. Seriously.

Hats off to the directors for making something so brilliantly and fantastically rubbish and hilarious in equal measure.



*Clearly THE WORST made up word since 'Quadrilogy'.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008


I know this isn't really in keeping with R&J, and there's no witty payoff, but I'm sure James won't mind me hijacking the blog today just to post a little WTF?!, bloody hell and bouhf about the passing of Heath Ledger, just when he was about to astound us all as the Joker.


And here's hoping that Dark Knight won't become a Crow-like emo-fest on the back of it.



Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Pooter trouble

So. Young Roger finishes her last blog entry. Safely tucked up in her pyjamas she sips a late night cuppa whilst settling down to watch Heroes on the laptop.

Immediately, an almighty din ensues and Roger is convinced a Spitfire has somehow gained access to the flat, possibly through an open window, but further inspection reveals the noise to be emanating from the disc drive which appears to be, for want of a more technical phrase, buggered. (They may or may not have been an element of slight droppage earlier. Maybe).

So I fire off an email to Dell. Yes, yes, I know....but it was cheap and it's still under guarantee so worth a try, no?


The reply starts off in a promising fashion:

"I understand from your mail message that the DVD drive is no longer working. Please do not worry, I assure you that we will take care of the issue and resolve it to your satisfaction."

So far so good. A customer service team on top of their game. I felt 'assured'.

Now their first practical suggestion involved an awful lot of technobabble and diagrams. And a screwdriver. I'm sorry, but surely that's something you get a little man in a shop to do? So I ignored that and moved swiftly on.

"If the issue persists then please restore your Dell system to date when it was working fine."

Lets ignore for a moment the niggling fear tat this point that the writer of this missive may not have the world's best grasp of the English language, and move right on to the nub. Effectively they are saying : Your DVD drive is not working. Solve this by travelling back in time to the last time it was working. Then, presumably, try not to break it again.

"Does the issue persist?"

Well, yes, my drive is still f$£ked but frankly now that I have discovered the secret of time travel I shall no longer be needing this puny Earth technology anyway. Oh no, hang on....

Now this, this is my favourite suggestion. The piece de resistance. They really do save the best for last down at Dell Towers:

"If still persists then would it be possible for you to swap the DVD drive with the known good one, if available?"

Translation: If drive is still knackered, replace with one that isn't. (Or, if we're being literal here, replace with "The Known Good One" - WTF?? Your guess is as good as mine).

Luckily, the drive seems to have spontaneously fixed itself as things are wont to do if you ignore them for long enough and give them a few good hard stares.

Dell. You're everything I hoped for and less.



Monday, January 14, 2008

Keep young and beautiful

Right. First of all, sorry James, I know this is not the blog entry you are looking for. But this literally only just came to my notice and as I sit here in my jamas an hour away from sleep time I can either watch another episode of Heroes or write a very small blogette - so here it is.

My flatmate's girlfriend has recently sort of unofficially sort of moved in, as girlfriends are wont to do. This is fine and dandy, and she is lovely. No problem.

The one thing I don't understand though, is the bathroom.

She has so. Much. Stuff. And I don't even know what most of it does. Seriously. I find it fascinating. There's potions and serums (I don't think I've ever owned a 'serum' in my life - apart from anything else it always sounds a bit rude and well, kind of, organic, if you see what I mean), and oils and creams and loads of makeup of that really expensive sort that you buy in department stores from terrifying looking women that spray you as you walk past (with perfume, not in a territory marking way. That would be wrong).

Now. I wouldn't mind, but now I'm not sure whether, as a girl, I'm supposed to have all this stuff too. I just have no frame of reference. For comparison, my shelf comprises:

A toothbrush.
Half a tube of Clean and Clear (because that's what I've washed my face with since I was 15 and I see no reason to confuse myself with change).
A very sticky pot of hair gel.
Dalek shaped bubble bath, and
A bottle of Sailor Matey.

All of which currently look vaguely embarrassed against this new influx of spa treatments and cleansing micro-bio-wankenoids.


Ah well. Back to Heroes.



Saturday, January 05, 2008

I've bin to the edge

As Roger mentioned recently I am now get paid for doing this kinda stuff.
All official like. Not here mind. This is for fun. Or 'The Sex' according to one theory.

Anyway, the worst part about it is - and this really does depend on your point of view - I do my best writing at night. I always have done and, until I work out what it is about burning the midnight oil that produces such creativity, I always will.

This post however, this post, is written in the morning. At 11am on a Saturday morning in fact. Why?
Well that'll be because I was woken up at 10am on this Saturday morning...
Allow me to explain:

Yesterday, for some ungodly reason, I was managed to be awake for around 22hrs.
Rounding off the day at about half 4ish in the A.M. by putting some finishes touches to a document I'm working on for my employer.
"It's Saturday tomorrow.. I can lay in" ...I think to myself, all smug like.


I'm laying in bed. Asleep.
Dreaming of walking through a field..
Listening to birdsong and appreciating the wildlife when all of a sudden a cow turns to me and says: Ding dong.

"S'funny, cows don't make that noise..."

A synapse goes off in my head and I make the connection of the sound with that of my doorbell. I ignore it. It's Saturday, I'm not expecting anyone, it's probably the postman...
I'll just roll over and go to sleep.

Ding dong

"Grr..." - Maybe they'll go away in a minute. Ding dong

RIGHT! (and also just so you know, at this point, I have no idea what time it actually is) I'm going to have to answer it, DAMMIT!
Whoever it is it must be important and they're clearly not... Ding dong ....ARRRGH! ...they're clearly not going to go away.
I run around trying to find my dressing gown. I have two now having recently got one for Christmas. Can I find either? Can I balls. I throw on a pair of jeans quick.. run... Ding dong "ALRIGHT ALRIGHT!" ..down the stairs... aaaaaaaaaaaaaand...

I am greeted by a small woman and what may or may not have been her husband..
Both of whom I could only best describe as being... European.

And thinking on it. Scrap that. They didn't even _actually_ greet me.
*She* was straight to the point...
(he didn't say a bloody thing - just stood there looking dopey).

EuroBag: "Excuse me, are you the person that keeps putting their rubbish in our bins?"
Me: Err... "What?"

Realisation slowly dawning that it is in fact very cold and I am standing on my doortstep in nothing but a very raggedy pair of jeans...

EB: "It is just that someone has been putting their rubbish in our bins and now there is no room for any of our rubbish to go into our bins. The dustman are here now... "

I look up. Yep. They're here.

"... and I do not know if you know but recently they have changed the day on which they collect the bins, they no longer come on a Thursday they come on a Friday. They have come today which is Saturday because of holidays and now they are here they will only take rubbish from front verge, this because there is new contract with Council and old dustmen, old dustmen used to take the rubbish from bins in garden out back but new dustmen, these dustmen, will only take rubbish from verge on front grass. On Friday mornings we have to put rubbish out for new dustmen. So if you have any rubbish you should put it out now for the dustman or put it out on Friday because that is when the dustmen come now."

I swear she did *not* pause for breath... and it doesn't seem like she actually said that much now that I've written it down but trust me; this woman would *not* shut up.
Throughout this entire 'exchange' - (ha) - I've been slowly waking up whilst trying to nod in the right places etc... at the same time trying to deny all knowledge of 'bin-gate' (when in fact I know full well it's me.
The bins are always sodding full so I just stick my rubbish in the nearest empty one.
It doesn't *actually* matter who's rubbish goes where, all the bins get thrown out eventually...

Well... it turns out that this in fact may not be the case and would explain why my bin is always full. I actually have to take it out.

So I'm standing there, in just a pair of jeans, clearly only having just crawled out of bed because of the idiots in front of me ringing my door bell at 10am on a blimmin' Saturday morning and this woman actually expects me to give a flying fudge about her sodding bins.

And what did I do?

I said:
".... er.. thanks, bye."

I then closed the door, climbed up the stairs, stubbed my toe on the top step, (nothing worse than stupid, half-awake injuries), got back into bed and tried woefully in vain to try and get back to sleep...



Thursday, January 03, 2008

How would YOU do?


Roger's Score ^

James' Score ^

Together we have a 103% chance of survival.

How's that for a slice of fried gold?!

Roger & James