Onur

My flat"mate".

Pathetic whistle and shuffling slippers.
The very sounds are enough to entice me into madness and, oddly enough, give me a slight chill within.

What does he do? Where does he do it? I have no idea!

Pigeon-like features and pigeon-like gait, bobbin head and beaky nose.

Dirty kitchen with pots and pans, gathering mold. He doesn't even give a fuck.
Week-old pasta rotting in its pot, coffee in the sink went the same way last week. He took my spoon, the one with the rabbit on I got from Ikea, why the fuck would he want that? He has loads of spoons.

Filthy bathroom too, dirty floor, get back at him by using his Head & Shoulders.
Finally bought a mop today. Use it.

Comes home from (work?) somewhere, slams the door, awful music, computer nerd, has his own website "under construction"

So why does he send a chill up my spine? A man of pathetic attributes.

Quite simply, I "borrowed" his internet for a few days without his knowledge (having your name and date of birth for a password is asking for trouble) he subsequently found out and blocked my computer from his wifi.
Not a word was spoken about this.

November 1st comes and there's a note on my kitchen table  

Leads to my one and only conversation with him.

Me "have you got a bill"
Onur "No"
Me "ok"

10 minutes later he produces a bill of unidentifiable origin (mein Deutsch ist nicht sehr gut!!) so for ease I agree to pay.
But no, I get thinking later on, the numbers didn't add up, so I refused to pay, I didn't tell him of course. Over a month later i still haven't coughed up the cash. Cunt.

And once again, not a word from the man himself, no questions, no interactions. Nada.

The longer this radio silence went on, the more I began to wonder, whats he thinking? What does he think of me? The internet stealing, no electricity paying guy from England who never talks to me. Was he planning anything? I had no idea.

Then came the dream. My room, my bed. I was asleep, a dream within a dream. In walks Onur, turns on my light, I pretend to be asleep, hope he goes away. Seconds tick by and the light remains on so I crack a lid to check. He sees me and I see him, the light goes off.
I sit up, or try, I can't talk and I can't move my arms. He's coming closer, humming, mumbling, closer. I mght not have paid for electricity but one way or another, he'll make me pay. Fuck.
My eyes spring open, my heart pounds. Was it real? Was it a dream? I hope for the latter and get up to check the door is locked, it is. Relief, but not, I can't sleep, I can hear him shuffling.

Half an hour later I drift off, but the memory? It's drifting nowhere.

Fear, irrational or not, is fear. Would someone really enter another persons locked room at night over an unpaid electricity bill of 28€? I highly doubt it but there is no limit to the imagination of an idle mind, given time to think, to construe, to create.

Here's to hoping I return after Christmas to no more Onur!

People I don't like.

I've felt a fair amount of disdain towards certain individuals lately, and decided to vent some frustration in the form of a long forgotten blog.

Most likely this is down to my usual high intolerance for meeting new people and being in social situations over which i have no control, and the fact that over my past 5 and a half weeks in Germany I have made, for myself, an unusually high number of friends and thus my natural capacity for dislike has become somewhat subdued and mellow.

That was however until recently.

A female, English, has appeared in the scene, uninvited and unwanted with the apparent notion that as we are both English then of course we should both be friends. Oh how wrong you are!!!

Said female is nothing to be desired, short, unnatractive, lacking in almost every department, features reminiscent of those belonging to a troll doll, she is, as they say in the art business, no oil painting. This alone would not be bad enough to rile me into an (admittedly ott) tirade about her, no, what prompts this is her constant appearance and skulking at events in which i am involved, whether it be a lecture, day out or a mere passing in the corridor, whenever i think i have managed to shake her off, BOOM, there she is in her holy magnificent unglory.

In these situations I can feel her, eyes burning into my very sole, willing me to her and the inevitable "hey I'm english too, lets be friends based only on that and the fact that we have absolutely nothing else in common apart from the fact that we both hate me"

On a lighter note, i seem to have inadvertently acquired myself a stalker of more sinister nature. Marlon, the white German with a dead look in his eyes, framed by a mane of greasy locks.
Never seen out of his trademark brown suede suit jacket and green polo shirt, Marlon is a creep of the higest order.
Made even worse by the fact that he has a desire to teach me German, not even his poor english is enough to disuade him from the task of teaching a novice his mother tongue. Marlon is persistent in his creepiness and his eyes searching over me, undoubtedly wondering if it's true that human meat is as good as people say.

It's hard work being nice all the time, just needed to vent a bit of frustation!!

Sure I used to have a blog.

Fuck, not done one of these bad boys for a long time, the pressure to be consistently "funny" got to me.

Thought I'd start doing my hugely popular blog again with my (and probably a lot of other people's) view on the elderly.

In general it might seem that getting old, and by old I mean pension age up, not the stupid "ohhhh I remember back when I was in 6th form and now I've just finished my first year of uni" kind of old, is shit. And for the most part it most definitely is.

However, fear not, there are at least some benefits to getting old probably. Although definitely not a benefit is being the subject of idiotic questions regarding little puzzles to keep your mind active, from the always insightful Susan Ma: Skincare specialst.

I feel, and I'm sure you'll agree, that the best part of reaching a certain age is the ability to pass wind loudly and copiously. This convulsion of the bowels can be greeted by others in two (three) ways;

1. Being laughed off by relatives "good old Grandad and his farting"
2. Being ignored and people upon hearing it secretly hoping that you know what you've just done and that it isn't the first step on the steady decline to being placed in an expensive care home or, if your family is particularly nice a surprise holiday to Switzerland. What is it the Swiss love so much again?
3. Being called a dirty old bastard whilst loudly pissing yourself, often literally.

Another advantage of getting older is being able to say pretty much whatever the fuck want and having nobody care about it.Just imagine if Mel Gibson was a 70 year old man who called female police officers sugar tits, it'd be hilarious, well, almost as hilarious and if 70 year old Mel said this stuff he wouldn't have to shove his hand up a beaver's arse hole.

Telling youth what it was like in your day, despite the fact that your day (as in now) was pretty crap. 'Your day' will always be better than the future.

Possibly the thing I'm looking forward to most however, is being able to wear a suit each and everyday of my senile life. Alzheimer's here I come!!!


So getting old, it seems, would lead to you having the time of your life. Never mind memory loss, incontinence, loss of height, memory loss, being treated like a child and memory loss it's the thought that counts.

Oh dear, Ormskirk...

I fancy a bit of a change in direction from the usual bollocks and will therefore be writing a short review of Ormskirk.

Ormskirk brands itself as an historic market town, loved by the elderly and lovers of tat alike. I prefer my own tag-line; Ormskirk - where the old come to die.  The amount of elderly people in this town is second to none, they potter about aimlessly, milling and loitering, they have nothing to do and have been tricked into thinking Ormskirk is home to a lively bustling community full of like minded old codgers looking for the final thrill before popping their cobweb encrusted cloggs.

6 months now have I endured Ormskirk, and in those 6 months I have seen barely a soul who can claim to be middle aged. The needle swings wildly from pensioner to uni student, with seemingly no middle ground. This provides a wonderful mix of shuffling shopping bags and sniffling uni lags.

The main high street (for main read only) slicing through the heart of the town is one residents are surely proud of. Retaile outlets such as B ock us er (Blockbuster) leave one wondering if there is also a shop tucked away in some, thankfully, long-forgotten Ormskirk alleyway called LBT selling all the videos they steal from the
B ock us er returns bin. I hope so!

The town boast a huge array of ba... oh wait, no it doesn't. There is 3 bars in Ormskirk of varying quality, ranging from shit to errr, shit, granted it's a small town so I suppose it's off the hook in this respect.

A problem I have with the locals, Ormskirkians I believe, is their apparent lack of identity, screaming out to be included as Scouse, the L39ers fall somewhat short.

My major problem however is its approximity to hellhole of a town, the pie-eating, rugby-playing, JJB-wearing, hair gelling, jabroni bashing dump that is Wigan.

In a nothing town I suppose it is rather apt that on certain days revelers are greeted with the heady, pungent aroma of freshly laid manure as they step off the train into the overcrowded, overcared, overoldpersoned blight on the map that is Ormskirk; Historic market town.


Just as a quick side note, I like the uni, just not the town. Poor showing Ormskirk, better look next time.

What an angry day, my first blog in ages and I take a new direction and heap scorn on my university home!

What the future will be like.

Ahhhhh The Future, a wondrous place for one and all. Probably. What will it be like? Who could possibly say. Until now nobody, however, that is all about to change as we watch the shroud of mystery surrounding the future become engulfed in the fire of knowledge!

I am about to impart on you the wisdom of literally minutes of detailed thinking about what The future will be like, 50 years precisely.

So, 50 years from now is the future a brave new world or one of despair and shit. Well I can now tell you that thanks to a Live Aid style rap collaboration from heavyweights of the genre LL Cool J, Ja Rule and DJ Jazzy Jeff World War III was averted and all 3 were covered in liquid gold and made into an extravagant statue placed at the top of Mt. Everest. Maybe. Anyway, that load of bollocks meant that the world was saved for whole nother day so we can get on with how it's gonna be fruity and such.

One of the great mysteries regarding the future is what will music be like. I believe that in honour of the fallen rap heroes we'll endure a period of about 20 years when all music bar old school rap and duets with Ashanti are banned. This will also be a time of parachute pants and large baggy shirts made popular by 90's black people. After the roaring 20's and 30's people will soon tire of the lyrical stylings of such rap luminaries as Funky D and his oh so treacherous 3 and music then progresses, soon after this thanks to new technology invented Marvin Gaye and Tami Tarrell are returned from the dead and there is no music apart from those two. Naturally everybody is happy forever because as we all know, It Takes Two, Baby.

After spending his teenage years teaching his friends everything he knows about "The Birds", Michael Myers realises he has a gift of epic proportions and must share it with everybody, thus becoming a real life Hitch. Soon enough, Britains men all get the girl of their dreams and Senior Michael opens up his own school in order to train up a new batch of slightly-less-good-than-him replica Hitches. These Hitches, along with the original, travel the world schooling men everywhere and pretty soon everyone gets what they want when they want. Every man in the world is happy, fat men pull Cameron Diaz and ugly women are bred out of existence due to selective breeding, men however come to grow incredibly fat an complacent as they know that thanks to the growing influence of Myers they no longer have to make an effort for women. This whole saga has a terrible effect on the world leading many to liken Mr. Myers to a Scouse Hitler, probably due to the fact that he hasn't had a shave since 2018. Either that or he told me to say he became a real life bitch. Fab (clicks fingers) U (clicks fingers) Lous. Miaoooooooooooooooooooow.


The star of Louis Spence will, unsurprisingly continue to rise higher and higher. By 2029 Louis has won 12 Oscars for his troubles and it has become law that he must appear for a minimum of 10 minutes in every single film ever made. Existing films are re-edited to include Louis, often in a cat suit, in various scenes. My personal favourite was when he appeared in the Titanic, lurking behind the two heroes in the front of the boat scene.

A major thing regarding the future is how the current generation will be as old people. Will we all wake up one day and suddenly have a penchant for cardigans and flat caps? Will women with once illustriously fine heads of hair sit down one day and think "You know what? I've always wanted a perm" The answer is of course yes. Old people are not supposed to be stylish, although we do still all go out clubbing and junk, silver foxes on the prowl. Only difference is that in the future young women are more attracted to older men which is where Michael "Hitch" Myers comes in.

Also in the future everyone eats GM food and cows give birth to steaks and pigs shit out sausages that taste like bacon. Its a wonderful world. On the downside though genetic modification makes plants that eat cats so there's no cats in the future. Cats are gay anyway so it's ok.

Thus ends my awful ramble but don't despair, I have a few more blogworthy ideas coming up. They'll be shit too I cant wait.

How to have a nice time on a night out!

Time after time people come up to me proclaiming "Shaun, I just can't bear it anymore, when I have myself a night out I always get the feeling that my behaviour just isn't as unscrupulous as it could be. Please teach me oh mighty one". So I have decided to impart a few pearls of wisdom, drop some knowledge on multiple asses and school you in the art of behaving yourself on a night out as well as one or two tips and tricks to set you on your way. You lucky, lucky people you.

As we all know, the best nights out always start in the bathroom, so that's where the guide begins.

Shower, shave, shit. It's all about the three S's. But it isn't really, remember guys, girls love nothing more than a shockingly bad beard, gets those legs a-quivering every time without fail. The worse the beard the hotter the girl. Scientific fact.


So, now the formalities are out of the way we've hit the town drinks are flowing and a song comes on that you think is jolly good. What do you do? Do you dance? Can you dance? Of course you can't, so don't simple as.
Even if you think you're a budding Jacko please spare us. If you really must dance obey the golden rule. Do not move your feet. A shake of the hips is as mobile as you should get, the key to "dancing" (moving) just enough so as not to seem like a tit is all in the hands. Wave them about a little bit and, dare I say it, thrust them in the air like you just don't care. Party animal, much?


When you are in a pub you must never, ever, ever, EVER use the jukebox. No matter how much you think the entire contents of whatever late night alcoholic beverage dispensation establishment you've rocked up at will enjoy the new track by James Blunt they most assuredly will not! You'd be best advised to grin and bear the sickly sweet pop music and generic hip hop tracks. if, by some miracle you do happen to stumble across a bar that actually has taste in music, I'm talking nothing but Motown, baby, then please refrain from informing your friends that you know and love every song that comes on. They really don't care.


Barmaids, 9 times out of 10, do not want to be lecherously chatted up by the clientele. They've heard it all before, you could be legendary ladies man Peter Andre for all they care. You're wasting your time and you're wasting theirs.


Similar to dance, however just about important enough to warrant its own paragraph, is the art of "doing the robot". No matter how could you think your version of the ever popular dance is, there will always be someone who can do it much better than you. If you really can't help yourself then at least wait for the strobe lights to come on, strobe lights make everything cool and even the most feeble of robots can seem impressive under such illumination.



Enough of the negativity for now. Wearing a nice suit to town is a sure way to have a great night. It gives you an air of being possibly rich, making you attractive to the female women and to the men you come across you could possibly be James Bond or shit. An added bonus to wearing a suit is that you can spend all night ordering cocktails in elaborate glasses with olives in and fancy liqueurs. You can get drunk in styleeeeeee



There's probably a lot more stuff I could whack on the end of here but it's getting jolly late and I haven't done a blog for ages so I'm saving the good stuff for a rainy day.


Have a nice time y'all!!!

I fear this is gonna be rather a short one. I'm in a bit of a creative slump blogwise. After a mere four posts, what I believed was a vast reservoir of creative talent has turned out to be no more than a mug of creative juices.

 Some advice I picked up over the years.

If you're a man, never wear a shirt showing too much chest, there will always be that one knob who comes up to you and asks who you're trying to impress with that. On many occasions I've been said knob. In stark contrast however if you're the opposite of a man, women I believe they're called, ignore this advice however do be aware of the same knob coming up and asking the same question.

Do not under any circumstance think that your facial hair looks good. It most certainly does not. You naughty boys.

Drinking coffee instantly makes you more sofistikated, nothing like walking into a Starbucks and requesting a skinny mocha latte with extra whipped cream. Yum yum, are you friends with Stephen Fry? If you prefer to go for the more manly option however you will get a medium black coffee. No farting around with the Italian names. Medium black coffee mate, sugar and milk? You must be having a laugh, do I look like I have a pair of busoms? Milk my arse!!! If I wanted sugar I'd have some sweeties

Owning a broadsheet newspaper makes you look smart. FACT. It doesn't matter which one it is, you don't even have to read it, just look at the pictures of Hilary Clinton falling up plane stairs or of David Cameron shaking hands with an unknown foreign dignitary with a hilarious name.

Reading Swedish crime novels and subsequently acquiring a taste for them which leads to a foray into the local Waterstones to look for more can only end in disaster. Italian Shoes, a book actually named for shoes is actually about shoes, don't make the same mistake I did and assume it's a thrilling crime novel. It most certainly is not. An old man living on an island, finds a daughter in her 30's he never knew he had and then she makes him a pair of shoes. In Italy...

Thank you and goodnight CHESTERRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

5ive things I love to hate.

Tommy, this one's for you.

1. People who comment on Youtube videos.

Not that there is anything particularly wrong with commenting on a video on Youtube, what gets my goat is when people have a ridiculous opinion, often on music videos, often due to their loose grasp of the concept of music. My favourite, or should that be one that got me the most mad and therefore made everyone else the most happy when I jumped up and down like a tit over it, was a comment that I happened across when viewing the Ellie Goulding cover of the timeless Elton John hit Your Song. There was a raging intellectual debate being carried out upon my arrival on said video, is Ms Gouldings version better than everyone's favourite pussy dodger Elton or is it SUPER WAY BETTER. The answer seemed clear to me, despite the oh so compelling argument presented by the hormonal fan girls that "Ellie sings this with so much more emotion than that old man, Edward whatsisname" ms Gouldings version is in fact, wait for it, shite! Not a patch on old Elton. I suppose it could be argued that this verison is much better, after all it was on an advert for crying out loud! On the telebox!! Whatever next.


2. Reviews, professional or otherwise.

A review is never going to satisfy all of the people all of the time, this is just a fact of life but would it kill somebody to write a review tailored to my specific tastes? Please? Just once? Oh well, I suppose that's not likely to ever happen so until the day I become Grand Pope of the Internet and Other Less Important Things and everyone comes to me for blessing before publishing then I will have to keep a lid on my bubbling pool of hate for all things review. My distaste of the review stems from the simple fact that no two are ever the same, they are, if you will, the snowflake of the literary world. For instance, you may have one film reviewer proclaiming that Star Wars: Episode VIII Jaa Jaa Binks Comes Back and Talks Funny Again heralds the second coming of fallen directing star George Lucas, whilst another review, simultaneously published will label it a steaming pile of cinematic tripe. See what I mean? And that's without even setting foot into the minefield that is the independent holiday review, how one person can argue that a hotels location is terrible in contrast to the views of 300 others who stayed in the same hotel and mysteriously found it on the cusp of an active nightlife is beyond me.

3. People who only watch artsy films, generally in Romanian with no subtitles.

Lets face it, yeah? If you sit around all day on the edge of your seat at waste of money action blockbusters with enough entertainment value to melt your eyeballs out of your head, then grow them back and melt them all over again then you are seriously fucked up, man! You haven't lived until you've seen countless obscure (read shit) french films shot 'exclusively' in black and white. What is wrong with enjoying an action film? One liners, hot women, cheesy action heroes, what more could you ask for? And whilst I'm on the subject of cinema I cannot abide people who get swept up in the hype of certain films. Social Network, a good film but not one I actually walked out afterwards thinking wow. That. Was. Incredible. People got swept up in how it was a representation of the Facebook obsessed world that we live in, they enjoyed more what the film stood for than the actual film itself. Give me Bruce Willis in a vest any day of the week, Yippee Kay Ay Mother Fucker.


4. People who are constantly having their minds blown.

No, you're not. Your mind was not fucked, it was not blown and nor was it pulled out through your ear and forced back in via your anus. It remained firmly in your head without even the slightest hint of a breeze.

5. F.R.I.E.N.D.S

Get over it everyone, it was funny 5 years ago. Rachel got off the plane, none of the female characters ever had anything funny to say and Chandler was often sarcastic. You know the cast, you know the plot, you know the script. Word. For. Painstaking. Word. It is now time for Friends to die a quiet, dignified death, to slip away into the shadows, not to occupy countless hours of our airtime that could be used to show quality programming such as Airport, Wisfeswap USA and the always entertaining Holiday, featuring two elderly women rambling on through country and script. Remember, Friends will always be there for you, just hidden away out of view, like an old school chum you really should visit more often, providing you with warm memories but you don't really have any desire to rekindle the bond you once shared.

If any of the 5 people reading this would like to get together sometime and discuss more things I don't like feel free to ask me next time you see me about. It'll be swell. HOWWWWWWZAAAAAAAAAAAAT!

How to pull women; the foolproof guide...

This, is a errrrrr well errrr. Lets start again, women, we all know and love them but oftentimes it turns out that we find our male selves rather lacking in the confidence when it comes to attracting a mate of the fairer sex. I am about to break down all the walls of intra-gender communication and let you all in on some of the best kept secrets out there. I have scoured the web for hours, researching all about women, finding out what they like and what they don't. Now I feel compelled to pass on the information I have collated to my hordes of followers on what is undoubtedly on its way to becoming the best blog in the world. I will now fill you in on the do's and dont's of acquiring a real life female!!

DO, under every circumstance, assume that if eye contact with a girl is maintained for more than 5 seconds that she is obviously attracted to you and would very much like to see what it tastes like inside your mouth.

If possible DO become a trained hypnotherapist. This can work both ways as only today I saw the worlds most orange woman strolling out of a hypnotherapy shop (?) with what can best be described as a human vegetable attached to her arm, surely this gentleman had been hypnotized. So it stand to reason that if you can become a hypnotist you can have any woman you desire, when combined with the 5 seconds plus eye contact of course. Failing that you can always use your newly acquired powers of persuasion to steal the life savings of pensioners. Win win!

Another important weapon in the arsenal of the lonely is to go to a library and sit there with a rather large book with an important title, something like "Advanced Astrophysics for the Well-Endowed Millionaire" and throw covetous glances at any female within the vicinity, flashing the front cover of the book at her. It never fails.

Never, under any circumstance must you talk to a woman. You are boring, women don't like you, it's just a fact of life, you have no charisma. You must wait for the woman to talk to you, until you open that big mouth of yours you could well be James Bond, International Man of Mystery for all she knows. Keeping that allure going is of paramount importance.

From my deliberative research I stumbled across this little tit-bit, women love compliments, just throw them at her, all day every day, "I love your shins" or the always flattering "Wow, your eyebrows really remind me of that beautiful caterpillar is saw the other day" if these compliments, and others like them, fail to work I suggest you are saying them wrong.

Finally, and possibly most importantly of all, as the great philosopher Gok Wan once said "Remember girls, it's all about the confidence".

If this guide fails to win you the girls of your dreams then errrrr I'll change this to the Michael Myers guide to pulling women and all hate and blame should be aimed at him instead. Remember folks, winner winner chicken dinner!!!

Some inventions I'd like to make if I knew how to!

1. A radio that has all the music in it already.

It's a bit like the website lastfm only it's in your own house and it already has the music in it. You can put your iPod on it and it knows what songs you like and then gets other ones like it. You pay a one off fee for this then you get all the music for free from then on.

2. A pen that doesn't need ink.

Just like a normal pen only it has no ink and you can write on ANYTHING YOU LIKE. This is due to special technology, yet to be invented, that sends a message to a computer on which the pen is registered and transforms your scribblings into a Microsoft word document.

3. Gloves that stay warm even if you've been playing in the snow for ages!

These gloves have a special lining of rubber in between 2 thin glove shaped pieces of material, this lining allows for the wearer to frolic gaily in the snow, building snow hunks at his leisure without the ever-present problem of getting cold hands.   

Please don't steal my brilliant ideas and if it turns out they've already been invented and I unwittingly stole them then I'm claiming the ideas as my intellectual property as I have a dated blog to show when I came up with them. That'll hold up in court...

Nobody wants to read this!

The Blog, invented by Joe Bloggs in 1952, is a literary device to which I am somewhat unaccustomed. I have been driving to blogging by my innate desire to incorporate a number of woeful attempts at humour into my university essays, this is, apparently FROWNED UPON. Excuse me for wanting to brighten up the day of even the most downtrodden university tutor.


Therefore, I will now be writing a bi-occasional blog whenever i get the urge to, I have no idea what about or even if it will be interesting, most likely it'll be shit though, so for the 10 people (if I'm lucky) who ever read this, I look forward to us having a brilliant time together over the coming months...