Tight jeans: is there anything so appallingly trendy as that? I can’t think of anything. There used to be a time where if you were a man and you had hair over your ears you’d get mocked in the streets, but nowadays—and I am aware I sound like a bitter older person now but tough—you can’t move five feet in the city without receiving a static shock from all those tight jeans crammed in one place together. And I’m not even joking about the static shock thing. Last week I walked through a crowd and past a Russell Brand inspired teenager who turned at the wrong time, his jeans coming within inches of mine. I received a shock straight to the groin as a result, and I can only imagine what kind of a shock the teenager received (not that I feel sorry for him, he deserved it for wearing tight jeans).

But here’s where the debate becomes intensely complicated—to the point where I become a hypocrite incapable of justifying pretty much all the points I’ve just made: girls look good in them, don’t they? I mean, it depends on the girl, but generally speaking they do look fine in tight jeans, or at least about three-hundred times better than a man who looks like a total mess. Not that this revelation should come as any particular surprise, of course. It’s like girls dancing, all they have to do is fling their arms about and they look at least moderately sexy; they certainly don’t look scary. When a man tries to do the same thing a truly gut-wrenchingly bad thing happens. The butterfly effect of a whole night-club of men dancing in this unforgivable way can probably be seen from space and I also wouldn’t mind betting it’s contributing to the Ozone layer.

One last bit of news, I am attempting to sort something for my mother as a gift. When I was having a chat with her the other evening she said that she would like a new pair of mizuno running shoes . Any suggestions?

What is it with dogs and their owners? Not everyone, and come on now, it’s not their fault that their bums are too small to fit on a standard toilet seat (come to think of it, there may be hygiene issues even if your dog’s big bottom can fit on a toilet seat). No, there’s a lady down the road from me who always goes out with doggy-bags, but there are also a few (thousand) who are waging dog-poo-war against the rest of humanity. One such incident happened to me last week. I took a stand and it sort of back-fired.

I was walking down my street in the dark with a plant pot. I do like a good plant-pot me. The aim was to return it to my neighbour at the top of the road. But, as I neared the top of the road I saw something: a posh lady I had once seen allowing her dog to soil the ground around the corner. Right, I thought, I shall follow her–I have a feeling she may be about to repeat offend.

So I did. I followed. And, just as I suspected the bitch (the female dog, I mean) stopped and squatted and did her business. “Hey you bitch–and you, woman!” I called, rushing up to her. She looked at me all flabbergasted, as posh people have a special way of doing, and said, “What is it?”

“What is it?” I repeated.

She stared at me hard enough to crush my eyelids. “That bitch!” I said, pointing ambiguously. “She is it.”

“Gosh,” said the woman, turning away. “Are you dumb as well as working-class?”

This infuriated me. I have no problem with being called dumb normally, but the way she said “working-class” was extremely hostile. With that I said, “You stop or I’ll call the dog-poo Police!” she stopped, stepped back towards the mess, and squatted down. Then she picked up the much with her BARE HAND and shoved it in my favourite plant pot.

So my point is this: if you are going to pick a fight with a posh woman and her bitch, do so when not holding one of your dearest possessions–

Where did this horrid little chap come from? Well, Canada I believe. He was spotted on youtube or something along those lines by Usher of all people who has then decided to take the little boy under his wing and make him into a pop star. How old is this boy? Fourteen? That is ridiculous. A fourteen year old boy should not be a pop star and should not be in the media lime-light.

I say these things not because I dislike him, which I do, but for his own benefit. Nothing good can come from being a superstar at such a tender age. Look what happened to other child stars like Britney Spears. She went right off the rails didn’t she. Constant attention from journalists and paparazzi is not a good thing. It won’t be long before the police find Master Bieber face down on a bathroom floor with a couple of needles in his arm ready to cart him off to rehab.

And why should a fourteen year old be earning as much money as he is undoubtedly making? Its farcical. If his parents have any sense, he wont have access to that money until he is at least 21, when he is capable (assuming the drug addiction has passed) of mature thought. There is rarely a case when such a young individual isn’t tainted for the worst because of early stardom and I fear this will be the case again.

Also, who writes Bieber’s songs? If it is him, then I am disturbed, and if it is someone else, then I am twice as disturbed. Fourteen year olds should not be talking about love or going to parties and getting it on with other girls. Its disgusting. If the government want to reduce teenage pregnancies, then they have to do something about Justin Bieber before it is too late. Finally, what is going on with his hair? I am positive that is a wig.

Wait five or six years and then come back Bieber, maybe I will forgive you.

Finally, after that little bit of a rant, I need to have a little bit of a gloat. I have just bought the most gratifying mizuno running shoes that I have ever owned. Parks Marathon, here I come!

What is it with train-stations? Have they always been evil places intent on wreaking havoc at every opportunity? No matter where you go in the world, if you scratch beneath the surface you can find something that just isn’t quite right. Something out to get you–

Here are my top three train-station-gripes:

1) The curse of the awful people-hating vending machine:

What could possibly be evil about a vending machine I hear you exclaim? Well, allow me to inform you.

I am yet to come across a train station vending machine that isn’t positioned in such a way–as well as extremely frustrating to use causing you to fumble with your hands out of rage–as to allow you to ‘accidentally’ loose your coins when you drop them; if it isn’t the position of the machine itself—which just so happens to be located exactly behind a wide groove in the pavement which appears to be some kind of drainage filled with coins—then it’s the angle of the pavement, cleverly slanted so that if you drop your coins in the middle of the platform the money will miraculously find its way into said drain–

2) Then we have the train station designers’ utter contempt for blind people:

This is something I only noticed the other day, when I’d had a skin-full and could barely see the ground; there it was, a thin strip of brail a few inches wide right at the edge of the train platform! Behind it potential death! Nothing before it to warn you of what may be to come. Doesn’t that seem a bit strange to you?

3) Finally we have the toilets on train:

Every single toilet I have ever used on a train has had a broken door. Every one. Sometimes I think that the train companies employ people to deliberately break the mechanisms, possibly installing CCTV cameras which they use to tape the debacles that ensue, then sending the tapes to You’ve Been Framed and making more than a bit of extra cash; and if not the door—and honestly, when not the door—then the toilet won’t be working. Honestly! Train stations get me!

Before I go: Exciting news everyone, MD just got a few months work with a dragons den company that sells cotton kaftan, I expect freebies!

While I’m not a neat freak, the idea of clutter completely freaks me out. Having a house that’s full of knickknacks and sorts of useless little bits and pieces is my idea of a nightmare. What’s worse is when the ornaments and knickknack collections are augmented by stacks of old newspapers, dockets and receipts from fifteen years ago, and mugs with broken handles that have sentimental value. Just throw it out, people! I recently had this issue when my much beloved boyfriend moved in with me. For me, this was great, as it gave me an excuse to throw out all sorts of stuff that I’d been casting my clutter-phobic eye over for a while. Old clothes, dog-eared books, duplicate bits of culinary equipment—it all went, even if it was perfectly good. Admittedly, I did umm and err over where I should put some of it up on ebay, but was unnerved by the idea of it sitting there on my lounge room floor while I waited for the auctions to end. So, to charity and in the bin it all went. My house was beautiful and clean, and ready for my boyfriend to move in. Unfortunately, my boyfriend does not have the same idea about clutter as me. He brought in no less than 30 boxes full of stuff. And by stuff, I don’t mean valuable and useful things that might serve some sort of purpose in a house. I mean stuff. I mean excess pairs of underpants where the elastic has gone wrinkly, and broken wooden spoons, and torn envelopes with addresses scribbled on them, and Christmas cards from 1994. Oh, the heated ’conversations’ we had. In the end, I managed to get him to clear most of it out, but I’ll have to do the rest naughtily and secretly. The moral of this story is that no one needs this much stuff. No one in this day and age possibly needs all the stuff they’ve accumulated over a life time. I think personally, that we should all get over it, move it out, and move on to living an uncluttered life!

We’ve all met those people who love to hear the sound of their own voice, and who especially love to hear the sound of their own opinions. I’ve met more than a few of these people in my life, and while I have no problems at all with someone sharing their viewpoint, or giving a little speech on occasion (much like I’m doing here, ahem), there are some pesky people who just don’t seem to have any sort of speech self-control at all. Oh, to have a universal remote control with a very large stop button for when I found myself in these situations.

The worst thing I find about these people, I think, is that it’s rather like trying to stop a very determined freight train using mind control alone. Basically, they don’t even notice that you’d like to add in a little something of your own, or that you’re desperately bored and would like to go home now, please. No, these are the sorts of people who will speak non-stop for five minutes, and who will pause only to take a very large breath before they start up again. And, meanwhile, the poor members of the audience (or worse, some poor put-upon person on the train, or in a store), are desperately nodding their heads and contributing small tokens of “Yes, but–”, and “Well, I–” and “But have you–”, all to no avail.
Perhaps these ultra-talkative people need to be given some sort of timer that only lets them talk for a certain set amount of time before they have to open up the floor for someone else. Perhaps they need to work out some sort of system where they need to put there hand up before they can speak, and where everyone is allowed to have a turn. Who knows, they might learn to talk to people rather than at them!

Pay attention to this update: I have further news about the riding holiday, it has surfaced that there is something about horse liability that we need to look into. I know nothing about this, so Lin if you could do this it would be great.

Celebrity Big Brother. I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here. Celebrity Ice Skating. Celebrity Mr & Mrs. Celebrity Opera Singing. Celebrity Euthenasia. Unfortunately only the last one is made up, the others forming a seemingly endless stream of cheap programming sucking leech-like upon our insatiable desire for celebrity. And the single most annoying thing about these identikit shows is that the vast majority of contestants are not celebrities at all.

Back in the mists of time celebrities were people who had earned the public affection: international footballers, rock ’n’ roll legends, comedians and actors who have spent years entertaining people at the top of their profession. The motley crew who clog up our television screens now are lucky to be called z-list, in fact they are lucky to be on any list other than the one at the unemployment benefits office.

Let me give a few examples: the current series of Celebrity Big Brother has included such household names as Sisqo, Katia Ivanova, Lady Sovereign, Nicola T and Alex Reid. People who are so little known that their own families probably asked ’who is that muppet?’ when they saw them mumbling and stumbling around live on camera. Sisqo had one hit, the irritating novelty ’The Thong Song’, in 1999 and it only reached number three. There have been literally thousands of more successful acts since then, but presumably they all turned the show down. Talking of less successful acts we have Lady Sovereign! The only similarity between her and a real celebrity is that her name starts with ’Lady’ but any other likeness is completely gaga: her last two ’hits’ have reached the lofty heights of numbers 38 and 88 in the charts.

Perhaps the most worrying trend is exemplified by the inclusion of Katia and Alex, as well as Jo Wood in Strictly Come Dancing: the elevation to ’celebrity’ status of somebody who has slept with a star. If that is a true indication of modern day fame then Russell Brand must have come across hundreds of celebrities in a typical year.

The worst thing about these non-celeb celebrities is that they have nothing to say. They are invariably incoherent, self absorbed and boring, boring, boring. I was once interviewed on a TV programme about an upcoming football match, I stood on the plinth in Trafalgar Square, I make a living out of entertaining people with my fantastic writing and my dog once jumped in Jack Charlton’s fishpond. By current standards that surely makes me a celebrity! I am expecting my invite to appear on your inane programmes any day now, TV producers. Please be aware however that I will only eat witchetty grubs if it is artistically necessary and I receive payment in cash rather than food tokens!

Final thing, I have just looked at the design for this hr software site and it is really nice. I am thinking of using it as a kind of base design for my personal site. What do you all think of it?

Well as you all know the entire country came to a stand still over the snow and ice that we recently experienced. Obviously these are quite exceptional circumstances and we have not experienced weather like this for years. I was busy sunning myself in Australia when everyone got snowed in, in December 2008/ January 2009 so missed all the hype, but this year – Oh my word, what a disaster. Now I live 18 miles away from my workplace and the A road that I take is notorious for fatal crashes at the best of times, so there was no way that I was going to put my life at risk to travel in and most likely write off my car, or even worse – die.

So I call in to work and advise I can’t get there, and that’s all fine, my supervisor advises me to take care and hopes to see me the next day. Yeah right. I can’t even go out of my house for 4 days I’m so snowed in. Unfortunately for me, the supervisors all live locally to work and so can walk in, and the snow was actually nowhere near as bad there as it was in my town, the next county on. Due to this, the patience and understanding starts to grow thin on their part. Oh I’m sorry. Is it my fault? Can I actually snap my fingers and control the weather? Do I have a 4-wheel drive? NO.

Finally on my return to work – 4 days later, I am informed that I need to take this as annual leave or make up my hours. Now I really must say, employers should be a little more humane and sensitive in understanding that no job on this planet is worth risking your life for. What is wrong with this country? Why are we so OBSESSED with being at work no matter what the consequences? Heaven forbid we miss a couple of days because our front door won’t open to 12 foot of snow, lets penalise us all instead - the world is not going to end!!!!!!

I had a chat with my boss about this situation and said I was not happy to take the time off my annual leave allowance, as the adverse weather conditions were out of my control, so it was ‘agreed’ I would make this time up. I asked what provisions are in place should this happen next year, as undoubtedly it will due to global warming and all that, and the answer was none. Fabulous. Well prepared then. She then asked if I could take a bus or taxi the 18 miles to work instead!!! Okay miss, you tell me what buses and taxis are driving that treacherous road then?????? And are you going to pay for the taxi??

I have not long finished making up my hours, and they have been the most exhausting weeks of my life. I’m so tired now I can barely function, so that’s very counter-productive on their part I must say.

Next year I will ask for a 4-wheel drive for Christmas. Failing that a pair of wings so I can fly instead, because there is no way on earth they are stealing my holiday allowance off me.

Failing both of those, I just need to find a man, marry him for a visa and then emigrate somewhere hot. Any offers???

The Queen, soldiers, puppies and kittens, Sex and the City, the Dalai Lama and Delia Smith: to this list can be added ’babies’ as subjects that cannot be criticised unless you want to end up as a social pariah. Well I am prepared to stick my head above the trenches and shout to the world ’No more babies - I have had enough of them!’

My resentment of the dribbling little screamers has reached breaking point with those nauseating Evian adverts! Look guys, when I have settled down after a hard days work with a glass of pinot grigio in one hand and about to tuck into a nice hot plate of carbonara the last thing I want to see is a gaggle of babies roller blading around, shoving their nappies in my face and giggling like maniacal serial killers. You advertising gurus think you are all so clever with your mobile telephones, your cars and your patent leather shoes but let me tell you that some of us do not find babies cute!

The last few months seem to have seen a surge in friends, family and neighbours having babies as well, probably due to the rubbish that’s on our televisions in the evenings. Here is an open message to those people: I am very happy for you, well done, but there is nothing that I would like less than for you to bring the rug rat over to my house: it may surprise you but I have no interest in how he has said his first word or how she can now toddle for five steps without falling over. I can go out on a Friday night, have a skinful of cider and when I come home I’m talking nonsense and falling over as well but I don’t go around boasting about it to everyone!

Don’t get me started on these bores who record every little thing that their baby does on their mobile phones - I don’t want to see the latest two hundred pictures of little Jack or Chloe, they all look exactly the same! To be completely honest I would rather drown myself in a vat of heating oil then look at another baby photo!

It’s impossible to get on a bus or go to a supermarket these days without being assualted by the ubiquitous sound of babies wailing and crying - there is no more grating sound known to mankind. Whatever happened to the adage ’children should be seen and not heard’? The world was a better, and quieter, place in those halcyon days!

I am not against babies per se, I just have no interest in seeing or hearing or smelling them myself! And before you ask, no I don’t have any children because I am too busy concentrating on looking after myself to waste my time and effort on a little spewing and poohing machine! Rant over, I’m off to watch the sports channel - but if those Evian babies roll their way across my screen again then my foot will be making imminent contact with the television screen!

I just had a walk into town. It was a pleasant experience until I stumbled upon (quite literally) something that should not have been there…

Standing in dog poo is not something that I enjoy doing. In fact, it really annoys me! Why don’t people clean up after their dogs? You can guarantee that they never tread in it when they are on their way round to Somerfield! Perhaps if they did they would be a little bit more considerate towards other people. The worst thing about it is trying to get it all off of your shoe. And you can be sure that the guy who designed the pattern on your sole didn’t allow for this very well…

I have a really good idea for dealing with this disgusting problem. If dog owners were stopped randomly and asked if they were carrying the necessaries for cleaning up after their mutt then this could really help. If someone who is out with their dog is not carrying a ‘poop-scooping’ kit with them it is obvious that they do not intend to clean up their mess. A fixed penalty could be put into place for people like this.

I am sure this would help and reduce the amount of dog muck on our streets. Either that or the authorities could employ me to follow dog owners around. If I spotted anyone violating ‘The Pavement Code’ then I could simply tail them home with their dog’s mess in a bag and post it through their door (without the bag)! It may not reduce the problem, but it would make me feel a hell of a lot better.

Leaving your pet’s waste on the pavement is totally inconsiderate, unhygienic and unpleasant. I have never owned a dog but if I ever did then I would see cleaning up after it as being a responsible owner.

One last thing, it would be great if you guys could support this cause and hit this link. This Enigin Engery Savings blog has some really cool ideas for companies who are concerned about thier carbon footprint, I really wish that more people thought like them.