Hungry, Hungry Hobos

Today I had an idea for a game show:

..."Hungry, hungry Hobos" (alternative idea: Hungry, Hippie hobos)

This game show would be much like the classic plastic-hippo-based board game, except it’d be televised and have genuine hobos and food.

Seems pretty logical to me

The more I thought about this idea, the less it seemed like the mad Monday morning ramblings of an office-worker losing the plot, and the more it started to seem like the work of a mildly deranged genius (if I do say so myself … and I did!)

I started considering the basic setup for the show. I settled (for now at least) upon the idea of having four contestants (none hobos*) who would have to answer some kind of question based round, the results of which would indicate who could choose a hobo first. Once each contestant had selected a hobo, a large circular pit in the centre of the stage would be unveiled (possibly using some kind of sliding floor mechanism (see, the volcano base in “You only Live Twice”), the four hobos would then be released into the pit together with, say, one burger. They’d then fight over said burger (or half eaten pasta salad, whatever takes your fancy really, they’re unlikely to be picky). Whoever manages to get and ingest the food, wins the show for the contestant who chose them. There’d have to be some kind of prize for the contestant, the hobos ought to be happy enough with somewhere to sleep and the possibility of some food. The winning hobo could also perhaps win some drugs or a new jumper or something, to add a further incentive to win.

"Here, have some almost new boots, you've earned them, hobo!"

After this I got to thinking who would host such a show, and that’s when one name sprang to mind, and when it did, I realised my plan had legs, and that, put in the right hands it could run far. The name that sprang to mind was Noel Edmonds. I think that needs no explanation, it was a job that he was practically born for; he’d be perfect for it.

I rest my case

There could also be a section which showed a bio for each hobo, with stats and a catchy name, so that people could get to know them and have favourites etc. (see, Gladiators or Robot Wars) …. Imagine if you will, A steely grey background with bolts around the edge and perhaps some rusting/discolouration. On the left side of the screen appears a super-imposed picture of a hobo, slowly revolving in a 3D fashion, a name plate slams down above his head “TOOTHY JOE” (or some such name, can work on that later). Then, on the right hand side of the screen, further plates of metal with information about “Toothy Joe”, his age, height, weight, significant medical details (alcoholic, addicted to Crack etc.) and finally a short paragraph about his life, where he used to live, favourite sleeping spots, any interesting facts really.

"Hi, welcome to the show, I hope you're as hungry as you look!"

And that was my idea, and I maintain that it could work … especially if I can get Noel Edmonds to agree to it … if not, I’ll need to find someone else I guess ….. Perhaps Brian Blessed.

*… Ok, just typing this up I’ve thought up a new variation that could be done for charity, as a Christmas special or just for the amusement of the masses … Celebrity episodes, where, the hobos take the place of the contestants and pick celebrities to fight for something, maybe some airtime, maybe some cocaine or crack ...that part needs thinking about ……… Maybe I could just look them in a cell for a week with minimal food and just have them fight over a tube of stale Pringles, while the vacuous studio audience cheer and bay for their blood like a pack of ravenous wolves!

……. Either way it’d make brilliant T.V.

Ah, the life of a spy...

"Is it like they it is?" you ask. Or would ask, if you knew what it is I do for a living, and you'll never until I retire (or am retired). Is it like they say it is? They say it's about adventure, and action, and daring, and heroism. They say it's about man slipping through the defenses to strike a blow for his nation - an expert, an ace, a triumphant example of individual cunning over the blindness of a lumbering enemy institution. A tribute to just how skilled and intelligent and charming one man can be. A special one, prone to excess, living outside the meaningless rules that confine the rest of you, hiding in plain sight or rarely needing to hide at all. Gun in hand, heart on sleeve, girl on arm - who wouldn't want to be spy material? But of course, it's not really like that at all.

It might look like that from where you're sitting, but you'd be mistaken. I might appear confident when spoken to, but in this job the fight against paranoia is constant and draining, because if you become paranoid then you're finished. I might be alone this evening, but I'm always just one piece of the machinery, because you can't accomplish a thing by yourself in this business. I might get to enjoy fine dining sometimes, but it's purely incidental. I might be highly skilled, but the skills I possess aren't exciting or glamorous. I've never thrown a punch in my life. I don't blow things up. I just acquire information.

And I don't hide in plain sight. I don't hide at all. I just live in the blind spots that everyone has - the places you would never look because you assume - you KNOW - nothing could be there. You can fit quite the little career in a blind spot. We all operate on the reasonable notion that we can make at least a small set of very basic assumptions about people based on their outward appearance, and we live our lives based on this, and this is exactly what I exploit. There is nothing observable about a good spy. There will always be people you can't make any accurate assumptions about at all, not even the most basic ones, because their exterior and interior simply do not connect in a familiar manner. There will always be freaks, existing outside the visible spectrum, and I will always be one of them (and it will always make me good at what I do). But we're only freaks if you find out about us, and you won't find out because we appear normal and nobody ever looks twice.

I cannot be found, even if you know exactly what to look for. How do you look for someone you would never notice? You don't - you just don't notice them. It's fundamental.

And it's not glamorous, despite what you may assume. You can't assume. A man in a suit is probably roughly what you'd think he is, but there's a chance he isn't - there's a chance he's almost anything, and that is what I have to be because that's how the world works. The people who get things done are the ones who slip past while everyone is staring at a cliche. But being a freak isn't for everyone. To permanently be half in the shadows, to never truly find that sense of community that we all inherently crave. To keep family and friends (if you even have any) at arm's length. To sacrifice so much of value in service to a career.

Who wouldn't want to be spy material?

You probably wouldn't.

I mean, if you're at all qualified it's almost impossible for you to get the attention of a waitress in a restaurant...

My Theory of Infinite Fridays

Hangovers and coffee lead me to ponder strange concepts, here's an example:

Firstly, we must accept, as an axiom, that: Thursday is the new Friday

If this is the case, then Wednesday is the new Thursday, Tuesday the new Wednesday, Monday the new Tuesday etc etc.

However, considering that Thursday is the new Friday, it follows that, Wednesday is Thursday and Friday, Tuesday is Wednesday and Thursday, Monday is Tuesday and Wednesday, Sunday is Monday and Tuesday, Saturday is Sunday and Monday, Friday is Saturday and Sunday, and, Thursday is Friday and Saturday.

Following this process through to its logical conclusion, every day of the week is simultaneously every other day of the week, in short, every day is Friday.

… Furthermore, this means that every day is Saturday as well, which leads me to question why I'm at work on the weekend.

Me, pondering

I am an inherently unhappy person...that's why I'm so happy...

I will never die fully fulfilled...

I will never fly in a SR-71 Blackbird.

I will never see Cash, Hendrix or Muddy Waters live.

I will never hang out with Sinatra, Martin and Davis Jnr. in  a dive bar in Vegas.

I probably will never own a '67 Dodge Challenger R/T Hemi , let alone drive one. I will never be in an episode of House, never play harmonica on stage with Dylan, never play for London Irish or spar with Rocky Marciano.

I am also inherently dispositioned  to be unhappy because I will never meet "that special someone", statistically speaking. I will never have enough money, statistically speaking. I will never "find my perfect career", statistically speaking, or even find a lager I can fall in love with, "statistically speaking".

I'm never going to score the winning touchdown at the super bowl, the winning try at the Rugby world cup, or the winning goal at the Fifa world cup. I'm never going to meet Steve McQueen, Bob Marley or Bruce Lee. I will never sleep with Monica Belucci, Dita Von Teese or Zdenka Podkapová. I wont win Le Mans, see the Earth from space or rugby-tackle the Pope.

These are all things that I that if I had one wish, just ONE, I would think about asking for.

But if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

That's why I'm a happy person.

There are loads of photos and pictures and shit dotted around the net, sporting "inspirational" quotes, from the likes of Muhammed Ali, Bruce Lee, Marilyn Monroe and so forth, spouting crap like "As long as you have a dream, you can reach it" and "The only thing stopping you from reaching your number one wish is yourself."

Bollocks.

Chances are, your dreams are unobtainable, hate to be a kill-joy but it's true. I know my dreams and wishes are, I can never reach that peak, so I don't go chasing ghosts and shadows to try and get there.

That's why I'm always happy, I'll never do any of the above, so I don't have any over-arcing benediction with which to hold myself against, I never achieve something worth being proud of, but then turn-around and think to myself "But yeah, you still haven't got that yacht yet."

That, in so far as I have been able to ascertain is the secret to being happy. It's all about the here and now, fuck 2 years down the line, you might be dead by then. If your life right here, right now, is worth being happy about, if that joke you just heard made you chuckle, if that picture of a midget uppercutting a tranny made you smile, if tramp on a bus just said something funny, if a creationist just made a fundamental scientific error and you laughed about it,  if you just had a glorious shit, wank or game of solitaire, that's it. You're happy.

The 10 Drinking Commandments...

I know this makes it two drinking related posts on the trot, but sod it, drinking is something close to my heart, and something I have a vested interest in. Guys, I hate to say it…but a lot of you are letting me down. More importantly, you’re letting yourselves and your gender down. Every time I go out to a bar and I see a guy with a purple or pink shot in their hand, a small part of Burt Reynolds’s mustache dies.

When I venture out to a bar or restaurant and I see a man with a martini that is any other color than clear, I am forced to say a small weeping prayer for the future of mankind. Now I don’t mean to turn this into a post strictly directed at guys, because ladies, this is of the utmost importance to you too. What a person drinks says quite a bit about who they are, and if the man at your side prefers drinks with umbrellas over ones with whiskey, well…you’ve got some serious decisions to make. So without further ado, I present:

1. Thou Shalt Learn to Enjoy Whisk(e)y - Irish, Scotch, Bourbon, Sour Mash, Tennessee, Welsh and every other form of the drink shall heretofore be your best friend. You can start by mixing with coke, soda or ginger ale at first to ween yourself into it if you need to (Jamesons and Dry Ginger Ale (James and Dry) is a perfectly acceptable manly drink), but at some point you’re going to have to learn to drink the stuff on its own. It’s a complex, mysterious and brooding spirit, which are not coincidentally three things you as a man should also strive to be. This commandment is the most important, and the hardest to get through, which is why it’s first. If you can master the ways of Makers Mark, Drumguish, Jameson and Glenlivet…the rest of this should be a piece of piss.

2. There is No Such Thing as a “Chocolate Martini” - This has been said elsewhere many a time before, but it bears repeating. The only things that should be in a martini are gin (and/or a quality vodka), vermouth, and garnish like an olive or onion. Anything else, and you’ve made a grave mistake punishable by a lifetime of Desperate Housewives repeats.

3. Thou Shalt Not Drink a Frozen Drink - The ONLY exception to this is if you’re at the beach or on a cruise ship. Otherwise, stick to hunks of ice or chilled mugs to cool your drink. Alcohol is not meant to be drunk in smoothie form.

4. Thou Shalt Not Consume Drinks With Idiotic Gimmicky Names Meant to Cover Up How Girly They Are - So help me Vishnu, if I see any of you jackasses out there with a Sex on the Beach or a Screw Me Blue in your hands, I’ll slap it to the ground and eat your worthless soul so fast you’ll truly come to appreciate the phrase “life flashed before my eyes” like never before. You’re not fooling anyone. Just because peach schnapps has some alcohol in it does not qualify it as an alcoholic beverage. It has its place in the great wide world of booze, but mixed up with 18 other fruit-flavored alcohols and garnished with a paper umbrella and stupid name ain’t it.

5. Thou Shalt Learn to Appreciate All Forms of Beer - If Budweiser, Carlsberg and Corona are your idea of what beer is and is meant to be (there's nothing wrong with them, but it's a much wider world out there), you’re living your drinking-life like that of a child in sub-Saharan Africa. Bring that inner impoverished child into the “civilized” world and open your dry crusty wind-chapped eyes to the world of ambers, stouts, saisons, hefeweissens and the multitude of heavenly hops-angels just waiting to surround you and give you a glimpse of the Promised Land. While you’re still getting over your silly stigma that Guinness is a “heavy” beer and cringing at the thought of a slice of lemon in your Hoegaarden, the rest of us will be happily melting our brains away into oblivion. With the superhot hops-angels, of course.

6. No Worthwhile Woman Will Ever Be Impressed With How Much You Can Drink - Being able to funnel six beers at once or taking down an entire fifth of rum in one night may impress the shit out of your mates, but no quality woman on earth will give a damn about how much you can drink. For that matter it’s really not worth even trying, as trying and failing will produce far more disgusting consequences than you ever bargained on. Let it be known: while some refer to alcohol as “Liquid Knickers Remover”, puke is far better known as “Liquid Loneliness”.

7. It’s More Than Okay to Drink Wine - Knowing the name of a few good Sancerres, Cabernets and Pinot Noirs is a highly valuable thing. Inevitably in your life you’ll need to go to expensive restaurants for anniversaries, birthdays, and pet funerals… and knowing what’s good vs. what tastes like grape-flavored vinegar not only makes you look smart and sophisticated, but saves you from drinking grapes that taste like they were fermented in horseshit. Become familiar with the ins-and-outs of a few wines, and the impression you’ll make will be well worth it. Being labeled as “cultured” is never a bad thing…being labeled as “ignorant” always is.

8. It’s Worth it to Learn the Rules and Traditions of the Drinking World Before You Go Out Into the Wild (and Make an Ass Out of Yourself) - Pro Tip: When drinking one of the aforementioned obligatory wines at one of the aforementioned stuffy and overpriced restaurants, do not sniff the cork. Check it for mold or odd discoloration, and then put it down…but do not sniff it like a damned country bumpkin. Pro Tip 2: Do not make a big show of popping the cork off a bottle of champagne. Hold a cloth or towel over the cork and catch it before it shoots into the ceiling. It’s the grown-up thing to do. There are a thousand small rules like these (or maybe “customs” is a better word?) surrounding the booze-life that knowing can be the difference between you looking like a showboating know-nothing spanner, or a refined gentleman of great taste and culture. The two mentioned here are a start, but take the time to learn what separates grown men from the forever-alcopop-swilling-park-bench-loitering-chav-boys and you’ll be more than a few steps ahead.

9. The Way You Treat Bar Staff and Waiters/waitresses Says More About You Than You Know - I don’t mean to get all Jesus-y on you guys, but as the Good Book says, “That which you have done unto the least of these, you have done unto me.” And I can tell you, that’s exactly how a woman or prospective business associate will see it. Snapping, clapping, yelling, whistling or just general rudeness to someone waiting on you are a sure sign to anyone in your company that if they spend enough time around you, you’ll eventually treat them with the same selfish nonchalance and disdain that you treat those who are paid to be nice to you, just stand there. At most, stand there with a note in your hand. And for crying out loud, TIP WELL. You have no idea how far this can take you.

10. Any Free Drink is a Good Drink - I know, this seemingly negates some of the previous rules, but hear me out. Not even mentioning the many economical reasons that you should never ever in your life turn down a free drink when offered to you (which essentially boil down to: YOU’RE NOT BUYING IT AND IT’S NOT POISON, SO WHO CARES!?!), it’s just plain RUDE to turn down a shot or drink purchased by someone else for you (unless it is, in fact, poison). They’ve not only put down their hard-earned cash to buy you a taste of the good life, but they’ve also taken the social gamble of saying “Hey, this is a person who deserves a drink for saving babies/stopping (evil) moving trains/kicking my ass in Guitar Hero, and by golly…I’m going to buy them a beverage in public to show the world how noteworthy their accomplishment is!” That’s quite simply a proposition you can’t say no to. If you do, you’re a prick.

Much like the Bible, there are many more minor rules to the world of drinking, but these are the Big 10, the ones that in a general sense should guide you throughout your journey through this magical world of booze and keep you from temptation and harm. It’s a cold and frightening world out there, but by following these simple rules you definitely have a better chance of emerging unscathed.

What your drink says about you...

Staropramen drinker - likely to spend most of the evening texting some other girl.

Stella drinker - likely to spend most of the evening pretending to text some other girl.

Budweiser drinker - likely to spend most of the evening showing you porn on his camera phone in a bid to impress you. Has never had a text from a girl.

Real Ale drinker, bearded - someone's divorced uncle Tim.

Real Ale drinker, semibearded (facial topiary) - secretly despises the taste, feels he 'ought' to drink it.

Real Ale drinker, unbearded - socially inept computing student.

Guinness drinker, Irish - will break your heart.

Guinness drinker, non-Irish - nursing broken heart.

Guinness drinker, American - Great Grandad had a half brother with an Irish 2nd cousin twice removed, aka has Irish "Heritage".

London Pride drinker - not from London.

Trappist brew drinker, under 50 - fussy type with an excess of both spare time and self-regard.

Trappist brew drinker, over 50 - monk.

Cider drinker, teenager - made an impulse decision when he couldn't spot the alcopops.

Cider drinker, adult - from Norfolk.


Vodka Martini – Sophisticated. You’re classy, old school or a James Bond wannabe. I've been known to drink these, make of that what you will...

Cosmopolitan – Prissy, over ordered and passé. Favored by Manolo Blahnik wearing Candace Bushnell devotees who spend all their money on shoes but live in rathole apartments. Rapidly becoming an old lady drink.

Sidecar – The last time you got laid was 1932.

Chardonnay – You know what you like. Boring. Predictable. The Missionary Position of White Wine. Not that there's anything wrong with that...

Pinot Grigio – You’re pretentious or don’t know what you like. You follow the herd. The Circle Jerk of White Wine

Beer – Just beer, sod the label, just good old fashioned ice cold brewski...Blue collar, simple, and an old standby.

Chocolate Martini – You’re immature or have a sweet tooth. Good for masking the taste of Roofies...or so I hear...

Vodka on the Rocks – You want to get drunk as fast as possible.

Malibu Bay Breeze – A gay man’s drink. Again, not that there's anything wrong with that, red is red, up is up, and this is a gay man's drink...

Sloe Gin Fizz – Same as above.

Gin neat – Only for mad dogs and Englishmen.

Sour Apple Martini – You have a sense of fun but overindulgence might cause dancing on tables and bad karaoke singing.

Campari and Soda – You’re a gourmand. A good aperitif. A bitter drink for bitter people.

Manhattan – Old fogey drink. Stuffy. Where did I put the bitters?

Sweet Vermouth on the Rocks – You’re so old that if you’re not already in the grave you soon will be.

Pinot Noir – You’ve seen Sideways. Nuff said.

Sex on the Beach – You’ve been to Club Hedonism haven’t you?

Sex up Against the Wall – You own shares in Club Hedonism don’t you?

Galliano –You’re a waterbed, lava lamp, reel to reel, gold chain wearing, wall to wall shag carpet loving, swinging 70’s disco fool.

Gimlets – You’re old fashioned and like to drink. Usually the provenance of classy cerebral babes.

Rob Roy – You’re an alcoholic...bloody good drink 'tho...

Margarita – You’re fun and naughty with a sense of style. If you don’t have it with salt you’re a wimp.

Shirley Temple – What? Are you five years old? On the wagon? Get the fuck outta here...

Bloody Mary – You need an excuse to start drinking before lunch.

Gin and Tonic – You’re kinda boring but an excellent drink when it’s hot outside.

Mint Julep – You’re a hospitable Southern guy/gal. Good stuff. Rarely ordered.

Tequila – You’re not afraid of spending a little time in jail. (Little known fact, tequila isn't actually a drink, it's just a way to get the police to turn up without using a phone...)

Champagne – You’re reserved and classy...or a stripper.

Vodka Red Bull - Party person, young, possible cokehead.

Southern Comfort –Where’d you put the Lynyrd Skynyrd eight tracks? I know I saw ‘em around here somewhere.

Southern Comford, Lemonade and Lime – The line between "Fussy Cocktail" and "No-nonsense drinker" is a line you enjoy tapdancing on reguarly...

Mojito – You’re not afraid to try new things, have low frustration tolerance and are prone to wild rages. I may not agree with what you drink, but I will defend to my death your right to drink it...

Rum and Coke – You’ve been arrested for assault once or twice.

Whisky Sour – Have another one Grandma.

Alabama Slammer – You’ve read the “Have a Cocktail” placemat at the diner once too often.

Jamesons Irish Whisky – You’re a sexual athlete. Women want you and men want to be like you. You have class, talent, wit, and brains.

Caffeinated ramblings

Over a cup of coffee or two at 9.30am today, my team leader and I had a conversation about Hugh Laurie...

Hugh Laurie ... looking dangerous, because he is

It all started after I watched “Later with Jools Holland” last night and saw him, playing the piano with Jools. When I got into work I felt the need to discuss this with my boss (who also likes Boogie/swing/jazz piano). During this conversation I made the observation that Hugh Laurie, was an amazing comedic actor, a brilliant serious actor and that he seemed pretty bloody good at piano too (three observations I will vehemently stand by).

And then I casually posed the question that sparked it all off:

“Is there nothing he can’t do?”

… There was a few seconds silence as I pondered whether I had just asked a stupid question and whether or not that stupid, potentially illogical, question had included a double negative.

Clearly, my boss had been thinking the same thing, she turned and stated that she wasn’t really sure whether that counted as a double negative or not. We discussed this in vague terms for a minute or so before deciding that it was going to need some real thought… and so we decided to put some real thinking into it.

We established that:

“something” is the opposite of “nothing” because surely, “nothing” or “no thing” is the lack of “something” … as such:

nothing = not something

This, in itself, means that:

“nothing he can’t do” = “not something he can’t do”

However, if:

“nothing he can’t do” = “he can’t do nothing”

And:

“doing nothing” = “resting”

Then:

Hugh Laurie can’t rest

On the face of things, we had just established that Hugh Laurie had some kind of super-human ability to survive without rest…. However, there was a further problem; What if “resting” is something? It certainly seems like a something in its own right. We thought….

If:

“resting” = “something”

And if there’s:

“nothing he can’t do”

Then:

He can rest because there’s “nothing he can’t do”, but similarly he can’t rest because resting is doing nothing and we know that “he can’t do nothing”

There was consensus that this turns Hugh Laurie into a human paradox. After some discussion on the potential consequences of a human paradox, it was agreed that no one would be able to survive being a paradox, it would just be an impossibility and as such Hugh Laurie would simply cease to exist within reality.

However, what further effects would this have? Surely you cannot simply erase one person from reality as we know it without further, wider reaching side-effects … thus, reality unravels and logic crumbles out of existence, ending everything.

… THE END