THE NEW NEW

I've been wondering when it will become trendy to buy something new.
As in modern, unique, never been seen before. Because it can only be a matter of time before retro is out of date. New will be the new new and old will no longer be new but positively dated.
If you get what I mean?!
But I have to admit I have always been a sucker for old style, retro trainers.
Very clever. Makes me feel like a teenager again (although does that mean that they make a teenager feel like an old git??)
Take an old design, jazz up it's image as 'cool' and hey presto. Instant fucking wad of notes in the bank.
And no designer to pay.
But I bet not even the top brains in Adidas could have really believed we would go for the 'Stan Smith'.
Not that there is anything wrong with the trainer.
But if you were asked to name a high profile sporting icon from the 70's, Stan bloody Smith isnt exactly the first name that springs to mind.

I suppose it's well done to Adidas for getting away with it.

But the cold truth is...

THE MAN IS FUCKING BALD!!

With a moustache.

Like the stereotypical 1973 German porn star. But with better trainers.



The Original Stan Smith

And the Original Stan Smiths

Only one of them is good to look at....

Now if Adidas had any sense, they would bring out 'The Nastase'.....
Because there you have a real tennis God. Dark, brooding and good looking, with a great sense of humour and a mean player to boot.
In comparison to Stan Smith, he was a womanizing, champagne swigging, bad tempered nasty bastard. Just the kind of bloke we can relate to. And as opposed to asking for the whereabouts of your Stan Smith's, wouldn't it be so much cooler to be able to say "Where the fuck's me Nasties??".

"Listen, I'll wear what the fuck I want on my feet, o.k.??"

FOOTNOTE: If retro is so cool, why is my Nokia 3210 so fucking funny?

Listen, fashion muppets, one day you'll be fucking weeping 'cos you wished you could change your plastic cover for a different colour. You mark my words.......

EASY WEB UPDATE

A mate of mine has sent me an e-mail,
Apparently, my wonderful new website 'doesn't work' on his computer.
He's running, and I quote, " Safari on a Mac".
Oh Dear, Oh Dear.
And you told me!
They do say there's one born every minute.
A Mac is to keep the fucking rain off.
Sort your life out!!

EASY 3 STEP WEBSITE

JUST 3 EASY STEPS and your very own, personal website will be up and running - and all for free!!
Er... yeah. Right.
Hence the recent Blog neglect.
Been working on a website for a music collective I'm involved in (it's only taken us 6 fucking years to get there) and being both skint and tight, we want free hosting. Well you would, wouldn't you?
And this one seems so bloody simple.
1. Create Account
2. Create Site and Upload
3. Promote it
The first bit wasn't too tricky. But of course, any obvious name you want for your site has already gone. So you need to be a bit creative. Except, of course, if you are us. 'Cos the name we want is available. It is nothing short of a fucking miracle!
Stage 2. Create a web site. Just like that! Not to worry that lots of people get paid lots of money to produce websites. You can do your own. Piece of piss. How difficult can it be? If you want it to look like a kids exercise book, that is.
As with anything that needs a little thought, you can produce a reasonable looking site. Might not be too flashy and have too many dancing lights and video streams on it, but it can be quite presentable. Just not in two days!
Hence the Blog neglect.
And what they don't tell you is that it can take as long to upload the bloody thing as it does to create it. 'Cos its free. And every other fucking skinflint, tight-arse, "look at my new website" clever bastard is trying to upload their brand new, award winning opus at the same fucking time as you! But we got there. And yes, like so many others., it is only half finished. But boy, are we proud of it.....
And so to the final step. Now call me thick, but I thought Google promoted it. Once it's there, everyone types in something relevant and up you pop at the top of the list.
Doh! Not quite that simple. Google isn't sitting there waiting for you especially so they can tell the world. After all, they do have one or two other sites to choose from.
So you gotta tell all your mates. Get them to tell their mates.
Oh, and it might help to have something mildly interesting when they get there.
Not many people want to see 450 pictures from your ski-ing holiday. No matter how good a bloody skier you are!
You can always add one of those counters to your site. Its not tricky - you just pinch it from somewhere. Then you know how many people have visited you. Or not. Which might prove a little depressing if you actually KNOW that not one single person has seen it.
ALMOST LIKE DOING A BLOG, REALLY!!

(Of course, you must have been expecting this bit. It kind of comes under step 3 - promotion.
So here it is - http://skittlealley.110mb.com/home
And it's actually really, really good. Honest!)

KATE MOSS

Because I can......

MUPPET OF THE MONTH

MUPPET OF THE MONTH FOR FEBRUARY

Welcome to the very first Muppet of the Month award.

This is awarded to anyone whose behaviour has been nothing short of total muppetry and can have no excuses.

Hopefully it will never feature a woman driving a people carrier or any staff at Budgens because that would just be cruel and too fucking easy!! Like capturing a wasp in a jam jar and banging on the lid shouting "Soft Wanker!"

As you might well imagine, each month there is most likely to be a plethora of candidates, from the famous to the not so well known, and this months winner was almost pipped at the death by my very own son, who only last night, while enjoying a Birthday meal at a local pub, proceeded to drop his mobile phone into a full glass of coke!

What's particularly irritating is that he has an all singing, all dancing Nokia with Blue Tooth, MP3, blah, blah and blah. Whereas I'm still struggling along with an old Panasonic thats only feature seems to be a rather stationery colour screen. But does he appreciate it? Does he fuck! Following frantic removal of covers, battery, SIM card and the like, and a quick wipe with a serviette, he declared it 'probably' o.k., if a bit sticky. Although to me, Tupac seemed in definite danger of drowning on the screen - think I'd rather be shot.....

I have told him, if new phones are needed, I'll be the one with the new one, not the prat that drops his in his coke. He, of course, could then always have my old one - let's see how fucking cool he looks answering that!

But no. He has narrowly escaped.

Beaten by my mate, Paul.

This is how it works.

You park your car outside a local leisure centre while you go in for a "sauna" (yea, right).

This area is notorious for car thefts and break-ins.

Indeed, only the day before it had featured in the local paper after a spate of thefts from cars.

But you have to park somewhere, agreed.

You hang your jacket up in the changing room and go off for your sauna.

You DO NOT

a) leave your car keys in the jacket pocket

b) be so trustfull as to not bother putting your belongings in a locker (with key!)

c) have laying in the back of your car a £300, fairly rare bass guitar

Cue return from sauna to find keys gone, guitar gone, wallet gone, credit cards gone.

DOH!

Two days later, my mate is in the local paper, picture and all, looking suitably miserable and bemoaning his loss.

DOH again!

As if it wasn't stupid enough to get it knicked in the first place, it's even more stupid letting the whole county know about it.

Muppet might be being too kind.

Consider yourself very fucking fortunate there isn't a "Totally Stupid Fucking Prat of the Year" award!!

Nice one, Paul.

ORDINARY BLOKE v's ORDINARY BLOKE

It started back in October.

Find out what all this "Blog" nonsense is about, sort out a decent title, and have a go.

But the blog had to have a point (of sorts!). So I was delighted - not to say amazed - to find that the address "Ordinary Bloke Down The Pub" had not yet been used. It seemed perfect for a blog that intended to air all the subjects you'd find blokes (and blokesses) ranting on about down your local boozer. In fact, it seemed not far short of total fucking genius!!

But then I became a lazy twat and did nothing for months - well, there was Christmas and all that.

So finally getting off my arse and posting something, it was all excitedly that I typed Ordinary Bloke into Google, expecting to see the one and only Ordinary Bloke Down The Pub popping up at the top of the list.

And what did I get??

Steve bloody Irwin!!

Now, there's nothing wrong with Steve Irwin. I quite liked him.

But ORDINARY BLOKE?

You are having a fucking laugh!

I've wrestled a few Mooses in my time (reminder to self - YOU CANNOT HANDLE KRONENBOURG) and had to fight off the odd pig or two after one too many, but CROCODILES? AND SNAKES??

Don't be silly......

Left is Ordinary Bloke Down The Pub posing outside a bar on holiday.

Nothing more dangerous than the odd stray dog (nothing a well aimed brick can't sort out) and the occassional bothering of the beach vendor (honest, I can't carry money in these shorts!).

Right is Steve Irwin - not quite the same ordinary bloke as above, I think you'll agree (although the crocodile doesn't look that fucking scary to me!).

Now I admit there is an uncanny resemblance that could be an episode of Who Do You Think You Are? all in itself. And I'm sure you're wondering if Steve Irwin looks as good in the old "Englishman Abroad" vest as the Ordinary Bloke Down The Pub.

But I do have to admit that he would have been a lot more use to you down by some Australian river bank than I would. And let's face it, probably a lot more use to you outside the Kebab van at midnight as well!

But ordinary? Sorry, Steve.

You were a top bloke.

Cool and Funny.

And you look almost as good in shorts.

But ordinary - I'm afraid not.

And believe me - that's not such a bad thing!

P.S. The Ordinary Bloke search also threw up David Cameron. I like it. Google has a sense of fucking humour.

Pass me my gun.......

THOUGHTS FROM THE LOUNGE BAR

ADOPT-AN-ANIMAL
Last Christmas (2005), I adopted a turtle for my youngest. He got the certificate and everything on Christmas day. Who knows, by Boxing day, the poor little baby turtle could have already been lunch for some enormous fucking sea bird or shark. Who would know? My 9 year old, bless him, has wonderful visions of his cute little turtle swimming happily away in the Indian ocean without a care in the world. I haven't got the heart to tell him that he doesn't actually have a specific turtle (named Eric I believe) and that MY hard earned money, although it helps, is actually funding a couple of blond haired, bearded Norwegians in their quest to spend their entire lives on a boat in the fucking sunshine so they don't have to get a proper job!
Anyway, come this December, the emails start flooding in. Our further subscription will help continue the life of Riley, sorry, exceptional work carried out by the small team of selfless volunteers! Not a word about my bloody turtle though. Where exactly is Eric, my 10 year old wants to know? (see, one year older, ever more cynical).
How many late night skunk and firewater beach parties has our subscription enabled?
Sorry guys. we're not buying it. Find some other poor suckers to fund your Maldives island hopping.

This year our moneys going to those cute little Tigers.

Lets see some scrawny seagull try to eat those fuckers!!


JORDAN LOADED
I read recently that Jordan (she of the pneumatic chest and twat on her arm) is worth about 10 million quid!
How did that happen, then? Where's it all come from?
Yes, she is a model. Yes, she has big tits.
She has written (ha ha) a book.
But how do you get that sort of money? Who the fuck is gonna read that book, let alone buy it?
You can see why that desperate loser she married couldn't wait to get hitched. Pretty unlikely he's going to be a big earner anytime in our lifetime. But living off the earnings of Jordan can't be far off pimping!
At least I can feel happy that neither of them have got their hands on any of my hard earned.
I can honestly say that not one single penny of mine has been deposited in her bank account.
Although I can't guarantee she hasn't had a deposit of mine somewhere!!!

Jordan shows off her twat again!

ORDINARY BLOKE AT HOME

The plan is that ocassionally I will also add a small section about myself, so the reader (if there should be such a thing) , gets to know a little about what the ordinary bloke down the pub gets up to when he's not down the pub!
No, don't panic, this isn't the start of an autobiographical bore-fest, it will just be a short piece now and again giving you the odd insight into my personal life, outside of the pub orientated opinion that will make up the bulk of this bog. Something like this...

EX WIFE & KIDS
The ex has been the ex for a few years now. In fact, even my replacement "Mr. Wonderful" is now an an ex as well. Which is where the problem starts.
'Cos when she had her bloke in tow, I was an unwanted irritation. Had to pop round to get the kids, but was generally about as welcome as a muslim with a rucksack at Kings Cross underground.
But now he's gone......
On the phone all the time, wants this doing and that doing. Even asks me to run down the shop for some fags!
Well sorry love - NO!!
An ex is just that. EX. Surplus to requirements.
And that's the trouble with ex-wives. You can nevr quite get rid of the "wife" bit.
If I was an ex boyfriend, you need never contact me again for 20 years (when I'll pop up on Friends Reunited and you'll forget what a total arse-hole I was and try e-mailing me).
If I was an ex pet I'd be in a Cornflakes box buried somewhere at the bottom of the garden that you can't remember.
If I was an ex friend then you'd do everything in your power to avoid me in the street (having never forgiven me for buying the same pair of shoes as you!).
But as an ex-husband, with kids, you can never quite break away completely, no matter how hard you try.
And subtle messages rarely hit the mark. So lets try another way.....
It's time to get over it. You're an ex for a reason.
Get your own fucking fags!!

GIRLFRIEND
Anyway, now there is the girlfriend. Not exactly new, as we've been seeing each other for 3 years now, but a younger model that takes some getting used to.
Different outlook on life, perhaps.
Take a few weeks ago. A problem "down below" resulted in a trip to the doctors, who promptly suggested a Chlamydia test! Now correct me if I'm wrong, but most women would have gone absolutely ape shit at their partner, wanting to know where they've been, what they've been up to and, most importantly, where they fucking caught it!
Before, of course, passing it on to her.
My girlfriend? Never questioned it. Could have been lying dormant for several years, she said. "If I've got it, I've got it. No point worrying about it." Apparently, according to her, either one of us could have caught it years ago from another partner and it's only just reared it's ugly head.
In the end, turns out there was nothing wrong. All clear. Nothing to worry about.
Except, maybe, the rather calm attitude of said girlfriend to the whole scenario...