Egypt. Summer. 2009.

December 4, 2009

A family, not actively recruiting for new members, plays volleyball. A woman, wearing a t-shirt proclaiming her a beach authority figure, interferes.

“VOLLEYBALL!!!” she shrieks with her mouth, wasting three exclamation marks. No-one on the beach interrupts their holiday to join in. The family, two versus two, want nobody to join their game.

“VOLLEYBALL!!!” she insists, loudly, intrusively.

She peels off her ‘I-work-here-so-my-rules’ t-shirt to reveal a tanned, lean torso that the German father’s eyes reveal he would gladly eat his buffet breakfast from, if only he knew the correct translation to ask.

“VOLLEYBALL!!!” she gobfarts, with a ‘yes, let’s go’ hand motion as she steps onto the sandy court. The boy serves towards her inclusively. The ball dances on a stiff sea breeze and hangs before arcing down to reach her hopelessly flapping limbs, which cannot agree on one direction. 

She slaps the ball as if flirting with it ineptly. The heads and hearts of her forced and now losing team mates sink as one, as good families are predisposed to react to such setbacks.

“VOLLEYBALL” she fucking shouts.


Marry her

July 24, 2009

I love Barbara

…take thee, Barbara ARGUMENT!, to be your lawfully wedded…

All hail Barkevius Mingo!

July 6, 2009

Why haven’t I wasted any time following the thriving Name of the Year community before? Frankly, the answer simply doesn’t bear thinking about, not even with another man’s head. My interest in such a phenomenon (note the italics for ‘nom’, which is French for ‘name’, which is extremely clever) has no doubt been piqued by the fact that I work with a Genius Chitiyo and a German Priks. Want a side of irony with the main course of weird name? Why not try this for size – the former is no genius at all, and is no smarter than your average Genius Bloggs; and the latter is Russian, which only fortifies his xenophobic moniker.

“Please change my pants as fashion dictates.”

May 28, 2009
A freezer geezer!

"A freezer geezer!"

Behold…Frostillicus! A year on from Rob Knox, Sidcup finds ever more inventive ways of shocking the nation.


An 83-year-old woman who kept her mum’s body in a freezer has told neighbours she is hugely relieved her secret is out in the open.

Frail Daulat Irani, known as Dot, spoke to friends as police revealed her mother, Gulbai Freedoon Murzan, may have been in the chest freezer for almost 30 years.

Dot told how the body in the garage preyed on her mind for decades but she waited until her sister Parvis and brother-in-law Arthur died before she confessed.

One neighbour said: “Dot lived with her sister and brother-in-law until a few years ago. She confided in another neighbour who told the police and then the police came round and found the body.

“I said to Dot, ‘It must be a great relief knowing it’s all out in the open’. She said, ‘Yes it is.’

“She told me, ‘I waited until my sister and brother-in-law had gone. I thought it was the right time. I had to protect my family’.”

Parvis, a gynaecologist, died 

last year, two years after her engineer husband. It is not known if the couple were the ones responsible for hiding the body.

A police source said it was possible that Mrs Murzan, born in December 1901, was put in freezer as early as 1980.

Another neighbour confirmed the suspicion saying: “A detective told me they believed it had been in the freezer for 29 years.” The Mirror revealed yesterday how police found Mrs Murzan’s corpse wrapped in a black bin liner in the freezer in the garage of Mrs Irani’s semi-detached home in Sidcup, South East London. It was claimed the body was hidden because Mrs Murzan was an illegal immigrant and the family feared an investigation if her death was made public.

Nurse Anella Bennett said she had lived in the street for 23 years but had never seen nor heard of Mrs Irani’s mother – despite regularly going into Dot’s house.

She said: “Her sister became unwell and I nursed her. Several times I went into Mrs Irani’s home and we talked. She never said anything about her mother.

“I’m really shocked. She is such a lovely woman.

“I can’t imagine how she is feeling. I want to talk to her and give her a hug.” 

A post-mortem had to be delayed until tomorrow because the body had not fully defrosted.


Regarding that last sentence – that’s a rookie mistake. Everyone knows you get things out of the freezer the night before and leave them on the sideboard. That way it’s fresh fresh fresh for the morning.

In case you’re wondering how the police know that the woman had been dead since 1980, it’s because she was frozen wearing this :

I was thinking of carrot

May 6, 2009

My new boss is quite a character. For most people, that means he is a twat. For people like me, that means he is a twat.

This thrilling young renegade has breezed into a beleaguered office, full of pizazz and innovation that was so sorely lacking. Or at least that’s the case in his own head. He is actually a frightening hybrid of David Brent, Colin Hunt and a hypnotist – for he is actually a hypnotism hobbyist.

For his many, obvious flaws, I find it hard to hate the man, since he will surely continue to dazzle with his ham-fisted attempts at raising office morale. Take this incident, which actually happened, in a meeting chaired by said boss, and five others, including me. The beauty of it is in the futility of this grandiose gesture of managerial inspiration, a man so desperate to appear a genius getting it so very wrong.

Names have been preserved lest I become the latest hapless example of how people get fired after cracking wise about their companies on a shit blog that no-one reads anyway.

Boss (to D) : Name a vegetable.

D: Wot?

Boss: Name a vegetable. Any vegetable. Potato..cabbage…

D: Er…Potato?

Boss: No

D: Parsnip?

Boss: Any vegetable. Onion…potato…wait? Did you say parsnip?

D: Yeah.

Boss: No! Not parsnip!

G: Carrot?

Boss (to me): What do you think? Were you thinking of carrot?

Me: Yes? Yes.

* Boss stands up and pulls from his trouser pocket a flaccid, mouldy carrot, before slapping it on the table with a flourish*

Boss: There’s your carrot!

Yes, sir!