Recently, I've been exposed to a lot of online 'zines that use industry-standard blogging software to create rather swish wordpress-esque websites. It wasn't until I looked at my site that I realised that designing such can be deceptively easy, and that I could probably learn to toy with the proverbial backend in PHP (if I bothered to learn the language).

I used to dream of a career in web design, but that was until I decided to grow up a bit and subsequently became distracted by things like a job (which is different than a career in the same way mud is different to jam), MX-5 ownership and regular sex. At a previous stage in my life I was a prolific (if terrible) blogger and my thoughts and experiences littered the internet like colourful confetti, and after taking the time to design this site, I think it's time I actually used it and perhaps made a proper PHP backend and downloaded a decent gallery.

I used to love writing. Modern life interferes with this. Change that.

Posted at: 19:56

I am rapidly beginning to hate every single person in the world that isn't me.

From the gobby neighbour, to the utterly stupid old woman who nearly caused a pileup on the way home, and the guy who rode my bumper around a junction: I hope you all die.

Posted at: 23:09

Recently, I have taken up some marvellous new hobbies.

Hobby the first is Facebook. Specifically, finding people on Facebook that I went to school with and tacitly judging their fragile emotional states by counting the number of body piercings / tattoos / children they have. This makes me feel warm inside in the same narky way as rich people get when watching World Aid advertisements on television.

The second hobby is getting fat, with the third hobby complaining about how fat I'm getting without actually doing anything about it.

I'm getting old. Get off my lawn.

Posted at: 00:07

Christmas. Easter. Valentines. Mother's Day. Father's Day.

These three celebrations are regarded in one of two ways. The first way to define them is to go buy stuff. I could quite happily make poorly-based assumptions that by giving gifts at Christmas, we're assuming the roles of wise men in giving and Jesus in receiving, and as such people are blasphemous, or that we celebrate the death of Jesus by gorging ourselves on chocolate thereby committing the sin of gluttony.

But I'm not.

The second perspective is to hold yourself aloof and watch people buying things for loved ones and call them sheep for involving themselves in a capitalist supereconomy that will eat your first-born children and shit out a weird grey pulp which we'll all be eating by the year 2035 if we don't stop buying all the bloody time.

I happen to disagree with both views. You see. These celebrations are what you make of them.

For Christmas, there was an alleged giving of gifts, which has become a tradition throughout our little corner of the world. As such, people give gifts to one another and modern businesses thrive and capitalise upon this. To me, this seems perfectly reasonable. If I wanted to give the gift of gold and completely bypass the global baby-eating cash-converters juggernaught of Satan, then I'd have to go mine some gold. I can't be arsed to mine any gold, so I'd rather pay someone to do it for me. Similarly, if someone wanted a Playstation, I'm not going to build one myself. Because I can't.

This can be said of many days, and Valentine's is no different. I don't have time to grow my own roses or make my own cakes, and even if I did I would just end up cultivating something that looked like afterbirth anyway. Valentine's day is not an exercise in capitalism or corporate greed. It's a celebration of love that has existed for far longer than some nations on our planet. It is a tradition that is open to any translation you can conceive.

You can be told that you are loved, but it is better to be shown that you are loved rather than be told. And next week I will have something in front of me, so that when I'm playing Mass Effect 2 I can glance away from the screen and receive a reminder that I am loved.

And if you don't need reminding, then perhaps you're taking it for granted.

Posted at: 11:26

Hypocrisy abound this Christmas.

A woman powerslams The Pope this year and is described as mentally unstable by The Vatican. I'm fairly certain that adults with imaginary friends are just as unstable, but when you're vomiting tired rhetoric such as this, what can you do?

"Conflict and lack of reconciliation in the world stem from the fact that we are locked into our own interests and opinions, into our own little private world," so sayeth The Pope. Noble words there Benedict, but what else are you saying? That homosexual acts are evil? That a woman doesn't have the right to choose what happens to her own body?

Benny, boy! No! It sounds as though perhaps you're locked into your own little world. After all, I haven't seen much reconciliation between The Vatican and the homosexual community, or even between El Poperino and people who recognise that sex is perfectly natural and that contraception stops STIs. I suggest you follow your own advice before you try to instruct the world how to behave because God told you so. What were we saying about imaginary friends earlier?

Even The Queen doesn't escape this year. She quite happily tells the world that this year sucked ass financially (from a palace that I'm helping to pay for, no less) and that The Commonwealth is a marvellous force for good both in the international community and in Afghanistan. Well, that's just great, Lizzy, but have you bothered to focus on the country you live in? You know, us sixty million neighbours of yours who you don't give a shit about? Those of us who were fucked over by the economic crisis that you only read about in newspapers? The folks who bust their 'nads 9-5 to keep you in a shiny palace surrounded by guards, only to be too scared to leave their own homes because you can't be bothered to tell Gordon Brown that we have a serious fucking problem with crime and that if he doesn't do something about it, she could really make his life a grotty, shit-filled mess?

I try not to be a hypocrite, but when I am, at least I can admit it.

Posted at: 20:25

Dear idiots:

Please stop walking in front of my car without checking to see if it's there. I know I only drive a small car, but it's a really loud shade of red that contrasts quite well with the dark grey of the road's surface and the headlights are quite potent, too. The parts of your brains that govern motion detection, colour differentiation and self-preservation should stop you from doing something so silly. Even my disdain for people without an IQ only stretches so far, and I do not want your deaths on my conscience even if I would be doing the gene pool a huge favour.

Incidentally, those of you with driver's licenses should stop attempting to ram my car. I do not appreciate people driving too fast along roundabouts in awful conditions who either:

1) Do not take the exit they are in the lane for and hide in my blind spot. If I can choose the right lane and use my indicators then perhaps you should too.

2) Enter roundabouts without looking properly and decide that it might be a jolly good idea to try and drive into the back of my car because I entered the roundabout before you did from the next entrance.

Yours Faithfully,

Paul.

Posted at: 13:20

The time I spend between the hours of 9-5 generally involves quelling the desire to maim people, lying to company reps, selling toilets, gossiping on the phone to sales people and putting smelly things (or soon-to-be smelly things) on shelves.

When I'm not partaking of these wholesome activities, I go through several stages of boredom. The first stage is typing nonsensical prattle to my chums via email (like asking them if Princess Di is still dead or demanding KFC from imaginary lords of the sky). The second stage sees me look at online comics, while the third involves shopping for watches or bumper stickers on ebay.

And when there's absolutely nothing else to do I just consign myself to poor health and suffer for a few days. Then abuse people on Facebook.

Merry Christmas. :(

Posted at: 20:09

I am unable to engage in most activities undertaken by adults without becoming a horrendously loudmouthed nitwit (like the time I almost got Tony and I strip-searched at Heathrow). In keeping with this mode of behaviour I merrily drove to the GUM clinic to ensure that my penis was in tip-top sporting condition for my brand new relationship.

Oh dear.

My darling must have noticed something was up when she saw the condoms pinned in the corner of their packets to the notice board. When I saw them I suggested we prick holes in them to ensure that they fail should anyone defy the notice asking people not to steal them. I mentioned this at a sufficient volume so the rest of the waiting room could hear.

Then things got worse.

Unlike last time, the sexual health questionnaire didn't involve a pervy GP asking me two separate questions about homosexual intercourse. Now, I understand the necessity of asking any man if they have ever engaged in sexual intercourse with another man, but asking 'so, no sex with boys?' afterwards while cocking an eyebrow is a little too personal and was mercifully absent this time.

Plus, that question doesn't appear on the neatly-typed sheet of A4 replete with a diagram of a penis. I know. I checked. They were pinned to my previous test results which said, in no uncertain terms, that while my phallus was a vile and disgraceful piece of apparatus it never actually hosted any trace of chlamydia. Great. A doctor lied to me and now I owe someone an apology (which I'll neglect to issue out of sheer spite).

So, after samples were taken and paperwork filled with ticks in boxes I wandered back into the reception with a box of pills and a pamphlet (which the NHS normally only distributes when you're about to die from something). I think I shouted "Check this out! I got a little booklet! That's never good news!"

With this in mind, the good folks kindly honoured my request for free contraception before Darren bought me extra thick condoms on account that I received a tiny flyer and subsequently deduced that my genitals required thorough disinfecting.

I now have far too many prophylactics beside the bed. I'm considering filling them with water, food colouring and those cool luminous bacteria found at the bottom of the sea so I can leave them on the washing line during the winter evenings to make glowing ice dildos that I can juggle in front of schools for loose change and a criminal record.

A man should have goals, should he not?

Posted at: 00:50

I'm a man of the 21st century and as such I'm buying condoms from the NHS via the internet.

I wonder what Henry VIII would make of this?

Posted at: 21:25

Like most sad teenage boys, I spent a lot of my formative years making Airfix models. Then, a lot later, I went to Games workshop to create smaller, albeit far more impressive engines of death and destruction.

As my Dad's birthday approaches I've decided to make him a model Spitfire. I attempted a brave performance tonight, but I'm only a quarter of the way complete and about ready to condemn the terrible people at Airfix to a fiery and agonising death.

Airfix was fun when I was younger, but that was before I discovered women and newer, more entertaining methods of getting my fingers stuck together.

Damn. I'm getting old. This sucks.

Posted at: 18:49