Tales From The Old Flat No.1

Yesterday's blog was a popular one, with plenty of positive feedback. With this in mind, here is another reminiscence.

Between the end of my first year at university and the beginning of my second we experienced something called 'summer holidays'. This was a very different summer to the ones I had previously. Firstly there was no actual holiday element, unless you count 4 days at Reading festival (I don't). Secondly my girlfriend and I were busy moving into our new flat. The place we inherited was a state and required a serious clean up. Thirdly, I had an incredible working week so I was not around to often to actually help with this process.

We were not living in a student flat, or anything close. It was all cash in hand. We had to trust that the landlord would not just turn us out and he had to trust that we would not just trash the place. It was a system that worked well. In exchange for decorating the flat for our landlord, we were able to choose how it was decorated.

Every night I would get home from work to see Hannah (my then girlfriend), Claudia (AKA Roo) and our two temporary lodgers Anna (Brazilian) and Rich (Chesterfield) covered from head to toe in paint. I had gotten off lightly, as my job was to sit in a booth all day. Often I wouldn't get a single customer so I just read.

One night I came home and was taken aback by the progress.

"Wow, you guys have done so much. You should take it easy tomorrow as a reward."

"No Owen, we can't. We need this finished by the end of the week." Informed Hannah.

"?"

"Your brothers are coming to stay, remember?!"

I hadn't.

"Oh yeah, of course. Chop, chop then. I'll stick the kettle on, who wants some tea?" I said in an attempt to dig myself out of this hole.

It didn't work, not only did nobody drink tea. We didn't even have any tea in the house. Or a kettle.

Anyway the end of the week came, as did my younger brothers. They were aged not a teen and small and just about a teen and still small. We settled into a nice routine now that the decorating was complete. Hannah would keep them entertained during the day while I worked, I would make them dinner when I got back from work (as Hannah had to work for a few hours in the evenings). Then when we were all back home in the evening we would watch a film. My brothers would have some cola and sweets and Hannah and I would share a bottle of wine.

On one occasion I had more than my fair share of the wine, far more. I can't remember why (probably because I had so much wine), but this is how it panned out. Well film over (no idea what we watched), Hannah decided it was best we all go clean our teeth and head to bed.

I will take a break in the story at this point to explain one of the anomalies of our flat in Cambridge. It was a very old two story flat above a fantastic specialist wine shop called 'Bacchanalia'. Despite it being a first floor flat our kitchen was infested. Yes, when the sun went down our kitchen would become a very unpleasant place indeed.

Thats my old flat!

Slugs.

Dozens of them, slurping out of the walls and all over the floor. Very much in the style that all those snakes appear in Indiana Jones. I am not good with small/large hairy/slimy/flying things so I did not particularly enjoy this, but at least they were restricted to the kitchen.

OK, on with the story, my younger brothers successfully reached for their toothbrushes and applied toothpaste to them. I just about managed to do the same and drunkenly began re-whiten my pearlies.

At this point I noticed that Hannah was not following suit.

Hannah was laughing.

Hannah was pointing.

Hannah was pointing and laughing.

Hannah was pointing and laughing at me.

Panic stricken I looked all around me for the source of her amusement.

Nothing.

I looked all over me for the source of her amusement.

Nothing.

I gave up. I looked at Hannah, imploring her with my eyes to let me in on the joke.

As I looked at her I could see something in my peripheral vision that was not usually there.

It was a black dot.

It was a large black smudge.

It was a moving large black cylinder.

It was a huge squirming black slug on the end of my toothbrush!

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!" I calmly noted as I alighted the toothbrush from my person and placed it, at speed, out into the hallway and down the stairs.

Shaken I sat down on the side of the bath, while I waited for the colour to return to my face. Hannah calmed my brothers and sent them to bed. She came and sat next to me and said:

"Go get a glass of water and I see you upstairs."

I nodded, this was a good idea, so I rose and made my way to the kitchen...

A Date At The Movies

When I was 15 there was a girl I really fancied, she was gorgeous and her dad owned a chemist in the town centre, which was great if I wanted a lolly pop but didn't want to pay for it. Anyway, things with this girl were always a bit strained, so for the sake of ease I decided to forget about her and instead ask her friend to the cinema. Her friend, of course, said yes. We arranged to meet at 7pm on Saturday evening at the Cineworld in the town*.

7pm is prime cinema time. Saturday is prime cinema time. Being a foolish teen-child I did not realise this. We met outside and wandered into the foyer, at least we attempted to wander in. It was less of a wander, more of a high speed people slalom. We darted from gap to gap in the constantly the moving labyrinth. Eventually we made it into the queue. While we waited I tried my hand at some teenage small talk, which was not really anything more than a list of bands that I had heard of.

Imagine this as a cinema and full of people.

We had done it, we had made it to the front of the queue! Unfortunately whatever diabolical semi-pubescent nonsense we were planning on seeing had been sold out. As had everything else, apart from one film I hadn't heard of. I was bold, I decided to chance my arm and buy the tickets to this last remaining film. If my date was impressed with my decisiveness she certainly managed to cover it well, as she ambled out of the queue to look at some ice cream (she didn't buy any), leaving me to pay for her ticket.

"Screen 8, 'Cold Mountain'!" I said with conviction.

"...Yep."  Came a less enthused reply at the till.

The screen was packed, absolutely packed. My date and I had to sandwich ourselves in between two sets of slightly overweight elderly couples (anything over 22years seemed elderly to me then). As they munched loudly and inaccurately on their popcorn I tried to keep the stray fellows from entering my mouth, to little avail.

The lights went down the film started rolling. This film was good, I mean it was really good. I was enthralled. About an hour into the film I let out a loud and less than manly yelp, much to the amusement of those around me. What was the cause of this less than expected excitement? The girl next to me had squeezed my leg! I had completely forgotten about her, she could have choked to death on some vagrant popcorn and I would not have noticed. Now aware of my lack of attentiveness toward this representative of the female gender I sprung into action. An idea came to the front of my mind, it was a classic, the ol' 'Arm Over The Shoulder'. This was perfect, I could make her feel wanted without having to take my eyes of the screen, perfect.

I lent back.

Eyes fixed on the screen.

Stretched my left arm into the air.

It was going great, I could feel the men sat behind me nodding with sage approval. This was the right thing to do.

Eyes fixed on the screen.

As I lowered my arm I felt it moving quickly!

I couldn't slow it down!

CRACK!

I had just elbowed my date on the top of her head in front of a cinema full of people and I had done it very loudly. She said nothing, no complaint, no whimper in pain (which would have been entirely justified). Nothing. As her hand slid away from my lap and moved to literally anywhere but my lap, I felt defeated and rightly so. After the film she hastily made her goodbyes and left (probably to A&E to get herself checked for concussion).

I walked home on my own, buoyed by the knowledge that this evening had become an anecdote.


*I always took my dates to the cinema because I had an unlimited card so didn't have to pay for my ticket and inevitably I would end up paying for whichever cheap tart I had escorting me.


Important Notice:

When I started this blog it was with the intention of actually reviewing things. This theme soon petered out and I haven't come close to doing anything of the sort for quite some time.

With this in mind I think that I need a new name. Please leave your ideas in the usual places; comment box, facebook, owenjohnston88@msn.com. I look forward to reading them.

The Beard

Recently I have been asked a lot about my beard and why it is that I have one (Well, in actuality I haven't, I am making use of artistic licence). People say (well not really), "Owen, it is not too hot for a beard?!", "Don't you get food in it?" and "If you were to kiss another man with a beard would you get stuck together? You know, like velcro".

Here I am with my beard. You can also make out my bet under my tee.

The answers to these questions are: yes, sometimes and I am not sure.

But the is a reason for this facial follicle madness. I have recently blogged about helping the band Arabella film the first part of their music video. The second part of that video involves me. "Great!" I hear you say collectively, "Where can I view this wonderful band's video? I do so love to gaze upon your lovely, albeit hairy, face". Well, unfortunately we haven't filmed my portion yet, but I will let you know (roughly) what we are planning to do.

Some Arabella albums and a tee

http://arabellamusic.bigcartel.com/product/arabella-bundle-tee-and-2-cds

The basic premise is that I walk around twice. But wait, there's more!

The first time I walk around I will do my best to look disheveled and unappealing (this has been a lot of hard work), by having an unkempt beard, wandering about in my "trainspotting" jumper and just generally looking disorientated.

The second time I walk about (I will walk exactly the same route, so we can cut between the two) I will be suited and booted, head held high and most importantly, clean shaven (I may give myself a bit of a hair cut too).

So next time you see me wandering aimlessly along the street please do not stop to help me or offer me temporary accommodation. This is art and for art I must suffer/have a beard.

Zulus, Thousands Of 'Em

It's half term. I did not realise. Today I went to town.

Lets break that last line down:

Half Term:

For those of you not in the know, half term is a short holiday for school in the middle of term time. The current half term is also known as Easter break. 

I Did Not Realise This:

I am a full time student. I have no work. I have no lessons or lectures at the moment. Ergo, I have no concept of time. This has the potential to be quite awkward, as a student I hate blue collar workers and all students are hated by blue collar workers. If I go out in to town of an evening I do my best to avoid Fridays and Saturdays. These days do not belong to students, they belong to the 'live for the weekend', mouth-breathing ultra-proles*. This should be no problem and it isn't if you have even the faintest grasp of time beyond;

Blue collar workers in their natural enviornment

 Day = Light and Night = Dark

Unfortunately I don't and every few weeks I get quite a nasty shock.

Today I Went To Town:

Usually Lincoln town centre is full of students, people on lunch breaks and the sub-working class**. Today, this was not the case. I suffered not only from the usual (Big Issue vendors and AA salesmen) but also from the constant stream of small children trying to trip me up and the large children forcing me to slam through the town centre with all the grace of an aged amputee, with a ear infection.

I eventually got some lunch and have successfully stocked up on enough food so that I need leave my house again.

*It may sound like I am having a go at the working class, but I am not they are a valuable part of our society and, as a non-working member of out society, they are more valuable than me. Also, they won't get offended because their reading material doesn't extend beyond the racist column inches of the Daily Mail.

** You know who you are!

Arabella

Yesterday I was meant to help a friend out recording a music video for his friends band. I couldn't be arsed. I could, however, be convinced to come to the pub for some Old Rosie.

The band, Arabella, I had met once before. We went to see them in Coventry a few months ago and we had a fantastically drunken time, because of how fantastically drunk we were I can't really remember the band too well (despite sleeping at theirs and sitting up half the night discussing things which should never be repeated).

In the band we have James (tambourine hands), Tom (racist), Matt (Ipswich fan) and Adam (great dancer). As I arrived in the pub things were pretty quiet, but very pleasant. The drinks began to flow (I had not been drinking, in preparation for Day of Mann, but I relented). We chatted about Day of Mann, when we last saw each other, my shirt and the lads (its was a laddish kind of night) took the piss out of my charity walk!

We then moved on to my all time (thyme?) favourite watering hole, The Tap and Spile, the spiritual home of Old Rosie. We had some more drinks. James tried and failed to keep up with Katha in a beer mat flipping contest (Katha managed 35!) and we played the 'Hand game', which Matt turned out to be exceptionally good at (Tom was awful!).

The Hand Game

Firstly, if you can think of a better name, please let me know. As it stand the name does the game no justice.

The rules are simple, sit in a circle and place your left hand over the right hand of the person next to you. You should form a unbroken chain. to start an elected person simply pats one of their hands on the table, moving clockwise the person next to them will follow suit. Easy.

There are, however, more rules. If someone double taps it changes the direction of the the game. If you move your hand at the wrong time or hesitate you loose one of your hands (just in the game!) and you have to have a drink. The last two people in the game have won.

After realising that the rest of the pub had been plunged into darkness and that we were the very last people there (bar staff included) we thought it may be time to go home.

When I say home I don't mean mine, but that of my friends Fraser and Paul (not a couple). I played a little (very drunken) Fifa with Adam, while little James had a nap (not sure where everyone else was) I went to sleep, fully clothed on the floor.

I awoke in the morning on the sofa bed next to James, Adam relegated to the floor (not sure how this happened, but it was a nice surprise). We made some tea, bought some food at Tesco's and then headed for the studio.

I hadn't been at the studio the day before so it was a shock to see how professional everything looked. I served little to no purpose for the day other than going on a beer run and trying to distract the band as recording continued.

Adam (left), James (centre), Matt (right) and Tom (out of shot, thank God!)

Around 5.30pm, with the band packed up and the recording (or this segment) completed the boys left for Coventry (not a euphemism) and we went home. The next portion of the video I will be starring in, so I am sure you will be hearing lots about it in the coming weeks.

Despite having to listen to the song around 70 times I like it, so I implore you to give these guys a listen. 

Arabella Info:

http://arabellamusic.co.uk 

http://soundcloud.com/arabella 

http://twitter.com/arabellamusicuk 

http://open.spotify.com/album/4Z3pMNUr4AWwgJeoVoFmf8

It's OK, It Is For A Good Cause

Beggars, love them or hate them (not entirely sure that anyone loves them), they'll always be there. Their job? Hassling strangers for money to be spent on lord knows what.

This is where I come in. Bugging people for money is never acceptable... Unless it is for charity, in which case it is just a nuisance. An acceptable nuisance. I intend to become the person that you will cross the road to avoid in order to achieve my own ridiculously high target.

There is no way of stopping this anti-social behavior but you speed it along by donating and by getting others to donate. Yes, I know, this is far from fair, but I am not going to get incredibly tired and smelly over the summer (when I could be talking to girls!) for a paltry sum (of cash). I am in for the big bucks!

So have one less Bacardi Breezer, walk to work one day this week to save on petrol/bus fair or start cutting your own hair (just for a few weeks). There is no donation too small (although I would really prefer the big ones).

How to shave ones hair (upward strokes... Apparently)

If I could reach my target before I leave (on the 4th of July 2011) it would really help motivate me and I would not consider you all massive bastards.

So go forth and piss people off in order to shut me up.

Donations can (and will!) be made at:

 http://www.justgiving.com/Owen-Johnstons-big-walk

Cheers

The Hike - Planning

I have decided that rather than fussing over dates and such I should just pick a date and stick with it. So Here we go, on Monday the 4th of July 2011 I shall embark on my 3 week (roughly) walk along the coast of England.  I figure that this gives me plenty of time to start raising funds and preparing myself physically for the rigors that such a trip is bound to entail. Hopefully it will also afford me the time to select, purchase and break in some walking boots.

I have been on the Cancer Research UK website today and I have registered my 'Challenge' (their word not mine), so I guess I have to follow through with it now. Tomorrow I intend to setup a donations page through Cancer Research UK and obviously once the very first penny falls into that account I am pretty much committed.

My word, this is becoming very real.

Help Me Do A Charity

Hands up who has organised a charitable thing? (I don't even know what to call them?!) I am in over my head. I have picked a  project. I am going to walk the length of the south coast of England. I have picked a charity, Cancer Research UK. I just have to work out how the hell I am going to do it and what dates to do it on.

Can anybody help me? What is a good sum to raise? Should I do it alone? Can I raise any local media attention in order to raise more cash/awareness? (Cash is more important... Obviously (Also I have said 'raise' a lot, sorry))

Sorry that todays blog has been super brief and super shite, but hopefully this should lead to something bigger and better.

I Owe You Big Time

My good friend Sarah has been a pillar of strength this year. Helping me cope with the withdrawal of that which I held closest to my heart. As many of you know I moved to Lincoln after breaking up with my girlfriend and well, it wasn't easy. I used to idle the hours away in Cambridge, in a way that is not possible here in Lincoln... Because here in Lincoln I can't watch films! (as often).

Oh why? Oh why? Why does Lincoln not have a Cineworld?!

For years I spent almost every day (or evening if I had to go to Uni during the day) at the cinema. How could I afford it I hear you ask? Well I was lucky enough to have a Cineworld cinema unlimited card (Hey, Cineworld if you are reading this, feel free to send me some pop corn or something for this fantastic, buzz generating plug). With this card I was able to see as many films as I liked whenever I liked (provided of course that they were not running simultaneously, which to be honest, is fair enough). Those truly were great days.

Then I moved to Lincoln, this region of the globe is obviously not a fan of film. There is one cinema here in Lincoln, a rather passable, but expensive Odeon. I have fond memories of Odeon, it being the principle cinema in the town I grew up in until it was gazumped (delighted that, after years of toil, I have had an opportunity to use this word!) by the all conquering Cineworld. It was also housed in one of the best building I have ever seen, what do you think?

The Odeon, Ipswich

So with this, coupled with my unemployedness, my visits to 'Das Kino' (the cinema) have been far less frequent and far more infrequent.

Do not fear, I have a saviour. A saint who asks for nothing in return (apart from a story!). Yes every Wednesday when the cinema prices relent Sarah is on hand to give me her Orange Code (Actually, Orange you can give me some free stuff too!). "Callooh!" I open with, "Callay!" often follows. Without the discounted tickets that Sarah's generosity affords me I would not have seen such classics as; The Social Network, Paul and whatever Harry Potter film it was that I saw around Christmas!

Unfortunately for Sarah, I promised her something that I could not deliver. I promised Sarah that I would write her a story by way of thanks. I know, I know. I am a great writer, one of the best, a beacon to others. Alas, I find it dammed near impossible to write a story. Stories are hard. You have to think of all sorts of things:

• Characters
• Setting
• Plot
• More characters
• Dialogues
• Monologues
• Narratives
• And much, much more

So maybe one day, if inspiration should hit I will be able to write Sarah a story, but not any day soon.

So thank you Sarah, Maybe one day I will be able to repay the massive kindness that you have shown me by giving me something that you get for free and seldom use anyway. If only there were more like you...

Sarah Emily Lungley (1989- 2015)

P.s. I know I have written two blogs today. Much time + No money x Zero interest in actual work = Many blogs.

Update: It has been brought to my attention that Sarah does often use the Orange code, but is far more concerned with my wellbeing than her own. Three cheers forr Sarah!

Summer Project - Lets Do Some Good!

When I started doing this blog it was meant as a distraction, a free means to pass the time. It managed to this incredibly well, or so I thought. In the months since taking this blog up I have found that my behavior has become increasingly erratic and manic. Other people will say, "Owen, surely this is down to the seismic changes in your life since moving to Lincoln?". To these people I say "No".

I have noticed it more recently, when somebody suggests something or I have an idea that I would have previously have dismissed out of hand I instead give it some serious thought. As a complete attention junkie I love my blog (whether anyone reads it or not) and I am always looking for things to write about. So as soon as somebody suggests a gig or road trip I am already drafting my next entry in my head. It doesn't stop there, when it comes to events such as 'Day of Mann 2011', well they tend to get a bit out of hand.

I have accepted bets that I never would have agreed to previously under the pretense of 'being game for a laugh' but in actuality it is so I can scribble (I do not know what the typing equivalent of a scribble is) it all down. Unfortunately, this is the serious bit of the blog, I am running out bets to complete. So if anyone has any ideas as to what I should do next, I am considering attempting to raise some cash (for charity) with my next thing. I am free from the end of May until the start of September (if all goes to plan. If not, I am free indefinitely). I am already planning to walk the south coast of the UK but, that would only be good for a month or so. I would love something epic.

So post your ideas here, e-mail me at owenjohnston88@msn.com or find me on Facebook (Owen 'Uwe Seeler' Johnston).

One Week

It has now been one week since I started wearing this God-awful t-shirt and to be frank, I think I could continue to wear it indefinitely. It doesn't smell, thanks to having to wear it in the shower, and it is not the only obstacle at my disposal when it comes to putting off women. I am also sporting a rather lovely beard, which usually limits the wearer to no more than one serving of lady-cake and even then the sort of women that like beards are bound to have something wrong with them.

I do have a new problem, if you can call it a problem. You can. I have to wear something over the top of this Top-Man monstrosity. That means shirts as tee on tee action should be restricted (at all times) to pay-per view web sites. Fortunately I have a lot of shirts that are suitable, but I am concerned that this look will begin to loose its gloss.

Other ideas

• A cape?
• Reverse cape (to be worn on the front of ones person)
• Those sleeve things that Emo's and Goths wear

• A ruff

I really cannot think of very much else. If anyone has any fashion suggestion, please, please, please let me know!

It Is Too Hot

For those of you in the know, I am about a week into my shirt wearing journey. This has not been too bad (apart from the elongated shower drying time), but the warm weather is beginning to get to me.

I usually do not wear a great deal whilst I sleep. However, in the name of three beers and some serious Mann points I have had to.

First problem. I sleep nude. I have to wear a shirt 24/7. I look ridiculous in just a shirt an no bottoms, even if no one is there to see it! (and I can assure you, no one is). So I not only have to wear the worlds worst shirt ( I'm resisting using "gayest" as that could be construed as a hate crime), but I also have to find suitably bilious down stairs clothing.

Pants.

Large boxers located I now attempt to counter the heat. I'll admit, it isn't that hot. I live in Lincoln. But compared to the temperatures I have come accustomed too it feels as though I am the only person celebrating hot day in a ski suit. While Jogging. In an enclosed space. Next to a radiator. A radiator that is stuck on hyper-hot.

I decided to open my window. This has helped a cooling breeze breezing (I could not think of a better verb) its way across my face. Bliss. On a related note, why on earth do birds and the elderly wake up so early?! When I used to work the morning shift at Crown Pools in Ipswich there would always be a queue of soon-to-be obituary page fillers hurrying me along to open the pool. They would swim until about 8am then (I assume) huddle round a market stall and then go home to watch loose women and countdown. Why not have a lay in and negate the need for an afternoons dose of Jeff Stelling?! You would be able to stay up late and watch a prime time period drama instead. Anyway, whether I want to get up a 6am each morning or not is immaterial as this is what these feathered, winged, bipedal, endothermic (warm-blooded), egg-laying, vertebrate shits and these aging, hairy-lobed, crinkled, incontinent, Werther's original eating twats have foisted upon me.

Crown Pools in Ipswich

So do I get hot and get no sleep or stay cool and get no sleep? You decide (seriously, it is this or a toss a coin).


Additional: Apparently my trophy for Day of Mann 2011 (29th April 2011) is not exciting enough. If anyone wants to send in any ideas or sketches of how you think I could jazz this fucker up either comment on this blog or send your ideas to owenjohnston88@msn.com.


Additional 2#: I apologise for the bad language, but as you may be able to deduce from this blog I have not been getting anywhere near enough sleep!

More Day of Mann

We will start off this blog by quickly disappointing one Ray-Kay of Edinburgh. The Mann trophy is nothing special, it will simply be a small trophy, in the shape of a cup (not a tea cup!) with the words Mann of the year 2011 scrawled on it in marker pen... Sorry Ray-Kay

We have a list of banned words that, if used, will result in a forfeit (probably more drink, we're not too imaginative). Here are just some of the words:

• Love
• Tender
• Charity
• Community (this is my favourite)
• Low fat (I know this it two words, but we can always hyphenate)
• Cuddle
• Friend
• Please 
• Thank you
• Tidy
• Allergies
• Girlfriend
• Non-Alcoholic 
• Diet
• Skimmed
• Excuse me
• Women/Woman (they must be instead referred to as birds) 
• And many, many more...

If you have any you think we should add, just write and let me know. 

As I am short on time (and enthusiasm) we'll just include one game today.

Would you like a drink?

Once we are well and truly drunk, we shall hit (visit) a club in the evening. While at said club, the group (as a whole. This is a team effort) will pick a girl for each person to offer a drink to. This sounds simple enough... But wait! There is more:

• If you get turned down you lose Mann points
• If you get a smack you gain Mann points
• If she buys you a drink you gain Mann points
• If it has been decided that she is pug-ugly and she tries to continue talking to you, you loose Mann points
• If you get a snog within 2mins you get (some serious) Mann points
• If her boyfriend gets angry, Mann points
• If she walk off without saying a word you loose a whole load of Mann points
• Maximum points for a drink in the face (timing is everything!)

Well that is your lot for today. Anything you would like to know about Day of Mann 2011 (29th April 2011), just ask.

Day of Mann 2011

Most of you know, that I am in the process of not removing a shirt (I'm almost certain that this is far too static to be considered a process). Why are you doing this to yourself Owen? Three beers is not enough! I am doing it for the greater good. A higher power. A drunken lads day out.

That's right, I am doing this in preparation for Day of Mann 2011 (29th April 2011). What is this fantastic event? I hear you implore through cyber-space.

As with all facets of life this is best explained through the art of list.

What you will need for Day of Mann 2011 (29th April 2011):

• Testicles
• Facial hair - Bonus points for full beards, handle-bar 'tashes etc (points system to be explained)
• Man hair (optional, but major Mann-points) - Mohawk (not Mohican as this refers to the tribe and not the hair style, you cretin) 
• Day of Mann custom tee 
• Day of Mann nick-name (given to you by the collective members of Day of Mann)
• Beer
• Ticket to MODA (evening event)

Got all that? 

I will now explain the the points system, well I will explain why there is a points system (the actual system is far too fractured to actually mean anything). At the end of 24hours we will decide as a group who was the most manly and who was the least. The manliest Mann wins a Mann trophy, whereas the least manly Mann will be presented with a lovely pair of lacy panties. Obviously we all want to avoid the panties, so we will be keeping (very rough) score of who has done which manly deeds.

That is all you are getting for now (I have to make this stretch out until I can think of more shirt related blogs). Tomorrow we will be looking at games and banned words for Day of Mann 2011 (29th April 2011).

Bet you can't wait.

Time For a Shower

For the last few days I have been wearing the worlds most awful shirt non-stop. I do everything in it. I sleep in it, I eat in it, I shower in it. This last thing has become a small issue.

Me in my former naked showering days.

I will walk you through it. First I take my clothes off. This is not as simple as once it was as I almost always get halfway into removing my shirt before remembering. Then the shower goes on. The I get into the shower.

It is a bit weird feeling my shirt get wetter and heavier and longer, but it is bearable. I also have to be careful not to get it too soapy when I am washing my hair, not sure why, but in my head this seems important.

Next it is drying time. This usually take about five minutes and one towel. No longer does this suffice. I now  need to plan my showers very carefully. It takes about an hour and four or five towels. The first thing to do is to thread a towel between the front of my body and the inside of the from of the shirt, then do the same for the back. This stops my body getting damp and developing sores (I assume, again not a huge amount of justification goes into this. It just seems logical). I then proceed to dry off the rest of my body. Then wait. Continue to wait. Wait for ages. And PING, I'm done.

I use to love showering. I hate showering.

Origins Of Shirt

Those of you that have read yesterdays post will know about the bet. Today I will explain how exactly it came about.

A few days ago I went to visit my friends Fraser and Paul with the intention of helping Paul write his final project for his masters and generally muck about with Fraser. Time passed. We watched a film. More time passed. It became obvious that no work was going to get done. I soon realised this. More time passed. I suggested that we go and join our friends who were going into town that evening. The boys agreed that this was indeed a fine plan.

Horror!

Panic!

A third thing!

I was wearing a Lions rugby shirt (not the rugby shirt of a lion), I could not go to a club like this. Quick as a flash Paul said;

'I'll see what I've got.'

He then proceeded to pull out the single worst shirt man has ever created! (we looked up the designer on-line and it turns out that he is currently on trail at the Hague). Well, I thought about it. I am on a self imposed drinking ban until Day of Mann 2011 (29th April 2011), so I thought that this may be a suitably humorous distraction.

Out we went.

We met our dear, dear friends (this is a Death Race 2000 quote, watch it!) Hopson and James. After having a bi of a giggle at how ridiculous the shirt was (and still is, Christ!) James suggested that I keep it on until Day of Mann 2011 (29th April 2011) which was over three weeks away. Of course I thought this was a fantastic chance to get into the spirit of Day of Mann 2011 (29th April 2011) and a chance to rack up some Mann points. I agreed. James then said that I was not to take it off for anything short of a medical emergency, which made life a bit more difficult (ergo, sleeping (I get hot) and showering (I get wet)), but with a prize in excess of two beers (three beers) and a forfeit of almost four beers (I don't need to make the joke again, do I?) I could not back down.

Just a great film

I will continue to keep you updated. If there are any questions or ideas please let me know.

Also, I understand that a lot of you will not be familiar with Day of Mann 2011 (29th April 2011), so I will shortly explain this event.

Yet Another Bet!

OK, in preparation for Day of Mann 2011 on the 29th of this month. I have accepted a challenge.

I am not allowed to remove this truly awful shirt from my back (unless there is a medical emergency) until Day of Mann. This may not sound too bad, but I can't remove it when I wash or sleep and I do run most days as well as playing squash twice a week. It is less than twenty four hours into the bet and I am already regretting it.

Me on the left in the truly awful shirt just minutes after putting it on

If I win I get a beer off each of Paul, James and Fraser. If I loose I have to by them one each. I will keep you updated as the 'project' goes on, but for now I am going to attempt my first shirted shower.

... This is probably worth it.