It's funny how a smile and a simple friendly conversation can upwardly swing your day around, almost as much as a fraction of time spent around a miserable barstad can bring us down too. I was studying the Christmas shoppers today whilst in Harrow, and while some seemed jolly and upbeat for the days ahead, others looked like images of bulldogs chewing more wasps than a beekeeper would know what to do with. I purchased a Christmas present and, as many lazy and irresponsible shoppers such as myself do, ventured to the present wrapping donation tables in the St George's Center (Or is it St Ann's? - I have been in both hundreds of times, yet still can't remember which is which). Anyway, before I payed out the mandatory pound coin, I was shocked at a dude who handed the personal wrapper a handful of folded twenty pound notes, must have been about 120 quids worth, at least. The wrapper took it, then coyly pocketed the cash. The cynic in me suggested he would keep it for himself, and as much as I wouldn't like to admit it, I definitely would have donated it to myself - even though it is highly amoral and principally wrong, I would rather be honest than bullshit about how I would give every penny to the right cause. This doesn't make me a truly great person, but I never said I was. Though I would have dropped a tenner into the Native American pan pipers, I love those fellas. So the dude wrapped my gift and I was off. An old Japanese woman gave me a flyer about some cult type religious group, and asked if I wanted to come along, but I declined and told her I thought that God is alright, but a bit of a barstad, then wished her well. I bumped into Danielle from the gym and had a quick chat as you do, who told me her viewpoint on Christmas being alright, but a load of bullshit really... I sort-of agreed. Though I am nicking her term of people who get into your business as being 'Space-Invaders', like the old game. That made me laugh. I had a chat with a three-year-old with her Auntie in Starbucks, who was excited about seeing JLS this evening. She declined to take up my offer of my sandwich for the ticket, before telling me how much she hated Iggle Piggle, and that her favorite member of JLS was a dude whose name escapes me. Anton? Angus? The one all the girls like, which can't be too bad for the fella, I guess. A lot of other usual stuff happened as it always does. I enjoy the social aspect of life so much. We are social animals, and human communication is such a wonderful tool, when used positively. I just hope the majority of mums and dads make it through this time in one piece, and that the kids go to bed tomorrow eve full of pure excitement about the day ahead.
The day was not a nightmare at all, it was quite fun. But I cannot think of a better heading.
Seasons Greetings.
Lee.
Christmas Wishes.
Hey all. Just wanted to send out a quick message to all my friends, associates, and even random strangers from around the world who have happened to come across this blog a very festive and happy Christmas period!
The snow is pretty bad here in London, and it is abundantly chilly to the point of almost reaching an obsequious submission towards it. But the people I see and speak to are resolute and looking forward to the usual festivities with their families and loved ones. Old man winter cannot stop young gun Christmas Turkey! And please do not forget the Brussel Sprouts and, if you care to do so, watching the Queens Speech - even though I have never seen one of them myself. But it's all good.
Christmas is a time in which I wished they still made brand new episodes of Only Fools And Horses, and I have finally succumbed to the grim reality that Barnet are no longer in the title picture. I feel upbeat for my life and the New Year that lies just around a corner or two. I have learned to embrace positivity, and avoid the negatives, and to simply prey for all those mean spirited Scrooges who wish for the Grinch to steal all their lovely Christmas presents. People around me seem excited, the kids love it as they should, and the snowmen may even experience a Christmas this year- but I hope they are gone come Boxing Day!
Merry Christmas.
Lee
The snow is pretty bad here in London, and it is abundantly chilly to the point of almost reaching an obsequious submission towards it. But the people I see and speak to are resolute and looking forward to the usual festivities with their families and loved ones. Old man winter cannot stop young gun Christmas Turkey! And please do not forget the Brussel Sprouts and, if you care to do so, watching the Queens Speech - even though I have never seen one of them myself. But it's all good.
Christmas is a time in which I wished they still made brand new episodes of Only Fools And Horses, and I have finally succumbed to the grim reality that Barnet are no longer in the title picture. I feel upbeat for my life and the New Year that lies just around a corner or two. I have learned to embrace positivity, and avoid the negatives, and to simply prey for all those mean spirited Scrooges who wish for the Grinch to steal all their lovely Christmas presents. People around me seem excited, the kids love it as they should, and the snowmen may even experience a Christmas this year- but I hope they are gone come Boxing Day!
Merry Christmas.
Lee
Wembley and Other Shit.
I am writing this blog in the reception area of a Fitness First gym in Wembley, as I wait for Marissa to finish changing and getting ready for the rest of the day ahead. She always takes longer than myself, as a woman should do, but in reality she could wash, change and be ready in five minutes, and still look as beautiful to me as she would if she took all day long - not that she would ever need to, that is. This gym is pretty good and we just finished training. There is no mixed steam room though, and I wonder if they realize that the 1930's ended a long long time ago, but I will let you do the math. Wembley is an absolute dump of an area. It is quite ironic to think that one of the most celebrated football stadia on this planet, is situated in a large melting pot or an area, or maybe a better analagy is that of a large toilet bowl... soemone should flush the chain. The people are, as in most poor areas, nice enough. They are simply trying to eat, sleep, breath, stay warm and survive. You wouldn't understand if you have never been there, I guess.
I feel sorry for the rioting students of the past few weeks. They have been taught in a very harsh way, the grim, fucked up reality of human existance, or more to the point, those who desire an excessive level of power, and the depths they will go to to win the apporval of the masses - until the vote is cast, after that they really couldn't give a rats arse. Sorry, students, you may think you get it, I did at that age, but you only really learn through all the major arse kickings this life hands you... don't worry. We all tell white lies... even Plan B - whatever his real name is. I don't imagine his parents named him Plan, but you never know.
It was funny how the media attempted to turn public opinion against the young, by showing a scared Camilla and Charlie, as if to suggest these frustrated and bullshitted to kids are in fact unpatriotic, twisted anarchists... not that I have any issue with anarchists - hell at least they believe in something.
I better run, my woman is going to be here in a second, and I am wondering if David Cameron and Nick Clegg sleep in the same double bed.
Paolo Nutini has started to play over the stereo at the gym... shit that guy is talented.
Lee Gunnell.
I feel sorry for the rioting students of the past few weeks. They have been taught in a very harsh way, the grim, fucked up reality of human existance, or more to the point, those who desire an excessive level of power, and the depths they will go to to win the apporval of the masses - until the vote is cast, after that they really couldn't give a rats arse. Sorry, students, you may think you get it, I did at that age, but you only really learn through all the major arse kickings this life hands you... don't worry. We all tell white lies... even Plan B - whatever his real name is. I don't imagine his parents named him Plan, but you never know.
It was funny how the media attempted to turn public opinion against the young, by showing a scared Camilla and Charlie, as if to suggest these frustrated and bullshitted to kids are in fact unpatriotic, twisted anarchists... not that I have any issue with anarchists - hell at least they believe in something.
I better run, my woman is going to be here in a second, and I am wondering if David Cameron and Nick Clegg sleep in the same double bed.
Paolo Nutini has started to play over the stereo at the gym... shit that guy is talented.
Lee Gunnell.
Harrow's World Of Weirdos One: Mister Blobby.
I seem to have spent the majority of this entire year around an area based in the far reaches of North-West London. An area of urban sprawled city life, which, by all accounts, encompasses virtually all cultural and societal aspects of modern Britain in the 21st century - Harrow.
Harrow is an interesting town if ever I saw one. It has a 48.5% population of Indians, a mass student population due to the local University, cultures from Africa, Asia, Eastern Europe, South America and the Middle East, overly wealthy professionals who venture into town from Harrow On The Hill and parts of Ruislip, and the poor, struggling single mums, who all seem to have I-Phones. The center of the town is the local shopping complex which contains an always bustling Primark, a few jewelery and clothes stores, and a Holland and Barrett in which I purchase my regular shot of post workout whey Protein. On the second floor sits a food court, where my and my girlfriend go to eat our ready made healthy lunches as all around us people gorge on a choice between KFC, Burger King, Pizza Hut, Subway or for the more lifestyle conscious, a Spud-U-Like. I have to admit it is a little disheartening seeing infants and toddlers eating fried Chicken - but who I am to tell anyone what to feed anyone? It is not as if food courts cater to kids anyway, well, not in the non-capitalist investment health destroying way, that is. There are a mixture of people who work around this food court - the security downstairs don't seem to paid enough to merit causing too much hassle, and seem vaguely content to simply chat with the varying shop workers and stall runners in the complex, though one chubby, bald white guy does seem to walk around with him arms folded like an authority figure marching over his prized land in search of insidious moles or rabbits, even though in ten months I am yet to see him react to anything, anytime, ever! Upstairs, the Eastern European cleaners never seem to stop doing so, and with so many of our great society quite happy to leave their excess food and packaging on the tables, they have no worry of any recession hitting the hard, and probably way underpaid job that they do. It is here we meet the first weirdo of my blog; A man my girlfriend lovingly refers to as Mister Blobby.
Mister Blobby is about sixty years old, apparently. I am useless with ages so take my advice from Marissa (Note: trust women on this kind of stuff. Anything aesthetically related will always be geared towards them anyway, even though we think of men as being more visual. More on this another day). He wears a freedom pass which hangs around his neck, always carries a large shoulder or sports bag, which seems to change each time we see him, and dresses in a clean and moderately acceptable style, in that you wouldn't notice him for any good or bad aspect on dress sense alone. If anything, he looks like an old Primary School teacher who got stuck off for reasons related to accusations I really wouldn't even want to think about.
Anyhow, Blobby visits the food court on a daily basis. He comes upstairs, walks around, and does nothing more than look for the leftover food of the courts now vanished patrons, takes a seat, and proceeds to eat whatever he can find. He never buys anything, never talks to anyone, he just eats... other peoples food.
But herein lies the question? Is he doing anything wrong?
Granted, he is able to eat food in which other people have paid for out of their own pocket, but at the same time, they are happy to leave the food open for anyone to use for their own means. I am sure these people would argue they leave the food on the tables as it is the cleaners job to discard them - but by this logic, I can litter the streets of all my trash and argue that it is also a cleaners job to collect it... the ends do not justify the means, in my view. I agree he is a ponce of sorts, but go read the book "Evasion" about a young, American male who lives off the land of his nation. Stores would begin to lock their dumpsters after realizing he was taking their rubbish, even though beforehand they never needed it. The kid makes for great arguments about the notions of possessions and charity, and the hunter gatherer primal aspects of man.
I guess the reality is that an item only has value in relation to its need of others. The food is worthless until Blobby wants it for himself. The funny/tragic sight is watching the amount of people who intentionally bin their food once they realize the Blobsters plans. Perhaps he deserves a medal for this... even if he is a ponce.
I don't imagine Blobby does this to make a social point, he is probably just lazy and greedy. And, judging by the size of the guy, has been doing this for a lot longer than the ten months I have been there... maybe I should offer him a sandwich sometime... or some fried Chicken.
Lee Gunnell
Harrow is an interesting town if ever I saw one. It has a 48.5% population of Indians, a mass student population due to the local University, cultures from Africa, Asia, Eastern Europe, South America and the Middle East, overly wealthy professionals who venture into town from Harrow On The Hill and parts of Ruislip, and the poor, struggling single mums, who all seem to have I-Phones. The center of the town is the local shopping complex which contains an always bustling Primark, a few jewelery and clothes stores, and a Holland and Barrett in which I purchase my regular shot of post workout whey Protein. On the second floor sits a food court, where my and my girlfriend go to eat our ready made healthy lunches as all around us people gorge on a choice between KFC, Burger King, Pizza Hut, Subway or for the more lifestyle conscious, a Spud-U-Like. I have to admit it is a little disheartening seeing infants and toddlers eating fried Chicken - but who I am to tell anyone what to feed anyone? It is not as if food courts cater to kids anyway, well, not in the non-capitalist investment health destroying way, that is. There are a mixture of people who work around this food court - the security downstairs don't seem to paid enough to merit causing too much hassle, and seem vaguely content to simply chat with the varying shop workers and stall runners in the complex, though one chubby, bald white guy does seem to walk around with him arms folded like an authority figure marching over his prized land in search of insidious moles or rabbits, even though in ten months I am yet to see him react to anything, anytime, ever! Upstairs, the Eastern European cleaners never seem to stop doing so, and with so many of our great society quite happy to leave their excess food and packaging on the tables, they have no worry of any recession hitting the hard, and probably way underpaid job that they do. It is here we meet the first weirdo of my blog; A man my girlfriend lovingly refers to as Mister Blobby.
Anyhow, Blobby visits the food court on a daily basis. He comes upstairs, walks around, and does nothing more than look for the leftover food of the courts now vanished patrons, takes a seat, and proceeds to eat whatever he can find. He never buys anything, never talks to anyone, he just eats... other peoples food.
But herein lies the question? Is he doing anything wrong?
Granted, he is able to eat food in which other people have paid for out of their own pocket, but at the same time, they are happy to leave the food open for anyone to use for their own means. I am sure these people would argue they leave the food on the tables as it is the cleaners job to discard them - but by this logic, I can litter the streets of all my trash and argue that it is also a cleaners job to collect it... the ends do not justify the means, in my view. I agree he is a ponce of sorts, but go read the book "Evasion" about a young, American male who lives off the land of his nation. Stores would begin to lock their dumpsters after realizing he was taking their rubbish, even though beforehand they never needed it. The kid makes for great arguments about the notions of possessions and charity, and the hunter gatherer primal aspects of man.
I guess the reality is that an item only has value in relation to its need of others. The food is worthless until Blobby wants it for himself. The funny/tragic sight is watching the amount of people who intentionally bin their food once they realize the Blobsters plans. Perhaps he deserves a medal for this... even if he is a ponce.
I don't imagine Blobby does this to make a social point, he is probably just lazy and greedy. And, judging by the size of the guy, has been doing this for a lot longer than the ten months I have been there... maybe I should offer him a sandwich sometime... or some fried Chicken.
Lee Gunnell
Whim in the Gym.
I don't want to lose a limb and end up competing in the special Olympics, as I don't feel there is anything really very special about only having one leg. Besides which I kind of enjoy walking, and doing squats and leg-presses at the gym - I can leg press 450 kilos for ten full reps. This is me bragging as a form of validation seeking, in case you failed to grasp the notion. There is a guy at my gym by the name of Mark. He is confined to a wheelchair and has no use of his body below the waist, yet he has been a regular to the place since before I arrived back in February. So, in all honesty, perhaps there is something quite special about the paralympians after all. He gets in more physical activity in a day then the average person does in a week. And he seems like a cool guy, with some funky tattoos to boot.
Speaking of the gym, and more to the point, Fitness First. They sent me a letter this morning, telling me that due to the increase in VAT form 17.5% to 20.0% come the beginning of the New Year, they will be raising the price of my monthly membership - in order to maintain the high quality service, of course.. what they fail to mention is why due to an increase of VAT of 2.5%, my monthly membership price has increased by a full 10.0%?, I know businesses need to make money, but doing this to every member will add them an extra 500,000 pounds or so a month alone. Recession my foreskin.
In all honesty, I would rather that instead of patronizing me with bullshit about running costs and high service, just write the letter as such...
This I would respect. As Diego Maradona once said 'I have more respect for someone who has the guts to tell me they hate me, because it means they have guts.
Still, not to worry, I do get to eye up the super sexy Asian looking PT there every time I visit... isn't that right, Marissa! ;-)
I am off to bed now, as it is way past my bedtime. Goodnight all!
Lee Gunnell
Speaking of the gym, and more to the point, Fitness First. They sent me a letter this morning, telling me that due to the increase in VAT form 17.5% to 20.0% come the beginning of the New Year, they will be raising the price of my monthly membership - in order to maintain the high quality service, of course.. what they fail to mention is why due to an increase of VAT of 2.5%, my monthly membership price has increased by a full 10.0%?, I know businesses need to make money, but doing this to every member will add them an extra 500,000 pounds or so a month alone. Recession my foreskin.
In all honesty, I would rather that instead of patronizing me with bullshit about running costs and high service, just write the letter as such...
'Dear Mr Gunnel (They spell my surname wrong).
As we are greedy, ruthless, money grabbing barstads, who want to flinch every single penny we possibly can from our members, we are whacking the price of your membership up by a hell of a lot of dosh, and using the shit economy as the perfect excuse to do so. And you can't sue us because we fucked you on the small print when you joined us!
Oh yes, also, if you die... we're still taking money out your direct debit... prick!
Regards,
Fitness First.
This I would respect. As Diego Maradona once said 'I have more respect for someone who has the guts to tell me they hate me, because it means they have guts.
Still, not to worry, I do get to eye up the super sexy Asian looking PT there every time I visit... isn't that right, Marissa! ;-)
I am off to bed now, as it is way past my bedtime. Goodnight all!
Lee Gunnell
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