Mathew Browne

Christmas is over for another year in about 7 minutes. A nice little haul today, which I’m pleased with. Now I wait for January, and the bank statement that confirms I overspent and now have enough to cover the rent and a pack of peanuts. Ho ho fucking ho.

Do you find that Christmas is simultaneously the best and worst day of the year? All the build-up and excitement, but by about 5pm you realise that the day is slowly slipping by for another year… (So says the guy wasting his last few minutes on a computer) Only in the cold, harsh reality of adulthood do you truly appreciate the Christmasses you had as a young’un.

http://www.makedohertyhistory.org/

Christmas is nearly upon us, and as if it hasn’t already been sodded up enough for me, I’m now starting a cold. I’ve become very efficient at being ill during Christmas - in fact, I racked up five consecutive Christmasses in bed coughing, sniffing, wheezing, sneezing and spluttering. Though obviously I haven’t been so ill I couldn’t open my presents. I’d have to be comatose for that.

Speaking of presents, in the context of a conversation about atrocious customer services, I managed to blurt out that I’d bought a present for the Missus from play.com. Bugger.

The conversation about crappy CS came about because Bulldog Broadband had helpfully neglected to deactivate my account yesterday, despite my giving them a month’s notice, as specified in their terms and conditions. Then some rude boy phone monkey tried to tell me I’d have to wait until January to rid myself of their shitty service. I didn’t put up with it. Shortly, he assured me it would be gone as of Monday. Woooo! The only snag is, when I reconnect to BT I have to get a new phone number.

While I’m having a public whinge, I should mention the fact I stripped the skin off my left thumb furiously playing X-Men Vs. Street Fighter on my Playstation last night. It doesn’t hurt as much as one would think, given how hideous it looks. Despite this, I spent the afternoon painting. albeit gingerly to avoid infecting my fresh wound with delicious acrylic goodness.

Here on this front cover you have nearly all the classic tabloid scandal staples: drugs, death, fire/explosion/terrorist attack, sex, murder, prostitutes, tragedy, and a star from a reality TV show. The only things missing are football, politicians, paedophiles and asylum seekers.

The only way you could top that is if Jade Goody sexed David Beckham to death during a three-way orgy with an asylum seeking terrorist, having just snorted a fat line of coke off the chest of Gary Glitter. Which was supplied by Peter Mandelson. In the Big Brother house.

Then told all in a 4-page spread at a poolside in the Bahamas as Max Clifford rubs his hands together in glee.

I’m so going to hell.

I was reading a WWE discussion board that was mocking the claim by Scott Steiner that he has never taken steroids. Take a look at this photo and judge for yourself.

Then somebody brought up the name of Gregg Valentine, a bodybuilder who also insists he has never touched the stuff. Again, judge for yourself. Then either be shocked, amused, or (like me) both. He looks like he has had multiple breast enlargements… in his arms!

I can understand working out to look buff, or to be physically fit/healthy, or both. This, however, is neither. If I form a celebrity death pool this year, he is my first choice.

What a productive weekend. Other than selling even more of my Playstation games on eBay, I’ve done almost fuck all. Glorious.

I finally managed to upload my fireworks night photos (taken from my gaff), as well as photos of the free fireworks display I went to at Beckton Park the previous night from my camera to the computer..

I’ve switched the web photo album freeware I use, seeing as the last one made even the finest photos look like they were rendered on a Mega Drive. Having said that, the new one is hardly perfect either, but a vast improvement nonetheless.

The DLR extension has opened, meaning I now have not one but TWO stations to choose from in the morning. However, it’s not much of a choice seeing as they’re both equidistant from me, I change lines at the next station, and it’s Sod’s law I’ll end up missing the previous train by about 30 seconds anyway.

I caught a train on the new extension (only the second train to officially run, no less) and was overjoyed to see the confusion it caused to the numerous American and German tourists who got off at Canning Town expecting to meet the shuttle bus service to the airport. Of course, the whole point of the DLR extension is to replace the shuttle bus. I knew that, but they didn’t. I didn’t tell them either. Because I’m a shit.

Booked my train tickets to Wales during the Christmas holiday, marking the first time I’ve been “home” in 9 months. Am very much looking forward to putting back on the weight I’ve steadily lost over the last six months.

Thanks to some seasonal cashflow problems (thanks to the silly amount of money I spent on wrestling tickets), I’ve knocked on the head any plans for catching some shows this month. Gutting, considering there’s a World Championship Boxing show at Excel on the 10th. (Excel, for those who don’t realise, is a 5 minute walk from my flat.) I was also going to get myself some cheap tickets to see Status Quo. I’m such a Dad rocker, but about 25 years too young and not a Dad. In fact I probably would have gone with my dad-in-law, too. Nevermind, I’ll see them next year. If they’re not dead.

I’m consoling myself with the fact that there are two Guns N’ Roses tribute bands performing within commutable distance from me in the coming months (Croydon and Walthamstow, to be precise), along with Adler’s Appetite, who are effectively a third Guns N’ Roses cover band, except the drummer actually was in GNR.

All this talk of gigs is reminding me to finish the “all the gigs I’ve been to” page I started working on one evening and - as happens so often with me - I never finished. Which is what I really should do with this post. Over and out.

According to YourNotMe, there are 2 other Mathew Brownes in the UK. And there was me thinking I was unique.

I fail to see how Costcutters got their name. Are they being sarcastic? Every time I go into Royal Victoria Dock’s Costcutters, going to the counter follows this pattern:

- Pick up item, slowly.
- If the item has a price label on it, grimace and type said amount in. Glance up and glare at customer for getting an item at a reasonable price.
- If the item doesn’t have a price on, jabber something to someone in a back room in a language that I don’t understand, receive an equally unintelligible reply, then type in a price that far exceeds any sane cost for said item.

Case in point: I like Bird’s Eye Veggie Fingers. (There’s probably an obscure sexual pun to be made there but it’s too early in the morning to find it.) One day I bought them without a price tag on, and upon checking the receipt afterwards found I’d paid £2.50 for them. The following week it had on a price tag of 99p.

They are scum.