Map Man

I like looking at maps.

I find it strangely comforting to examine the name places of countries and continents I'll probably never visit. From the Siberian wasteland to the Mexican coast, I could look at them for hours.

In fact, I'm almost sexually attracted to Ordnance Survey maps. They are the epitome of class.

Last night I discovered the best placename yet. A small town on the Donegal coast in Northern Ireland called... Muff.

Are the people who live there Muffers?
As it's on the coast, there is a chance it has a diving school - The Muff Diving School!
I would gladly pay good money for a 'Certified Muff Diver' T-shirt.

But that's because under this facade of adult respectability lies an nine-year-old schoolboy chuckling "muff" under his breath.

Oh dear.

Beer Googles

I googled myself today.

I know, how very passe, but it was a slow day at work and I wanted to see what the various versions of me in a parallel world were doing.

So, I put in my real name.

Turns out I am not who I thought I was. Depeneding on which site you visit,
I am a...

1. Highly successful Christian musician from the USA
2. A religious author who reently joined a native American tribe
3. A public health executive from New Zealand
4. An Australian food writer
5. An Australian folk singer
6. A computer repairman from Alabama
7. A convicted fraudster from Kent
8. Young, single and "up for anything, except animals", from Newcastle
9. A disgruntled commuter who only blogs when he's nothing better to do.

Hmmm...

All White on the Night

When I awoke this morning, the snow was deep. And crisp. And even.

I scraped the snow off the car, carefully cleared a stretch of driveway (yes, I admit it, I have a driveway, but it doesn't make me posh) and edged my way slowly up the road toward the motorway.

To avoid a repeat of last year's 'Stuck in the snow 20 yards from my house' fiasco, I threw the snow shovel in the back of the car. Super Safety Stark, always thinking ahead. I should have been a Mountie. If I lived in Canada and wasn't allergic to horses.

By the time I arrived at work in Big City, the sun was shining, there wasn't a drop of snow to be seen.

A colleague looked at the back seat of my car and spotted the snow shovel.

"Not an optimist, are you?"

Late Christmas Wrapping

I receive a mystery package.

It is a large box, wrapped in brown paper. It has my name on it.
I am immediately disappointed when i lift the box. It is too light to contain any of the following:
A case of whisky
A new Apple Mac laptop
One of those Playboy bunnies that leap from giant cakes to sing Happy Birthday in a sultry marilyn Monroe fashion.
(To be honest the last one was a bit of a long shot, really. It isn't even my birthday)

I open the box.

There is another box inside, similarly wrapped in brown paper. If this is one of those Russian doll-type gags, I won't be amused, i say to myself.

There is yet another box inside the smaller box!!! Clearly someone is having a laugh at my expense, or I've received a gift from an anonymous stalker who has a brown wrapping paper fetish and this IS the present!

Needless to say the real present lay inside the third box, thus dispelling the last theory.

It wasn't even for me. It was for Stark Jnr. It wasn't remotely alcoholic.

I stuff the (rather attractive) brown wrapping paper into the bin and open a beer.

Tsk.

Tempted (by the car of another)

It was like a scene from The Omega Man (or 28 Days Later depending on your age).

The Big City streets were deathly quiet. Only the ocassional discarded newspaper fluttering down the empty streets interupted the silence.

I was completely alone.

It was dawn and the city was still asleep. The last time I walked the streets at this ungodly hour, I was coming home from a party and desperately searching for a 24-hour kebab house.

This morning, I was unreasonably sober and on my way to work.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered.

A brand spanking new Mini Cooper screeched to a halt 10ft in front of me.
The driver got out, slammed the door behind him and ran off clutching a bundle of newspapers. He hadn't seen me. He didn't lock the car's doors. I could see he was running in the direction of a nearby evil burger chain
outlet.

It would take him at least two minutes to make his drop-off and return to the unlocked car. Then it hit me. TEMPTATION. Or should that be TEMP-TA-TION (higher and higher!)

I could easily slip into the driver's side and steal the car. It was obvious the driver had left the keys in the ignition. He must have assumed no-one in their right mind would be out of their beds at this time. The car would be
safe.

A hundred thoughts ran through my mind. I wouldn't have to steal the car outright, just jump in and drive a couple of hudred yards, get out, and be on my way. It would certainly teach him a lesson.

I have to admit to you, I came dangerously close. It was almost too good an opportunity to miss. Car thieves and ne'er do wells across the country would give their benfit cheques for an opportunity such as this.

But me? I'm a good boy. But with bad thoughts.

Instead, the only dangerous thing I did was buy a bacon roll and a cup of tea, thus breaking my "the bad food ends here" rule on Day One.

New Year New Me

Nah, not really, just more of the same, except with a few more wrinkles and grey hairs (all of which add to my unerring attractiveness. No, really, it does).
My main resolutions are

1) Drink more. I'm a nicer person with a bottle of rich, fruity red wine in me. See, that's me thinking of others, that is.
2) Eat more. Just of the better variety of foods this time.
3) Teach Stark Jnr to swear effectively. C'mon, you know there's nothing more cute than a small child saying "bugger!"
4) Finish writing proper lists...