Poetry, not sure why . . . . .

I've written three poems in the last few days. I'm not sure why, I don't really write poetry, well, I certainly haven't done since school. Would be interested to hear what you think

De-Railed

I think you’ll agree that the world is a mess
Everything is going to pot
Bankers and Traders trying to guess
Where to invest the lot
The whole of the world crippled with debt
The government plays it down
So really how much worse can it get
Enter right Mr Gordon Brown
Please don’t panic, everything’s great
I’m right, in time you’ll see
I’ll start by reducing interest rates
And finish with VAT
There’s other ways to rescue the nation
To help us back on the mend
And I’m not talking about nationalisation
I’m saying we need to spend
So that’s what they did, filing expenses
Everyone passing the buck
Claims for hedges, flowers and fences
And floating islands for ducks
Well I don’t mean to be stoking the fire
But greed was the aim of the game
Claims for petrol and three spare tyres
Even though they travel by train
This great Country is truly disgusted
It’s totally beyond repair
You’ve been de-railed, you can’t be trusted
Please don’t claim for the fare

A Day At The Races

Fantastic start, edging ahead
Fluttering heart, jelly for legs
Gone too wide, come on baby
Now off stride, second maybe
How’s my luck, sweat now rolling
Means so much, now she’s strolling
Clenching fist, must not lose
My burning wish, she’s the fuse
I’m her rod, she’s my line
What are the odds, what’s the time
She’s closed the gap, racing clear
Energy sapped, endless cheers
A crazy race, a brilliant run
Look at her face, now she’s won
Although they tried, they wouldn’t have caught her
I state with pride, “That girls my daughter!”

Mike The Entertainer

They pick me up, they put me down, they even sing and shout
Sometimes I get swung around, Is this what life’s about?
Now ever since I came of age, I’ve always tried my best
Well last night I just froze on stage, I even failed the test
The lights came on, music cued, I just tried to cower
The people cursed, the people booed, I didn’t have the power
What’s wrong with you, the lady said, you’ve made me look a twit
Her face had turned a shade of red, this song should be a hit
A man came on, apologised, he tried a little flattery
Unscrewed the cap, look surprised, I didn’t have a battery
We went again, I did my best, the crowd clearly liked
So who am I, I’m sure you’ve guessed, I’m known by most as Mike

Servers, Backups and Tattoo's

It's been a while since I updated the blog and that is for two main reasons. The first is that I went on holiday. A wonderful, relaxing holiday spent on the Norfolk Broards. How come we didn't get to choose I hear you say. Well, it was booked last year and so the decision was made by my Wife, and a very good one it was too. The second reason for my absence is down to technical issues. I'll be honest, the technical issues were resolved in part 3 days ago, but it has taken me this long to calm down enough to be able to see the keyboard from all the red mist. It's also very difficult to type in a straight jacket.

I returned from my lovely relaxing holiday to find that my webiste had returned to a version that was over two months old. The website was bizzarely showing my very first decision "What should I be called" and stranger still, people were voting on it. I'll keep the story short as the red mist is returning.

I received an email saying that there had been a server error and my web host had to move servers and perform a restore of the most recent backup. The most recent backup they had of my site was two months old, even though they had assured me that it was backed up every night. I have now lost a lot of important information for ever. The frustrating thing is that I can only communicate with them via email, as the support service I had purchased only allows me to converse via the written word. I explained politely that as it was their error they should pick up the phone and call me and we could have a little chat about it. They explained they would be happy to call me, if I purchased the service that included telephone support. So effectively, they were asking me to pay them to call me to resolve a fault that is down to them. By the time they did call, I couldn't see the phone for the mist and the straight jacket was way too tight.

So what is the overall damage? Luckily, I choose to host my blog elsewhere, so that is in tact, but all of the data including the percentages, amount of votes etc has been lost. This makes me sad, as that data was to form a vital part of the book I had promised myself I would write, and the show I aim to perform.

So back to the decision making. I said that I felt like I needed some excitement in my life, so I asked you guys to decide what I should do before I'm 30. The dictionary definition of Excitement is as follows - "Noun - A feeling of great enthusiasm and eagerness"

I'll let you in on a little secret, out of all the exciting things on the list, the tattoo won! Do I have a feeling of great enthusiasm and eargerness? No.

"Noun - A strongly unpleasant bodily sensation" That's not the description for Tattoo, but it should be. That's the Oxford dictionary definition for pain. A noun I will get to know all too well in the coming months.

I have a major issue now. What do I get?

This is where you come in. I would like you to send me your suggestions. Make them as wild or boring as you like. Send me sketches, pictures and examples if you like. Send them to suggestions@yougettochoose.co.uk or you can send them via twitter http://twitter.com/YouGetToChoose

I will put my top five suggestions up on the site for you to choose.

On Your Bike!

Thanks once again for voting in your hundreds.

I realised a few weeks ago that I needed to do something about my expanding waist line. It was an emotional day for me, and I'll take you back to that day and fill you in on exactly what happened.

It was an unusually warm, Spring like day so my wife and I decided to go for a little walk. We dusted down our walking boots, popped on a light sweater and set about our morning trot.

We have a park a few minutes walk from us, which leads onto some woods and eventually some rather nice fields. Being a City worker, I see these big square green things about once a year, and even then it's on John Craven's Country File. It was wonderful and just as I made my way over a sty I paused for a moment. I could see the bluebells were just starting to sprout through in the late morning sunlight, the light was flickering with the shadows of the trees, there was a faint smell of manure in the air and just the faint sound of jeans ripping from crotch to crack.

My trusted jeans had decided to split under the pressure, leaving a fresh feeling in more than my head. I was devastated. Not so much for the Jeans, but because the purpose of the walk was to get to the nice country pub the other side of the woods, a pub which would now be two guests light for Sunday lunch

Once home, I realised that these were my last pair of presentable jeans. That is Jeans that I can realistically be seen in public with. I spent the afternoon going from shop to shop in a pointless search for a new pair of J.T.I.C.R.B.S.I.P.W

Now comes the embarrassing bit. None of the High Street chains seemed to stock my size. Ouch! Not possible I thought, there must be a mistake. Maybe there was a sale on and my size was really popular. Maybe everyone my size went for a walk in the country and came unstuck in a similar way?

No!

My size is seen as a "Special Size" and they only "Get a few in" as they find them "Difficult to shift"

Then it dawned on me. Those words uttered by the 15 year old sales girl are the exact reason I am in this situation. Too often I'm getting the "Special Size" meal. Too often I "get a few in" down the pub. It is this exact reason I find weight so "difficult to shift"

Don't get me wrong, I'm not close to keeling over, but my size 40 waist was clearly a problem and so I decided to start getting fit.

Since that day I have been on a healthy eating kick and I asked you guys whether I should buy a bike or join a gym. Well, the bike won and on Saturday I purchased the said bike (Pictured)

I'm pleased to announce that since that day a few weeks ago, and with the help of my new bike, I have managed to shift 21 lbs (That's a stone and a half, and just under 10 kilo's in new money)

Thanks once again decision makers. Keep up the good work

Didn't see a Ting!

The reason I started this project was to see if, by leaving the decision making to the general public, I could become a happier person. To re-cap, I hate decision making. The very thought of it brings me out in a cold sweat. I think it's mainly down to the fact that I have to live by the cosequences and I can't get over the "what if" feeling; but in truth, I don't know the exact reason and it would probably take at least six sessions with a special doctor to find out.

Only two decisions in and I was starting to doubt the success of the project. I really fancied going to the cinema but couldn't decide what to watch. The Decidees came good and chose a popular film, so popular in fact, I couldn't get to see it. I did however take solace in the fact that it had saved me money.

Then came the decision to go and see the Ting Ting's and initially I felt spirited. I would never have actually gone out and bought tickets and I still needed the help of my decision makers, but here I was facing a genuine fear of mine and feeling upbeat about it. I hate crowded places, especially places with queue's. So, after two hours standing outside in a crowdy place, queuing, they finally told us the gig had been cancelled. I was so annoyed, partly because the 12 year old girl standing behind me had insisted I wear her luminous headband, but mostly because another decision in which I had no input had resulted in dissapointment. At least the Cinema meant I saved money. . . these tickets were free! The photo to the left tells it all. Fed up people in a queue, and Brixton council had the foresight to predict the delays. Cheers

I was soon cheered when I walked back round towards Brixton station and heard the unmistakable cry of the ticket touts going about their business. Clearly no-one had told them of the cancellation, and presumably had kept quiet, just for a laugh. I would have sold them my ticket, only it wasn't mine, and apparently my friend still needed it so that he could claim the money back online. What made it funnier was that the touts had a rediculously hard tongue twister to contend with. Normally you hear them shouting "England Tickets, anyone buying or selling England Tickets" but this time they were met with "Cheap Tickets to the Ting Ting's" Say it fast and you'll know what I mean. The stairs to the tube were awash with cockney saliva so I decided to go to the pub instead. I'm sincerely sorry to have made that decision without you, but frankly, with your track record at the moment, I'm glad.

Thanks for Voting, Now look what you've done!

Thanks to everyone who voted, the answer was yes, I Should go to the gig on Friday night.

Immediately it has filled me with dread. The last time I went to a gig, I was 20 and in my humble opinion I was fairly hip. I knew how to act and what to wear in order to fit in with others. I was, for want of a better word, invisible. I wasn't fat, I wasn't thin, I wasn't too old, I wasn't too young, I wasn't a goth, I wasn't on Drug's and thank god, I wasn't a Student

I was dragged to see Toploader play at Exeter university with my then Girlfriend (Who unfortunately was a student) I vowed after 3 hours of what I can only describe as a Noisy Student Bar, that I would never go to a gig again. It just isn't me. I feel akward just being there. I never learn the words of songs, so am not compelled to stand there and sing along, I can't dance and throughout the performance I get this compelling urge to ask them to turn it down a bit. On a slight digression, why do people go to gigs and spend the whole time shouting the lyrics back at the band? Firstly, I'm sure they are aware of them, they wrote them. Secondly, you can do that at home to the CD, why pay £40 for the priveledge?

So, after finding out that my self imposed life ban has been lifted, I decided that I would go clothes shopping to help me become "Invisible" again

I've no idea what people wear to gigs these days, but I'm pretty sure it's not a nice pair of slacks and a Ben Sherman shirt (Loosened at the collar) so I decided the easiest thing was to buy a pair of comfortable Brown trainers and a couple of new T-Shirts. These will go nicely with a pair of Jeans and Abra Cadabra, Invisibility! They are also cheap. £20 for the trainers and £25 for the T-Shirts!

Well, plainly, I look rediculous.

It's the day of the gig, and unfortunately I've an Eight hour day shift to put in. Luckily, my place of work is one of the only companies that allow casual dress on a Friday. Great I thought, lets try the new look out on my colleagues first!

I strode confidently out of my front door and towards my local train station and my first mistake hit me, with considerable pain after about 200 yards. My new "Comfortable" trainers, turned out not to be comfortable at all (That's them on the left). In fact, they were quite the opposite. They were systematically slicing my heels apart, one step at a time. Another 100 yards and my toes were ready to fall off. I was at the point of no return and somehow got through the pain and managed to catch my train. This wasn't the end of my pain however, as this is just the local train which serves the main station.

During my journey I cursed myself for being a man. If I had been a woman, I would not have been swayed by price and bought the cheapest pair. I'd have also tried them on, I'm sure of that. Instead, I employed the three P's. I Picked them, Purchased them and Pissed Off. My punishment for buying like a man, is to suffer like a woman. I'll never curse at my wife for complaining that her shoes hurt her ever again

Finally, I made my stop in London and collapsed in a heap. I still had half a mile or so to cover to get to work. I was just about to go for it when I realised that "Shit!, I've got to go to a gig in these tonight!" The pain had eroded the Long Play button in my brain, and I was clearly working on the here and now. I was in survival mode. Once the weight was off my feet the full horror had dawned on me. I decided the only thing for it was to get another pair of trainers. The only shop in the Financial District where I can buy "Hip" trainers (By hip I mean normal, and not winkle pickers from Saville Row) is Next. They had one pair that was suitable for £45, and luckily they were in stock. I immediately put them on (Pictured below), and placed the Heel Shredders into the box.

After about 100 yards the pain set in again, and I put this down to the damage that had already been done. I decided that the best thing to do was to buy some new socks, as the pair I had on were particularly thin. M&S was close by so I popped in. I'm a sucker for a deal, so I got the 7 pair pack for £10, rather than the 3 pairs for £6 pack. The guy at the till informed me that the socks were on offer and I could get another pack of 7 for half price. I've now got 14 pairs of socks which, if I am brutally honest, I don't need. I just need the one pair right now. Still, socks keep don't they. Worst case scenario, I can give a pack away as a christmas present and get my own back on my brother. After another 100 yards, the pain was again unbearable. I decided to pop into Tesco Express to get some plasters, which set me back another £4

So, my cheap trainers costing £20 have now cost me £84 and I'm still in agony! Really looking forward to this gig now, thanks everyone!

Lemon Squeezy

The results are in. Lemon and Sugar won in the end by a clear margin. Thanks for helping me Decide.

I had make a Chilli Con Carne last night, as it sort of killed two birds with one stone. If it won the vote, I'd have it in my pancakes, if it didn't, I'd have it as my main meal. I managed to make two mistakes. Firstly, I made too much. I made enough Chilli to keep a Mexican School going for a week. Secondly, I made it far too hot. If you see the pictures of my ingredients below, you can see the culprits in the background. (The Chilli Flakes)

Normally, this wouldn't be too much of a problem. I'd get through it, undo a couple of buttons on my jeans and wait for the burning and the nausea to subside. Unfortunately last night this wasn't possible. I had pancakes to make!

I followed the instructions to the letter and proceeded to make my pancakes. The recipe said it was enough to make four, so I halved it, thinking two is still too many for me the way I'm feeling, but I'll get through it

The first one was a success. Plenty of Lemon and Sugar, very nice indeed! Thanks once again for making that choice!



The second was technically better, the pan was hotter and I'd managed to flip it without it sticking to the pan or the ceiling.

Problem!

I still had enough to make another pancake! Now, I'll let you in on something. For some reason, I am physically unable to throw anything away, especially when it comes to food. Even food that is out of date ends up on the bird table or my Wife's sandwiches

Solution!

After I'd undone another button on my jeans, I went for it. I just tipped the rest of the mixture into the middle of the pan. It just kept going! There was enough for another two at least. I was however at the point of no return, so I went with it.

So thanks very much to all of you who helped me decide. I had a lovely Chilli Con Carne, Two Delicious Pancakes and a Yorkshire Pudding to finish!

2 - 2 Thriller, and I missed the Goals!

What a day!

I arrived in Stoke just after midday. Police were advising the Pompey fans to get to the ground as quick as possible and avoid the town. I was happy enough with this as I wanted to meet up with other supporters and not spend my time dodging baseball bats in the town.

I plucked up my courage and approached three rather well lubricated lads. (They are the ones with the beers on the right) I explained that I was a fellow Pompey supporter and I was happy to pay for a cab if they wanted a ride. They agreed and instantly set off in the other direction to the taxi rank.

I explained that the taxi rank was the other way, but Rich (Second Left) informed me they had no intention of going to the ground yet and that we would find a local pub to drink in. Ok, that's fine I thought. Safety in numbers. I'll leave them to dodge the baseball bats and I'll run.

After just over a mile, it was clear that this was neither the way to the town, or the way to the ground, we were in no mans land. It was at this point that Rich decided to ask me how long I had been a fan. "A week" I weakly explained, while making a move for the imaginary exit. "Cool" he said, and that was that!

Eventually we gave up on the pub idea and made our way to the Harvester pub by the ground, via the taxi rank that we'd been at half an hour earlier. I used this time to update my three new friends with the details of my project. Rich explained that he and his two friends had travelled up from Newton Abbot in Devon. They'd had a heavy night in Exeter and caught the first train in the morning. So far they'd had one beer for every hour they had been awake (and they didn't sleep on the train on the way up, I checked)

Once in the Harvester I met up with a few others who Rich had last met in Wolfsburg, during Pompey's Uefa Cup exploits. Dave and his son Joe follow Pompey home and away without fail. They'd been to the Portugal, the Far East and even Nigeria. Dave lives in Norfolk and his friends (Neil, Big Al, Richy Joe and Richy)were from The Midlands, London and Surrey.

Soon I was met by another Rich (Pictured Below), who thank God preferred to go by the name of Richard. (So far I've met a Rich, two Richy's and a Richard) It turns out that the Southampton fan that e-mailed me to say "Why would you want to go all the way to Stoke with that bunch of Dicks" had been quite profound

Richard had just travelled down from Blackpool to Stoke, but he lives in Worcestor (and obviously supports Portsmouth) . . . you still with me?

Richard was dissapointed I didn't get to see Slumdog Millionaire the other day, so had kindly brought along a copy on a disc (A perfectly legal-ish copy I'm sure) How good is that! It looks like I am going to see Slumdog Millionaire after all!

Soon I was in the ground soaking up the atmosphere and it wasn't long before I bumped into John "Portsmouth Football Club" Westwood.

I'll be honest, I was scared of approaching him, and although he looks like he's just about to punch me, I can assure you he didn't. I bumped into him again later (as you can see from the picture at the bottom of this post)

During the game I stood next to a guy called John. A Portsmouth fan who lives in Stoke (Well thats what he told me anyway) John was pretty drunk. I wasn't completely convinced he actually realised he was at the game. He spent a lot of time on the phone, smoking. I get the feeling he may have been thinking it was a particularly Big Pub Telly. He was however shouting at the right moments, swearing at Crouch a lot and had offered to show me one of his Pompey Tattoo's, so I was happy to be in his company, even if he did keep asking me to pass the nuts.

At half time I had an awkward moment when I had to make a decision on what to eat. There were four different flavoured pies, Luckily Chloe (The girl who worked behind the counter)informed me that the only pie they had was Meat and Potato, so that's what I had. I'm still not sure exactly what Meat it was by the way.

Due to a monumental cock up on my behalf, I had to leave the ground 15 minutes early to catch my train, which meant I missed ALL FOUR GOALS. This has made me more certain than ever that I need to relinquish all decision duties.

I ended up paying Ali(My Taxi Driver)an extra £3 so I could listen to the end of the game in his car and went crazy when portsmouth scored the equalizer. That particular moment came back to haunt me when I opened my can of coke on the train ten minutes later.

So there we have it, 200 miles, 6 pints of fizzy yellow stuff, a Mcdonalds, a meat pie and 4 goals (which I missed)

PLAY UP POMPEY!