February 02, 2009

Aw ‘kinell, do I have to?

Just like there’s always at least one pregnant weather girl on the telly, there is also at least one bloggy meme thing knocking around the admosphere. I thought I’d kept my head down but Jetpacks has caught me out.
Luckily we’ve had, by British standards, a fierce world-ending blizzard today. This means that the country has been neutralised by snowfall, the only time two inches can keep a woman in bed all day.
I did somehow fight my way into Giraffe Towers this morning, seemingly the only bugger on my floor to have bothered, apart from one of my PAs who came in crying. She asked me to console her, so I hit her over the head with my Nintendo DS.
Twas a reasonably quiet day (no phones ringing, thank the gods), so I’ve been able to think about this for at least, oh, six minutes.
To quote Jetpacks, cos I’m too damn lazy to put it into my own words:

During the last round of "Seven Things About Me," the blogger meme where you tell....yes... seven (likely unknown) things about yourself...I opted out when a few of my virtual friends asked me to play along, citing my previous involvement in the game.
I've rethought it and decided to play, but with a twist.
I will reveal seven things about my future self, and then call out a few bloggers to do the same.

So here are 7 things about my future, which is of course, your future:

  • A new bird flu virus transmitted by grouse devastates the Royal Family leaving me, 327,889th in line to the throne, in charge.

  • I pull rank at the ASA to ensure that only ads that feature monkeys, ducks or giraffes are passed for public consumption. Let’s face it, the PG Tips chimps were the funniest things on telly, ever.

  • I finally stop having those terrifying dreams where, decades after graduating, I still have to file one last dissertation.

  • Somehow I have achieved the impossible: a freshly-cooked Sausage & Egg McMuffin at lunchtime (the laws of physics may have to change to allow this).

  • At one of those uncomfortable social occasions populated by too many posh people which I always seem to attend in order to please someone else, I surprise everyone by playing the bouzouki. People swoon and make those patronising ethnic statements that I used to enjoy when employing a heavy Greek accent.

  • I finally get to tell THAT joke about the priest, the pencil sharpener and the cucumber. At a wedding.

  • My children are genuinely taken aback when they find out that yes, I really do have a spaceship buried under the garden.

Now, the deeply unpleasant bit where I pick some of those ad bloggers who I know occasionally drop into this vastly significant forum, and compel them to pick their future sevens. Yeah well, that’ll teach you to blog. Feed the beast and sometimes it bites back:

Famous Rob. Because the-ad-pit looks exactly the same as it did 4 years ago and yet somehow through astute web diplomacy and smart writing has turned it into one of the blogs to read about the murky world of planning.

Scamp. Well, I ask you. I was reading Scamp before Campaign turned him into the Dark Lord of Blogging for British Creatives. Admittedly, there are no other blogs by UK creatives that have endured for so long and evolved to the point where many blog posts can hit 100 comments. Unlike those Johnny-come-latelys who read Scamp now, some of us remember him as a cheeky puppy. Now he’s all grown up, like, and doesn’t play in the junior playground any more.

Doug. Or Hector. WTF? Graeme has swallowed an html coding book, defected to Wordpress and created a swanky blog totally in line with the look of his swanky employer.

Amelia. Because she has publicly admitted on her blog that she wants to find something to do after recovering from an operation.

Charles. Because he regularly comments on my other blog, which I don’t update as often as I should, and has an unreasonably interesting life as reported in Punk Planning.

The Kaiser. Or Sacrum. Or is it Marcus? Because he’s fucking mad. And brilliant.

I’s gonna add some more but bejeesus is that the time? 24’s about to start! Out!


RFB said...

Color me ignorant, but that's twice today I've had to consult Urban Dictionary to decode your chav-speak.

Rob Mortimer (aka Famous Rob) said...

I changed my header image last year and am due to change it again thank you!!!

Cheers :)

Will get on it soon.

Charles Edward Frith said...

Continued from Youtube:


OK looks like I have to take you through the 101 of Thai women. Just the basics though.

Her strategy is emotional transferance. An amazing technique that most men are too stupid too know a woman is capable of. It's called high maintenance in the West but the Thai women are the best in the world at it.

However I'm a little too experienced to put up with that so my counter strategy is to feign emotional hurt and seek subsequent clarification over whether I'm good or bad. If I'm good you should be quiet, if I'm bad, why are you still talking to me.

Now this young lady here knows I'm good. She knows I'm the best guy that ever came into her life because she took care of me for a couple of days while I was unwell and I wanted to make her feel special. I like to make women feel special. Frankly they're worth it.

How I showed her that was to take her to Paklong Talad flower market at 5 in the morning after a night out clubbing to secure the freshest and most beautiful Pink Lillies (her favourite flower) the kingdom has to offer. So after the glass bowl to support the long stems and the most expensive flowers in the air conditioned moist house, plus all the other hand selected blooms she chooses to make her perfect flower arrangement, I've shelled out more money on making her feel special than most men would think about spending on their wife for their birthday. And that's in a developing country, or third world as it was once know.

So you can see from her smile (and diminished aggresiveness when I began to film her) that she knows it's a game she is playing and unusually for her a game she is losing at too.

But there's more, as I'd been avoiding her for months and last night she collared me on this occasion and insisted she come to my home so she can find out why I left her (men don't leave her, she leaves them). So the tears were turned on for about an hour back at my place, and believe me this girl can squeeze out tears to order better than any girl I've ever met and I was subjected to her most relentless attempt to make me feel her pain was at some psychological level somewhat real before she finally realised I was quite happy for her to leave my home if she didn't stop her routine, and so she put her mobile phone buds in her ears and announced she would not listen to me or speak to me again. So I left her on my small and uncomfortable couch.

Sometime during the night she's figured out that it's cold and uncomfortable and manages to find her way to the best place in the apartment called my bed. Now I don't want to be crude but this girl (and the tragedy is that she is a girl) is 20 years old, has the best tattoo of any girl in Bangkok all across her back (20+ hours work) and I would say has exceptionally beautiful dark skin and an amazing body. You can see she's pretty of course.

So my task is to keep it platonic, which I succeeded in doing despite a number of amorous approaches and I've finally bid her farewell 20 minutes ago on the back of a bike with not a shred of integrity lost on my part. But I have some points to make fishnchimps

1. There's only so much hot twenty year old I can take before the resolve slips and I'm in a position with girl half my age who can then demand a lot more than the previous trying 24 hours because that's how morality and sex works if we're honest with each other. But I'm only a man.

2. So I think I don't need to work on any chatup lines.

3. I reckon I know more about women than most guys will ever come close to knowing (I adore women)

4. I think I behaved impeccably given we met over some rather rapid tequilas and I left her the moment I realised that her IQ spikes around 180 for playing games with men but drops to below 100 for ANYTHING else in this planet. You have to see it to believe it.

But the really sad thing is. I know her. I know she is a kid who gets to throw her toys out of the pram with all the other guys she meets. I also know that nothing would make her more happy than to find a man who will look after her family in the impoverished Isaan part of Thailand, have a couple of kids and get married. In that respect it's still not too late for her. But time is running out.

Nothing lasts forever fishnchimps Its part of the human condition.

Anonymous said...

crikey how do i follow that?

i consider myself memed (?) and will respond according to the very best social media etiquette

SchizoFishNChimps said...

Charles, that's the simple guide? Should I find myself divorced and in need of a Thai woman, I think I might have to study hard first. It sounds like you have to play an emotional chess game to get anywhere. Or maybe I'd just leave that to the experts...

Scamp said...

If I could predict the future I would be down at Haydock Park not here mate...!

Anonymous said...

No Future.

Charles Edward Frith said...

Looks like I went off on one. Ooops :)

I'm only now beginning to catch up on stuff so I'll respond to the meme.

Didn't mean to come across as an arse but it does read like that.