At least Swedish TV is good. 10 hours of Simpsons today, starting now.......
p.s. I shall write a better Xmas message soon
Saturday, December 26, 2009
So it begins
At least Swedish TV is good. 10 hours of Simpsons today, starting now.......
p.s. I shall write a better Xmas message soon
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Squash (again)
Well no report for the last 'Seriespel' match (well at least yet). Not that really anyone knows anything about squash but the last big tournament of the season (on the pro circuit), the Saudi International, has just finished- the final a stunning (just short of) two hours of intense squash between the top 2 guys (form at the moment) in the world. There was lots at stake, besides the biggest pay cheque: the number one in the world spot. This in layman's terms was the Federer-Nadal final, between two incredibly talented guys, Nick Matthew and Ramy Ashour. It's almost impossible to understand how intense squash at this level is, that despite its stereotype, is most definitely not for the upper class businessmen, not willing to get there whites dirty. On that note, check out this little beauty of a clip from a few years ago.
p.s. Ramy won 3-2, world no.1 at 22 aint half bad.....
p.s. Ramy won 3-2, world no.1 at 22 aint half bad.....
Monday, November 30, 2009
The Västerås official mini report
Well here's the other side of the story. May be not as interesting?!?!?
VSC4 mötte Uppsala
Per Garmo startar övertygande mot Greg Hauerbele och vinner första med 11-6. Slappar lite i andra och förlorar med 11-4. Sen gör Per som vanligt (löper sönder motståndaren) och vinner med 11-2, 11-5.
Per Fredriksson stöter på Lars van de Heide och styr spelet ganska enkelt till 11-6 i första. Fortsätter likadant i andra och vid 9-3 ledning för Per, får Lars ge upp matchen efter att ha slagit axeln ur led.
Patrik stöter på tufft motstånd i form av Michael Thorpe. Michael som spelat Brittish Open som junior( 25-30 årsåldern nu) är både spelskicklig och snabb som attan. Patrik gör en spelmässigt bättre insats än i första matchen, men jagas runt hela plan, av en skicklig motståndare och förlorar i tre raka games.
Slutresultat: 2-1
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Squash match- a day to remember
Squash, what a sport....or vegetable
What do you get if you cross a hungover Dutchman, a squash ball and a dodgy right arm? Lots of morphine and an evening in A&E at Västerås hospital.
The story then. Firstly let me just say the original idea of this was supposed to be a simple squash report. That is far from what it turned out to be.
The day started like any other. I met up with the squash team- consisting of 3 very distinct characters. Myself, an Englishman (PhD immunologist) playing at one. Lars, a Dutchman (Post doc. oncologist) playing at two. Last but not least, Greg, the man from Belgium (Medical doctor, eye specialist) filling the number three spot. Now not only are we all geeks, all immigrants and all pretty average at squash. We were on a mission- to keep our necks at the top of the squash table. This was going to be a tough task as we were going to play one of the best teams in the league, in their own back yard (well squash court at least).
During the hour drive up to Västerås, the team mulled over some squash tactics. Mine and Greg’s plan was to hit 33 winning nicks, comfortable 3-0 victories, then go bowling (in the same sports complex as the squash courts). Lars meanwhile was recovering. You see, this was no ordinary day. I forgot to mention Lars was not meant to be playing. Oh no. The young Dutchman had intentionally sampled some whisky delights the night before and was coming only to inspire us, especially being the team captain and all. Our ‘first choice’ number two was a mature Ture, who gave us a wealth of experience, a guaranteed victory no doubt. Yet the atmosphere was dry, something felt wrong. And indeed there was. A phone call later and ‘a f**king hell, this is not good’ from the flying Dutchman, now meant Ture was unable to play, leaving his spot open to the albeit slightly hungover Lars.
How hungover you ask? Well lets just say, he drank half a litre of energy drink then fell asleep- I then gave him a litre of water, 50% of which turned in to a whisky water mix, from the fumes radiating from his mouth hole. So the Dutchman’s tactics- to breathe all over his opponent, comatosing him, resulting in a win by default. A full proof plan or so it seemed.
Just a brief word of how the (squash) system works: your team turns up, there’s 5 other teams present, you play 2 matches against 2 different teams, have a shower, then go home. No beers/alcohol (unless you get drunk before hand, Lars) and no real social scene- it’s potentially not as fun as it should be, but I digress.
So the team was playing Enskede (in the first match) and Västerås (in the second). You could cut the air with a knife, I mean championship points were at stake and a huge pressure for the virgin…….the squash virgin. Yes, Greg was indeed playing his maiden match in this crucial tie. Not fazed, a smooth, confident Greg, with his David Ginola looks, casually glides on to the court, hitting perfect lengths and widths in the warm-up. Meanwhile, a hungover Lars, having no kit, was forced to purchase new shoes, new shorts and a new T-shirt. Now sponsored by Yonex, the smart looking Dutchman is also a fine business man- knocking off 200 crowns off this rather extortionate purchase. Ready for battle, the Dutchman starts the heckle the opponents, striking fear in to their very hearts.
Greg, displaying a fine performance was finding his range nicely: keeping his opponent guessing, punishing him in the back corners, pouncing on every loose ball. Demoralized by his stylish looks and unassuming presence on the court, Greg took hold of the match to come out a comfortable winner 3-0, having his opponent all over the place, diving around the court and wishing he hadn’t left his house that morning. A wink and smile later from Greg and up next was the professional looking Dutchman.
After reinforcing his tactics, the Dutchmen didn’t get off to a bad start, forcing his sober partner to make basic errors as the whisky poured off the toned Dutchman’s body. The momentum changed though for poor Lars. After narrowly losing the first, it got worse for the Yonex rep. A drastic change of tactics was needed. No longer could we count on his alcohol content to get the opponent drunk. The squash would have to do all the talking. We can skip a few details, but lets just say the squash didn’t say too much after the tactical change. Exhausted from the alcohol pouring out of his system, Lars’ last gasp effort to salvage the match was in vain, the outcome a sobering 3-0 to his worthy opponent.
Last up was Mike (yes I’m going to write in third person now). Having built up a fearsome reputation from the previous match, the Englishman’s opponent didn’t know what hit him. Drilling the ball in to the nicks, keeping his opponent is a state of confusion, the poor opposing Swede could only pray to his Ikea meatballs for some divine inspiration. It didn’t come. The onslaught was relentless. Drawing in a record crowd (of about ten people, enough to fill a small seminar room), the whisper of excitement about this foreign player was filling the court. Keeping his ego down, the Englishman casually controlled this impressive display with soft touches of inspirational accuracy, and hard hitting power strikes, devastating his opponent. The only outcome, a deserved 3-0 win for the skinny little Englishman.
So, the dream still alive, a hard fought, yet brilliantly executed 2-1 win over the Stockholm meatballs was concluded. The weak link in the team, still trying to break in his new shoes wanted revenge. Like a finely tuned killing machine, the Dutchmen was studying his prey. Ready to proverbially pounce like the slightly drunk animal he is. After a motivating team talk- including how we really should go bowling, up next was the big one. Not since the Jamaican bobsleigh team, had there been this much anticipation from the leading two teams in the league.
However, soon we realized, the dream would be almost over. Remember the start of the day? Remember how the Dutchman was never supposed to get in that car, remember how he had no kit and had to spend almost three months salary on a stylish pair of shoes? Well fate has a funny way of biting you in the arse.
After a confidence boosting win, the foreign Uppsala team was ready for the next challenge. One of which in the history of squash, will go down as the most painful match ever played. No, not because of the tension, the unimaginable talent of the Uppsala players, oh no. For one fateful shot served to be the end. Yes, the end of a certain Dutchman’s shoulder.
For you see, the second match felt wrong. Greg was up first, his confidence apparently sky high, yet his demeanor warranting a note of caution. Up stepped the casual number three, but something had changed, the wind in his sails had gone. Could it have been the extortionate coffee he’d purchased just moments earlier? Could he have peaked too soon, or was it simply fate? Could he see the inevitable future? Either way, Greg, now playing with tension in his arm, fought and struggled with his annoying opponent. After an onslaught of heavy hitting from his opponent, the first game slipped away from young Greg. Not to be deterred, the number three pulled his finger and thumb out of his arse in the second, strolling to a disturbingly easy win. What was this? Were times changing? Was squash this easy? The answer, like when asked to get married folks, was a no. Bad times were just around the corner. The third game started much as the first, a backlash of shot making from the opposing Swede. Time after time of great length and near perfect drops, lead the man from Belgium astray. The calmness had gone. The squash had left the building and Greg, distraught from his opponents consistent game, had to endure the pain of losing his (squash) virginity in a bad way, going down 3-1 in a close encounter not of the third kind.
What happened next was far far worse. Not only was the Dutchman sobering up, new ideas swirling round his head on how to beat his opponent. He had also got used to his shoes. Not so bad you might say, but after a quick hammering in the first game, early in the second Lars made a fruitful error, one that cost him dearly (well 400 crowns to be precise). After a lengthy hard fought rally, the sweat pouring off the two challengers, the clever opposing Swede lobs the ball blissfully to the backhand of the courageous Dutchman. Not to be out done, he swings above his head, the ball aimed at the nick, when suddenly a scream. No, the ball hadn’t found the nick. It wasn’t a scream of despair, oh no, it was a horror scream of agony. For you see, Lars had done something bad, no, not breaking my borrowed racket, much worse…..Lars had dislocated his shoulder. Yes, his squash arm had popped right out of its socket.
Off to Västerås hospital it was. Well, not for the number one, the young, much in need of a haircut, Englishman Mike, was left to salvage the remaining points from the tie. A victory here for the Uppsala team could at least keep them in touching distance with the Västerås lot. Having his teammates on his mind, a determined Englishman was going to fight to the end, if death was the outcome, then so be it. In the name of the injured Dutchman, Mike bravely stepped up to the glass court. His opponent? A giant of a man, a hard hitting monster of awesomeness. This was going to be a tough ask of the hobbit sized Englishman. Having been deserted from his half injured team. This lonesome warrior took charge of the game, punishing the Swede in the corners, destroying all hopes of a 3-0 Västerås win. With his teammates close to his heart, Mike took one for the team, playing out of sheer pride, eventually winning 3-0, just in time to shower, do his hair and rush down to the emergency ward.
What was next to come is as close to human torture as could be defined. Never have I seen a needle that long, you could almost use it as a pole vault. Never have I seen someone take so much morphine, yet still be in agony. Never have I seen nurses at a hospital bring sandwiches and a cup of tea to their patients. Never have I seen a man lye on a hospital bed, face down, arm hanging off the bed, with 5kg of weight attached to it. Never have I seen this someone with this weight, lye there for over an hour and never have I seen someone be soo sick from the morphine comedown. Trainspotting eat your heart out.
After my arrival to see this poor broken man in pain, my first question to Greg (who was waiting patiently by his side) was ‘Did they cut his new shirt off him?’ Appropriate you may ask, but that would really be a kick in the teeth, to lose the squash match, lose your arm out of your socket, then lose your awesome new T-shirt- there is no justice in this World. Luckily, the shirt was still in tact, a shame that the arm was not so well off.
So after 5 hours, 28 mg’s of morphine, 10 mg’s of valium, local anesthetic, 5 kg of weight, about 5 litres of watery vomit, 3 nurses, 2 doctors, two ham and cheese sandwiches, 1 cup of tea, 400kr and still a joking Dutchmen, the day was over.
After a loss of one arm, one match and some money from Lars’ wallet, the team came home with mixed fortunes. We had all our body parts in tact. The puke bags provided by the hospital were most excellent and the damage from the loss of one match was not the end of the World. Our pride was still in tact, the team slightly weaker next time, all wish the courageous Lars a speedy recovery. On a personal note, I’d like to thank Greg for staying with Lars and looking after him for the whole time in the hospital. Being a Dr. himself, Greg was cleaning his wounds, checking his blood pressure and sorting everything out. Lars ended up sleeping the night at ours, on the doctors’ advice: ‘the morphine/sedative effect may stop his breathing’…….’yup, you’re good to go home’. There’s nothing quite like good news………
The story then. Firstly let me just say the original idea of this was supposed to be a simple squash report. That is far from what it turned out to be.
The day started like any other. I met up with the squash team- consisting of 3 very distinct characters. Myself, an Englishman (PhD immunologist) playing at one. Lars, a Dutchman (Post doc. oncologist) playing at two. Last but not least, Greg, the man from Belgium (Medical doctor, eye specialist) filling the number three spot. Now not only are we all geeks, all immigrants and all pretty average at squash. We were on a mission- to keep our necks at the top of the squash table. This was going to be a tough task as we were going to play one of the best teams in the league, in their own back yard (well squash court at least).
During the hour drive up to Västerås, the team mulled over some squash tactics. Mine and Greg’s plan was to hit 33 winning nicks, comfortable 3-0 victories, then go bowling (in the same sports complex as the squash courts). Lars meanwhile was recovering. You see, this was no ordinary day. I forgot to mention Lars was not meant to be playing. Oh no. The young Dutchman had intentionally sampled some whisky delights the night before and was coming only to inspire us, especially being the team captain and all. Our ‘first choice’ number two was a mature Ture, who gave us a wealth of experience, a guaranteed victory no doubt. Yet the atmosphere was dry, something felt wrong. And indeed there was. A phone call later and ‘a f**king hell, this is not good’ from the flying Dutchman, now meant Ture was unable to play, leaving his spot open to the albeit slightly hungover Lars.
How hungover you ask? Well lets just say, he drank half a litre of energy drink then fell asleep- I then gave him a litre of water, 50% of which turned in to a whisky water mix, from the fumes radiating from his mouth hole. So the Dutchman’s tactics- to breathe all over his opponent, comatosing him, resulting in a win by default. A full proof plan or so it seemed.
Just a brief word of how the (squash) system works: your team turns up, there’s 5 other teams present, you play 2 matches against 2 different teams, have a shower, then go home. No beers/alcohol (unless you get drunk before hand, Lars) and no real social scene- it’s potentially not as fun as it should be, but I digress.
So the team was playing Enskede (in the first match) and Västerås (in the second). You could cut the air with a knife, I mean championship points were at stake and a huge pressure for the virgin…….the squash virgin. Yes, Greg was indeed playing his maiden match in this crucial tie. Not fazed, a smooth, confident Greg, with his David Ginola looks, casually glides on to the court, hitting perfect lengths and widths in the warm-up. Meanwhile, a hungover Lars, having no kit, was forced to purchase new shoes, new shorts and a new T-shirt. Now sponsored by Yonex, the smart looking Dutchman is also a fine business man- knocking off 200 crowns off this rather extortionate purchase. Ready for battle, the Dutchman starts the heckle the opponents, striking fear in to their very hearts.
Greg, displaying a fine performance was finding his range nicely: keeping his opponent guessing, punishing him in the back corners, pouncing on every loose ball. Demoralized by his stylish looks and unassuming presence on the court, Greg took hold of the match to come out a comfortable winner 3-0, having his opponent all over the place, diving around the court and wishing he hadn’t left his house that morning. A wink and smile later from Greg and up next was the professional looking Dutchman.
After reinforcing his tactics, the Dutchmen didn’t get off to a bad start, forcing his sober partner to make basic errors as the whisky poured off the toned Dutchman’s body. The momentum changed though for poor Lars. After narrowly losing the first, it got worse for the Yonex rep. A drastic change of tactics was needed. No longer could we count on his alcohol content to get the opponent drunk. The squash would have to do all the talking. We can skip a few details, but lets just say the squash didn’t say too much after the tactical change. Exhausted from the alcohol pouring out of his system, Lars’ last gasp effort to salvage the match was in vain, the outcome a sobering 3-0 to his worthy opponent.
Last up was Mike (yes I’m going to write in third person now). Having built up a fearsome reputation from the previous match, the Englishman’s opponent didn’t know what hit him. Drilling the ball in to the nicks, keeping his opponent is a state of confusion, the poor opposing Swede could only pray to his Ikea meatballs for some divine inspiration. It didn’t come. The onslaught was relentless. Drawing in a record crowd (of about ten people, enough to fill a small seminar room), the whisper of excitement about this foreign player was filling the court. Keeping his ego down, the Englishman casually controlled this impressive display with soft touches of inspirational accuracy, and hard hitting power strikes, devastating his opponent. The only outcome, a deserved 3-0 win for the skinny little Englishman.
So, the dream still alive, a hard fought, yet brilliantly executed 2-1 win over the Stockholm meatballs was concluded. The weak link in the team, still trying to break in his new shoes wanted revenge. Like a finely tuned killing machine, the Dutchmen was studying his prey. Ready to proverbially pounce like the slightly drunk animal he is. After a motivating team talk- including how we really should go bowling, up next was the big one. Not since the Jamaican bobsleigh team, had there been this much anticipation from the leading two teams in the league.
However, soon we realized, the dream would be almost over. Remember the start of the day? Remember how the Dutchman was never supposed to get in that car, remember how he had no kit and had to spend almost three months salary on a stylish pair of shoes? Well fate has a funny way of biting you in the arse.
After a confidence boosting win, the foreign Uppsala team was ready for the next challenge. One of which in the history of squash, will go down as the most painful match ever played. No, not because of the tension, the unimaginable talent of the Uppsala players, oh no. For one fateful shot served to be the end. Yes, the end of a certain Dutchman’s shoulder.
For you see, the second match felt wrong. Greg was up first, his confidence apparently sky high, yet his demeanor warranting a note of caution. Up stepped the casual number three, but something had changed, the wind in his sails had gone. Could it have been the extortionate coffee he’d purchased just moments earlier? Could he have peaked too soon, or was it simply fate? Could he see the inevitable future? Either way, Greg, now playing with tension in his arm, fought and struggled with his annoying opponent. After an onslaught of heavy hitting from his opponent, the first game slipped away from young Greg. Not to be deterred, the number three pulled his finger and thumb out of his arse in the second, strolling to a disturbingly easy win. What was this? Were times changing? Was squash this easy? The answer, like when asked to get married folks, was a no. Bad times were just around the corner. The third game started much as the first, a backlash of shot making from the opposing Swede. Time after time of great length and near perfect drops, lead the man from Belgium astray. The calmness had gone. The squash had left the building and Greg, distraught from his opponents consistent game, had to endure the pain of losing his (squash) virginity in a bad way, going down 3-1 in a close encounter not of the third kind.
What happened next was far far worse. Not only was the Dutchman sobering up, new ideas swirling round his head on how to beat his opponent. He had also got used to his shoes. Not so bad you might say, but after a quick hammering in the first game, early in the second Lars made a fruitful error, one that cost him dearly (well 400 crowns to be precise). After a lengthy hard fought rally, the sweat pouring off the two challengers, the clever opposing Swede lobs the ball blissfully to the backhand of the courageous Dutchman. Not to be out done, he swings above his head, the ball aimed at the nick, when suddenly a scream. No, the ball hadn’t found the nick. It wasn’t a scream of despair, oh no, it was a horror scream of agony. For you see, Lars had done something bad, no, not breaking my borrowed racket, much worse…..Lars had dislocated his shoulder. Yes, his squash arm had popped right out of its socket.
Off to Västerås hospital it was. Well, not for the number one, the young, much in need of a haircut, Englishman Mike, was left to salvage the remaining points from the tie. A victory here for the Uppsala team could at least keep them in touching distance with the Västerås lot. Having his teammates on his mind, a determined Englishman was going to fight to the end, if death was the outcome, then so be it. In the name of the injured Dutchman, Mike bravely stepped up to the glass court. His opponent? A giant of a man, a hard hitting monster of awesomeness. This was going to be a tough ask of the hobbit sized Englishman. Having been deserted from his half injured team. This lonesome warrior took charge of the game, punishing the Swede in the corners, destroying all hopes of a 3-0 Västerås win. With his teammates close to his heart, Mike took one for the team, playing out of sheer pride, eventually winning 3-0, just in time to shower, do his hair and rush down to the emergency ward.
What was next to come is as close to human torture as could be defined. Never have I seen a needle that long, you could almost use it as a pole vault. Never have I seen someone take so much morphine, yet still be in agony. Never have I seen nurses at a hospital bring sandwiches and a cup of tea to their patients. Never have I seen a man lye on a hospital bed, face down, arm hanging off the bed, with 5kg of weight attached to it. Never have I seen this someone with this weight, lye there for over an hour and never have I seen someone be soo sick from the morphine comedown. Trainspotting eat your heart out.
After my arrival to see this poor broken man in pain, my first question to Greg (who was waiting patiently by his side) was ‘Did they cut his new shirt off him?’ Appropriate you may ask, but that would really be a kick in the teeth, to lose the squash match, lose your arm out of your socket, then lose your awesome new T-shirt- there is no justice in this World. Luckily, the shirt was still in tact, a shame that the arm was not so well off.
So after 5 hours, 28 mg’s of morphine, 10 mg’s of valium, local anesthetic, 5 kg of weight, about 5 litres of watery vomit, 3 nurses, 2 doctors, two ham and cheese sandwiches, 1 cup of tea, 400kr and still a joking Dutchmen, the day was over.
After a loss of one arm, one match and some money from Lars’ wallet, the team came home with mixed fortunes. We had all our body parts in tact. The puke bags provided by the hospital were most excellent and the damage from the loss of one match was not the end of the World. Our pride was still in tact, the team slightly weaker next time, all wish the courageous Lars a speedy recovery. On a personal note, I’d like to thank Greg for staying with Lars and looking after him for the whole time in the hospital. Being a Dr. himself, Greg was cleaning his wounds, checking his blood pressure and sorting everything out. Lars ended up sleeping the night at ours, on the doctors’ advice: ‘the morphine/sedative effect may stop his breathing’…….’yup, you’re good to go home’. There’s nothing quite like good news………
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Ahh I could go on all day, everyday about football
Well well, I really am struggling to find anything good about this sport I once loved to play. This time however, poor old Marlon King (sob sob I hear) has really done it this time. What a tool (yes, how American of me) but really what a nob head. Check this out
Another classic is from a very clean KFC in London, read this.
Well it looks like I'll be getting the first riding of the season in about 3 weeks, going to Sälen.
Work is hotting up (in no way connected to the weather) and hopefully in less than 2 weeks I'll have my first paper printed (well I'm not first author, but still, my name is on the paper) : )
Not really anything overly funny, interesting to say. My new name at work is Ed. No, nothing to do with special ed (ucation in US) or dick head, or actually anything close. Basically, as I'm the only English person in my lab, I get the pleasure (yes, ahem) of proof reading everyones papers etc, as they assume just because I'm English that I am indeed a human dictionary and a fountain of knowledge of well, everything. Erm....hmmm. So this name comes from my new side job as the 'editor', or for ease on (or off I suppose) the tongue, simply 'Ed'.
Note. My other colleagues also have names (well besides the ones they were born with). We have Bob- this is based on my Professor saying this particular guy should stop body-building. Now this guy is pretty big but in no way a body-builder. So he inadvertently said 'I'm not a body-builder, more like just a builder.' So we went a bit further with this and obviously led us to Bob the Builder, or simply Bob.
We also have P. I'm not going to go in to details, but he is also known as Stinky P. Really, don't ask any questions!!
The former named Bro is now called X to the G. The only info I'm releasing here is that he is Chinese (no there is absolutely no taking the piss, racism, sexism, whateverelseism). Just simple names, completely innocent.
One guy opted for Pete (just as a random name). We told him only premature people are called Pete (yes, premature Pete.....seriously, you wouldn't believe how many people don't get this), yet the name has stayed.
In conclusion (haha, yes I'm in work mode still) I might legally have to change my name to Mike Sven Ed John Thorpesson. Kind of catchy, don't you think?!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Laughing
We all love to laugh. It has to be the one saving grace on this planet. There are a number of things that make us laugh, obviously each to their own. One thing that I think makes everyone laugh is the news. Why people do what they do can be mind boggling at times. Recent things that came to my attention include:
An ice-skating bear in Russia turning on it's trainer and killing him.
Complaints (in England) that a weight loss lip balm doesn't work (Yes I'm serious). Experts claim it's a gimmick. No shit Sherlock. Do the writers of this news need to go to experts to know that if you're a chunky monkey and put lip gloss on it won't make you lose the podge?! I mean are people becoming fat and stupid?! I tell you what, I know a great toothpaste that makes your eyesight better.......
The world's longest golf course opening in Australia....no not 8500 yards long, oh no. Try 850 miles!! Yes, I'm serious.
Real Madrid losing at home (nice one Ronaldo...well not that you were playing but anyways)
Barcelona losing at home (suck on that one Ibrahimovic)
Sunderland's classic goal against Liverpool- apparently all the beachballs with the Liverpool logo have sold out, hahahaha. Silly little northern kid. (look it up if you don't know what I mean)
Only in the states = 'fat-ism' should be made a hate crime. This includes telling Doctors not to advise fat people to lose weight!! Yes, I'm serious.
Boris Johnson who once promised to end London's congestion charge, now wants to increase it to 10 pounds a day. That's a whopping 3650 quid a year just to have your car in inner city London. Nice one Mayor.
The new 'naked' security scanner at Manchester airport that can basically see everything, yup, bits and all. This has caused controversy and those Paedo nut jobs have one again. It was in action for may be all of a week but now the scanner will not be used for under 18's. Why? Well its because it violates children, which provides indecent pornographic images (apparently). Are you serious?! For one, kids spend most of there time naked and no-one gives a shit. We aren't all paedos. I think with the number of Muslims/foreigners working at the airport, I think they have worse problems to be looking out for. My last flight from Heathrow involved me getting picked out from the crowd by a big turban wearing Indian who then full body scanned me. Yes, I'm sure it's because I look like a terrorist. I was going to ask if I could scan him after me. Guess that wouldn't have been the smartest idea. Where was I? Ahh yes, so no kiddy images, which by the way can't be stored or sent by computer anywhere. The terrorists etc solution? Give explosives/knives/guns/drugs to under 18's.......genius England, pure genius.
Well that's enough for now. I'm sure there's more stuff I've missed etc. Right now on the news over here they are showing the protests against BNP on TV. If you actually read the comments/thoughts of an ever increasing English/white population BNP vote, I think something big (and bad) is brewing. People are sick of being treated like Johnny foreigners when they are nationals. England is beyond being on its way out- me thinks its all but over for Europe's hole.
An ice-skating bear in Russia turning on it's trainer and killing him.
Complaints (in England) that a weight loss lip balm doesn't work (Yes I'm serious). Experts claim it's a gimmick. No shit Sherlock. Do the writers of this news need to go to experts to know that if you're a chunky monkey and put lip gloss on it won't make you lose the podge?! I mean are people becoming fat and stupid?! I tell you what, I know a great toothpaste that makes your eyesight better.......
The world's longest golf course opening in Australia....no not 8500 yards long, oh no. Try 850 miles!! Yes, I'm serious.
Real Madrid losing at home (nice one Ronaldo...well not that you were playing but anyways)
Barcelona losing at home (suck on that one Ibrahimovic)
Sunderland's classic goal against Liverpool- apparently all the beachballs with the Liverpool logo have sold out, hahahaha. Silly little northern kid. (look it up if you don't know what I mean)
Only in the states = 'fat-ism' should be made a hate crime. This includes telling Doctors not to advise fat people to lose weight!! Yes, I'm serious.
Boris Johnson who once promised to end London's congestion charge, now wants to increase it to 10 pounds a day. That's a whopping 3650 quid a year just to have your car in inner city London. Nice one Mayor.
The new 'naked' security scanner at Manchester airport that can basically see everything, yup, bits and all. This has caused controversy and those Paedo nut jobs have one again. It was in action for may be all of a week but now the scanner will not be used for under 18's. Why? Well its because it violates children, which provides indecent pornographic images (apparently). Are you serious?! For one, kids spend most of there time naked and no-one gives a shit. We aren't all paedos. I think with the number of Muslims/foreigners working at the airport, I think they have worse problems to be looking out for. My last flight from Heathrow involved me getting picked out from the crowd by a big turban wearing Indian who then full body scanned me. Yes, I'm sure it's because I look like a terrorist. I was going to ask if I could scan him after me. Guess that wouldn't have been the smartest idea. Where was I? Ahh yes, so no kiddy images, which by the way can't be stored or sent by computer anywhere. The terrorists etc solution? Give explosives/knives/guns/drugs to under 18's.......genius England, pure genius.
Well that's enough for now. I'm sure there's more stuff I've missed etc. Right now on the news over here they are showing the protests against BNP on TV. If you actually read the comments/thoughts of an ever increasing English/white population BNP vote, I think something big (and bad) is brewing. People are sick of being treated like Johnny foreigners when they are nationals. England is beyond being on its way out- me thinks its all but over for Europe's hole.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Some inspiration
Well it has been a while. Me writing a ‘real’ post I mean. The reason for me to start now? Well nothing in particular. I guess blogs are designed to be written to provide an ulterior point of view, to show a small window in to my life etc. Well yes I am useless at keeping in touch with everyone. Nothing is impossible (or so they say) yet letting people know where you are/what you are doing feels extraordinarily difficult.
I hear bits and bobs from back (not) home. I’m in the middle of a slight predicament regarding all my crap that I have left. The fact that every second I think about
Anyways, the point being for those who don’t read this a mini congrats/thanks to at least my cousin (I think) Zoe for probably being the cleverest (is that a real word?!) person in the family (sorry Gary). My grandparents for their 50th Anniversary (right or wrong?!). My sister for moving (does that warrant a congrats?!) Erm… probably the best, but a big shout out to my auntie Vi (technically or just one of those everyone female and older than you is an Aunt?!) who gave Johanna a happy 21st birthday card, just some 7 years too late, haha. Brilliant.
Anyway, I digress. The big news was on that fateful last Monday, was mine and J’s 2 year engagement anniversary (yeah I know they celebrate anything these days I hear you say) as well as the already mentioned birthday of my älskling. I am not a hopeless romantic; I’m just hopeless I think. May be my heart is in the right place, but my ability to show such things is lacking. It’s always tricky to show someone you love them by well, splashing your money around?! Doesn’t make sense, very ironic, isn’t it that ‘the best things in life are free’ (lets agree to disagree). Anywhizzle (like most of today’s youth I can make up words too), I love you Johanna, you are the best thing since, oh lets just say something cliché like, well, sliced bread (seriously you are amazing though).
More about me I hear you cry, well thanks for asking, my PhD is going as any PhD goes, you spend more time realizing you know nothing about a lot. I will be giving my first lecture soon, my supervisor adding ‘you can do it in English if you want’. Erm, funniest thing I’ve heard in a while. I would be standing in front of 40 Swedes, opening line of ‘hej, jag heter Mike’….even a retarded monkey can figure that one out. Ok, seriously things are good, I have the potential to get my name on possibly 3 papers within the next 6 months, then really focusing on my own stuff (ask me questions if you really really really want to know how it all works).
A good friend over here has officially taught me how to become an alcoholic. Mr. Beyer has taught me how to open bottles of beer with a lighter or back end of a fork etc. Admittedly I have lots of red patches where the skin on my right hand is no more through failed attempts and slippage of my hand straight against the lovely metal edge of the bottle top (long sentence right?). But I’m pretty sure I’m a pro now, apparently my Master says you can do it with rolled up paper too, so that’s next weeks trick.
Well the last thing in my monologue, typically boring for everyone except myself actually. But I played the first competitive squash league match for oh around 4 years. Because there are only a few teams in each league, you turn up at the club (in this case was in Stockholm), 5 other teams arrive, you play 2 matches in one day then the next match is like a month away. Well yes I did win both matches, again thanks for asking. In fact (not blowing my own trumpet- or whatever the phrase is. That one sounds very very dodgy) I played really well. So much so, that the owner of the club (ok, didn’t offer me a lucrative squash contract worth about 5 quid a match) gave me the phone numbers of the clubs no 1 and 2, who turned out to be the no 1 and
Ok, I’ve brushed the arrogance off my shoulders now. The main thing is that life is good. I’m sorry if I’ve wasted 10 minutes of yours reading this. Thanks to the people around me, thanks to my Adidas Stabil S’s, in limited edition grey (Oh sorry I thought I was a sports celebrity then, just putting my sponsors out there, you know, haha, yeah right). Ok, ok, I’ll stop being stupid now.
The snow is soon coming (well hopefully), I’ll literally get my skates on this year (well next too) and get my board(s) out for some good riding too. If you want to come over for a ski trip/ weekend/ not to see us etc please come over. I shall keep you informed of our antics. I’m tired so will end with a joke:
A patient says, "Doctor, last night I made a Freudian slip, I was having dinner with my mother-in-law and wanted to say: 'Could you please pass the butter?'
"But instead I said: 'You silly cow, you have completely ruined my life.'"
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