Sunday, 21 December 2014

Le Storie Aux Cats.


I am sitting in bed. Insomnia has kicked back into my life routine, I can't get any sleep. I am tired. But not falling asleep. I can't sleep. I can't sleep. Try and sleep, it's not happening. Am I asleep? I am not dreaming. I love dreams. No, I am awake. I look down, my Cat is asleep and Cats are always asleep. I envy you Cats.

This got my thinking, about the significance of Cats in Mankind, and also the significance of Cats in my life. Whilst I will go on to speak about the significance of Cats on my life, telling about my many story's and cat affiliations, I pose to you, the reader, this. Have you ever heard of a heroic cat story? Ever heard of a cat story of saving anyone else's life for the sacrifice of their own contemptuous smugness? Or that time a cat dragged someone else out of a burning building, or generally anything of any loyalty to mankind. Not really, it rarely happens.

At this point Cats are quite worthless, but adorable.  But I am sure I would not be the person I am today had it not been for the subtle directions cats have had on my life, impacting on the subtle emotions and characteristics I possess that you would find in a grainy wankity wank Wes Anderson film. ( I really like you Wes, I'm just jealous I will never be retro cool). Therefore, I will try to write the rest of this blog piece as a Wes Anderson film.

Chapter one : The worst Cat that ever lived.

The start of Jack and the Beanstalk, is weak at beast. Obviously Jack had never played pokemon in the playground, it was not a great trade, at first.  I can imagine his Mothers rage when she found out their Cow was traded in for magic beans. Magic Beans, or Magic Legumes are terrible. Now there was a local drug dealer who had legged it in the area beside us. She, supposedly owned this cat. Rodger. I don't know how she came into possession of him, but I can only think that he was used as a payment for an 1/8th of weed.
We took in Rodger, he was annoying, needy, border line retarded. He grew an infatuation with my Sister. He knew the power of manipulation.
But to everyone else, he was terrible. On coming home one night I was walking up to my room in the attic. As I opened the door, he appeared. He looked at me, but not in a usual way, I could tell he had done something, he just had that look. As I reached the top of my stairs, before me, was a massive warm fresh pile of shit. In a fit of rage I went to get him, but he had managed to get into bed with my sister. As I went to grab him, she held onto him protecting him from my rage. As I left the room, he looked at me, he knew, that I knew, he had won. Anyway, we had him put down.

Chapter two : The Brawler.

My good friend Saul had, a cat named Weetabix. Saul was adamant that Weetabix was half Scottish Wild Cat, half tamed cat.(The only Cat known not to have ever been tamed by Man, Even Big Cats in Africa have been tamed, but Scotland knows how to be like Mel Gibson)
Weetabix was the Cat of all Cats. He had a reputation. He once fought a German Shepard and won by digging its claws into its head. He once took on three cats, and won. He literally took on every cat in the area and won. He was the dominant cat with a massive territory. I once saw him in a Garden two miles from his home taking a shit. I looked at him, he looked at me. He had that look, to say 'What the fuck you looking at cunt? I own fucking everything, and there is nothing you can do to stop that you prick'.

He was such a bruiser. One time on returning home he had a literally one inch chunk bitten out the top of his head. Upon getting into his home, he shook his head spraying the walls with blood. But he didn't care, it was merely a flesh wound...He had better things to worry about, like killing seagulls, fighting, and impregnating every other feline in the area, neutered or not.

Once Saul moved into the countryside with Weetabix, He sensed country cat pussy and abundance of food, and promptly left. He was later found in a town 8 miles away. He was returned for an emotional fight with Saul, and promptly left to live his life foraging, fighting and fucking. The day he left, he was to never be seen again, he knew he was writing his immortality.

Chapter three : The Russian.

I was five, our first cat, the one eyed pirate, Boris, had died. I was quite sad at the time. My parents acquired two new cats from the cattery. Harry was his name. A Russian blue. A real gentleman. This is the cat I was brought up with. He was a sincere type of guy who was a real Gentleman. Armed with his white tuft on his chest, he stood proud. He never demanded food by meowing obsessively like the other four lady's who live in my life. He would wait, patiently, for hours by the food bowl. He appreciated us. He would return home to the cat flap with sticks to pay thanks for our efforts of keeping him lazy. He liked to sleep. One time, and I am certain, he slept for 48 hours straight. Because it was the right thing to do.

He later caught Cancer, but refused to die. Everyday he would eat two chicken raw chicken legs and half a can of condensed milk. This kept him going for a year. Until Cancer took him out. He was a fighter. Eat, sleep, throw up, repeat. I really loved that Cat. He was a real good one.

These three chapters only describe some of my many cat moments on my life. One thing I enjoy about Cats, is there is one universal Cat language in the world. I have been to a few country's, and Cats always speak the same to me. I get on well with Cats from many continents. Rodger, and the French neighbors Cat Mimi understood each other, they would spend time together in the garden. Sometimes looking at the UN and the many interpreters it is required for meetings, it would be simpler to send delegations of Cats representatives. The War on Cat-Nip could finally be over otherwise.


Sunday, 18 May 2014


I am a person of simple tastes. Not to say I'm a simpleton, but I just enjoy the quality of originality in the unrefined. Be it a stone baked Margarita pizza over a multitude of toppings, or a simple sweet crunchy apple. Anything complex overloads my Pentium two processor brain, and results in my brain making noises like an old dial up 56kb modem

Anyhow, the movie Godzilla. It seems simple enough. Some Giant crustacean from the terassic period comes back to the 21st century and goes raj on Western Civilization. The Japanese, being smart, and good at maths know what to do. Godzilla goes away, humanity is saved to make new spoilt brat children that will shit all over the environment without consequence. This is basically the plot for any Godzilla film.

This particular Godzilla film does not really do that. It introduces some other giant flying monster under the acrimony 'Muto'.
At this point in the film, my head really started to hurt. I looked like this appropriate selfie.

Muto gets awakened by mining or something, and even more unbelievable spiel comes to the fore.

It just got worse and worse.

It enjoys radiation; Alpha, Beta, Gamma all of that Chernobyl food.. It goes about munching radioactive substances and just fucking shit up, it also wants to meet female Muto in America to have more 'cray' baby's. Godzilla gets involved, has a ruckus and saves humanity.

My Brain literally melted, and for reasons unknown, I have not suffered a brain hemorrhage at the keyboard yet.
 I cannot be done explaining the banality of this film anymore. Besides the great effects, sounds and introduction that lays a solid foundation, the film is let down by the boring protagonists. Except the guy who is a father of four, turned meth dealer, now seems to be working at Fukusima.

Jack of all trades, Master of fuck all.
 The God in Godzilla is really not allowed to appraised to by the audience that it should be as Jesus second coming. Its a right let down that the savior of humanity is not given much love or emotional focus.

Will Smith will be a happy man. His Godzilla film is superior.

Thus, I give this film five pizza pies out of ten. The over complication of a simple concept ruins what could have been an 8 year old boys wet dream. The complication of a simple recipe also ground my simple mind to a halt, and produced the logging on sounds we have forgotten from our latter years.


My and one of my ladies.

This cat is Royalty.

Money and Cats over Bitches.

Thursday, 1 May 2014

Tinned Technology.

Recently I have been eating a lot of things in a tin.

Its not some kind of Victorian hipster renaissance that I'm trying to aspire to. Its more of an acknowledgement of the invention of the 'tin' or the 'can' that makes life so much easier and less stressful. You never get pissed off with a can, well besides a bad can opener.

Useful and nutritious too.

Kind of like the zip. No one speaks well of the 'Zip', but I think its probably one of the better inventions out there, compared to all these Google glass wanks that you see in Aberdeen craft beer pubs. I've only seen one, and he was French (Are they more technological cyborg people than us? 'Je NAE cest pas ken?'
Thank you Zip Man, you helped everyone, and nobody thinks about you. I think you look like a little pug. Cute. Again cheers.

It was enough to get me annoyed with the current state of affairs with technology. Even that virtual smoking inhaler stuff is baffling. It's like the future has come to the present, and we are still in the present, its not the future yet though.... I'm still in shock at it. Kind of like when I first saw an MP3 player at age of 13, mesmerized to where the music was kept on it.

Just No!

Anyhow back to the tin. Mackerel, Herring, Peaches, Anne Frank. Anything you think of, you can tin it. But my recent marvel at the tin, or joy of things canned in my case, has been incepted into my mind by a computer bug that was in my friends game of the Sims. I can justify such accusations.

I used to play the Sims communally with my friends. It kept us off the streets, and into the relative safety of the virtual world, away from the rougher kids in the square. We would each have own characters living together, it was the way things were meant to be, like the long rumoured euro-trip that never happened. Anyhow, we had this one 'bug' or 'glitch' in the game. Bob. Bob was like that friend that just showed up at your doorstep to play computer games with you. I was this friend to my friend with the sim playing capabilities coincidentally, and we are still great friends too.

Master of destruction.

Anyhow Bob had a reputation for coming in, eating your tinned food, and fucking off leaving a mess. Then in this particular instance, Bob came in, put a tin the microwave, fucked off to eat better gourmet tinned food someone else,causing a house fire killing three of us. The Only SIM friend to survive was Connor, and he got depressed, lost his job, and sat around watching TV all day.  David Cameron take note. The welfare state helps people out in hard times. The labour we put in was to much to bear, summer was coming, and we could face the rougher kids with water pistols and condom water balloons that were given to us by the students in the communal halls near us. We uninstalled the game.

But now part of me believes that Bob, Tron'd himself into me. Thus, why I now eat tinned goods

Monday, 28 April 2014

Super Snail Karma tale.

The other night I was brushing my teeth I noticed my nose. My nose, in my opinion is a work of art. I  have no quarrels with the shape of it, in fact I think I could be a nose model like the people with beautiful hands appear in supermarket adverts. The issue I do have is with it's contents. I was the typical type of child with the snot hanging out his nose in the school playground, infamous for my gold digging skills and numerous 'accidental' nosebleeds. Snot and nasal phlegm has plagued me throughout my life. It was only until the other night though that I really thought hard about the rationale for why it happens.

The Buddhist belief of Karma dictates that we all reincarnate when we die. Based on how much Karma we have at our death you will either birth as something better for being a good person, or for being a knob end you become something lesser. Based on my traits, I fully believe that in my life before, I was as a snail. The qualities of phlegm and snail trail are obviously empirical evidence. But the story behind this,in my Snail 'Form', is how did I earn so much Karma to become a human?

What I want to know though is what did I do in my past life as a snail to earn so much Karma? I present a quantity of hypothetical heroics that a snail could have performed.

I could of done the typical martyrdom for the greater good of the gardenia snail colony of bush berry gardens. My battalion of snails could have been fatefully encircled by a snare of slug pellets. Instead of panicking and fatefully scattering in snail fashion, I commanded my battalion to slurp-a-derp over my body as I took the brutal acidic death.

I was courteous to gardeners plants. I thought fuck it, not going to eat them, I'll munch a garden weed. I then set up a educational plan to Africa and the middle east to educate snails about eating fancy garden plants. As a result I was awarded a Nobel Peace prize by the United Bug Nations, and accredited to solving a timeless conflict.

I was stepped on by a person on the pavement. The sound alerted them to a mass murderer pedophile superman, kind of like Raoul Moat and Jimmy Saville with a hint of Bin Laden, and perhaps saved some children's lives.

Or somehow I just happen to have a runny nose and really should buy a pack of Kleenex every week to stay on top of my misfortune. I prefer the heroic snail trait.

Sunday, 25 August 2013

A idots guide to motorbiking in Thailand

In my six weeks in South East Asia, mainly Thailand for the record, I spent a lot of my time exploring the open road on scooters. It may not have been the equivalent of the Americana open road freedom but my 125cc Euro-poof hairdryer and mushroom helmet still encapsulated such ideals. I'm a huge advocate of moto biking in Thailand, as you get to explore and truly use your noggin'. Such routes like the Mae Hong Son loop is a real winner. The dangers of those adventures never really hit me until I arrived in the hippy town of Pai. Pai had a lot of westerners with the battle wounds of the scooter life style.  Massive scars, bandages, and the fucktard limp of shame were the tattoos of falling off a scooter.
Driving in the countryside will produce beautiful views.

 I too took a tumbly or three on my first day, impart because I was being a numpty, much to the annoyance of my girlfriend Malin. She however was very safe and Swedish, truth to the claim that opposites attract. It does not take long to find pictures of dead westerners on the internet because of road accidents in Thailand. Or to find forum threads of story's of horror on the roads. In fact the internet is awash with story's of death on the roads, and statistics state that 40 people die a day in Thailand due to road accidents. Thai roads for the record, are well made, which is hardly surprising since they spend more on roads than education. What struck me was the complete lack of advice for tourists and travelers about driving in Thailand. So I thought I'd try and give some wise words, and some do's and don'ts for riding.


Try and find a good scooter.  Most often the budget for scooter hire for the day is around 100 - 200 Baht. Often though the brakes on scooters are horrific, solemnly bled or pads replaced. If you can spend an extra 50 Baht (Around 1.50 dorra) to get a Japanese scooter. It will be worth it. If your scooter is bollocks, return it and demand a new one.

Wear a helmet. You may get a tad hot, contract hair lice and look like a character from Super Mario. But when you hit your head, it will most likely save it. You may look like a retard, but being retarded for the rest of your life is shit, so wear a helmet, and do up the chinstrap.
We rode in Mae Hong Son, which provided the best driving day I have ever had. Steep climbs, adventure and beautiful landscapes await.

Have travel insurance. I don't believe in religion, but I do believe in Travel Insurance. When shit hits the fan your policy going to save you like a contingent of Delta Force in Somalia with Black Hawks. I have zero tolerance for people without it. Best money you will ever spend in my book.

Take some sun glasses and sun cream. It could get sunny......

Take some supply's with you. Water,  Ice tea, sweets and the like. Always good to eat a skittle with a nice view. Also if you or someone else has an accident, sugar is a great way to treat against shock.

Turn the engine off when you park your scooter, or are about to push it! All too often everybody pushes their moto with the engine on. Resultantly they'll grab and turn the accelerator and the moto will carry you away. As you grab on for dear life you will be increasing the acceleration while looking like a epileptic having a fit on roller skates. Make it a habit, and call people out on it too.

Drive defensively. When someone beeps at you its too let you know of their presence, and not to be a dickhead. Be aware of this as some people may not give you much room while they pass.

Drive with someone. Its good to be together, and safety in numbers is not a bad thing.


Go mental on roads you don't know. I'm an advocate for speed and going fast. But if you don't know the road and your going fast, you are asking for trouble.

Take out bike insurance. Unless you have an international driving licence it won't count for anything.

Hit the middle yellow line. The middle line is very slippy at the best of times. In the wet its as slippy as a nun seeing Jesus. You will have no traction and go on to the other side of the road. So take the corners wisely.

Drive drunk or stoned. If your caught by the police, their eyes will light up with the financial rewards.

Drive at night. Most accidents will happen at night. There are a lot of bugs and bats to hit off your head. And other drivers are more likely to be drunk, as well as the increased chance of being robbed.

Go too fast. 80 - 90 Km/h is your Max, try aim for 65 Km/ph as your normal cruising speed. If you fall off at speed, expect your skin to get a good burning, and the rest of your holiday to be tainted, if not ruined. And remember your brakes are most likely awful, so slowing down urgently could take a while.

Be too far on the inside of your lane. You are entitled to do this, but do expect some knob jockey driving to be partially in your lane coming round a blind corner. It's bollocks, but keep the fact in mind that you are not in control of everything in relation to your safety.

Be angry. Driving in Thailand is kind of informal and not treated personally as it is in the UK. Loosing face in Thailand is probably the worst thing you can do. So always try and stay cool.  Think of Samuel L Jackson in Pulp Fiction. Bitch be Cool! BITCH BE COOL and so on.

I am sure there is many more people out there with more experience and knowledge than I. Please feel free to contribute advice. I wrote this article with actual concern that a lot of westerners seriously hurt themselves out there. Little information is given by governments to citizens for travel. Most likely more westerners die in scooter accidents in Thailand than Al-Qaeda kill in terror attacks. So its beyond me why we have not started drone strikes on Mod gangs and Lambretta scooters.

Be safe, take your time to learn how to scoo-tay, and have a good time.

Saturday, 24 August 2013

Hello to the Internet. My name is Callum. I'm adding a whole load of shit to dilute the internet even further. I don't really know what the theme of my blog will be, but I guess its for my personal use to get better at writing and ranting in a clear manner. Expect lots of non thought provoking thought.