Okay, I’ll come clean. I honestly forgot this blog existed. It wasn’t until I saw one Jenny Malone advertising her blog on Facebook that I remembered “Holy shit! I have a blog too!”

A lot of my friends have either began or returned to university this week. Of course, this means gigs won’t be as fun, bands I like won’t be playing, but the fortunate thing here is that its usually this time of year where I meet new people and forge new friendships. Some of my old friends have finished their two years at Uni and have returned. It was good seeing them last month and it’ll be good seeing them again this month. I’m looking forward to the faces, both new and old, of people I have tons in common with.

My brother, Chay will be marrying his long time partner, Dan, next week. I am my brothers best man at this particular wedding. I am both excited and nervous. I’m happy for my brother and his partner, who have hit rough patch after rough patch but have always worked through them as a couple. This civil partnership ceremony (gay wedding is a lot more easier, and descriptive) is the icing on the cake and if one couple deserves to get married, its these two. As a first time Best Man, I’m nervous as hell. I have my speech ready, I’ve timed it, double timed it, allowed pauses for applause or a collective “Awwww” or two as well. I know my role in the ceremony, I’m to read messages, thank guests/photographers/whoever is helping, say some nice words about the happy couple and hold a toast. I’m prepared, my body is ready, and the only thing that I’m really nervous over is the fact that I’ve never done this before. I’ll be fine on the day, I promise not to cry, but I do love a good wedding.

I have a pipe dream idea of getting together with a bunch of local musicians and putting all our collective ideas into one album, with a revolving door of artists for each track. I have no idea how I’m gonna do this, but its something I really want to do.

That’s all. See you next time I remember this place exists. Feel free to Tweet, Like, Comment and Subscribe. I guarantee you won’t regret it.

Here’s a correct example of how to play (courtesy of @PunkerTY). Here, the word/phrase is “Beaver Cleavage” (note: we’re using the Pro Wrestling wordlist, which is fucking shit. StoneBold Stunner, REALLY!?) and as you can see, the drawing is of a beaver with a cleavage. Clever right?

This is a perfect example of the RIGHT way to play iSketch. Draw it literally, say what you see, hope its right.

Here are just a few of the many, MANY wrong ways to play iSketch.

1.Literally drawing the word/phrase.
Seriously, CUT THAT SHIT OUT! It takes away from the game, and if you can’t draw the phrase you’ve been given, FUCKING SKIP, ASSHOL! Fair enough, there’s doing a bit of writing to explain a typo, or a sounds like or if its relative to the given subject (like a PPV poster) but FOR FUCKS SAKE STOP WRITING THE BASTARD ANSWERS!

2. Drawing misleading or confusing stuff.

The subject is Mike Awesome. Mike Awesome hung himself in 2005/6. The artist has opted to draw, well, you can see for yourself. Now, when people see a hangman, what are they going to answer with? That’s right, MIKE AWESOME HANGMAN! It takes a while for things to cotton on and make you think “hang on” (no pun intended). You’ve tried every variation of the phrase ‘hangman’ so you ask for a hint, then it snaps (no pun). You think of wrestlers who have hung themselves, and the first one that springs to mind? MIKE AWESOME! Its a funny “I see what you did there” moment, but it takes ages and pisses off the people who don’t get it (read: everybody).

3. Drawing dicks.

Steveiously, CUT THAT SHIT OUT! If you don’t know the word, skip. If you’re going to troll, fuck off. Everybody playing now hates you and wants you dead. Is that what you want?! People wanting you dead!? Yes? Well, get your head checked, sunshine.

4.Dicks can be useful at times…

The phrase? Dick Togo. This is the best example I can think of that involves a drawing of a winkle used as correctly as a drawing of a winkle can be in regards to a game of iSketch. There’s a dick, and a sounds like pogo. Obviously, some mong is going to say “DICK POGO STICK!” trying to be funny and oh-so-literal, but that’s the wrong answer. Dick Togo is the correct answer and the artist is a very clever anon indeed.

5. Being too vague.

For goodness sake. You don’t know who Dick Togo is. All you know is that he’s a man. What do you do? DRAW A MAN! That way, everybody will know the answer, right? WRONG! WRONG! WRONG WRONG WRONG! All the other players see is a badly drawn stick figure. Clearly, all the other players are in a state of anger and confusion. Do everybody a favour and skip the godfuckingdamn word next time! Being vague in your pictures is a sure fire way to get everybody hating on you. Yes, the haters are gonna hate, and dey be hatin’ on you, asshol.

6. Drawing something completely unrelated.

God I hate this. All the other players hate it too. The artist doesn’t know the word, so he doesn’t skip, he just draws. He draws a masterpiece (in his own mind) which wastes time, costs points, denies other people who could actually draw something the chance to become the artist (formally known as Prince), and all in all PISSES US THE FUCK OFF! It’s a cute cat, but HOW THE HELL IS A CAT RELATED TO DICK FUCKIN’ TOGO!?

Not only that, the current Pro Wrestling wordlist is naff. Here’s a few gems.
Stonebold Stunner.
Candace michelle
Sweetchin Music
WCW Halloween Havock
Mat Hardy
Blue Sweater (ALWAYS wrestling related.)
Scottie to hotty.
Eric Bishoff
Tripel H.
And everybody’s favourite…
...Hell in the cage.

Play safe, everyone!

I got 400 views yesterday. Something I said must have struck a nerve with some people, especially the anonymous user who called me an asshol. Still, thanks for the views! It means quite a lot to me that I now know I’m not typing these entries for the entertainment/dispair of a single figure audience.

I’m not an asshole. Opinionated? Of course! Some people may not like it, but I believe honesty is the best policy. If I come across as an asshole because I’m giving my honest thoughts on things, then so be it. I learned a long time ago never to change myself for the benefit of others, so I’m not toning down or changing my opinions on things to suit the people who think I’m a dick. My Twitter, seen on the sidebar on your left, has been called a comedy gold mine by quite a few people. Take some time to read it and you’ll realise I’m not a total knobhead.

I’m also taking the time here to defend my post yesterday, which has caused quite the little stir. My comments page (on the admin side, so its only seen by me) has 34 comments waiting approval. 33 are all comments calling for my death, or serious harm to be caused to me. The other comment is a spam link. Obviously, I’m not going to approve these comments, I’m not even going to send them through the wordfilter either. I’m just going to trash them all as I did the 13 other “asshol” comments from last night. I have zero tolerance for abuse so this shit ends here and now. All abusive comments are going to be trashed, with the odd one or two being wordfiltered where I see humour in it.

Back to the defence, I don’t hate metal. If you read it all, you’ll see that I’m damning the fact that metal is taking up too much room at the moment and the scene is suffering because of the saturation. Metal may be popular, and I love it, but there’s little room for other bands to build up fanbases because of the stronghold metal currently has. Fuzzball in the comments section hit it right on the head. Things come, things go and things come back again. Eventually metal will lose popularity and other bands will step up, then something else will become popular and dominate the scene, then that will lose popularity, more bands come along, etcetera, etcetera.

It was not intended to be doom and gloom. I was just stating my opinion.

In a personal note, who the hell have I pissed off and how have I done it? Last summer, my phone was ringing off the hook with people asking me to come and chill, go to the beach, go to a party, just hang out. This summer, two people have called me. I phone people, people are “busy”, then half hour later I see them with a bunch of other friends walking around town. So not only do people obviously not want to be with me, but they’re also willing to blatantly bullshit me just so they don’t have to be with me. Come the fuck on.

Also, Tom and Cauley, if you want to know how I’m doing, why don’t you try asking me instead of asking Bill.

If you personally know me, leave a comment and tell my how I’ve pissed seemingly everyone off. If you don’t know me, feel free to leave a comment about this entry in general. What are your thoughts?

Its dramatic, not 100% true, but it is the main culprit of the situations. If you go back and read a previous entry, I blame the current economic climate and a saturation of promoters.

Then I realised something. If there’s a dedicated fanbase, the people will come, regardless of the venue, promoter, or at times, the line-up. Take my local venue. The Imperial is mostly populated by the same 20-30 people every month. If that’s not a dedicated bunch of fans then I don’t know what is.

The problem with this is that there’s a sense of narrow-mindedness where people are refusing to get up on their feet and rock out with some really good bands because the bands in question are either not regular players in The Imperial, crap, not enthusiastic enough or not metal enough. The latter choice being the most common reason for dead crowds.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love metal. Its my favourite genre. The problem is, there’s too much of it. Nearly every new band in the area is metal. A couple of years back, The Imperial was frequented by Punk rock heavyweights One Room Down, Heavy Metallers A Murder In Motion (rip Cons.), Indie Rockers Persona B,  the good old Rock-N-Roll stylings of The Devils Answer, plus a variety of other sub-genres of the music GOD that is Rock And Roll. Any month, you could say you were going to a rock show, and for your fiver you’d get something for every rock fan, bit of indie, bit of punk, bit of metal etc.

Today, The Imperial is ‘that metal venue’. The prevailing genre there is metal. This is no fault of the promoters, they can only work with what’s around, and what’s around now is nearly all metal. Metal and Dubstep (ew.) are the two most popular genres around here right now, so most people looking to get into bands and such are going to be playing metal and dubstep. So when the odd indie or punk band shows up, the crowd is mostly dead. The metal fans have stayed and continue to show up once a month for some really good metal, but the indie and the punk and the rock and other fans have vanished, and new non metal fans won’t come because its mostly metal. Two piece band Wibble, who are brilliant and impossible to put a label on apart from ‘insane’ is a band which can make a crowd move. We need more bands like this. Not “Wibble” style, but of different genres, playing venues across Pembrokeshire on a more regular basis to attract people who have been alienated by metal into the venues once again. Its a license to print money. We need a resurgence in these sub genres for the gig industry to survive and go on to the next chapter.

Otherwise, its going to be more of this. I’m actually one of ‘those people’ who sit down and only get up and rock out to the metal, but that’s because I don’t want to be “that guy” standing on his own at the front. Seriously, its that bad. I used to go to gigs and regret going the next morning because my body felt like it went through hell and my head was only being held up by a thread. Now I wake up and regret going because I paid a fiver to do nothing all night because I was sucked in by the dead crowd.

Once and again we do get a really good crowd, and we have a really fun gig. The Metallica tribute, the Hate Gauge CD launch and Picture Frame Seduction gigs instantly spring to mind as gigs that give me hope that we can have some more life in the scene, even though those gigs were all Metallica, all metal and all punk respectively.

The Back To The Future gig of 2009 was the last time I remember a true mixed bag. We had Jazz rock fusion for fucks sake!

*FAKE EDIT*

(I saved this as a draft on Monday morning to continue writing in the evening. Its Friday evening now and I only remembered I had this half finished entry because I logged on to write a new post about something unrelated. Stay off the weed, kids.)

As the above bracketed Nugget Of Knowledge™ said, this is a continuance of a draft, but I’m going to leave it there. I’ve said all I wanted to say, and I now remember that I left it to continue because I had no idea how to finish it off. I still can’t think of any way to finish the OG entry, so I’m leaving it as it is because I was starting to come across as a bit of a dick anyway. I still stand by what I say though. The great thing about having a blog is that its a lot easier to broadcast unpopular opinions on a barely read blog than air them in person and get heat for it. If people come across this, reading it softens the blow. However, for all I know, this could be a popular opinion, I don’t know. I don’t really discuss this stuff with my friends because most of them aren’t interested or have no idea what I’m on about.

Oh yeah, you get two entries today. Lucky you!

To sum that opening paragraph up in one statement, I love gigs.

Other people love gigs too. Promoters love putting on gigs, giving bands much needed exposure and putting on a night of entertainment for the people who are willing to hand over a few quid for a good old night out.

The question is: Is there too much gig love?

In and around Pembrokeshire, there is now a gig nearly every Friday and Saturday, with some on Thursdays and Sundays too. More gigs? Brilliant!

Multiple promoters putting on a large selection of gigs has a good side and a bad side. On the good side, there’s a healthy selection of platforms for budding musicians to expose themselves (behave…) to the masses. There’s a place to go if you want to listen to some music, and there’s some friendly and healthy competition between promoters to draw the crowds to their gigs (Autonomous competition, might I add. It’s mostly being done without the promoters even knowing it). Competition is a good thing. Look at the Monday Night Wars between the WWF and WCW for example, without the trying to put each other out of business part though. Both companies were trying to produce the best product they could, and who benefited? The consumer. Guaranteed great wrestling on a Monday night. If this example holds any water, local gig goers are benefiting from this with a guaranteed awesome gig every weekend.

Perhaps we could be on the cusp of a ‘boom’ period for the local music scene.

On the other hand, the number of gigs in the area could possibly lead to a saturation that the current market can’t sustain. Say you’re on a low income, or a student budget. Two gigs are happening on separate weekends which both feature bands you’d really like to see, but you can only afford to go to one of them. Mr or Mrs promoter is only going to see your face at one gig. When faced with such a large choice, the man on the street is forced to choose which gig he’s going to go to. If a gig x miles away has the better line up, then he’s going to go there, and other gigs in the area will suffer because of it.

Put short, the majority of people simply can’t afford to go to all these gigs and attendances fall because of it.

As a wrestling fan, I’m really anticipating another ‘boom’ period for the product, just as I am as a music fan. As I said, a thriving gig culture can be a double edged sword. The positives outweigh the negatives, but there’s always that ‘what if…’ factor unglamorously looming overhead. Still, I pray for a boom period, and I hope it happens.

And that’s THAT rant done with.

Today is St Patricks Day. I’m not going to talk about that, because there are hundreds of other blogs around the web that are currently doing so.

No, I don’t want to talk about St Paddys Day.  I want to talk wrestling. (Non fans, still read ahead. This is about an incident that should have gotten more press than it did. There’s also some things that I think you can relate to in here as well.)

On Sunday March 13th, TNA Wrestling (The #2 promotion after the widely known WWE) held their annual Victory Road pay per view. Pay per views are major events, designed to showcase popular talent in must see matches. Because its pay per view, wrestlers will go above and beyond to make sure the paying viewer gets their moneys worth in terms of match quality.  Pay per view events feature important matches in running storylines as well as being a place to bring some storylines to an end, usually with one wrestler winning a championship, or finally triumphing in victory over a long time rival or enemy. Pay per views are almost always live, so the company management, bookers (people who decide what happens), agents (usually an experienced and retired wrestler who help talent build matches) and the wrestlers have to be ready to perform. There’s no room for mistakes. You can’t edit anything if its live.

Long story short, PPV’s are a big deal.

So why this post? I am sure you’ve heard of a wrestler by the name of Jeff Hardy. Hardy is arguably a big name in wrestling and was being moulded to be the TNA’s top heel (ProWres slang for bad guy). Jeff has also had well publicized problems with drugs (even being referenced in storyline on WWE programming.), being let go from the WWE in 2004 for failing drug tests. During that time, he had a mostly forgettable run in TNA, cleaned himself up and got rehired by WWE in mid 2006. During this time, WWE had brought in a new wellness policy, with the rule being a 30 day suspension on your first strike, a 60 day suspension on your second strike and a termination from your contract on the third strike. Jeff was on two strikes when his contract came to an end in 2009. He opted not to sign another contract and left the company to rejoin TNA a few months later. After rejoining, he was pushed as one of the top guys of the company until he turned heel after winning the title in October 2010, which he lost in February of this year before winning it again a couple of weeks later. Hardy recently lost the TNA heavyweight title again to a man called Sting (not the musician.) and was participating in this PPV in a rematch for said championship.

According to reports, Hardy showed up at the event late, and in no considerable shape to perform in a match, let alone walk to the ring. He reportedly had to be held up behind the entrance stage, and while making his entrance, he was walking strangely, eyes wide open, almost in a trance. He slowly walked down the ramp, pausing to high five some fans (remember, he is the heel here, who are meant to hate fans.). He climbed the ring steps and slipped on them. To put a slightly politically incorrect term on here, Hardy was off his face on something. He was either drunk or on some sort of substance, but he was definitely impaired and in no shape to perform.

Before the match bell rang, Eric Bischoff (heel authority figure and real life executive producer of TNA) came down to ringside and announced that the match would now be a no disqualification match, and spoke to both Hardy and Sting out of microphone range. In kayfabe (wrestling reality.), Eric was just stacking the deck in Hardys favour. In reality, he was calling an audible (an improvisation or sorts. Changing things on the fly.) and was telling the guys to end it early.

The bell rang. Jeff spent a minute playing with the crowd, walking to all four corners of the ring to decide where to throw his shirt. during this, one of the commentators noticed that something was awry and began to sound noticeably annoyed, while Sting, a near twenty year veteran of the sport, looked on, disgusted. Eventually, Sting managed to back Hardy into a corner, pull him by his hair into position for his finishing move, nailed it and scored the pinfall to retain the title. The whole match lasted less than two minutes. Just typing this paragraph took longer than the main event of the Victory Road PPV. TNA ran a highlight video of the event, and over it you could hear the annoyed fans who had come to see a 20-30 minute title match chant “BULLSHIT” loudly. Sting, who could have let the match go a couple of minutes longer, but chose not to, fearing his safety, responded to the crowds chants, shouting “I agree”.

Sting decided that Hardy was a risk to not only him, but Hardy himself. Wrestling is a sport where your life is in your opponents hands 90% of the time. Moves are meant to be executed as safely as possible. If one of the wrestlers is obviously high, how can you guarantee your safety? Sting made the smart decision to end it early.

TNA however, did not make a smart decision. If Hardy showed up at the event in no shape to compete, why did they still send him out there and change things up at (literally) the last possible moment instead of changing things up beforehand?

Jeff needs help. He has charges against him for drug possession and suspected drug trafficking dating from nearly 18 months ago that are still held up in court. A few months ago he became a father, and very recently, he got married to his long time girlfriend.

I actually believed that he had managed to sort himself out without going to rehab. Obviously, after Sundays events, he hasn’t.

In WWE, if you show up at an event on drugs, you’re fired on the spot, and offered rehab on WWE’s dime. TNA’s punishment was to send him home for a week, missing out on a months worth of television tapings. While firing Hardy seems to be the popular opinion across the internet, I don’t think firing him would help. It would leave him free to just sit at home and further drug himself out, with no source of income to boot. In my opinion, TNA should have payed for him to go to rehab, with the door open for a return to the company after he cleaned himself up. Addiction isn’t something you can just snap out of. You need time, and help.

Providing Hardy doesn’t see jail time after his court case eventually wraps up, he, along with his friends and family should take notice of this moment and use it as a catalyst to get the ball rolling to clean his act up. Personally, unless its hard drugs, I see nothing wrong with RESPONSIBLE drug use, but when you use drugs and show up to work and pose a danger to yourself and others, I can’t condone it at all.

TNA needs to do everything they can to help Jeff out. As a company that is rapidly becoming known for not treating its contracted talent fairly, with stories of only loaning money for medical costs and expecting full repayment, this is a time for them to fully foot the cost of rehabilitation and get a bit of positive PR at a time where it hasn’t exactly been endearing itself to the hearts of wrestling journalists everywhere.

Something needs to be done now before its too late and we have another name to add to the shockingly long list of wrestling personalities who have died at such a young age due to substance and medication abuse.

I got burned.

Cauley stepped up to the mic and asked the audience “How are you doing tonight?”

I replied in the usual way, with a Cloudy voice ™. “Crap!”

The response, (Paraphrasing, I was too mashed to remember specific details) “Well you’re bound to say that Pope. You’re never happy, you just moan here, moan there, hop on Facebook and moan some more.”

I swiftly took to the “stage”, wrapped the microphone cord around his neck and strangled him while screaming to him “YOU BASTARD! AT LEAST I DON’T MOAN ABOUT BEING SINGLE YOU FUCKING DICK!”

Then I snapped out of my dream world and simply stood there, against the bar, red faced and seething. I was pissed off and it ruined a perfectly good night for me, and judging by the response of more or less everybody there, it solidified his mini rant. He was right, everyone knew it and laughed and applauded in response. It annoyed me because Cauley said what was on everyones mind. Cauley had the balls (and an open microphone, dick.) to say what everybody wanted to say but didn’t. I was no longer enjoying myself, I convinced myself that everyone was being a dick to me. Nobody was being a dick, I just convinced myself that people I was speaking to were, thanks to the bad side of mother natures finest. (Totally straight edge authors note: Drugs are bad)

I got in, comfort ate, got bored, downed half a bottle of sambuca,  hopped on Facebook, went straight to Cauleys wall and aired my grievances with him.

I summoned up all my rage, anger, embarassment, took to the keyboard and unleashed the biggest counter-burn ever known to mankind (not Mick Foley)

“I am typing this to let you know you are an absolute bastard!”

Then I snapped out of my dream world, took the keyboard and mashed it with my hand a few hundred times.

By a sheer stroke of luck, I had successfully typed my super counter-burn.

“I am typing this with a smile on my face. Suck on that!”

I sure showed him…

*****

Cauley popped back, “What was that about?” he asked. After a brief conversation, he popped back and apologized for offending me.

I wasn’t offended. I was pissed off, but I wasn’t offended.

I looked through my Facebook. If there was a drinking game called “Take a drink every time he moans about something”, there would be a mass influx of people in Withybush hospital having their stomachs pumped.

So, this is happy week. A week where I am going to be happy about everything.

Sure, my life could be better.

I’m depressed because I have to move to fuck knows where to get a job.

I’m concerned for the mental health of my brothers partner who quit his job and went missing for two days only to be found in a hospital because he’d drunk himself stupid to ease his woes.  He left hospital, went out, drank two bottles of vodka and was found in a heap at the bottom of a set of stairs in a parking garage and was put into a comatose in hospital which he was only bought out of yesterday.

I’m upset because there’s a person in the family who is slowly tearing it apart. I was at home yesterday in tears because I had simply had enough of my brother and sister in law allowing their daughter to speak to and treat everybody like crap. I’m tired of her speaking to me without any shred of respect only for it to be ignored without punishment. I’m sick of my mum agreeing with me about everything that I’m saying over this matter but not doing anything about it.

So, my life is boring, one half of my family is filled with concern and worry, and the other half I’ve completely cut myself off from out of protest until my brother and sister in law finally decide to something about their daughter who has not only reduced me to tears numerous times, but her grandmother, grandfather, her sister and even her own parents to tears as well.

But, all this shouldn’t be an excuse for me not to be happy right?

I’ll just be here, pushing aside everything so people can stop saying I’m a miserable bastard. I’ll just make everyone happy by putting on a happy f…fff…..fffffffffff…..FFFFFFFFFFFFF…..FFFFUCKING FACE!

I get it. The phrase “school days are the best days of your life” isn’t meant to be taken at face value. It seems to be a cool little catchphrase that all parents seem to have stored away to pull out of the proverbial bag when their child moans about how shit his school life is. Its kind of understandable. School is where you first meet your friends and start to build relationships with them that last your entire life. School is where you learn life skills, learn about the world, learn other languages. School is where you are prepared for the big wide ocean that you’re left to swim in after you’ve left the school paddling pool.

But are school days really the best days of your life? What happens when you’re one of the unfortunate ones who spends all of junior school afraid to speak because of the big bully and his gang or when you’re on the end of everybody’s jokes in secondary school? What happens when you’re the person who, like myself, didn’t exactly have the cosiest of experiences in school but still had to put up with the “Do you want to end up like [scabby delinquent in your year group who lives down the road]? School days are the best days of your life”

Best days? What a load of shit!

I hated school, not in the general bored teenager ‘I hate school’ way. I actually hated and felt sick at the thought of going to school every morning.

Junior school wasn’t a blast. I had the grand total of two on and off friends who only seemed to stick with me when it suited them. I spent most of my days there being tripped up in the corridor, getting called names, being teased and being beaten up by the gang of arsehole kids because I was smaller than them. In class, partner work was done by myself while the cunts at the back of the class threw stuff at me. Going home, I was pushed off my bike into the road more times than I can count and by the time I reached my front door, 90% of the time I was in tears.

Secondary school wasn’t that better either, at least, not until Sixth Form. Once I donned the blacks, I enjoyed going to school. Year seven was mostly spent forging new friendships, to a fair degree of success, mainly because I found the kids that I could identify with. He likes wrestling, I’ll talk to him. He was bullied too, I’ll talk to him. I was the quiet, shy kid who hung round with the other quiet, shy kids. This small group of friends stuck with me throughout and I’m still very close with a couple of them today. (I even slept with one of them, but that’s a story I’ll only tell you if you get me completely bladdered first.)

Come to think of it, year seven wasn’t really that bad, but then, that’s the year when everyone is an innocent, annoying goody two-shoes. Year eight was when the first black mark. I had the measles, and as a result, I was off school for a month. Tidy. I kept up with all my work by getting it sent home to me, and had the rest of the day to myself. (Really, it was like… 20 minutes. Its quicker because you don’t have 30 other people trying to do the work with you.) When I returned to school, everyone was in shock. Why? Because a bunch of goofs decided to tell the school that I’d killed myself. Fair play, I did vanish without a trace and didn’t speak to any friends for a month, but that was because I was highly contagious, not dead. Cue a year of “make sure you don’t kill yourself” jokes from the fucks of the school.

I had my nose broken by somebody I didn’t even know because someone told him I said things. Things kept mounting up and mounting up until year eleven, where, combined with the stress of my upcoming GCSE’s, I had a breakdown. I would wake up in the morning, think of school, and throw up. Days where I didn’t throw up I would spend by myself having panic attacks. Days where I didn’t have panic attacks I would spend cutting my wrists. In a month I spent about four days in school. My mum decided to call the truant guy (Don’t know his official title) to the house  to try and scare me into going back to school. Didn’t work. My mum forced me into school and have a completely unsympathetic head of year have a stern word with me, where after telling him all my problems he gave the stock “just ignore it” response and told me I’d better have my arse in school the next day or I’m in trouble. It wasn’t until I had a major panic attack in school that my mum worked out that I wasn’t making up stuff to get off school and FINALLY took me to a doctor where I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression.

Sixth form was awesome. All the wankers had failed their GCSE’s and fucked off to college, so I was left with the sensible folks and I could finally be myself. Sixth form was the only time in the 14 years I was in school where I actually enjoyed myself. People talked to me, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. I got along with everyone and apart from one moment just after my nans death, sixth form was a breeze.

Looking at me today, and back in the day when school was out, I’m a completely different person compared to when I was in school. I’m approachable, outgoing, chill, friendly, I’m the real me. I’m the person who’s personality is no longer bounded by the fear of certain people.

Are school days really the best days of your life? Only for some.

I pride myself in not being vague and actually opening up about my problems, and being straight and honest unlike other people who generally post a on Facebook or Twitter and expect people to magically know what’s wrong with them.

I’m going to tell you straight up. Here is what is wrong with me.

Today I handed in my 300th application form for a job. I decided to keep count of these when I first signed on for Jobseekers Allowence, two years ago, originally as a joke. I had no luck after 100, no luck after 200 and now, no luck after THREE HUNDRED APPLICATIONS. Out of these applications, guess how many interviews I managed to bag? Three. Out of three hundred applications, only 1% of them led to an interview, and only 15% of them had the courtesy to reply telling me that I’ve been unsuccessful.

I have no money. More of my money goes out than I have coming in, not through any fault of my own. Its because I have a money grabbing family who don’t seem to give a flying shit that I have virtually no money to begin with. My sister in law gave me the ultimate swerve when she got me a laptop for my birthday last year then expected me to pay half of it, which I was then forced into doing by my mother. I wanted a laptop, and she gave me NO indication that she wanted me to go halves with her until it arrived and she began paying it off. I’m basically having to go with her plan just to keep the peace and it pisses me off that her and her husband bring in nearly £4000 a month and do NOTHING to help me financially. My brother and sister in law won’t do anything to help another family member because they’re both money grabbing fuckheads.

My dad is getting little money at work, my mum has had half of her benefits cut, so nearly all the food budget comes from my jobseekers. I’m left with less than £20 to last two weeks.

There is no opportunity here for work, so why in the hell should I stay here?

I’ve weighed it out and I’ve come to a decision. In the summer, I’m moving in with my brother and his (soon to be) civil partner in Jersey, a place with no shortage of job opportunities.

Don’t moan about me leaving. Instead, be happy that I’m doing everything I can to find a job and if that includes moving to an island 400 miles away, then so be it.

Another thing, I was cooking dinner today and put salt on my mums plate as I have been doing for the past ten years with no problem at all. Today my dad decided to take offence to this and had an almighty go at me, because obviously, what I’ve been doing for the past ten fucking years without any issue at all is now suddenly wrong. Somehow he managed to segue his rant to my unemployment.  According to him, I could have had a job long ago if I had bothered looking.

So, three hundred application forms, a folder full of denial letters and a steady stream of CV’s that I print out and hand in to various businesses is not considered as looking?

Gee dad, you were on the dole for TEN FUCKING YEARS before you found your current job. Don’t act all holier than thou with me, especially when you probably had to go through exactly the same shit that I’m going through.

I don’t want to say I’ve hit a writers block. I still feel the urge to write, I just don’t know what to write about. So, for the next fifteen minutes at least…

WELCOME TO THE INNER THOUGHT SANCTUM!

Oh god…

I’m trying to get this blog a bit more publicity, so I’m adding tags all over the place, whoring it out on twitter and generally hoping that word of mouth will get me past 500 hits sooner rather than later. I may even bring back the sorta popular EXTREEEEEME WEDNESDAYS. It seemed to go down well with the four people who regularly read this.

So, a little bit of diary stuff (which I try to avoid…). On Saturday March 26th, I will be taking to the stage as a part of the Pembrokeshire music scenes tribute to Metallica, which will also be my on stage debut. No bands will be featured on that night. Instead, all of our local musicians will be working with each other to put on one hell of a show. I myself will be doing three songs; one on my own and two duets. The songs are Wherever I May Roam, Fuel and Sad But True respectively. I’m looking forward to it, and everyone seems to think I have a real good voice. The problem here is that I’m used to singing for about four or five people in jams. I’ll be singing to over a hundred people on the 26th. My fear is that I might get a little bit of stage fright and end up singing flat, forgetting the lyrics and crying.

Of course, I could get completely blazed before I take to the stage. It is the day after a pay day to boot. (Humanitarian note: Drugs are bad M’kay.)

I am excited to actually take to the stage though. Me and Cauley have a few things planned for our songs which should go down pretty well. Metallica songs don’t really work well with duets but we’ve planned out a few things which make it rather unique. Three words: Dual vocal harmonizing. Wherever I May Roam is my solo song. It should be okay. My vocal range is more than comfortable with this type of song. Not too high, not too low, not shouty and there’s plenty of room to mess around and change things up a bit (Including and my ties are severed clean BABY! and where I lay my head is home MOTHERFUKKA!), plus, if push comes to shove and I forget the lyrics, its a popular enough song that I can simply point the mic out to the crowd and have the guarantee that the correct lyrics will be sung back at me. I only chose WIMR because nobody else wanted it, but it does have more benefits than the song I wanted to sing originally (Creeping Death). Another bonus? All my songs are near the start of the set, so I don’t have to worry about blowing my voice out when I’m shouting from the crowd when I’m not on stage.

I gon’ go all ‘Tallica on yo ass. I think it’ll be a froot idea to grow in the handlebars for the occasion, but I don’t seem to have the capability to grow in anything apart from a half decent neckbeard. Maybe I could just go all out on the cheap heat scale and wet my hair down (For UBER headbanging capabilities), put on my best boots, my tightest shirt and jeans (in black) and try to be the best frontman I can be for a maximum of 19 minutes. I’m confident enough to feel that I have the ability to hold a crowd, whip them into a frenzy and kick their ass, leaving them suitably impressed with what they just witnessed. There’s also plenty of fuel (fire and desire) in my banter tank to keep everyone entertained between songs.

I can’t think of a way to end this. If I don’t cut myself off here, I’ll just end up writing and writing and writing…