ask for training in...

I can now help you out in...

• Low ropes
• challenge course
• Archery
• Problem solving
• survivor!

Not a vast list I'll grant you, but at least its more than you can do! Cue a little dance by me before I realise that not one of you cares. So I suppose I should carry on.

I've been having great fun sio far, everyone here seems to be really cool and funny and the activities I can do I am confident with. soon I'm hoping to be able to do the abseiling and high ropes courses, and although I could have been trained on quad bikes I am glad I missed it. Why? Because the poor souls who were trained started at 9 in the morning and finished at 9 at night, with only minimal breaks. And that is not much fun for anyone. But it was for me because me and Elfy went into Torquay and I bought a watch.

I realise I'm rambling, but I'm in that excited phase that many of you have seen me in, where I can't quite sit still becasue of over-stimulation. I'm trying to calm down but its hard, its really really... difficult.

Still, I want to see you all, expecially you. yes! you! I mean you! didn't that make you feel special. So once my phone has been fixed I'm going to start the mass texts. But for now I'm gouing to the bar becasuse people are buying me drinks because I'm so super.

and they owe me for certain services. I'm a dab hand with a screwdriver

Stay as happy and fullfilled as you are

Phil

listen for the quiet giggles

I think I might just enjoy this job. I am now in the pub after commiting an intensive ha! you all say, you dont know the meaning of the word, to which I throw this back in your faces, laughing as I do.

Wake up at 8. start learning (if you can call it that) at 8.45, finish at 20.30, just about. Maybe later. So that is a rather intense day, you realise. After 4 days of this I'm finally able to soar, to fly, to glide like a moose.

there was a crazy moose,
who drank a lot of juice,
THEEERE WAS A CRAZY MOOOOOOSE
WHO DRANK A LOT OF JUICEEEEEE

I hope you all realise that I will return home with more songs and puzzle than will fit in a small bag made of pigs, and that I will annoy you all with such questions as:

How many invisible bunnies do I have in my hand at the momment?
How many times did I turn the box over?
How large is my penis?

The last one was a little joke, we don't tend to ask the kids that. It gets us in trouble apparently.

So I'm going to go now because I'm running out of money and also creating a little audience, which is cery annoying. Think its annoying when people READ over your shoulder? Imagine them reading as you write. Tres irritating, to say the least.

AND YES I MEAN YOU.

Stay happy you sexy beasts

Philty

it must be Christmas

Well its not. Hell not. Its just the last blog that I may be able to write for a while, what with my PGL adventure starting soon. So I began to wonder about what was going on in my life realised that apart from the obvious comments (not a lot) there was a few other things going on.

then I realised that most of those achievements involved either facebook or Football Manager, so decided that I wouldn't share those with you (oh by the way, in 2011, Aston Villa will win the Premiership if I become manager). So instead I thought I'd write something completely ludicrous with no basis in the real world whatsoever. Then after writing that I realised that it was, surprisingly, a suicide note.

I took a step back from the computer. Well actually it was more of a slide, because the chair I'm sitting on has wheels. The dog yelped as I nearly ran her over. Did I really want to kill myself? Then I realised my earlier comment. I'd been writing something "completely ludicrous".

I also realised that the note was from someone called 'Mark.' My brother? Did I want my brother to kill himself? Then I realised that second part of my earlier sentence. "with no basis in the real world whatsoever" So whoever I wanted dead was probably a made up character. I have no stories where the lead character is called Mark, so I decided to make one up.

A Lonely Christmas

One day Mark (no relation to me) wrote a note with the pen his dog had dropped at his feet moments before. Realising that it was in fact a suicide note, he decided to kill himself. And so he tried. He ran the water in the bathtub to the top, then took the toaster from downstairs and plugged it in in the bathroom. He closed his eyes and dropped the toaster into the water he was sitting in (fully clothed).

Unfortunately he had not disconnected the earth wire from the plug, which meant the fuse blew and cancelled the electricity. So he decided he didn't want to die and was too silly to do it anyway. But as he stood up is anyone actually reading this? Do you think I've lost my mind? The problem with boredom is that it can take over your life to such a point where you pretty much leave your sanity in the bed you wake up in every day.

I've learnt that in the last couple of weeks, the only time I have felt excited was when my phone started vibrating because a debt collecting company wanted me for something. So from now on I will do something exciting every day, even if it just means writing a completely ludicrous blog with no basis in the real world whatsoever. Apart from that last bit. And this bit. And that bit. And that bit. And that bit.

And this next bit.

Love you all

Phil

head to Devon

Not heaven. That would imply I'm dead, which I'm not. I really can't think of anything funnier to say to begin with. So I thought I'd rhyme one word with another and make a bad joke. It seems to work when Graham Norton does it, although maybe without the wink and outrageously gay oooooooo the joke doesn't work. Plus all his jokes are about penises (peni?) so I'll stop right now and concentrate on what I really want to say.

Yes, that's right ladies and gentlemen and frogs and toads and other assorted pond scum, I'm moving to Devon. Consider this an exclusive, although most people know already. I'm going to be a PGL instructor, which seems like fun.

Despite the fact that I have been told I should be working for Acorn I'm going to live in a chalet on the south coast for a good 1-2-3-4-5 Five months! Which will see me down there learning new skills and dancing around like a drunken loon, as well as earning a pittance, reminding myslef that 'its the experience that counts.'

I know I should get a real job. I know I should stop pissing around and making you lot all jealous (because I know you are) but I just can't seem to sit still. And its not because of piles or asteroids or any other horrible yet amusing arse disease. I've just got itchy feet.

Maybe I'm searching for something. Maybe I'm searching for someone. Maybe I'm just too fidgety.

But its exciting. I run around and don't stop and get worried (not stressed, I don't do stress) when things look like they won't work out, I marvel when they work out perfectly. Its probably that rush of trying new things that is keeping me away from you all, and I apologise to all of you that feel neglected (especially people in Leicester, I never seem to be able to get to you lot).

However, this summer I'm only in devon. And it's not even five hours from most of you, so I feel that you should all come and bloody see me. I realise that this may seem presumptuous, as I haven't even met the poor sod who will be sharing a chalet with me and he might not like it, but I say fuck 'im, no one likes him anyway (wanker) Come and say hello, and I promise we'll have a larf.

Larf is so much more fun to type than laugh.

Stay jumping

Phil

eat the best breakfast sandwich ever.

Since time began there has been debate over this. What makes a great breakfast sandwich? Is it the bread? Is it the bacon? Or should you use sausage as well? What about eggs? Well sit down, preferably with a notepad and pen, becasue here it comes, the real reason for getting out of bed in the morning.

You will need.

• 3 rashers of ASDA smokeless bacon (the sort that comes in the £5 deal) - this is the only part of the recipe that can be changed, you may (although it is not recommended) substitute the bacon for smoked bacon.
• One large egg
• Two slices of processed cheese
• Two slices of Hovis best of both bread
• Tomato sauce

You will also need a George Foreman grill for this one.

1. preheat the George Foreman for FIVE MINUTES
2. Add bacon and begin to time FOUR MINUTES
3. After one minute, break egg into frying pan and stir it for ten seconds until the yolk is fully immersed in the white
4. Whilst waiting for two minutes, read newspaper
5. Flip egg
6. Wait one more minute, isn't the weather nice/horrible today?
   
7. Take bread.
8. Add Bacon in following order - one piece facing north, one facing south, one facing north
9. Add Tomato sauce - this is important else the sauce will spill everywhere
10. Add Cheese, overlapping slightly in the middle
11. Add fried egg.
12. Cut diagonally. This will ensure that the taste is evenly spread.
13. Eat.
14. Mumble about how good that was and marvel that your hangover seems to be fading.
15. Go for a walk - need to burn off that fat you just inhaled.
    

So there you have it. It's tasty, its fulfilling, its the best sandwich ever.

My God what is going on? Am I that unemployable? Or have I just missed the boat?

I don't like boats. I get seasick when I'm inside. If I'm on the deck I'm fine but otherwise it takes a lot to keep the contents of my stomach where it belongs.

I think that in general the type of job that I really want (something in the tourist industry-preferably also entertainment based) was snatched up around January time by 16 year old tarts with 'degrees' in Travel and Tourism that they only acheived by sleeping with teacher. See, another reason why I want to work with them! Its just not fair.

So I may have to get a proper job, my Canadian money (such as it was) is running out faster than when MC Hammer asked 'what shall I spend my money on?' in a room surrounded by expensive whores and drug addicts. The exchange scheme doesn't help either, $600+ turns itself into a meagre £250. Oh its all well and good going on holiday, but try returning to the country you love and your up that brown coloured creek without a paddle.

So still no job, still hideously bored (although I do have something of an evil plan to banish that) and still... well... happy. I know I shouldn't be, but when I look at it I've got precious little to be unhappy about, so I suppose I shouldn't be unhappy without something to make me unhappy. Surely that's reason enough to be happy.

Oh my. If you followed that last statement then well done. In my topsy turvy world I promise it makes sense.

Engines ready people, its about to get exciting in here.


Phil

talk to him!

There is something depressing about coming home after such a long time away. You have to catch up with people, find out so much (and so much can happen in six months) about them. Sometimes its easy to do this, and you can fall happily back into the routine you left.

Alas I can't do that. Two of my best friend's phone numbers had changed, a decent job is looking more and more difficult to find, and my Dad is warning me that I'm in too much debt (as if I didn't know that). Luckily I managed to find my family all right, and we had a maximus partius on Saturday night, which was somewhat spoiled when the bbq ran out of gas. Then the replacement bottle was the wrong one and... well.

But it was all good. It was also good to go out drinking with my little bro and catch up on six months past, although going to the once respectable JD's in Sutton and seeing people sniffin up the coke in the bathroom and then dancing around the only respectable girl in the establishment was rather funny in a - I hope no-one starts anything - kind of way.

The Station was pretty cool though, if a little sentimental. Must find new watering hole.

Sod it. I'm back, I better get used to it.

Love you all.

Phil