Now I’m sat in on a thursday night having just done the washing up while watching the start of Big Brother (is it eight? do I care?) and the only word I seem to be able to mutter is “COCK”, cause that is what they all are. Without exception. I challenge you to watch BB for more than 20 seconds before you utter that most fantastic of describing words at our TV screen.

But then I may mock, and I do, but here I am sat here watching the “COCKS” co in, scream, pretend they like each other and generally act like “COCKS”.

I just spoke to my good mate the Hymenator who is disgusted about me watching this televisual tripe. But the thing is, BB for me is a form of therapy…. I can get all my hate out at the TV screen and then spend the rest of day being kind to strangers and stroking dogs.

So early judgement of whose gonna win? actually no, thats passe and I can guarantee that every other blog will do the same thing. Lets go with who will be the most hated and take the plaque off Charley Uchea, Jo O’Mera and Jade “Jabba’s Palace” Goody to be our most “cherished” celebrity.

I’ve thought of 4 categories….

Most likely to be lynched.

Most likely to get their respective twinkle/sausage out on camera

Most Likely to have a spread in the Daily Star when they get out

Most likely to make a shit load of money

Feel free to let me know your thoughts on those categories if you can be assed, if not then I shall watch tonights proceedings and post later with my guess at the early contenders for OJ’s Subtle Cock Awards 08.

COCKS! (apart from the blind one, he seems alright – watch him be a closet nazi or something now I’ll end this blog witha little reason why we watch this poo……

[youtube sR__gRs-tlQ]

No.

Manchester Utd just won the Champions League. I even just heard a firework go off. Which surprises my slightly as I live in West London – not that far from the Kings road and Chelsea’s ground. Now this opens up all sort of jokes about surrey based prawn sandwich eating losers from which I will not get drawn into commenting on. What I will comment on is the fact that I have been unbelievably not bothered about the game. I even went to watch a film with my very sexy lady friend and missed the first half. bothered. I then half watched the second half while cooking dinner (I really stretched my culinary abilities with smash ad vege sausages)

But then the extra time happened, and chelsea hit the post and manchester utd had one cleard off the line and like a junkie who has just been released from prison I’m lapping it like a good un. Then its penalties and I can’t type for chewing away at my nails.

So we’ve got to a cresendo, a team is going to win the Cup in the next few seconds… and its…..

then I realize that I really don’t care cause you maybe the best team in europe but you still released this toss

[youtube 2NXe_M8LgRw]

Oh and you can stop shouting outside my window you red top wearing tit.

A video of one of the best tunes I’ve unearthed in a while

[youtube fdc9dWxYRL0]

And then this which I don’t really know what to say about, other than mid life crisis?

[youtube KAjABypZFzg]

So having only just moved in with the less hairy love of my life (my girlfriend that is, not a seal. Although they do make me laught those slippery honking bastards) I’m now of the gang that sleeps in a bed that is no longer my own. this isn’t helped by James the Director (who’s flat i rent) only has a queen sized bed. So that when I heat up to my, allegedly, 119C. At night being near me is like being next to a sweating hog.

Last night was no different, made worse due to the fact I staggered in drunk to the complete happyness of the good lady. Problem is that I woke up this morning hugging a teddy bear and I have no idea how. Is this a sign of my manlyness. A sign that I can sleep with a bear and not worry about it? I’m not sure. the worry I have is that I slept very well last night thank you very much. To the point that I may phone home to my ma and see if I can get her to send my childhood best friend, my bear called Milton. Why he has a Jewish name I have no idea.

Do you sleep with a bear. Are you still a man. Help me!

And I have finally realised this as I upgrade my Mac. Now I have moaned for exactley 1 year and 14 days about the fact that I only have a little 13inch Mac book and not, like everybody else in the Podshow office a MacBook Pro. Last week (and this sort of thing always happens around my birthday – did I mention this is my first blog as a 29 year old? No? I have no problem accepting presents up to a year after the big day) I met a guy (ooooerrrrr) who was flogging a brand new 15″ macbook pro for a bargain price of £850 (its not nicked officer – honest) So I did what any person with a raging birthday induced hangover would do a bought the mother.

The problem comes now. My little Macbook is an extension of me. It has been with me pretty much all day every day for a year. I feel guilty, yes guilty, and slightly ashamed that I’m binning little maccie in favour of a new all singing all, dancing, all bonking new version. I feel like upgrading to a “Pro machine” is like my loss of innocence. That I’m now moving into adult hood. I mean I’m bashing away on the new mac right now (and it has a much better keyboard – how could you OJ turn your back on the little mac) but I don’t feel the love yet.

The worst moment came when I transfered all the data – I plugged a fire wire cable between the 2 machines and then proceeded to rape the brain of my old Mac. The image of a big shiney new machine taking nit just the place, but all the workings of my old, faithful machine. I swear I could hear it crying. If you think ‘m amking this up then I can categorically tell you right now that I feeling a mite emotional and have just snapped and shouted at the Broadband router as I write about this matter.

I’m a alone here? Am I as wierd as I feel – Or am I neglecting my poor, faithful MacBook. I’m gonna have to go now…. I seem to have some thing in my eye…….. [SOB]