Not The Royal Wedding.

Now I have been known to play computer games. What you may ask has this got to do with the Royal Wedding? Well, nothing actually, except I happen to frequent a game related website called The Hampshire Heavies and back in 2008, I had the honour of being best man at my brothers wedding. Now this was a big and confusing thing to do, even for a man of the world like me. So I thought what better idea than to ask a load of oddball characters who play computer games for advice.

It worked so well, the advice to drink loads, get a blow-up sex doll and bring a wild monkey were sublime and worked so well.

I shared with them the most spectacular result at the time and repeat fees permitting, I share once again:

I would like to thank you all for your advice regarding by role as Best Man, and therefore I thought that I would give you a little run down regarding the events of the day.
The actual ceremony went smoothly and without problem, other than the small matter of the rings being forgotten, but this hardly needs mentioning.
The advice of this forum kicked in as soon as everyone had gathered at the Reception. As advised by the majority of members, I partaked in the taking of various alcoholic beverages upon arrival, and this heightened the senses in a much different manner.
I had arranged delivery of the “wild” monkey by a confidant of mine, and he had been good as his word and arrived in an appropriate timescale. Said monkey was still contained within its cage, and I had been correctly advised that this was best method.
I had had some entertaining time the previous afternoon, equipping the monkey with its attire. However I have to say that the suit I had acquired from Burton’s was very fetching.
The fez however was a different matter. When I had last seen the “wild” monkey earlier that morning, it had looked smart to say the least.
Since that time however, the worse had happened, and let us just say, the “wild” monkey had “nibbled” upon the head adornment and leave it at that.
While dressed in his suit he may have looked smart, since being advised to “rattle his cage”, the noise the “wild” monkey was making had taken a somewhat turn for the worse.
However the guests were impressed, and took great glee in antagonising the simian further.
The greased blow-up doll was sadly less successful, as Uncle Charlie, who had drunk only slightly less than I, broke his hip as he slipped off the doll after trying to show everyone he was still fit enough to do some mounting.
It was at this time that I adjourned to the bathroom to take the narcotics that I had also been well advised to take.
These worked wonders, and it was little short of ten minutes before I had been heartily slapped by two of the bridesmaids, the brides mother, the bride and finally the six foot five inch Scottish barman. Reasons for being slapped by the barman I would rather not discuss, but I am happy to say all other slaps were genuinely received, and despite the slapping, heartily enjoyed.
After a short time the meal was ready to be eaten, and despite bringing a great part of it back, over among others; the bride, the groom, the bride’s father and finally the six foot five inch Scottish barman, as he tried to get me into the pubs garden, I greatly enjoyed the meal.
After my insides had finally decided to stay inside, it was time for the speech.
For this I had taken great advice from the forum, and my opening line of:
“Nice to see you, to see you. How’s about that then, didn’t they do well, now I’m in charge” was greeted with the kind of applause little seen this side of Kettering.
I engaged in several anecdotal tales which endeared me greatly to those gathered in the room, judging by the interesting noises being emitted by the guests.
I gathered myself for the toast, and there was a cacophonous sound of clinking glasses, which in my fragile state, was to slightly say, unpleasant.
Likewise the “wild” monkey was not impressed, judging by his increasing expenditure of noise.
Finally I closed my speech with the immortal words:
“You were so much better than last week’s audience”.
This final fling brought the house down, or let’s just say, the monkey did, as it sprang from its cage and started swinging from the light fittings.
Little of what followed I can fully appreciated. I do have memories of the monkey, which I can now safely say was wild, mounting several of the lady guests, and in true Victor Meldrew style at least one of the men.
Not unduly I suspect I have been blamed for much of what happened during this glorious event, and my final true memory of the events are of breaking free of the hold of the six foot five inch Scottish barman, and planting a proud and most glorious right hook across the face of the bride’s mother.
I have to say, I have much to be proud of…

Putting The Twit Into Twitter.

As I get more savvy with this whole internet worldy thingy wotsit, I have come to the understanding that this thingy wotsit called Twitter is the bee's knees for an intellectual like me. The place to spread my marvellous thoughts across the world, where all those deserving people can gain great insights into the great workings of a mind like mine.

Therefore I am there, now, and I was there a few minutes ago. It was a wonderful place, I may go there again.

http://twitter.com/asmallmind

Hacked Off.

I was thinking about all this hacking controversy yesterday and suddenly thought that perhaps my phone may have been subject to this, allegedly. Surely I am allegedly more important than the likes of Sienna Miller and Andy Gray? I would have thought that even A Small Mind™ would be better than none at all regarding Andy Gray.

The point I am saying is that I think I have been hacked (allegedly), strange things have been happening that do not seem to compute.

I ordered a pizza on my phone a couple of weeks ago, I told no one about this at all and then the next day I had three pizza menus come through the letter box. That never happens does it, why on earth would you get three all in one day, no sense.

However there was more to come. I anonymously phoned the council last week about the dog next door fouling outside my house and next day I had a turd shoved through my letterbox. It landed on several pizza menus, took an age to clear up and sent my cat wild.

This was all very suspicious and I was already wary of things afoot, but yesterday morning was the clincher and now means that I have binned my mobile forever.

The night before I had made just a little call to an innocent phone line called Big and Bouncy. Purely to pass the time nothing more. I am a man, as I have said in the past, I can get what I want, when I want it. I just had time to kill before I had to put my pinny on and scrub the kitchen floor. Anyway, I made this call as I say, to pass the time, no one knew about it.

However next day I had a knock at the door and went to find a gentlemen in a pinstriped suit there, briefcase in hand.

"Hello Sir" he said. "I am in the area looking for houses with young families. I was wondering if you would be interested in buying a bouncy castle?"

The Whole Forty-Six Thousand And One Hundred And Forty Five Yards.

I watched the London Marathon earlier today. I must say it was tiring. Made more so by the fact that the television was on stand-by and I lost the remote last Tuesday.

I could have been competing in the marathon myself this year. If I hadn't forgotten to send the entry form in. Well, I say forgetting to send it in, but to put it more plainly, forgotten to apply for an entry form, forgotten to enter the ballot for entry, forgotten to go training, forgotten to buy some new trainers, and probably something else that I had forgotten.

But the point is, I could have been running this morning. I could have been wearing some silly costume and appearing on the BBC, being chased by Sonali Shah  (I would have let her catch me). I could have been a charity worker for the day, my path to heaven secured.

However I am unfit, there is no denying it. If I had attempted to do the marathon, I would have been more endangered than those giant rhinos that would have been about ten miles ahead of me. I mean, running to the bathroom (you don't need to know) gives me cramp. So twenty miles round the big city would easily put pay to me, not least some of them being south of the river, and I ain't going there.

So sadly you have been deprived seeing my death live on television, while a man dressed as a giant duck tries mouth to mouth on me while a Dalek uses a mobile phone to call the emergency services. Laying at the foot of the Cutty Sark as the band at the pub plays When The Saints Go Marching In for the four hundredth time is one way I was not planning on going.

I will settle on the other plan laying at the foot of my bed with those three young ladies in skimpy underwear looking on. I shall leave the running to someone else. Although I think I shall miss the chance of urinating in front of a television camera, how many people could say they had done that?

Perhaps next year I shall apply to the medical team, speciality nipple rash treatment. Ladies only please.

Darn It.

Socks: An enigma of mankind.

Why can you never find a complete pair? You're running late, you need to get going, but you can't find two damn socks that are the same! There is nothing worse than turning up for an important meeting wearing blue and yellow stripes on the left and pink with red spots on the right. Also before you ask, only a real man owns socks that colour without having any confusion about their sexuality. I am a man and there is no question OK.

However, back on subject again. Socks. What to do with them. You may not be able to find a pair sure, but the even more annoying thing for me is the damn holes that get everywhere. There is no reason for the position where some holes occur, its ridiculous. I would expect the end of the foot where my obscenely long toenails poke through, sure. I would even expect the heel to get the wear it deserves.

But some of the others are ridiculous. I have socks that look like a snake has used them as a balaclava in a bank job, and others where a ferret has used one as a full body suit and left a hole for urination.

Now as I say, I am a man, no question, so I get wary of looking unmanly, but these things need doing. I mean why should I have to buy new socks just because my cat has been using them as a pretend gimp mask. I mean its just not right. So, I close the curtains, lock the door, put on a tiny little lamp and get my needle out. I mean I would rather be caught with my other needle out that darning my socks, but its just got to be done.

It is also quite therapeutic, in a manly way that is. A calmer of nerves, a reliever of stress. Even if you are a man, I would recommend you give it a go, you just might like it. However tell no one I told you this, and tell no one you had a go, or your manliness will be severely dented.

However I must stop writing now, as I have ironing to do and the dishes just won't wash themselves. Now just where did I put my marigolds?

I Couldn't Cowell Less.

So I read today that Simon Cowell might not appear in the new UK series of The X-Factor. Such sad news, I have my trousers at half mast in mourning. Well I say half mast, but that is half Simon's trousers, so technically I am just wearing mine normal.

However the main point is, they now need a replacement and I reckon I should do it. I mean, as you will get to know over time I am a man of the world. A man with his finger on the pulse, and indeed other peoples pulses, but we best not go there. Well at least for now.

But the point is I could see myself on that panel, I tell it like it is. I also rarely make sense, so I would fit in perfect alongside Louis Walsh. I really could see myself sitting between Louis and Danniiiiiiiii (how many i's is it again?) Minogue. Indeed I would happily sit between Dannii Minogue's, I could see that would be quite comfy, not that I would be able to hear the music. So that's yet another plus!

Now back to the point, they really need a dynamic judge at this time, what with them maybe losing Cheryl Tweedy, nee Cole, nee Hough, knee someone else. No that last bit I shall leave to Ashley. Anyway, I could do it, with my guidance I would have led Wagner to his rightful victory, I would have got to grips with Stacey Soloman. Also I should be on the panel for Britain's Got Talent, I would have lanced that Boyle and smacked that Jedward into shape.

So when the time comes, vote for A Small Mind. Or alternatively vote for an even smaller one and watch Ant & Dec on Saturday night.

Talk Less, Write More.

People have told me I talk too much, so I thought that the time had come to write too much instead. Writing feels different to talking, the sounds are quieter for a start. All I can hear at the moment are a tap, tap, tap, tap. The words sound good though, even if I can’t hear them.

However, if you are still reading this, well you surprise me. In the forthcoming little pieces I shall share with you my thoughts on things, my life experiences and probably more likely, unlikely things.

I tend to exaggerate, and that is not an exaggeration. I wouldn't believe half of the things I shall write, and to be brutally honest, I would be wary of the other half too.

Now until I started this piece, I didn't really know what a Blog was, and really I still don't. However it is computer related and I have had a computer since before I had friends, and furthermore I still have one now after I didn't have friends. Computers are wonderful things to behold it's true, their beautiful. They can be blue now and again, but that is usually to do with a Windows error. They never answer back, unless Mr Lappy's battery needs recharging, and then they  beep furiously. Also a little dong might occur if Bill Gates doesn't like something you are doing. However on the whole they are a silent beast and never answer back, never send demands, never bang on the door at seven in the morning and never see you in court. So they make me happy.

However I have deviated from whatever I was writing, and I do that a lot if I am honest with you, and I shall try to be honest with you. Honest.

I have always thought of myself as a bit of a writer, I would like to see myself go down in history over the years like the greatest. I see myself as being like William Snakespeare, Robert Dickens, Janet Austen (without the breasts) and of course the greatest of them all, Jeffrey Archer (without the prison term).

So what shall you gain from coming back to my blog then? Well, I can't answer that, because I haven't written any more yet. However I shall look to entertain you, let me entertain you. I hope you return for more, otherwise I shall write and no one will read, which generally happens when I talk, only they don't listen, rather than don't read. However, I hope you come back, or I might cry.