Because stuff needs talking about.

Posts tagged “blogging

Towel Torment: A Winter Problem

Let me start with a little poem…

A winter’s day, the early morning shower my only saviour from a frosty start,
Hot enough to fog the windows, hot enough to scald the skin, hot enough to last for those fervent few minutes of drying and dressing.
But wait, what is this? The icy touch of Jack Frost’s fingers breaking prematurely through my cotton cocoon?
Like a poison arrow through the gap in the armour, the towel’s label finds my unsuspecting skin.
A frozen barb, a precursor to the frost-gripped, outside world, a harbinger of the misery that winter brings with an early start; the label strikes, impossibly cold and wet, and leaves in its place a lasting mark of anger and misery.
What was at first a bubble of warm escapism, is now burst by the chill of washing instructions.

As my irregular, terrible, and rather over dramatic poem suggests, today’s issue is with the label attached to towels and the horrific ordeal of it coming into contact with your skin. And yes, I am fully aware that in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t THAT big a deal, especially not big enough to warrant its own irregular, rather dramatic poem.
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The problem here is why the label is even there in the first place. I know how to wash a towel; it’s a towel. I know I can iron a towel, but I’m not going to; it’s a towel. I don’t need to know where my towel comes from because, you guessed it; it’s a towel. All I need from my towel is the capability to soak up water off my body on a daily basis. The unnecessary label however counteracts this process by instantly soaking up water (even with its untowel-like properties) and rapidly cooling it, much like the work of liquid nitrogen, or Mr. Freeze of Batman fame. It then proceeds to reapply the ice-cold water back to the body thus lengthening the time of drying and making it thoroughly unpleasant in the process.

My point is, remove the little 3 inch square of surplus information from the towel and you have a much more efficient and friendly towel. Keep it on, and you have thousands of already disgruntled early risers, in a slightly worse mood than before. Shocking.

I hope you’re happy with yourself, towel.

**I would like to apologise for the excessive use of hyperbole and also the word towel in this post, it will not happen again. Well the towel repetition anyway, unless I find another towel related annoyance to bang on about.

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What I Don’t Get Is…

…Why France is obsessed with speedos.

Go to any pool across France and you’ll see this sign; no shorts a flat out ban on shorts. This isn’t an invitation for the general public to go for a dip in their birthday suits, to break free from the shackles of an over-conservative life and get back to nature for a brief period of their conformist, non-naked lives, no, this is a sign saying that swimming shorts and boardies are non bien dans ma piscine!

So adamant are the French, that they feel the need to convey their love od Speedos in numerous languages.

So adamant are the French, that they feel the need to convey their love of Speedos in numerous languages.


The nationwide rule basically states that the only acceptable form of swimwear in France are those which would be met with merciless ridicule and quips about smuggling various objects in this country, a request which doesn’t exactly sit well (accidental punnage) with us modesty-loving Brits.
The problem, you see, is that banana hammocks in their entirety are a terrible idea. Firstly, they look appalling. You don’t see clothing companies trying their hardest to make y-fronts look cool do you? No, because it is an impossible task. The same rule applies to Speedos, mainly because they are exactly the same thing, albeit sagging slightly less when wet than there on land counterparts. Secondly, they leave little, if anything to the imagination. Now, I’m not just referring to the thinly veiled crotch region, but also the way they seem to highlight every other flaw of the unfortunate victim’s body. The flabby bottom has no hiding place like it would in shorts, and the beer belly has no thick waistband to tuck into, they are both right there, right in the public eye, ready for judgement. Not even The Rock could make budgie-smugglers look cool, and he was the most electrifying man in entertainment.
"Someone call wardrobe, I think faux leather speedos might be a step too far."

“Someone call wardrobe, I think faux leather speedos might be a step too far.”


Lastly, we have been brought up almost religiously to mock those who wear pants instead of boxers and have accidently revealed this shameful secret in P.E or some highly embarrassing playground mishap. Then all of a sudden we go on holiday and are told that we must don a highly elasticated dong holster (hilarious) or we can’t go in the water, well you, mon frère, have just lost yourself a customer. To those who bite the bullet and slip on their humiliating set of Zoggs fresh from the campsite shop, the look of shame in their eyes is that of someone who has broken their promise with God. No swim can be worth that.

Apparently the rule is enforced for hygiene reasons. The feeling is that longer shorts can often be worn for other, non-swimming activities and therefore will bring unwanted materials and dirt in to the water, whereas with Speedos, no one in their right mind would be caught dead in these anywhere other than a strict French pool so chances of contamination are definitely on the slim side. My personal theory though is that the rule is set by the uber-ripped and bronzed Gallic lifeguards to create moments of extreme awkwardness and panic in us normal folk for their entertainment. What could be better when needing a break from leching at sunbathing women and slouching on their authoritative chairs than to waggle a dismissive finger at an approaching man’s shorts and point him in the direction of the nearest ouch-pouch merchant.

So next time you’re on the continent remember this; if you want to go for a nice swim, you better make damn sure that everybody can see every last part of your body. Never mind, I heard the sea is much nicer anyway.


Top 5 #14

Top 5 Worst Things to Have to Buy From the Shop

We all having a handy shop in walkable distance, you can avoid the hassle and distraction of a trip to the supermarket and you know it’s always there to get those essentials should you suddenly realise you’re without. Sometimes though, they can set up situations of extreme embarrassment and a walk of shame comparable to that of any post-night out Sunday morning, and here’s how:

5. Just milk

So you’re halfway through making a brew, you open the fridge and terror strikes; no milk. No worries, you can just nip to the shop in your slippers, pick some up and be back for the click before the click of the kettle. What you forgot about however was that for some reason a plastic bottle of milk has the potential to be the coldest thing on the face of the earth. So cold, that two Jean Claude Van Dammes would be needed to get the message across. So cold, that scientists could use them when liquid nitrogen just isn’t good enough. So cold, that…that, well you get the point now. Anyway, after realising halfway home your error of not bringing one of thousands of bags for life from home, all that is left is to walk as fast as possible without breaking into a full on slipper scuttle, and making it home to thaw out your frozen fingers with a well-earned cup of tea.

4. A solitary can of beer

Nothing screams desperation like apologetically placing a single can of lager on the till, disdain beating down on you from the shopkeeper’s gaze as he tars you with the alcoholic brush. Sometimes one can is all you want though, for example, it could be a work night and there’s a football match on. You could be mildly upset, but not so sad as to warrant fully drowning your spirits. There are thousands of possibilities which would necessitate in only one can being purchased but society frowns on such an act and restricts beer buying to a four can minimum. It’s your choice though, buy the solitary can that you wanted and face the judgement of all that witnessed it, or give in to peer pressure, buy the multipack and inevitably drink them all, resulting in one horrible Tuesday morning in work.

3. Munchies

It’s a well-known and widely accepted fact that indulging in certain drugs leads to an insatiable appetite for anything unhealthy and attractively packaged. The kind of food you don’t have at home unless you’ve thoroughly prepared for the night’s frivolities. Sadly, the majority of the people who are likely to partake in such a pleasure, aren’t exactly the most organised of folk and thus may not have bought in the necessary supplies to quell the dreaded munchies. This means a half-baked squinty stumble to the shop (or dream factory as it may seem at the time) is called for. Aisle upon aisle of salty and sweet treats await the plucky adventurer, anything that a ravenous reveller could ever wish for all lined up and organised for ease of purchase. There is a drawback however, and it’s not just deciding between Frazzles and salt and vinegar Chipsticks. It’s standing at the checkout, red-eyed and incredibly self-conscious while the person on the till scans through several Chomps and your buy one get one free 2 litre bottles of Fanta, trying to hold it together long enough to get back to the safety of your house with your all-important rations. It’s the realisation that everyone around you is aware of your basket of goodies and has deduced from your appearance and noxious odour that you are most likely not a diabetic crashing. No matter how subtle and inconspicuous you might try and be, in reality you might as well be walking around with a dreadlock wig on and have Bob Marley’s greatest hits playing as your own personal soundtrack. In reality, you are this guy:Stoner-Sterotype

2: Embarrassing Medicine

Yep, the title says it all really. You’ve got something wrong with you that you don’t want anyone to know about but sooner or later, you’re going to have to bite the bullet and take a trip to Boots. Getting the required humiliating product to the till is hard enough in itself, at least three in-motion scouting attempts of the aisle are necessary, obviously without lingering too long so as not to draw attention. Eventually, after hours of circling and feigned interest in the new scents of Original Source shower gel you may get your chance, a clear shot at your target. Now the object mortification is in your hand however, things have got so much worse. You are now linked to this thrush treatment, the haemorrhoid cream and you are one, a semantic union has been created between man and product, between your reddening face and the bulk buy Imodium in your hand. Yes folks, I think Martin Lawrence sums everybody’s feelings up perfectly in this video:

Luckily, shops now have the self-service option, potentially saving you huge embarrassment by avoiding the mandatory human interaction of the till. Just to make sure you don’t escape without complete humiliation at every stage of your shop visit though, the name of each product is proudly emblazoned across the screen as you bundle your shame into your bag. This wouldn’t be so bad if pharmaceutical companies had settled on normal names for the products but alas this is not the case. As one last shot to the wounded pride of the buyer, glaringly obvious and disgusting titles are flaunted to the baying crowd behind them. Titles such as Vagisil, Germaloids, and my personal favourite, Retardex. That’s right, you’re not even spared from humiliation when buying mouthwash.

1: Toilet Roll

Here we are then, number one. I know this should have been number two for the cheap lolz but it has been deemed in certain circumstance as the most embarrassing product to have to buy at the shop, and here’s why. There will be times in everyone’s lives where a collision between saving money and logical thinking will occur. On multiple occasions you will have bought into unnecessary buy one get one free offers, two for five pounds on multipacks of Coke when one was awkward to carry anyway, or enough bulk buy packets of crisps to sustain a small army, albeit a very unhealthy one. Toilet roll falls into this category far too often, giving customers fifty per cent extra free on a regular basis and as result creating huge, whole redwood sized packs for the buyer to struggle home with. But what if all you wanted from the shop was toilet roll? What if you had all of a sudden realised you were running out and nipped to the shop to top up? Then the decision becomes harder to make, buy the smaller, more discreet pack, or save those precious pennies and look like a man proudly parading around the fact that he is in imminent need of the toilet? Maybe I’ve thought too far into this, but when I see I person walking down the street with a 24 pack of Andrex under their arm and nothing else, I can’t help but think that that person has got some serious business to attend to. I mean, what situation can result in needing to buy a gargantuan amount of toilet roll in one go and nothing else? Does this person not need any sustenance of some kind? Some Lucozade at least wouldn’t go a miss. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me who feels massively embarrassed advertising to the world what my immediate plans are when I get home, but now after reading this you’ll all be converted and stop signifying your impending toilet trip to all that you meet. All I can say is, you’re welcome.

Agree with this list? Got anything else to add? Leave a comment and let us know what would have made your top 5.