An Introduction

Welcome,
I've been having a crack at this for a long time now and figured it was time to set the world to rights, over a beer on a bigger stage. Just to save time for the moment I'm going to throw in a generic introduction i've recycled many, many times;


Basically, Im a f**king hero. Im responsible for everything good.. ever, this stretches up to and includes; the rotary engine, Sausage and cheese sandwiches, casual sex, those cans of corned beef with the ring pull that doesnt work, monkey knife fighting and most of the plots from hollyoaks.

Famous people always steal my ideas.

I have a habit of offending people and making outlandish and controversial comments, this is a marked improvement on my previous habit of having sex with girls I didnt know.

I'm always right. I'm very opinionated and will soon be Prime Minister of Britain and possibly the moon.

My 2 most favourite possessions are my snowboard and my guitar.. it only has 4 strings and 3 of them are E but it has a lot of special meaning to me and is heavilty stained in beer.

Don't take me shopping, I'll only complain.

Now thats out of the way, time to move onwards and upwards and start as I mean to go on.
Cue something original;

I Genuinely thought at the time that I would be the only person alive who could possibly have had that idea. With the benefit of hindsight its easy to see this was more than a little bigotted.. just like me.
My moment of genius struck in The Yorkshire House [The Greatest Pub in all the Land] around 2 years ago. By someway or another the conversation had turned to death and funerals, a strangely morbid subject for what was a a very positive group of good friends but nevertheless it took hold.

I was doing my usual thing of using my funeral to plan some elaborate and crazy booze party with naked go-go dancers and some baboons when just like that, it hit me like a train of depressing realisation. If my friends knew me at all, upon my [probably early] demise they would arrange such a crazy funeral in my honour knowing my wish would not be for sadness, but more for celebrating my far from normal life and having fun and wherever posssible a bit of beer fuelled casual sex. Why? What was the point? I'd be pushing up daisies, or more likely, having my testicles removed with a rusty hacksaw by one of Satan's minions. albeit deservedly - because frankly, I was a right bastard.

I felt it important that I be there for such a spectacle, so right there and then I hired the upstairs portion of the bar for some three weeks hence, I was going to become the only man in history to have two funerals. A good friend of mine, Chris, was one of the first to hear about the idea, partly because he's a top bloke and partly because his family owns a funeral parlour and I thought it would be hilarious to announce my death in the local rag and show up, in a coffin, only to burst out with my beer in hand right as the priest began stripping to some funky eurobeats. Sadly this wasn't to be. The night itself was pretty damn good considering many people were unavailable adn when you host a party you become alarmingly aware of nay empty space that should be filled with merrymakers.

The whole affair fell into place nicely, many turned up in suits, the beer flowed, my "ex" (we never made anything official and I was too drunk to tell you what happend in that month) brought her mum and spent the night slapping my ass in front of my new girlfriend.
Top that off with some awesome rock tunes and you got yourself a party ,sir.

However, that bloody theiving bastard from Hollyoaks the did the exact same bloody thing no less than a week later. I can't remember the details but basically some character staged his own death and threw a funeral/wake type affair to gain the affections of some stereotypically attractive actress type and promote his art/fashion/music/stereotypically youth culture thingy

This of course took the shine off the whole plan, even though I was first, could I ever prove it?
So the point, yes there is a point, is this; what next? How can I redeem myself? what stupid thing can I pull now, if only to put this whole "persona" to bed?

Since that night my life has settled into a routine so dull that even a carpet salesman or Ian Beale would gladly hang himself. My surname was replaced with the word hardcore for some good reason I can't remember. How can a man whose moral standards, general behaviour and alcohol consumption are so poor his last name was switched for such a word allow himself to get that dull?

It may be that its all out of my hands, after all Im one of the few who didnt opt for uni. Co-habitation and my only [almost] normal relationship are likely to tone some things down. Maturity perhaps has its part to play?

but if this is the way its meant to be, why am I so far away from being content?