I'm here, again . . .

Why hello there, lads and ladies.

Fully aware that I rarely post, and that to be honest few people give a shit either way, I'm slightly dubious about inflicting my own uneducated views of the World around us upon you. But seeing as how I have this medium to do so, (cheers for that one Ben, my old mucker), I'm going to do so regardless.

Firstly, I have become an avid X Factor pervert. I initially began watching it religiously last year, as a way to keep my Missus on her toes, as it gave me the perfect excuse to letch at the rather delectable Miss Tweedy (Cole, my arse).
That said, only this year have I started to really appreciate what some people on this programme have to offer.
As far as I am concerned, that Essex bird Stacey Solomon is the proverbial mutt's nuts. Her rendition of Coldplay's "The Scientist" is without a doubt one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard performed. It is not like to me to speak in such terms, just ask any of my entourage, but if that was released as a single it would storm the charts. Absolutely amazing.

There are certain events happening in circles closer to my own heart, or at least closer to my own profession, in the media. I refrain from commenting, partially throuigh fear of reprisals, but mostly because this is not really an appropriate forum.

Recently I have simply been getting on with life, which is hardly worth a mention here.


However, what is certainly worth a mention is the fact that it seems I attract nicknames like a tramp on the streets of Blackpool attracts the attentive conversation of Ben and myself, particularly when suited and booted, and bored whilst waiting for out turn in a cash point queue.

To date I have attracted a series of nicknames in my unit. Rather than be known by my usual tag of Sheepay, a pseudonym that my significantly embarassed better-half is still attempting to get to grips with, I seem to gain prefixes relative to whatever depraved act I have recently been documented as committing.


I arrived at my unit in the company of a good friend, also known as Dan. It was decided early on that two young men named Dan must be referred to as "The Two Dans," a collective term that still rears its ugly head from time to time.
And so, Dan 1 and Dan 2 were given due designation. I began this term as Dan 1.

A few weeks into this post I was given the task of laying a makeshift (read: highly illegal, unauthorised and cowboy effort) telephone line so my boss could take all those important calls. This involved tapping into an existing line, routing it through to his office.

To ensure everything was as tidy as possible I taped the line along walls to keep it away from prying fingers. If there is one universal truth then it is that ANYTHING can and will be destroyed by a bored squaddie, so everything and anything is kept as far from them as possible until needed. Bloody louts.

This particular taping tasking required me to be on hands and knees, a position which became the centre of firstly ridicule -

"Fnar Fnar, polish my knob while you're down there, Dan 1."

and slowly led into physical abuse, with every single comedian putting the boot in. As the new lad, and extremely junior, it was par for the course. Until, of course, it was par no more.

After being subjected to a dozen or so physical attacks I began to lose my almost infinite temper. One poor lad, Steve, was to be the recipient of a retaliatory effort not quite comparable to the storming of Normandy, but monumental nonetheless.

Having watched everyone else walk past and give me a nudge, and having watched me roll arse-over-tit in a hilarious fashion once more, Steve decided it was his turn.
My apoplectic rage manifested itself in the form of pure aggression, which was a surprise no less for me than for he.

Turning swiftly, I avoided his ill-timed kick, shot upwards, grabbed the nearest object and swung for his head.
I'd picked up the desk in-tray, and the ancient, brittle plastic shattered into a hundred pieces over his skull. The tray was not heavy and he was unhurt, but shocked beyond measure. He could not have looked more shocked had I slapped him across the face with an erection.
The surreal nature of the attack proved too much for Steve and the congregation, who to a man bent double with laughter.
From that moment I was to be known as "Evil Dan," although it was noted that anybody who wished to have a go did so whilst I was out of reach of stationary.


Next time, the origins of the nickname "Gay Dan." I may even include a poo story for you.