The Milk Carton

...but I might get this thing going again.

Sshh.

http://a.domaindlx.com/faat/barry.wav
http://a.domaindlx.com/faat/noshit.wav
http://a.domaindlx.com/faat/weedaftie.wav
http://a.domaindlx.com/faat/mumzie.wav
http://a.domaindlx.com/faat/calmit.wav

A bonus five Dizzee points to those who recognise the source of the title.

So i'm back. Sorry to those of you who got locked in when I shut the door on the way out, I didn't intend to be so long. You will find that having twenty-four DVDs worth of Family Guy and Futurama will put blogging on the back-burner a little bit.Why am I back you don't ask, well I remembered that I used to quite enjoy the three occasions I sat down to write something, and the public asked, nay demanded, that I make them fulfil my public duty to make them feel better about themselves by chronicling what I haven't achieved. Geez, a paragraph and a bit in and it all feels a bit forced so far, not too bad, but the words they are not flowing freely. We'll see how this progresses...

I bought a Spurs season ticket of my mate's brother. Yay for me. First game was Bolton so as you can see, it is already money well spent.

I typed a paragraph or two more, but i'm just not "feeling" it tonight - i'll leave that to your mother! (It's wrong to laugh at your own jokes, but that is just too LOL-worthy. LOL!) I'll leave on on that high note, feel free to steal that gem for work tomorrow y'all.

This is just to let you know that I am still here I suppose. Will update properly tomorrow*

-Iain, although good updates on the Lain situation are abound.

Welcome blog fans, milk fans, Rhys Ifans, and all to my writings.

Just as a follow up to my last blog entry - some of you may be interested to know that I received a parcel from the good people at GlobalVideo.co.uk (e-mail to tell them to send me stuff, for FREE). When I signed up to place the order I had to fill out all the usual formalities such as address, e-mail, do I want to receive all sorts of crap that I will cause me to forever curse the day I forgot to untick the box, etc. These formalities also include the ever-useful 'name' field. Naturally I typed in Iain Liddle. It is my name after all, and I am nothing if not honest when filling out DVD order forms. So imagine my suprise when the package arrives through my door, addressed to someone who doesn't live at my house. Although rather addressed to the elusive...that's right...Lain Liddle. Part of me hoped that my blog had a particular following in the Scotland vacinity, but the realist inside me cryed. Tears. Of name-related sadness.

Then I went further and PONDERED what had occured. The detials had been hand-written on the envelope. Therefore somebody (probably that twat Dave) had looked at the order form and chose to write that down. This was the conversation I made-up in my head:

Dave: Hmm, what is that first name? It could be a lower-case l or a higher-case I. What do I do? *Calls senior*
Fellow non-CMLL-watching senior: Just as well you called me. I will consult the manual.

>They consult 'Big book of boy's names'<

FN-C-WS: Well there is nothing under Lain, but rather suspiciously something under Iain. I will leave this in your capable hands.

Now I can empathise with Dave in this situation because who of us hasn't nodded in agreement to their boss, whilst dying on the inside because they have no idea what they have to do or how they are going to do it. I can only assume that it was at this point Dave tossed a coin and hoped for the best. He failed, but I can respect his courage in an agry sort of way. Word of advice Dave - next time, choose tails. TAILS. I am informed that it never fails. At least the package itself containe sweet, sweet 'Family Guy' sugar for me to feast on.

Enough of my name.

But I tell you who does have a great name...El Hijo Del Santo. So good infact that I sit at this very blog-station with a t-shirt depicting the image of said name. I will not go on about last night's majesty, because far more elequent people than me have said everything that is needed to be, on RIM (see side links). I have now been to two of these RIM-ups and thoroughly enjoyed both of them. I was a little dubious initially but it really is good to sit with fellow like-minded wrestling fans and talk about it with people who obviously have a similar passion for it. With football, music or any other interest there are plenty of people for me to sound ideas off and shoot the shit with, but with wrestling being so geeky and socially-reclusive by it's very nature, there are too few opportunities. Thank you RIMmers! Unfortunately the post-Panther chat was cut short for me because I met up with a Uni friend and so naturally denied all knowledge of my interest in Mexican's dancing in a libre type motion. I look forward to the next occasion where i can talk about King_Slim or the elusive 'RIM elite' out loud without a) being in a room on my own, or b) being in a room with other people. Naturally if you are confused by option B then the people in the room do not post on the Real In Memphis wrestling board.

I then drank some more with my friend for a few hours, then went back to his newly-rented university accomodation for CHINESE and to other people I know for face-to-face conversation. Thoroughly enjoyed that too and so a god day was rounded off. I woke up this morning at 11:30 to wander half-naked into a living fill of people I had never met before and who did not know that I was even staying in the house. Rather interesting actually. I then took the insanely long walk to Colchester train station which was followed by an even longer and pricier journey back to Liverpool St. A mere half-hour later and I am back in merry ol' Chingford to get home in time to see England demolish (no matter how sugar-coatery John Motson wants to be) Wales and watch some more family guy before beginning this here post. I am not out tonight because I am watching the Ireland game, and also broke like a cheap watch that has been shaken about (worn) for any period.

I have other ANECDOTES that occured between last night, and my previous entry (if I were a camper man I would mention a matron right about now) but I shall save them for a future one.

This is Lain. Signing off.

Call me Rambly McRamblerson.

Or Iain. Iain is good. It's my name y'know. Unless you happen to be a particularly dense American accountant. If you are then you will probably feel a slight inclination to call me Lain. Lain Liddle in fact. Now I don't mind this, but should I correct you and tell you in fact that my name is infact Iain - then do not continue to call me Lain. Thank you. Looking back over the first sentence (yeah, because I proof read alright, aH!) it makes it sound like there is only one person who calls me Lain. It is fact every person I have ever spoken to in Los Angeles. Therefore usuing my Daily Mail gneralising statistics method - 100% of LA'ians are infact divvy dagos.

So what did I do today. I nurtured my rebelious side and went to the hairdressers at nine o'clock instead of going to work. I say rebellious. I mean hygienic, yet with an unnerving undercurrent of teenage (I am nineteen, I can still call myself that) rebellion thrown in. Now I have this thing that whenever my barber says "The usual, sir?" or describes the haircut I have had for the last few occasions, then I always get stuck-in-my-ways-a-phobia and decide for a change. That is why I am sitting here typing this now with a all spikey bits of hair being held up by super-strength Black & White hair wax. It is growing on me actually. I will never be able to receate after a night of sleep but what can you do. I came out of the hairdressers and bought this month's "Esquire" which, luckily for my reputation of local publi transport, has a special lingerie pull-out with it. Looks really good actually with a special music-themed issue this month. For those with the slightest interest in what I do, one of my clients is on the cover of a leading men's lifestyle magazine this month. Ooooh, the crypticness of it all.

I then went to work with the unmistable smell of barbershop tagging along too. I feared this would throw fresh doubt over my toe-tight alibi or going to the chiropidist for a six-monthly check up after my ingowing toenail. I get the impression that everyone knew I had snuck off for a trim, but just didn't say anything. I had hair on my fucking ears! That might have given the game up somewhat. I tried walking with a limp to add some sort of persuasion to the beleif that I may have actually gone to get my foot checked, but I fear I am fooling nobody. Next time I balls up at work, and I will - it's what I do, then this is getting thrown straight back in my face as an example of my unprofessionalism.

I went to an absolutely lovely Italian sandwich shop for lunch, and ordered the most homoerotic I think ever have at 14:00. "I'd like some of that nice-looking Italian salami in a sandwich please." Never again. It's strictly safe names like "Italian meatballs" forme from now on. Oh, wait...

As keen blog-readers (Hey mum!) will know, there is a woman in my office who I am car-azy about. She came in at 14:30. I thought she had had a haircut of herself, but I didn't mention anything incase it looked like I was trying to draw attention to my own stylings. If people say it out loud, other people get ideas. Then other people put two-and-two (or one and three, as was used on the back and sides) and certain bloggers get reprimanded. I shall ask her tomorrow. She smiled more than usual at me today and I am never sure of she is just feeling happy, or because I think too much about everthing - whether she is being flirtatious. I followed this up by suprising her with a small packet of her favourite sweets, she seemed to like that. Although then I was really busy and couldn't speak to her at all and relied on e-mails that always sound better in my head than they turn out to be in reality. I shall impress her with "Curb..." quotes tomorrow.

That reminds me of the last time I was reprmanded at work. When the laser eye patient had a birthday simultaneously with their treatment, and I tried to cheer them up by writing "Have a blinding birthday!" Apparently, tears of sadness are not good for healing eyes.

I came home, I watched some "Curb..." and now 'Never Mind the Buzzcocks" is coming on so I shall go, watch that, and wonder at why I am theonly person I know who thinks Mark Lamarr is a comedy genius.

I actually quite enjoyed that. Writing down all your thoughts 'n' shit is quie theraputic, even if it is just random boring bollocks from the day. No time for spellcheck - LAMARR!

Seeing the livejournals thread on RIM made me remember that I actually set this thing up in the first place, and so here I am.

I imagine once a couple of posts have gone by then I may get quite into it and turn into a *gasp* semi-regular livejournalista. So the ice-breaker. The first post. Better be a good one otherwise you won't come back. Of course, by you, I mean my adoring readership. By adoring readership, I mean me. Hmmm, are Mark Lamarr references the way to go to get a blog up and running - probably not. Much better of plagarising the more public-friendly and 'Never Mind the Buzzcocks" cohort, Bill Bailey. So I shall endeavor to say "...before turning the gun on himself." at least once from after this point.

Blogging then.

What have I done recently. Oh oh, I went to the HMV sale. I took this as the opportunity to finally pick up "Romper Stomper" and "Chopper". It worked out at about seven quid for the pair I beleive and were very much random purchases based on people telling me how they are the pinnacle of Australian cinema and not to be missed. First series of Fraiser, Curb your enthusiasm, and a delightful looking collector's boxset of Spaced were also paid for.

I also picked up the "City of Men" DVD. Now (as future blogs when I have watched it again may testify) I absolutely loved 'City of God' and everything about it. It was somewhat critically-acclaimed when released at the flicks last year and it was the phrase "Brazillian Goodfellas" that caught my attention. I even bought the soundtrack after watching it, which I think remains the only film soundtrack I have ever bought. Apparently this is a TV series based on the film, and I hope my dreams are not hideously dashed by it being a cash-in. I will post some thoughts when I watch it.

To carry on the samba-theme, I went out with a few workmates last night to a Cuban bar near Hannover Square in London, called "Fiesta Havana". I thoroughly reccomend it to anyone in the London area, or if it is a chain around the country. Fantastically fun night out. One of the workmates I went with was a beautiful lady who I am ungloriously and completely in love with, and I thought I would play it cool initially. What I didn't realise of course was she had to leave at eight to meet her flatmates and so just as I was hitting my mingling stride and getting ready to wow central London with my size twelves stomping all over the place in the misaprehension of doing so to some sort of rhythm, she had to leave. I barely said two words to her all night because there was already this bloke from the office hanging off her, looking insanely desperate, and I thought I would bid my time for the dancing and rum~ to start flowing first. Oh well, that would have been a good opportunity as well.

In some ways it was good because it only left me with people who I didn't really know before, and so spent the night chatting to them and finding out the office was full of more cool people than I initially beleived to be the case. I could go into more detail about the night itself but needless to say it involved plenty of hispanic lagers with lime in, rums~ and overpriced-cigars. Without wanting to turn this into Pickblog II, it was a friendly atmosphere in there and I danced (tried to keep up with) with a few lovely-looking ladies and a good time was had by all. I definitely plan to go back.

As is sometimes the case when I am up in Central London for a night out, I got a cab to my nan's house in Islington and curled up in rum-induced bliss on her sofa. Was forced out this morning as I was settling down to watch Smackdown and as always got strange looks and turned up noses from people sitting next to me on public transport because I am wearing slept-in clothes and still smell distinctly of Castro-related shenanigans.

Really need to have a shower at some point in the near minutes...

Well let's see what this looks like then.