Eating socks

It's been a while since I've written here. Last night changed all that. The dreams are back.

My wife demanded we go to a "gay hotel". Not a bi hotel, a gay one. No idea what that is, but in the dream I found one. We drove into reception (literally, drove right on in) and down a very steep and unsafe slope to the basement. There was football on the TV, and some of the current Liverpool squad were sat around watching it. Most of them were Mario Balotelli, but there was Jordan Henderson too.

I sat next to one of the Mario's, and apologised for calling him an idiot before. He said we'd never met, so wouldn't have known, but said it was fine. I said Bruce Willis would be rubbish at FIFA and they agreed. We watched football for a bit, before I realised I was supposed to be there with my wife. I went to find her and she was fine as she was also talking to Mario and said he "was a nice guy".

Suddenly I'm back home and Bruce Willis is sat on my sofa. I apologised for calling him rubbish at FIFA, and he said he was a bit upset. I offered to get him a drink, and he said quietly he'd love a beer, but shouldn't probably just have a weak tea. I made him one, and then he took off his socks, and made me eat them. My wife looked on saying they'd "be really good for me".

I wonder about my sanity regularly.

Quotes for when I get on The Apprentice

22:12 - BigPants: "I am a lion, i like to roar.. at business!"

22:12 - macdaddy: there are stupid people, and there is me.

22:12 - macdaddy: money is for winners. nothing is for losers

22:14 - BigPants: "Im Marc with a capital M.... the M is for Money"

22:14 - macdaddy: "there are 4 ways to make money. and i'm all of them"

22:15 - macdaddy: "in business you either succeed, or you explode like a giant fat walrus. and i like to club seals"

Now I know my ABC...

Dear Recruitment agents,

I know my name is not the easiest to spell. Hence why I always take the time to spell it out completely when you ring and ask for my email address. If you get it wrong, and ring back wondering why i haven't replied back to your email, I will patiently spell it out again so that you can have another go.

However, if you ring back a THIRD TIME and ask why I haven't replied, and AGAIN read out my name spelt incorrectly, I will politely ask you to stop calling and hang up. This is not a personal attack on you, I just am not blessed with a superhuman amount of patience when it comes to people incapable of listening to letters being spoken slowly down the phone to them TWICE.

Yours with love,
Marc

NATO loves unicorns

Hugh says (09:43): Yo homes.
Hugh says (09:43): Whats the NATO thingy for U?
Hugh says (09:43): foxtrot echo etc
*lady on the phone is getting impatitnet
marc says (09:43):*the what what?
*NATO?
Hugh says (09:43):*you know like foxtrot
marc says (09:43):*are you on drugs?
Hugh says (09:43):*echo
*delta
*BLAH
marc says (09:43):*you mean phonetic alphabet?
Hugh says (09:43):*That's it
marc says (09:43):*for what?
Hugh says (09:43):*whats U?
marc says (09:43):*uniform
Hugh says (09:43):*really?
marc says (09:43):*yes
*i was a police officer
Hugh says (09:43):*i think I'll use Unicorn
*its better.
marc says (09:43):*well it's wrong
Hugh says (09:43):*add some wonder
marc says (09:44):*how do you function?

I was on what now?

IMDb bizarrely reports that I was a guest on So Graham Norton, on the same show as Jane Horrocks. I have no recollection of this. It's something I'm fairly sure I'd remember. And now it's getting a bit daft...

Hi,

I hope you are well.

Matthew Fox is going to be on the Graham Norton Show this week and therefore production would like to speak to some people who have previously been on the show.

I know it was some years back, but would you be willing to talk to us so we can fully prepare Mr Fox?

Please get in touch with him directly if this is of interest.

Many thanks,

Sam



SamanthaCrawford | Senior Account Executive
Taylor Herring Public Relations Ltd


As usual, I like to get Hugh's opinion...

Hugh says (16:44):
*Is that for reals?
Marc says (16:44):
*yup. just got that email about an hour ago
Hugh says (16:44):
*Ask for his email address so you can speak to him
*directly.
Marc says (16:44):
*i love the last line
*ha yeah
Marc says (16:45):
*like me and Matthew are buds
*sure, i'll drop him a line
Hugh says (16:45):
*"Matthew Fox? ... Or you mean FOXY! Yeah me and him are like THIS" *crossed fingers*
Hugh says (16:46):
*"...but can I have his email address please..."
Marc says (16:46):
*i was tempted to keep it going, but instead i emailed and said i wasn't on the show, and that i didn't have mr fox's contact details
Hugh says (16:46):
*Dissapointed.
Marc says (16:47):
*i knew you would be, but i was imagining "Matt Fox in email stalker nightmare" headline
*and i'd be put in the same category as that GP who killed the old folks
Hugh says (16:47):
*Shipman?
Marc says (16:47):
*thats him
Hugh says (16:48):
*Nice to be remembered for your work tho
*I'm so sorry.
Marc says (16:48):
*people will be shocked when they read that
*some will spit at the screen
Marc says (16:49):
*it's a good job not many people read my blog
Hugh says (16:49):
*They would if you were the Matthew Fox Stalker

My hatred for TopShop

So. For those not in the know, TopShop is a UK chain of clothes shops, selling both Women's and Men's clothes. Years ago I used to shop here regularly, as their sales were pretty good. Now that I'm older and know how to feed myself (more on that later), I tend not to go in here, as I'm approaching the time when I'm fine wearing jeans that cost less than a sandwich in Tesco.

This christmas, my mum decided to buy me a jumper from TopShop. The colour were not exactly to my tastes, so she gave me the receipts so I could take it back...

Trip 1, January 12th 2011:
I saunter in with my wife, thinking I could easily find some jeans that I like. I check out the rails, but they only seem to have jeans that I could barely squeeze a toe into, let alone my whole leg. I ask the assistant where the bootcut jeans are, or anything resembling something a fully grown human could wear.

"Oh no (cue disgusted look) we don't sell bootcut anymore."

Brilliant. Ok, I'll just get my money back, as I have no immediate plans to become a chav with an eating disorder.

Trip 2, January 20th 2011:
I go up to the counter, and with my receipt in hand, ask for my money back. No, says yet another delightfully helpful assistant, it's outside the 30 days since you purchased it. This is correct, however my receipt says "Return by 31st January for an exchange". I point this out. She then says:

"If you want a refund it has to be with 30 days, but you can have an exchange before the 31st January"

Great, so have fun confusing people with two different dates with two different outcomes. That's blindingly clear. Fine, I'll have gift vouchers then please (someone else can suffer this place).

"No, we only do exchanges."

I don't really blame them. Once they've got your money, why allow them to pass the torture onto someone else without them paying for the priviledge. So i'm stuck with this jumper unless I can find something else by the 31st...

Trip 3: January 31st 2011:
I put off the agony as long as I could, but eventually dragged myself in and selected a tshirt and seemingly the only pair of jeans I stood a chance of getting into. The plan was to give them to my mum, who had kindly offered to choose something herself, but needed longer to decide. I trudge up to the counter, and ask for an exchange.

"Sorry, it's Feb 1st, you've missed the deadline."

Cunning folk. I never expected them to pull the old time travel play on me. No, I sighed wearily, it isn't.

"Yes it is."

No, go get your manager please. Manager duely appears.

"What's the problem sir? It's Feb 1st, your receipt says exchange must be done by Jan 31st".

It is Jan 31st. Please stop being stupid and check the actual date as it stands today in the real world which is CLEARLY NOT IN HERE.

"Oh. Yes. Sorry. Here's your exchange."

Off I leave, happy in the knowledge that the people who work in here probably live here too and will never inhabit space that I might encounter again.

If you have a dodgy stomach

Milk of magnesia comes from a rare breed of deer, and only from the fawn before it is 1 year old. To remove the milk from it, you must use a rubber fork a wiggle it carefully. To identify the fawn, look for the one with the face like a donkey.

Ironically, donkeys hate this kind of fawn so much that they eat the donkey-faced fawns upon sight. To avoid this sort of conflict, the donkey-faced fawns and their parents will hide at the top of very tall trees. This has caused all manner of height related deaths, so they have taken to hiding at the top of high rise buildings that have swimming pools. Even smarter, they now only congregate in Canberra, Australia, telling people that they live in the country's capital city. When donkeys hear of this, they immediately head for Sydney (because donkeys have little geographical knowledge) and can't find them.

So next time you have milk of magnesia, take a moment to think of where it comes from.