Sparkster.net

The Olympics and Paralympics have entertained the word this summer with their excellent display of sportsmanship. Even I, who prior to the opening ceremony was not interested in the Olympic Games, enjoyed some events.

However, I would like to propose a third category of athletes for the next Olympic Games. Alongside the Olympians and Paralympians, I would like to see the Powerlympics.

The Powerlympics would feature all the usual events, although the participants would take masses of steroids and performance enhancing drugs. Imagine athletes getting ready to run the 100 meters, built like tanks and breaking not only Usain Bolt’s record, but the sound barrier with their unnatural speed.

Of course, like in all sports there would have to be very strict rules and drug testing. However, the Powerlympians would be tested to ensure that they had taken enough drugs to make them qualify. If the dope tests showed there was not enough medication pumping through the veins, a physio would be on hand to administer some more.

I’m pretty sure by idea is a goer and a company like Red Bull would be willing to sponsor the tournament. Make it happen.

This summer will be remembered by most people for the Olympics, the 826th series of Big Brother and Dredd 3D.

For Leeds fans, however, summer 2012 will forever be recalled as the time four months of our lives were wasted on the internet, constantly hitting the F5 button while browsing internet forums and Twitter.

This rabid hunger for information, as all my friends are more than aware, is for news on the proposed takeover of Leeds United Association Football Club and the departure of Ken Bates. Visions of Sheikhs riding into Elland Road and parking their camels in the car park were always in the dreams of all Leeds fans (when not scanning Twitter at 3am).

The situation is referred to by many Leeds fans as ‘Take Over? My Arse’. I am sure after reading this blog, like me, you are already hooked on “TOMA” and are hoping I am about to bring big, breaking news.

Since the official announcement from the club in May, which started this whole frenzy, surely the takeover is complete? Surely it’s time to get Emile Heskey to join Neil Warnock’s revolution? Errr… no. I’m still none the wiser.

Take over? My arse!

It sounds like a group of students have moved into the house next door. I know this not because boxes of Pot Noodles were delivered by Parcel Force, or because a life size statue of Countdown’s Carol Vorderman stands by the front door.

No, the return of the students was confirmed on Monday night when, shortly before midnight, they were kind enough to my fellow neighbours and I by hosting what can only be described as a rave. A loud and awful noise, which I suppose they would refer to as “music” blasted from their house and through the open garden doors, to the entire neighbourhood.

Had I not had work the next day and indeed been deaf, I may have appreciated it. Sadly, I did have to be up at 7am and have perfect hearing, although even if my ears were impaired and needed 888 on subtitles while watching the television, I would have had no difficulties in hearing the racket.

The noise ceased shortly after midnight. I suspect another neighbour went round, hopefully with a shotgun, and told them to shut the feck up. Any repeat of Monday night’s outburst, will result in me sticking tape onto their doorbell the next morning on my way to work.

Jaws
A few weeks ago, I noticed to my extreme excitement that Jaws was being re-released at the cinema. Jaws is my favourite film of all time. Sharks are cool and any film which involves a child being eaten alive in a brutal, gory death is always worth watching at least 50 times. Jaws was originally released in 1975, meaning I was born too late to see it at the cinema. Sadly, I also missed out on Manchester United being relegated the year before, not to mention the invention of the food processor.

I managed to persuade John to accompany me to the Showcase, bribing him with pre-movie visit to Nandos. After eating chicken, we went to the cinema, where tickets were purchased along with Ice Blasts. £3.60 each. Three pounds AND sixty pissing pence! It was only a few years ago, John and I would visit Showcase and be able to buy TWO Ice Blasts for a fiver. How things have changed. Bring back Tony Blair and affordable ice drinks.

Despite Jaws being by far the best film being shown in the entire multiplex, it was shamefully relegated to the crap screen at the end of the corridor. The floor was sticky, the room smelt of toilets and everything I moved on my chair, it squeaked. The screen was also very small. I could have just watched the DVD at home and sat close to my telly. I am sure a crap film written by Katie Price, featuring Miley Cyrus and a talking egg was being shown on the bigger, premier screen. Sigh.

So the movie. Without wanting to spoil it for you, it’s about shark. It eats a naked drunk woman. Then it eats a skinny child on a waterbed. Still hungry, Jaws, as I have named the shark, eats a man, but spits out his leg. A policeman, scientist and drunk sailor then go out to sea on small boat to kill the big shark. The drunken sailor gets eaten, no doubt saving on a future liver transplant, before the policeman shoots Jaws, who explodes while munching on an oversized tin of deodorant. You can see why it’s my favourite film ever?

There was a very scary bit in the middle where a head appears from a sinking boat. Having seem Jaws about five thousand times, I knew to the frame that the head as about to appear, yet still jumped out my skin, almost soiling myself in the process. The whole cinema knew I jumped too, as the squeaky chair I was sat on made an extra loud squeak as I bolted upright in fear. Apologies to my fellow cinema-goers for the noise…. and the smell.

England
I was planning on writing this blog on Sunday afternoon, before the quarter final against Italy. In the blog I would praise the effort, commitment and passion shown by the England team. A sharp contrast to the 2010 World Cup, where England players performed so poorly, they made me vomit with rage. The fact Italy dominated the entire match, apart from the first 10 minutes, and eventually won in the most typical of fashions – on a penalty shootout – means this blog is a little irrelevant now. Even so, my feelings towards the national side are a lot more positive and optimistic than they were two years ago.

I think John, who can’t stand football, summed up last night with his text message to me at full time. It read simply “Lolz”.

Crazy Italian
No, this isn’t a racial slur following England’s defeat to the vastly superior Italians last night. This is to celebrate the fact John, Simon and I returned to Bath’s finest pizza takeaway outlet on Saturday night. I say “returned”, I went there last week with Claire. In past weeks, the need was felt, not by myself, but by friends, to visit a nearby competitor. A vastly inferior pizza takeaway restaurant.

So why the “Crazy Italian” heading? Anyone who needs to ask that question clearly has not visited Pizzerella when it’s owner has been present – which is all the time. He’s a great man and a fantastic chef, but his staff must fear him. One piece of pepperoni out of place and he explodes. Passionate, but crazy. A great recipe for a good pizza.

A new member of staff was working in the takeaway. A woman behind the till. She didn’t know how to use the till and had to keep asking for help. My pizza cost £7.10.  I will have to check my bank statement to ensure I wasn’t charge £710. I also asked for chilli on my pizza. She didn’t know what chilli was. I pointed to a notice board with the word “Chilli”. She said I would get chilli on my pizza. When I got home and opened the box, there was no chilli.

iPad
Since my last blog, I have acquired an iPad. Since the now late Steve Jobs unleashed the overgrown iPhones upon us all a few years ago, I’ve yearned for one, on the same level as a lion yearns for zebra meat, a fish for water and Alex Ferguson for Jack Daniels. So, being brave (or stupid), I raided my piggy bank (Online Saver account) and made my way to the Apple shop, post-haste.

The Apple Shop is mad. The place is fill of children playing with all the fancy toys out on display, no doubt Googling the latest craze from the playground – Justin Bieber, One Direction and Morgan Freeman.

I looked for somebody who was in change and would be able to sell me an iPad. Mainly so I could get the hell out of the children’s after school club as fast as possible. Lots of adults were dressed in coloured t-shirts, I guessed they were the self-proclaimed “geniuses”. If you’re a real genius, you would be in a laboratory or library – not working in a shop.

I eventually found a genius who appeared delighted to see me. His excitement was so extraordinary, I thought his brains were going to leak from his ears. Despite this, he asked me to wait over by the iPad table for another genius to assist me. While I waited, I changed the wallpaper on all the demo iPads to the Bath City FC logo and left my blog, Sean’s Stories, open for the next person to use the demo iPad to discover.

I was eventually served. A genius tearing himself away from the laboratory, where he had just discovered a cure for AIDS. I was then asked what I would like to buy, what I knew about Apple and if I wanted to kiss the solid gold life-size statue of Steve Jobs in the centre of the store. Every response I gave was greeted by “amazing”. In fact, if I had been given a pound for every time I heard that word during my visit to the shop, I would have had the iPad paid for.

Somebody once told me that iPads are made in a factory in China and everyone that works in the factory wants to kill themselves due to the poor working conditions. If I worked in the Apple Store, I would kill myself. I think it would be awful.

Ill
While you were all enjoying the long, 4 day Jubilee weekend, I was ill. A throat infection. I’m not sure how I contracted it, but it was very painful. Doing what any sensible person would do, I didn’t call the doctor, instead opted to look on the internet for advice. The conclusion – I was either pregnant or had AIDS. I suspect the former. It really hurt though. My throat felt as if I had swallowed a razor blade and washed it down with lemon juice. I was kept alive on a strict diet of chicken soup, custard and many pints of TCP – my flat still stinks of the stuff now, although in a strange way I like the smell. I may use it as an air freshener from now on.

The bank holiday weekend ended and so typically did the shearing pain in my mouth. Therefore I did not take any time off work. The fact I cured myself also meant I did not have to visit the doctors or buy a pregnancy test. I suppose that is a good thing.

Thrown Away
I watched a programme on hoarders recently. The man on the programme had filled his house with rubbish and made tunnels out of piles of newspapers. He only ever ate boiled eggs and sponge cake. I was worried I was keeping to much junk in my flat and would turn into him. As a result, I have been throwing a lot of things away. I think the bin men must be pissed off. Old coffee machines, juicers, a PC and a massive speaker have all been put in the bin. I’m too lazy to take it to the tip, but spent hours disassembling the PC and putting it into five different bags. That is the only way the bin men would take it. Some of the stuff I threw away could have been sold on eBay. Again, I’m too lazy to organise that.

Flaming Galah
The Olympic Torch is coming to Bath. Some people I know are excited by this and tell me it is a once in a lifetime experience to witness. It has pissed me off as I won’t be able to get home on time. Somebody is running up Newbridge Hill with the torch and nobody is allowed to cross the road. I wonder what happens if it rains. Does the torch go out? What if somebody puts it out with a fire extinguisher? I may be forced to watch it while I wait until I’m allowed home.

Quality Food
I’ve been eating a lot of Wagon Wheels lately. I know they have been around for years – probably since the invention of the wheel – but rediscovering a taste from times gone by is good. They are certainly by favourite type of biscuit. Or are they a cake? The ones with jam inside are better still. The other snack I have been enjoying is Frazzles – the indisputable king of the crisps. Apparently, they are suitable for vegetarians, which surprised me. They taste so much of bacon, it’s as if somebody scraped a pig with a cheese grater, cooked the strips of pork and stuck them in a plastic bag.

Manchester Is Blue
The football season has been shit. Bath City got relegated and Leeds United didn’t do much better. I was however given some joy by Manchester City. I’m not a supporter of the club, but like me, they hate Manchester United, so as a result, I like them. It’s a nice warm feeling how football supporters are united by hate. I must admit, when Manchester City played their rivals, I did let out a very loud cheer of delight when they scored the winning goal. I yelled again last Sunday when they won the league, which meant Manchester United didn’t, My neighbours must think I’m a glory-supporting Manchester City fan. Either that or they don’t know about football and think they’re living next door to a madman. I think one of them is a football fan as he shouts every time Tottenham are playing. Maybe he isn’t a Spurs fan. Maybe he’s just mad and likes to make loud, random noises.

Dan’s Return
Dan came back to Bath on Saturday. Sadly, it was just for the weekend and not to move back into his basement flat, where he once lived a life not dissimilar to that of Gollum from Lord of the Rings. Only his “precious” was AV equipment. Since leaving Bath, Dan has gone to live in London. A very different place to Somerset.

Dan, John and I went to Bathampton for out lunch. There is a nice pub there; The George, which sits by the canal path. The thought of food and drink in the sun was very tempting. Unfortunately, upon arrival at The George, we were ‘greeted’ by the rudest waitress I have ever met. She was just like Basil Fawlty, only with a bigger moustache.

After eating our meal or curried chicken skewers (indoors – the waitress wouldn’t let us sit outside), we met Simon. A further pub, The Boathouse, was visited for more drinks. This blog really makes my Saturday sound like a boozy pub crawl. Unfortunately, at this point, my drink count was a massive ONE. A pint of Stowford Press cider.

The evening was spent at mine. It was like old times. Retro games were played. Namely Super Bomberman 2 – which I was rubbish at. Goldeneye – which I was rubbish at. Mario Kart – which I was good at, because everyone else was rubbish. The only difference between the gaming at my flat in 2012 and the gaming at Dan’s flat in 2005, was that John was not thrown across the room by Dan, onto a family bucket of KFC, as was a weekly tradition a few years ago. Shame.

Run For Fun?
Every Sunday I make the short walk to the local newsagents to buy myself a copy of The Non-League Paper. This is the definitive Sunday newspaper. Who needs the red tops with their stories on what in-law Ryan Giggs is shagging, when you can read match reports on mediocre football games involving Bath City, Luton Town and Bristol Manor Farm.

This week, I was distracted on the way to collecting my newspaper. The roadside was cordoned off with barriers. Stewards patrolled the pavements and the occasional police officer stood on a street corner. What was going on? Had the London riots finally made their way to Bath? No. It was the annual Bath Half Marathon. An event where thousands of people run miles around the city. They’re mad. Fair play to them though. They no doubt raise a lot of money for charity and it must be very hard work. Shamefully, in the five years I have occupied my flat, on the marathon route, I have not ventured out of my front door to watch or cheer the  runners. It’s a bit too much effort.

Free Bus Pass?
On Monday it was my birthday. Didn’t get me a present? No worries. Would have been nice. Seriously, no worries. It wasn’t noticed. Much. Belated gifts are still acceptable, especially if they’re of the iPad variety. It was one of those supposedly milestone birthdays, which saw me turn 30. Like when I was 18 and 21, I didn’t have a party. After the Burger King Kids Club told me I was too old on my 16th, I vowed never to have a birthday party again ever. So do I feel different? No. Am I too old to run a marathon? I couldn’t before. Am I grumpy? I was before. Can I get on buses for free? Nope. Not for another 35-fucking years. Special birthday, my arse.

Fuck Wit Dre Day
I caught the X39 bus into town this afternoon. I made the mistake in forgetting that most students finish their working day before 2pm. As a result, the bus was full all the shits that had spilled out of a nearby college. One particularly annoying student was sat in front of me wearing a pair of comically oversized headphones. Being “down wit da kids” I was able to identify these as those Dre Beats headphones everyone keeps going on about, and not a pair of Princes Leia earmuffs. He looked ridiculous. Who does he think he is? Emmanuel Frimpong? How much do these headphones cost? Not cheap, I bet. £500? No doubt Dr. Dre’s latest sucker will be protesting about increased tuition fees and how he can’t afford to pay them. Of course he bloody can’t, he’s paying Dr. Dre’s pension by wearing those stupid things on his head. Wanker.

Watching out my flat window last night, I must admit I was disappointed by the poor quality of fireworks and Chinese lantern-thingys this year. After all the fireworks set off throughout the whole of October during the run-up to Bonfire Night, I was expecting explosions of atom bomb proportions this New Years Eve. They were instead pathetic. You let me down. You let yourselves down. You let Kim Jong Il down. For shame ;(

New Years Eve. Meh. I’m not really a fan of the event. I enjoy having fun, but I don’t like fun being forced upon me. “Oooh, do you know what date it is, Sean? It’s New Years Eve. You must go out, enjoy yourself, drink yourself into a coma, before waking up dead. It’s the law, don’t you know.”  Not my cup of tea really.

My disinterest in the New Year’s festivities is probably a good thing, as I haven’t found anyone to spend the evening with. Unsurprisingly, I am not too fussed. I’ve had a good day so far. I spent the afternoon with a fellow Bath City fan, watching local side Chippenham Town slug it out in an enjoyable Southern League game (a blog about this will appear on Sean’s Stories in due course).

It is now the evening. My tea is about to be cooked – a hearty meal of sausages, Aunt Bessie’s roast potatoes and frozen vegetables. A bottle of Thatcher’s cider is also in the fridge, although I may go for one of the many bottles of Bath Gem, I received for Christmas.

Once I have wined and dined, the trusty PlayStation 3 will keep me entertained. Alongside the bottles of real ale in my Crimbo stocking, I was lucky enough to be given a copy of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3. If I get bored of killing, a recent Amazon delivery has seen me acquire a copy of Sonic Generations.

However, I’m tempted to avoid gaming all together this evening. I have my eye on the Blu Ray copy of The Inbetweeners movie. This will be followed up by Match of the Day, which tonight looks to be even funnier than The Inbetweeners, thanks to this. Happy birthday, Alex – you twat.

On that delightful and heart-warming note, I bid you farewell and a happy new year – although not really, it’s just another day. I’ll just say ‘have a happy Sunday tomorrow’.

So the inevitable has happened. Just a month after announcing I would cease with general interest blogs, I have admitted defeat and will start blogging them again. Why? Mainly because I have been left pissed off on a number of occasions and could think of just two ways in which I could relieve my anger. Option 1 – kill a kitten. Option 2 – blog about it. Sadly, a few cats were killed, but luckily for the feline community, I will now be blogging. The killing has stopped. Mostly.

You will notice the domain has changed to Sparkster.net. Long term visitors to my website will remember this was used pre-2009. It will now be used in 2012 and beyond. Sean’s Stories will remain and be used for all my football talk, which means this blog will contain little sport talk (which will please those of you that hate football).

I have been planning to blog since the Christmas Eve. I was lazy and didn’t. Therefore the first post on my new-old-new blog will be this. An introductory post. What a rip off.

I will blog about Christmas tomorrow after work. Yes, I have to work tomorrow. While all of you are sat at home eating turkey sandwiches, finishing off the remainder of the Quality Streets tin and watching Jurassic Park 3 on ITV2+1, I will be working. How you laugh. I’ll be the last one laughing. When you return to your places of work in the New Year, I’ll be off.

As some of us have to get up, go to work and run the country tomorrow, I had better go to bed now. Goodnight.

Oh, and in case you were wondering why I haven’t update Sean’s Stories in over a week, it’s because the Newport game was called off, so nothing to report there.