The part of the book I’m really struggling with is the part based around my last relationship. The wounds are still possibly a little too fresh or I haven’t fully contextualised it, rationalised it, whatever. I was thinking about how we met. I said one thing, she said another and that was it. We were basically together. Following on from my previous posts, I was thinking about ‘why?’ that was. Most of what I said in the previous posts about having other shit going on your life equally applies. From a personal point of view, at the time I was in a good headspace. Basically all I really wanted to do was be alone and play guitar. I was fully content in myself. I mean, I fucking suck more dick when it comes to playing guitar than a prisoner at Abu Gharib prison, but that is entirely besides the point. It is something that I LOVE doing. Like, I just love messing around on the fucking thing and blasting out a few notes. I mean personally, I only own LEAD GUITARS, these come complete with fucking pentatonic and Phrygian scales . I do not own any RHYTHM guitars, which are the type usually most popular amongst more introverted types than myself who like to play CHORDS. Know the difference. Hennyway. This is like my idea of heaven. So fucking relaxing. It kind of reminded me of something amazing I saw during the summer. I was in a bar called the Sir Colin Campbell in Kilburn, London. This is a bar in a hardcore Irish area of London and I love me some fucking trad music, so I went. This place is like the BEST for Irish trad music in Britain. One of the trad group is this guy called Mick Flynn. He’s like this old guy, but he’s fucking fascinating. I mean, he just sits there talks and talks and talks, fucks around with his various instruments, dipping his water pipe into his beer because that is ostensibly what it requires to make the thing work and then rubbing some beer across the skin of his ancient Bodhran because that ‘loosens it up.’ Some of what he says is difficult to understand because he has a strong ‘culchie’ accent, but he has stories that could go on for days, and he has an inflection in his voice and by the passion, tone and manner in which he speaks, you just have the general impression that you’re missing out on something that is GOLD. You nod and agree anyway, and then wait for the next sentence you understand. He talks about places he’s travelled to, he is saying something about Thailand and temples and how he went with his girlfriend (the guy is in hu seventies I’d say), or perhaps his girlfriend is from Thailand. Who the fuck knows? He starts to sing. It’s pretty evident that he’s been doing this for decades. He’s good and this guy must know fucking thousands of songs. The trad band play and they are excellent. I walk to the bar and strike up a conversation with some gentleman from Belfast. We discuss Ireland. There is a lull in proceedings. Then Mick begins to sing. Intermittently playing his water pipe which he has been dipping into his beer repetitively. A look over and see a young man and woman. The young man wears a striped shirt. He sniggers at Mick. He does not understand what is happening here. The young woman he is with looks mesmerised. Mick is singing ‘Sam Hall’ or something like that. Anyway, it is irrelevant.

‘Violinist “A” is a bachelor, twelve o’clock, slim-hipped, broad-shouldered, suave—in other words, a typical Hollywood stereotype of a gypsy, who has a job serenading diners at the Bit ofTransylvania, a restaurant with atmosphere. As Laszlo (for that is his name) lovingly caresses his fiddle’s “erogenous zones,” the women present gaze longingly, their once-hot stroganoff mouldering cold on its plate. “For heaven’s sakes,” complains hubby, “eat your dinner.” The words die unheard, though, as all female eyes are on Laszlo making love to his violin. Little does Laszlo need any of those women right now, as his heart is taken.’

Mick sings majestically. The young woman maybes forty years his junior has little cartoon birds fluttering around her head. The man has soul.

I mean, I have nowhere near the talent that Mick has. This isn’t really the point. The reason I mention this is because when I got with my ex, the last thing I was interested in or wanted was a girlfriend. I was just happy doing my thing, playing my music (badly) and getting on with my life. I was truly happy and content being alone. Actually, the worst thing you can probably do to get a girlfriend is actually want one.

That’s why you’ve got to become an individual who is autonomous and self-fulfilled. I mean you’ve got to be socially-savvy – not just with women – so that you live a lifestyle of abundance, and then come from a place where you actually OFFER VALUE to women and everyone else instead of being YET ANOTHER dorky guy who throws himself down at her feet. In my case, it wasn’t until I was totally happy just DATING and even BEING WITHOUT a woman that suddenly women started popping out from behind bushes suddenly wanting to be my girlfriend. Like, I discovered something that was actually BETTER and more satisfying than being in a relationship.

Prior to that, I couldn’t have gotten a girlfriend to save my life…. 🙂

So that is my focus. Learning to be content in myself and love myself again. Working on other things I LOVE: writing, developing my creativity, music, my guitars, developing that aspect of myself and one day actually getting good hahahaha, my trad music, training, weightlifting – getting strong like the fucking love child of Dmitry Klokov and Lü Xiaojun, my boxing, RIPPED ABS, reading, broadening my mind, my lifestyle, travelling around a little bit more, cooking, my house, my car, working on my finances… I have to get back to that mindset and learn to be happy again, by loving myself and doing the things I actually LOVE.

The other side of this is the stuff I put in the previous post. It’s all part of the project.

So, for all of those who can’t read the base-code of the universe (I’m such a fucking nerd0rk):

What is this magical “script” you ask??

It’s really very simple…

1) Live Your Life

2) Enjoy Women’s Company


3) Assume Absolutely Nothing



It’s all about being fucking cool again, and let the women do the chasing for the relationships. 🙂

Back to the music.


2018 Part One

In which Michael ponders the wisdom of his twenties, discusses Insta famous dogs (!), Scandinavian staircases and looks to the future.

This is pretty much the ‘New Year resolution’ post roughly a month and a half early. It’s going to be a tough read as I like to write these things pretty much ‘stream of consciousness,’ as personally I think that’s how I get the most personal benefit out of writing these things. When I let my mind run I tend to get insights I might not necessarily get if I’m writing in the de rigeur fashion. So yeah, it’s not necessarily going to flow as beautifully in parts. So why start doing ‘2018 New Year resolutions’ a month and a half early? Because you shouldn’t fucking wait around and just think that 2018 is going to be any different, and at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve you’re going to have some kind of dramatic paradigm shift, where suddenly everything is going to be transformed. You have to start NOW. Plus, I don’t want to be part of the way through 2018 still choding around with certain goals and aspirations which will take around several months. Also, it’s better to hit the New Year on point and already in a fucking upward loop.

A lot of the stuff I want to do is kind of a ‘back to basics’ crash course. I want to get back to a similar kind of attitude and ethos I had in my early to mid twenties but I want to do it better. In many respects a lot of aspects of my twenties were fucking tense, some of it a train wreck and I don’t want to go back to that. However, in my early twenties I had an admirable attitude and dedication towards training and learning which I would like to get back into. Along with my general easy-going, carefree, tolerant, WIN/WIN, NON-JUDGMENTAL ACCEPTANCE, live in the NOW attitude, before my mindset was at some point seemingly overtaken by MATERIALISM, office politics, heavy workloads, cynicism, becoming judgmental as fuck (believing it gave me an edge), and at times heavy anger. This is easy when you get into positions which pay well and afford you a good lifestyle. You can become complacent as fuck and ‘unaccountable.’ You get into this kind of decadent, hedonistic mind space where you can basically just do whatever the fuck you want. Buying shit just becomes a crutch. It’s like comfort eating. Can’t be bothered to go to the gym? Buy expensive, extravagant clothes. Don’t like cardio? Get a cool car. Feeling bad about yourself? Buy electrical items etc. It’s like comfort eating a chocolate bar, you get that quick boost and insulin spike before crashing back down, but you had your quick hit so you can just push it to the back of your mind, without feeling *too bad* about yourself. It becomes a cycle when you’ve gained the proverbial few stone but still keep doing it. I basically did this for four years with only intermittent periods of coming to my fucking senses in between. I got so fucking complacent and entitled. This ultimately culminated in meeting someone who was in love with me, but essentially taking that shit for granted and ruining a serious relationship. The warning signs had always been there from early on. I had previously met a really great woman from Manchester in 2011 who I dated, and one of the first things she said to me was that I ‘just throw money at problems.’ She was wise. I want to get back into the frame of mind where I can just draw fulfilment from within and be happy and appreciate what I’ve got. This is crucially important. I’ve made strides towards that this year but I want to escalate it over the next 12-15 months. In my aforementioned early twenties, I read a lot of Eckhart Tolle which was extremely beneficial to me in helping me move forward in my life. I mean, I found it so beneficial that I even had a song in his honour, ‘I’m bringing Ecky back, all those other boys dunno how to act.’ Nonetheless, one of the ‘downsides’ of Tolle is that he is evidently someone who couldn’t actually give a shit about money. Like, he’s someone who would probably be quite happy and content living in a fucking cave… if he doesn’t already. So the thrill for me of actually *having* some money was like, ‘oooohh this is new’ and in doing so I quickly forgot everything that had brought me to the fucking party to begin with.

Aesthetically, I want my fucking RIPPED ABS back and some fifteen inch biceps. Weight will provisionally be 12.5 stone. I’m going to start going to the gym literally every fucking day again so it becomes a deeply engrained habit. I will do this. Slightly more difficult, I also want my cool ‘tall hair’ back. I’m at the point where my barber is essentially acting as a fucking palliative care nurse, but ignoring conventional reality and perseverance is nine tenths of the law of the jungle. There has really been little to no emphasis on my appearance for a few years. Frankly, it’s fucking irrelevant, but it’s something I want to do for ME. For any chodes reading this, how you look has zero impact on meeting women. Well, it certainly doesn’t when you’re cool as fuck like me (hahahahaha) and your lifestyle – which you’re now trying to undo – has resolved around spending fucking fortunes on shit like Scandinavian staircases. Netflix and chill is for losers. ‘Come to my house and check out my Scandinavian staircase and meet my Insta famous dog.’ Sez I. ‘Is he really Insta famous?’ Sez she. ‘Fuck no. He thinks that shit is for chodes. He is too busy hanging around with his hot and scary Doberwoman girlfriend. He has a real dog modelling contract and goes to shows and shit. Here’s a pic of him on my STAIRCASE.’ Sez I. ‘Ooohhhhhhh my fucking god, he is sooooooo handsome.’ Sez she. ‘Heheheh yeah. Cool I’ll come and pick you up.’ Sez I. ‘Please hurry etc.’ Sez she.

I am going to get back to reading a book a week. I’m pissed off at myself this year, as amongst other things, on most days I have an insane commute but have only actually read maybes eight to ten books cover to cover. I will draft a list. ‘Aaaahm bringing Ecky back.’ I’ve got to get back into HEAVY reading too. Like, when I think about it, I actually MISS reading hardcore literature like Joyce.

Moar guitar. I have to refocus on my music. I haven’t done enough this year. This is unfortunate as last year guitar was all that kept me sane. I’ll probably have to sell a couple and just content myself with my Gibson Les Paul, Telecaster and 1988 Malmsteen Strat with the brass nut and scalloped fret board.

I was talking to someone about self-development recently and it was interesting. In many respects I have to get back to outlining the stuff I want to DO. I mean, fuck, it’s not like I’m just going to entirely give up on buying cool shit, but like I said, I have to APPRECIATE what I have first and when I do, I want it to be more of a REWARD, so again, I can appreciate it, rather than it being a mindless fucking indulgence.

I mean, it’s no exaggeration to say that I have got the facilities at hand to become an extremely successful, talented person… I have a fucking first class library I’ve built over a number of years, resources, quality instruments, tools, access to FIRST CLASS gym facilities literally right across the country along with free travel which pretty much opens up most of the fucking country to me, I don’t really have excuses here. On the other hand, there’s the fact that this is not all about DEVELOPMENT, it’s about stripping things away too. I want to get back to the proper mindset.

I’ve also got to get a proper holiday in next year. This year, aside from a couple of trips to Ireland, I only got as far as Cornwall. Not that there was anything wrong with Cornwall, (a total trip time on the train of around 16 hours was pretty fucking gruelling though) but getting back to somewhere FOREIGN with vibrant colours is definitely called for.

Once upon a Time He was Falling in Love…

‘In which Michael gives an insight into his awesome magical powers after growing weary of a chode who hath been talking jive.’

I’m tired of a self-proclaimed NICE GUY who we will refer to here as ‘Chodezilla’ talking shit about me to people. Chodezilla lives by the opus, that the best way to get ‘laid’ is by *saving* women from ‘assholes.’ Actually, I suspect that on some level this person doesn’t even want to get laid, which is why he fucking doesn’t, but we will leave that to Ronda Byrne and Teh Secret. He just wants someone to looove him and he thinks the best way of going about this is by being a fucking chode. There is also the possibility that this person is on some level just some kind of a masochist who wishes to live in some almost asexual, female induced personal torment. My own personal opus is that the best way to get ‘laid’ is by actually being a fun person living a good life, and as a result you know, having fun.

The shit that this person says about me is ridiculous. He recently told me that a woman I was dating would ultimately regret seeing me because I’m a ‘balding’ douchebag hahahahaha. This is interesting in itself, I mean, first off, it’s pretty fucking hilarious how he mentions something about me that doesn’t conform to perceived standards of beauty, and as a result because I don’t conform to what HE believes is the correct standard of beauty for MEN no less, I must THEREFORE have a bad time in life (hahahahahaha) and that I also therefore shouldn’t talk to women, or just as pertinently, they shouldn’t talk to me. Chodes like this aim to suppress the confidence of people. This is the kind of person who would fuck up the confidence of someone who wanted to talk to a woman because presumably people have done that to him. Like some kind of cycle of pain. I mean, I know some weak minded people and having someone giving them this kind of negative shit and doing what he is doing to me, like going up to women and telling them about how much of a mean person ‘Mikey is,’ just so women call you out on it, would completely fuck up their confidence.

As for the NICE GUY shit… that is just some self-serving, manipulative bullshit, right there. You know, when you can only be ‘nice’ when it serves your own manipulative agenda, you’re actually not really nice at all, just kind of cynical, negative and cunty. Similar to another ‘nice guy’ when we had the charity whip-round because someone was running a half-marathon for a child with lymphoma and I took it upon myself along with a couple of other to ENSURE everyone donated to this because one) it’s for a small child with lymphoma and two) someone has actually gone to the trouble of training and running a half-marathon… only one person didn’t donate, because ‘charity starts at home.’ Guess who that was? Yep. He accused me of ‘intimidating’ and ‘guilt-tripping people’ into donating money and called me an ‘asshole.’ In context of a fairly small space, we raised something ridiculous like £300.00 in around an hour. I’m up on some shit like, ‘Okay, what’s your address, how much am I putting you down for?’ Assuming that sale, not giving people the option of saying no. Coffee is for closers yo. If you’ve ever read Influence by Robert Cialdini, there was undoubtedly a degree of ‘Everyone else has donated, so I should.’ Only NICE GUY was so fucking sensitive with regards to being ‘intimidated,’ ‘guilt-tripped,’ ‘harassed.’ Whatever. Cute that he made something like raising money for a terminally ill child about his overly-sensitive feelings, though.

Chodezilla is a person who messages MODELS on twitter and tells them how beautiful they are. He is currently trying to capture the hearts of various women. Again, this mostly entails telling them how beautiful they are and posting sub-tweets on social media, to little (no) avail like:

For the sake of it, we will see momentarily how some ‘balding douchebag’ met a beautiful woman, with a PURE HEART who went on to become his girlfriend n’aww (if we’re gonna do ‘conventional standards of beauty’ too, she was also blonde haired, blue eyed, 5’10 with model good looks, slim, enormous breasts and unless you live in a big city, you probably haven’t seen someone as physically attractive in the past few months if not this year). Ultimately, there is a distinction, and that is something like chodes try to IMPRESS women to get women to like them; people who aren’t chodes and who get laid EXPRESS themselves and draw a woman into their world. They aren’t just trying to intrude on a woman’s shit, they have their own world, standards, values etc which is extremely attractive. It’s kind of like having your own personal club/zen garden of self-indulgence. ‘If someone can’t join your club, they will do anything to get in.’ The best media depiction I’ve seen of this kind of attitude/mindset is Mr Big on ‘Sex and the City’ who is a total fucking boss. I mean, it may possibly be interesting to look at the men of ‘Sex and the City’ on some kind of Randian spectrum à la The Fountainhead at some point, like, ‘the man who never will be’ because he does not own his shit, and does not have his own values etc, ‘the man who could be’ i.e the one with his own values and world views but who supplicates to some degree and is something of a fucking sell-out. Nonetheless, Big was THE Howard Roark of that shit.  To be attractive to a woman, have something better to do than attracting a woman. Anyway, here is how a balding douchebag met the magical angel princess:

Here’s how Chodezilla would’ve done it:

Chode: you very beautiful xoxo

Her: (best case scenario) thanks

If you can’t see the difference then I feel bad for you son, I got 99 problems but explaining this shit ain’t one.
(It’s something to do with being comfortable enough in yourself to just throw out ridiculous stereotypes and sit back and be all like, ‘I am Michael hear me roar, I am so cool, I can tell you’re going to LOVE me, actually you probably already do’ though.)

It’s not like there’s anything wrong with being all ‘romantic’ per se, I mean for example, here is the real conversation behind a story that I’ve recently ‘dramatised’ for the book, with an extremely attractive lady who at the time was doing a PhD. Incidentally, if you don’t believe in ‘horoscope compatibility’ shit, you will after you see what the extravagant mating ritual of two fucking Leo’s looks like:

I suppose it just helps if you listen to what someone is actually saying, rather than responding and reacting to how they look. What would I know though? I’m just some ‘balding douchebag.’ Hahahahaha.

If you want women to like you… well actually, for a start, you shouldn’t be worrying about what anyone thinks about you or whether people like you. It’s none of your fucking business. If you’re actually bringing something to the ‘party,’ and you have something of value to ‘offer,’ then they just will.

Sometimes women will even have sex with you at parties whilst their boyfriends are downstairs.

I didn’t actually realise they were dating at the time and subsequently I did kind of feel sorry for this guy after she ultimately left him for me. Bizarrely, I ended up developing a little bit of a friendship with him. He was a good guy, well intentioned but such is life. He was a pretty interesting guy actually, because he was this person who was almost hyper-rational. He was super analytical and took great pride in how ‘intelligent’ he was. I found this fascinating. Like, he said to me something along the lines of ‘if you give a woman everything that she needs, she should stay with you. I can not understand this.’ He was also the kind of person who used to send her texts like, ‘The reason you are so attracted to me is because of pheromones, because you can smell that I am a healthy, strong male.’ Not even joking. Incidentally, this was while she was lying in bed next to me one morning. Anyway, I digress, he wasn’t actually giving her everything she ‘needed.’ I mean, the kind of ‘intelligence’ he was ultimately lacking here was social-intelligence and some cognitive empathy. While a lot of chodes will let their feels run wild and completely lose all rational thought, this guy was like the total fucking opposite. What this woman wanted was fucking ‘drama.’ You could figure this out in about five minutes by listening to what she was talking about. It didn’t require a fucking degree in psychology to figure out. It’s like how you will get people who will complain about shit and bitch about things constantly. People get addicted to certain states of mind. I work with these people. I see them day in, day out. They live for fucking drama. So for all this guys protestations and surprise about how he looked after her, treat her well, satisfied her sexually, had an eight inch cock (!) etc, he was seriously lacking in one important department for her. He said to me, ‘I used to make her squirt, though.’ I didn’t have the heart to tell him that everything I know about sex, I learned from Squirters 2.

You do generally find that when you look at the dynamic of a lot of relationships, on the surface level, you generally think, ‘Why the fuck is she with him?’ More often than the reverse. Certainly, looks have little to do with it and it’s more a case of having something that is mutually beneficial between two people. Which is why texting women the lyrics to ‘Can you Feel the Love Tonight’ from the Lion King and buying flowers can only take you so far.

Thus, take some pride in your work, do a good job, buy a house, a car, get some decent threads, get a haircut, have a fucking shower, go to the gym, get a run in, ride a bike, get outdoors, do shit you enjoy, have fun, listen to music, sing some songs, make your own, read a book, challenge yourself, visit some places, broaden your horizons, develop your interests and talents, SMILE. Then if it’s still the case that no-one likes you, at least you’ll have ripped abs, a good vocabulary and a nice car to masturbate over, whilst listening to Lionel fucking Ritchie with a belt around yo’ neck, within the comfort of your own home.

Here’s the thing and the BIG QUOTE. Getting the woman of your dreams isn’t about the 0.01% of your life you spend ‘chatting her up.’ It is in the 99.99% of your life you AREN’T. It is in your general behaviours and the shit you are doing when you aren’t with women. It’s your attitude, how you treat people, the shit you’re interested in, what you do throughout your fucking day. You can’t be some negative cunty chode 99.9% of the time and then suddenly switch in on for that 0.01% of the time you meet some amazing woman who sets your heart racing. You can have the best ‘patter’ but ultimately you can’t expect someone to feel good EMOTIONS around you when you don’t feel them yourself. Ultimately it is going to come across as fucking incongruous, perhaps even fucking creepy. This goes for how you behave and treat EVERYONE. Little old grandpa’s, grandma’s, tramps… if you can’t manage your life and your own emotions and make your  own self feel GOOD, then NO-ONE, that is: the girl of your dreams, little old grandpa’s, grandma’s, homeless people etc is GOING TO FEEL GOOD AROUND YOU FOR LONG. This is the kind of thing that leads into what is ultimately another huge chode trait: EMOTIONAL SUPPLICATION. Talking to attractive women to get validation. Because these people don’t feel good about THEMSELVES, they believe they can only get validation through the attention of attractive women. It’s not just that these people want to stick their dicks into women, but they want to attach their emotional umbilical chord to them too. So for example, when you ask some chode to sponsor someone who is running a half-marathon for a terminally ill child and they bitch you out about how charity starts at home and how you’re harassing and intimidating people, you know what I and everyone else is hearing? ‘I don’t get laid.’ EVERYONE is hearing that, because that is your REAL attitude the 99.9% of the time you’re not trying to seduce a woman, and you know what, even in that 0.01% of the time you are, she is still going to hear that too, because THE SELF IS ALWAYS COMING THROUGH.

Oh well, off to listen to Lionel Ritchie.


The first woman who broke my heart was called Lotte. She dumped my ass and then subsequently slept with Coolio after interviewing him for a magazine. I still hate Coolio to this day. I have never been one to take these things on the chin. I swore revenge. During the long summer of 2008, most of which was spent staring at the walls and reading French literature I constructed a plan. A quest. After all, nothing rebuilds your esprit like a quest. I decided I was going to sleep with EVERY single one of Lotte’s chode friends and drive them out of S’land forever. These people would congregate at Diva every Thursday night. I would seize my opportunity to destroy them.

I set upon my quest like a fucking warrior. I started going to the gym TWICE a day. Within a short period of time I went from being overweight to a RIPPED ABS hero. I then topped my new look off with absurdly big hair – later copied by Jedward, Elvis sunglasses, copious amounts of fake as fuck bling, a collection of Air Supply t-shirts and a MEMBERS ONLY jacket. I looked like a drunken rockstar on his way to the shops to buy condoms. Pretty fucking cool if you ask me. I then further transformed myself out of spite and vengeance from a quiet and bookish chubby chode into a sexual FREEDOM FIGHTA. I began launching myself around town with a steely determination and passion. It was such fun. Using my summer of reading fucking French literature to assist in formulating fantastically over-the-top and absurdly hyperbolic statements and compliments to capture the heart of maiden fayres. Even more absurd, it fucking worked. I quickly slept with 3 of the chode circle. Huzzah. I then moved on to the hottest of the group. An extremely bitchy blonde. This had previously concerned me. However, what I found over that summer and on that fateful evening as I made my gambit, surprised me. Sleeping with the hottest girls is EASIER as long as you aren’t phased by their shit. After running wild with stupid over the top hair and a fucking Members Only jacket for months on end with all the bullshit that goes with it, I wasn’t phased by anything. Myself and my friend The Butcher warmed up for the big night by playing the rejection game. The premise of this game is that you approach groups of women and try to get blown the fuck out as quickly as possible by making extremely cringeworthy and inappropriate remarks. The strange thing about this game is that the LONGER you play, the more DIFFICULT it becomes to get rejected. You usually end up with women just grabbing you, kissing you and shit. It was at this point I knew I was ready for bitchy blonde @ Diva. Four down. One to go. The best friend.

Then one afternoon during that summer, God smiled on me. I bumped into her. God must’ve hated the fucking chode circle too. I ran into the best friend Helen in town. Helen had initially been bitchy towards me and would make shitty remarks about me on MySpace. The first night I’d met Lotte in Diva, I’d stole her drink and told her to ‘Fuck off’ when she tried to take it back. She did not like me. However, this was fucking fate. I walked up to her and started talking to her. I looked her in the eyes, grabbed her hand and said to her, ‘Come on, I’ll give you the tour of Sunderland.’ We walked around for a few hours and then went to a bar. I found that I actually liked Helen better than all of those fuckers, including Lotte. She had style, class. We began messaging each other and then arranged to meet up.

Whilst out with her, I found myself reticent and nervous to go for the kiss. Thankfully, I was now a RIPPED ABS hero and cool as fuck and she just got fed up and went in and kissed me first. VICTORY.

We dated for six months. However, there was no happily ever after.

Tune in next time for, ‘attracting and having women fall in love with you is easy, it’s what the fuck you’re supposed to do after which is difficult.’

Let’s Not Pretend You Were Ever Searching for Saints

It has been an interesting year. Last year was turbulent and I got my shit turned upside down. I was emotionally butt-fucked and at the end of it I was living day to day. After the cataclysm. This year was supposed to be about survival and rebuilding. However, I found myself somewhere I didn’t expect to be. While working for less money and no longer being able to afford, or at least justify three holidays a year (minimum), I found something. I found that for all the money I had made in the last six years, I was empty. Part of the reason my life seemed to collapse so spectacularly around me last year was that I’d become embroiled in a sense of vacuous materialism. I was fastidiously unable to appreciate what I had and I was taking everything for granted.

“Sometimes we lose our way (and find it again).”

To now find myself in the opposite situation is interesting. The money is less, but I actually enjoy going to work. I like the people I spend a large amount of my waking life associating with. I’ve developed some friendships. This in itself is novel. The overwhelming majority of my working life, actually, most of my life, has generally not extended much further than ‘professional relationships.’ I read somewhere recently that a ‘goal’ would be to develop a life where you don’t require a ‘vacation,’ to run away from it. In the midst of my interminable winter, I found just that. Like Camus (almost) said, there is an invincible summer, just around the corner waiting for you.

On another note, I started writing something a few weeks ago. It’s something I don’t think I’ll ever be able to publish in conscience. It dawned on me just how much I love women, and there’s a couple in particular where I think it’s gone beyond that, I have mythologised them for all of eternity. However, that’s a story for another invincible summer…

The World Enough and Time and The Doctor Falls: A Theory

A theory regarding the forthcoming Doctor Who episodes: The World Enough and Time and The Doctor Falls:

I’m basing my thoughts on the premise that the Missy/Master episodes since season 8 are out of sync.  I also believe Missy ‘died’ at the end of Death in Heaven. This is why The Doctor looks upset at the end of The Empress of Mars. He already knows on some level where their “friendship” is heading.

In Missy’s timeline the events of The World Enough and Time/The Doctors Falls lead into Season 8 culminating with Death in Heaven. This would make a lot of sense with regards to how Missy ends up hooking up with the Cybermen in Dark Water and Death in Heaven and *may* also shed some further light on Season 9’s arc about the ‘hybrid.’ There’s a myriad of ways this could be done. On the other hand, I suspect all of that stuff has been quietly put to dead and it was probably just a fairly convenient device for reintroducing the Time Lords in the last season finale. 

Based on this premise, it’s also conceivable that Missy sets Clara up with The Doctor several seasons ago to make up for the death of ‘exposition’ or ‘comic relief’ or possibly both. This would be a *very* Moffat thing to do and would probably be in keeping with his style of writing. He doesn’t generally write characters who are irredeemable, so it’s perfectly feasible that a) Missy was genuine in her remorse in the previous few episodes – which would add an interesting dimension to the two Master’s sequence, it’s also perfectly feasible that b) neither of the Doctor’s companions die, or they’re atleast not as dead as you think. Moffat doesn’t like (permanent) endings.

In Moffat’s most famous arc, The Doctor and his ‘wife’ River Song lived their lives out of sync, the joke is his life is out of sync with his ‘mistress’ too.

‘The World Enough and Time’ is an allusion to the Andrew Marvell poem ‘To His Coy Mistress.’ Moffat seemingly also took the episode title ‘Before the Flood’ from Season 9 from the same verse of the poem. This is notable as this episode centred around the ‘bootstrap paradox’ which would heavily tie in with my theory of what is going on and possibly give some indication as to how the episode will resolve itself. Intriguingly, there’s also a strong possibility the First Doctor (and probably his granddaughter Susan as was alluded to by her picture in ‘The Pilot.’ It is however doubtful that Moffat will want to tackle the ‘problem of Susan’ as Neil Gaiman calls it head on and this would be the most sensible means of including a somewhat significant character who was sensibly ditched in the early sixties without creating a massive narrative clusterfuck) will feature, there are certainly some intricate possibilities here with regards to the bootstrap paradox.

As a side note, I quite hoped something would come of the ‘Minister of War’ mentioned in that episode, as that sounded intriguing. I imagine this is just one of those ‘hooks’ Moffat likes to throw out and nothing will be made of it.

‘Time’ will certainly be a factor and based on the premise that there is a 400 mile ship with one end of it teetering on a black hole, my GCSE physics class dictates that this will play a part in creating some kind of discrepancy with regards to time on one end of the ship.

The Doctor promised that Bill would always be safe in the TARDIS in episode one of this season, which indicates she is definitely not going to be safe in the TARDIS. This will be one of two vows The Doctor will have broken in this season, the other is with regards to keeping Missy locked up in a vault. This dictates that breaking promises and haughtily breaking ‘rules’ will be the reason Capaldi has to ‘kick the bucket.’ Again, the reason this itineration of the Doctor has the face he does, as we were told during the Viking episode of Season 9 is because of a promise. His death will come because he breaks it. Of course, the Christmas special will allow for a period of contrition and redemption, but the damage will already have been done. 

Unfinished business:

Nothing more seems to have become of those strange zip head aliens from The Husbands of River Song/The Return of Doctor Misterio. 

‘The Paternoster Gang’ also known as ‘comic relief’ from the previous few seasons seem destined to never be seen again since Nardole assumed the title.  

The Spectacular Narrative Collapse of Theresa May

Theresa May currently shares many parallels with Armando Ianucci’s BBC comedy ‘The Thick of It.’ I’m fairly sure May’s “omnishambles” of a General Election campaign and her series of bungled interviews, policies and initiatives were what Ianucci was aiming for in crafting the character of Nicola Murray and many of the other hapless, shambolic government ministers. It isn’t difficult to imagine many blunt ‘conversations’ between Lynton Crosby and May during the campaign resembling Peter Capaldi’s Malcolm Tucker in a sweary rant on the sheer levels of incompetence exhibited by any one of the characters on the show. I’m also reminded of Tucker’s speech to the minister Hugh Abbot in the first series of the show.  Something along the lines of, “People love it when you go (resign) a bit early. They say, “Oooh I wasn’t expecting that. You don’t see that much anymore.”” What follows is a lot of desperate attempts by Abbot to save his own skin rather than immediately resigning. He laments, “My optimum resignation window has gone.” When he eventually goes to resign, he’s been ‘beaten to it’ by junior minister Dan Miller, who has quickly learned the art of the strategic resignation. Miller will go onto become party leader in the final series. As Wilde said, “Life imitates art far more than art imitates life.” In May’s failure to resign on Friday morning she has ensured she has been consigned to the political dustbin of history. She remains Prime-Minister in name only and is a political person non-grata. She is a walking irrelevance. Her continued clinging to power only serves to further damage her and her own party through her toxicity. She committed political suicide clasping to her manifesto. Described as the ‘vaguest suicide note in history.’ If this was fiction, hers would be a narrative collapse. Usually the point in a story where a character dies and they can no longer serve the narrative in any constructive way. If you are in the business of writing fiction, there is always a price to be paid for killing off a character. Usually it is in the form of ‘hitting a brick wall.’ To circumvent and recover from a narrative collapse. A new narrative must be formed in its place. How big the price is anyone’s guess or what the new narrative will be is anyone’s guess. I’m sure fans of Marx’s material dialactics will have some tantalising ideas though.

On the subject of narrative, the author Robert Harris in today’s Sunday Times compared Brexit to a disaster drama. Harris pointed out that the secret to any great disaster drama is to set a countdown to said disaster (Article 50) and then shorten it to ramp up the tension (calling a general election shortly after). Now seeing as we’ve had the person we presumed to be the main character in this drama commit hari kari ten minutes in, we can safely say, you couldn’t write this stuff. 

For Our Safety and Security, Theresa May Must Go

You can tell a lot about a person by looking at who their friends are. Currently, the weak, incompetent, increasingly isolated Theresa May’s only political friends are the bigoted, despotic and much derided Donald Trump, the sectarian, racist, homophobic, climate-change denying DUP who are supported and heavily affiliated with various Loyalist terrorist groups and the ugly Saudi Arabian regime who are currently responsible for ongoing horrific murderous actions in Yemen and are responsible themselves for funding terror. We can form a picture of Theresa May from this that her politics are repellant and absolutely toxic.

Yesterday, after the worst political miscalculation since her Conservative predecessor David Cameron called the EU referendum, Theresa May should have resigned. Instead, she has opted to brassneck it out and in the process, again, jeopardise the peace, safety and security of the British and Irish Isles by doing a deal with the bigoted menace that is the DUP. 

After twenty years of peace in Ulster, May is now severely jeopardising the Peace Process by placing herself into a corner in a desperate bid to cling to power. Britain by the terms of the Good Friday Agreement is supposed to be a neutral arbiter in the North of Ireland. As of yesterday, this can no longer be the case. Theresa May has chose what is politically expedient for herself over the hard won peace and the safety and security of the people of the province of Ulster and on the British mainland. This prospect of a resurgence in conflict in the province of Ulster should horrify everyone in the electorate and in Britain and Ireland.

Of course, this wouldn’t be the first time Theresa May has severely jeopardised the safety and security of the British people. After six years as Home Secretary and a year as Prime-Minister where she has overseen cutting 20,000 police with her Conservative government overseeing a cut in armed forces, this year alone, despite having had seven attacks in the last fifteen years on British soil, under Theresa May’s watch we have endured three major terrorist attacks in the space of three months. For someone who talks tough on crime and terror, Britain is the least safe on her watch it has been for decades. This is unlikely to improve. She has shown herself to be a weak, incompetent politician who is completely indecisive as shown by her countless U-Turns. The sooner this omnishambles of a ‘Prime-Minister’ is ousted from her office – likely by her own MP’s in a fashion that will make what the Conservative Party did to Margaret Thatcher look like nursery class – the better and safer Britain will be for it.

For the love of God, Theresa, just go.

Hammer-on, Power Chord, Slide, Power Chord

This isn’t really a resolution (how cliche), more a statement on my current mindset. The key word for the year is “value,” after five years of throwing money (away) at pretty much anything I liked the look of, it’s time to knuckle down and appreciate – and get the very best – out of what you’ve already got. The issue is, you’ve got so much stuff, you don’t even realise what you’ve got.

Last year I spent around 5 grand on guitars, amps, pedals only to find my preferred rig of choice is a 1988 Fender Strat, Seymour overdrive pedal and Fender Mustang amp. Mind you, I probably spent the same on my girlfriend only to, well, suffice to say, I’m a lot more in love with my guitars. So yeah, value. I’m a lot more focussed on getting my career back on track, sorting out my finances, getting good at guitar, making the best of what I’ve got and making 2017 a really good year.

I kind of figure it’s easy to become jaded and cynical. I watched ‘The Great Escape’ earlier and what I really love about that film is how resourceful the characters are. How they make the best out of what they’ve got to work with. As a liberalised society, we’ve seemingly gone in the opposite direction, we have absolutely everything and I imagine there’s many people in my age group who would still struggle to change a lightbulb without a YouTube tutorial. Sometimes less is more. Instead of throwing money at cheap fixes and chasing magic bullets it’s probably in many respects better to have less, appreciate what you’ve got and get the best out of it. I’m interested in being more resourceful and creative with what I have – honestly, the last few years, I’ve been privileged and I can’t even remember half of what I own. I get photo-shocked when I look on Instagram and see something I’ve bought that’s cool and completely forgot about. That’s privileged – this year I’m working at getting the best out of what I’ve got. 

Probably the happiest I’ve been, or the most joy I’ve got from that aforementioned five grand wasn’t achieving some mystical tone, it was simply learning and pretty much nailing the riff from Clapton’s Layla. That was the most satisfying. Immersion in music will triumph over sound effects any day. I have a list of stuff I want to learn and do this year. Current cost: £0. I have everything I require right here.