Valentine’s Day Ideas

Oooh, Grab a spoon love!

Here at World of Sheds, we’re the romantic sort. The sort that thinks nothing of popping to aldi and buying a bottle of Toro Loco and a packet of multi grain bakes to treat the object of her affections. Yes, I know, it’s dizzyingly romantic. Imagine. Just imagine if YOU were my gentleman friend! I’d say all manner or erotic things in your ear like ‘occipital lobes’. Grr!

Anyway, to that end, I thought I’d share with you some ideas for a romantic night in with the object of your affections. Shh. Before you say it. I know. I get it. It’s me isn’t it? I’m the object of your affections. Sadly, I can’t spend the night with all of you this valentine’s day. For a start, I’ve work the next day and I’ve a nasty rash, so I’ll just try and get round as many of you as possible. Make sure you have a moonpig valentine’s card ready and some dustsheets. You might think of covering all the electricals also, as I’m not insured for my ‘practices’.

Anyway, on to the romantic night ideas, just in case you’re spending it with a lesser mortal.

Right guys, it’s a truth universally acknowledged that women love things that come in powder form. It’s obvious really. You’d have to be some sort of flat faced nazi to not know really. Is that how you want me to think of you?

So, when your lady comes home from work, why not treat her to a beautiful big bowl of dry Horlicks powder and watch her tuck in with glee. Feel those sensual shivers down your spine as you watch the dry powder get all claggy in her mouth. Then for the main course, it’s a bowl of Bird’s custard powder. She’ll know you love her. Sadly, she won’t be able to say “thank you darling!” as her saliva is completely dried up and sticking her molars together. I know, it’s turning you on just thinking about it. Just remember, girls love napkins folded in the shape of crude vaginas. Pop some wasasbi nuts in there too.

Hey. Skip dessert. Go on. By now you are both feeling as sensual as a pair of elephant seals on the coast, lead her by the hand to the groping chamber vestibule and lick lines of icing sugar off each other. If you’re role playing, pretend it’s naughty drugs! Imagine!

By this time, the chairs will be piling up downstairs and the appliances will all be feeling pretty disappointed, as is always the case on a valentine’s night. You’ve both really pushed the envelope. You’ve never felt so wrong with your powder based exploits. You naughty pair! Then, you wonder the eternal question. Would it be taking too far and ruin the mood if you gave her a spoonful of Nescafe? Other blokes girlfriends do it, and all the women’s magazines tell women it’s OK to try it and all the sisters are doing. Maybe just get her to try a couple of grains to see whether she’d like it. Let’s face it guys, she’d eat the coffee granules if she loved you right?

Enjoy yourselves.

the love doctor Angel.

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Leeds Fest 2010

I was lucky enough to get a free ‘production’ pass to Leeds fest, thanks to doing some shady practices with some shady characters that left me with a bad taste in my life and a fruit bowl full of bookies pens. Due to work commitments and a friend’s reception ceremony I spent Friday night and Saturday day and night at the festival. On saturday night I slept in my clothes to hasten a quick getaway on Sunday morning. That’s how much festival ‘fun’ I was ‘enjoying’.

 Now, camping and festivalling are not my natual habitats, truth be told. I’m like a Nigerian Scammer without capital letters in these environs, but with a free (and backstage) pass, only Victor Obogu or Walter Dorman would pass up the chance. Let me tell you some conclusions I have arrived at from coming home from the festival.

1. Festivals are for the young and tall.If I was some kind of perv who got erotically charged by the backs of sweaty heads, than I would have been in snoop dogg floating cloud sensual seduction heaven. Sadly, when I go to a festival or gig, I like to see the band I’m getting crushed to death to see. Sure, I can see the big screen, but I might as well be at home watching TV. At least I wouldn’t have to put vicks vaporub up my nose to visit the toilet at home. So I pretty much spent the whole weekend looking at the backs of people’s heads.
2. Festival goers use the word ‘literally’ about three times in one sentence.

Yeah, man, I was like, literally standing there, and this dude literally said to me “are you coming for a beer” and he’d literally just come back from getting one”.

Oh festival goer, I can see the word ‘literally’ is a friend of yours. But why so? Do people tend to take you metaphorically all the time? So, if you say you were standing there, everyone presumes you were standing in a metaphorical way,  like making a stand? Or if a guy said something to you, do people presume he ‘said’ it with his eyes? Perhaps you should find a different crowd to literally spend some time with.  
3. People in bands dress like Russell Brand.  I don’t know who they are, but thanks to the handy Russell Brand uniform, I know I ought to know them.
4. Festival accoutrements are COMPULSORY: flower head bands, face painting, writing on each others bodies, henna tattoos. If you are in your thirties, face paints and flower head bands just make you look sad and pathetic, so you have to stick to a hat and sunglasses. Some people wear sunglasses at night in the dance tent. It must be great being them, eh shedders?
5. Remortgage your house to eat.  Think of the cheapest food to make. Yeah? Egg noodles with some fresh chillies and onion in it? How much does it cost to make? Probably about 40p? Right. Let’s charge these face painted dickheads £7 for it. Literally.
6. The Comedy Tent.  Saying the word ‘legend’ after a well known celebrity’s name does not constitute a joke. e.g. “Rod Hull-legend”.

We saw some great comics on the alternative stage. Angelos Epithemiou and Dan Nightingale were notable talents. Only marred by dickheads constantly shouting shit heckles at them and attention seekers shouting over the jokes (“Angelos, can I give you a blowie?”). However there was one guy who was notable in his shitness. Inel someone or other. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sick of black-people-do-this-and-white-people-do-it-in-a-nerdy-shit-way-jokes. They are tiresome and it’s been done to death. Inel TRADED in these jokes. He tore the arse out of them like a pair of primark trousers. I’m guessing everyone else is tired of these gags too as no one laughed. Inel got a bit baity and blamed the audience for not laughing. He said they were obviously “going over out heads”. Firstly, who’s responsibility is it to make us laugh, Inel? We didn’t seem to have a probelm with Dan before you, or Angelos after you? If we don’t understand a joke (which we did) then you didn’t scaffold it well enough for us to understand. Secondly, the audience did not laugh cos your joke was shit, not because it “went over their heads” as you say. Getting palpably annoyed at them for this and saying “that went right over your heads didn’t it” will not engender warm feelings towards your ‘material’ if I can loosely call it that.
Race jokes are shit. I hate them. Richard Prior did it and some fuckers are still doing it. I hate it so much. “black people are like this, eh, yeah? White people are like this eh? What’s with that?”. It usually constitutes that white people are shit and geeky and uptight and black people are cool and street. That’s as maybe, but it’s a tired concept, overdone, past its time and BORING.
7. Let’s celebrate drugs!!  Cypress Hill sparking up a huge spliff on stage now seems a bit sad to my thirty something eyes. It’s a 45 year old man smoking a spliff, who’s now a bit portly. Cue lots of teens and twentysomethings raving about how he is a ‘legend’ (naturally) for sparking up a spliff. I roll my eyes and will them to think of something worthwhile to respect rather than a preponderance to eat doritos, never leave home, red rimmed eyes, and ripping the corner off magazine covers.

The end. Your responses are valued and welcomed.

edited to say: there were loads of great things about the festival, but I’m choosing to moan about it here.

My Junk

Hello Shedders,

That young lassie, Ke$ha, has a song out, called ‘Tick Tock’ in which she says

I’m talking everyone getting crunk

Boys tryna touch my junk

I really can empathise. This is a really tricky issue. I know I’m constantly being bothered by young lads interfering with the burnt out pram in the front garden, the part of an electricity pylon,  and the twsited frame of a Raleigh Burner. Not a week goes by, shed fans, when a stong young man doesn’t try to reach out and touch my oriental fishing boat .  God, I try to chase them away, but they run too fast and I really can’t make a chase when I’m smoking my Regal Kingsize. I may drop it for starters.

Ke$ha. I feel your pain. Why won’t they just touch our arses instead?

Bad Romance Part 2: Clippit

 

You look like you’re getting undressed. Can I help you with that?

Here we see Clippit. Sexy and fascistic.   Oh he’s so proud! He’s an absolute nightmare to date though. You may have seen me talk about  (drunkenly) on Sherby57’s blog http://sherby57.co.uk/2010/01/23/clippit/.  Oh he’s an absolute beast! When we went to the pub as soon as you even go to stand up he’s all “you look like you’re going to the bar, can I help you with that?” and I’d be like “Jesus clippit, I’m going the bog”. 

If I spend too much, he gets all bent out of shape, turns into an exclamation mark and tells me to ‘save’ what I’m doing. When he’d come around to mine, we’d be watching TV, I’d have a hard day at work and just want to lie, comatose, on the settee.  Oh he wouldn’t like that. He’d be tapping me all the time. Then I’d lose it with him and start shouting at him for tapping me with his little wiry finger thing.  He’d reply “you look like you’re getting angry. Can I help you with that?” The sarcastic bastard. Then he’d say “Do you want me to rub your feet?  Do you want to turn into your mother?  Do you want to take out your issues with your ex-boyfriend on me?  Would you like to bring up the incident from the past when I wet the bed that you always bring up when we have an argument?”

He knows me so well. Darn Clippit. Anyway, see a lovely portrait of him that I did. I know it’s a bit risqué, with me doing a nude portrait of him, but he really is quite proud of his body.  He is an overbearing piece of stationary, but swit-swoo!

Bad Romance

If you and I wrote a bad romance, what would be in it? I’m sure we could write one. I’ve had enough bad dates to be able to bring a significant amount of ‘research’ to the project.  I reckon if we did have a bad romance, eggs would feature quite heavily in it. The romance would probably start in an abattoir or a tattoo parlour. I’d be getting a packet of tampax tattooed on my upper arm.  I’d felt left out cos everyone in work had a ‘tat’. That’s what you’d call it. A ‘tat’.  That would piss me off immediately.

We’d go for a meal, at a carvery, even though you know I’m vegetarian.  You’d have a wee next to the table. You’d forbid me from saying the word ‘romp’.  You would say it gave you horrific flashbacks from when you saw ‘The boat that Rocked’. You’d have a point, but just mentioning that film would piss me off. Seeing the cover of that film in the video shop ruined my day yesterday. The boat that sucked a big fat dick. At some point in the date you’d probably cry. You’d tell me some long-winded tale about how you got Legionnaire’s disease on holiday in Corfu with your ex-girlfriend. You’d mention her quite a lot and say that she looks like Jennifer Aniston. You’d mention that you had the shits very badly. I’ll imagine you having the shits. The image will haunt me for three and a half months. I was also eating when you mentioned it. You won’t take off your crag hopper anorak throughout the date.

Later on in the romance you’d wear a jump suit. Constantly. You’d say ‘It makes my arse look like J-Lo’. You mean Joe Longthorne. His arse is nearly as amazing as Sisquo’s.  You will let me see your thong and you will also dump like a truck. In view of Lord Rhomboid. You absolute tease. You would cover the walls of my house with painted ‘proverbs’ in italics like ‘There are no strangers, only friends we are yet to meet’ and ‘if you want to drink longer, come earlier or ask for a bigger glass’ and ‘My jeans are very snug around the gentleman’s arena’.

What a bad romance. Perhaps we shouldn’t get off with each other at the local underage disco? Yes, I know you arranged it after Science class, but come on, it doesn’t sound like it’s going to be good. I’m sorry, but the boat that rocked is a truly awful film. And I’ve got an appointment for Wayne Carriger to touch my arse at 9.15 at the community centre.

Angel Art

Horace *sob* What have you become?

Sometimes people like to send me things. Mostly it’s soiled undergarments, other times it’s artwork they have done in homage to WoS.  Attached herewith is a ‘piece’ by regular contributor to my live spaces blog, Sir Clive ‘Funky’ Sinclair. I may have posted it before, but I can’t remember. Enjoy it again anyway and feel free to add your own artistic interpretation. Here’s my interpretation:

Here we can see that the artist shows Horace with his head slightly bowed in shame to symbolise Angel’s irreverance to the periodic table of elements. Across his ‘head’ an intrusive zx spectrum appears, to symbolise Angel’s intrusive thoughts about the hardware. Behind Horace we see a burnt out tyre that represents the questioning of taken-for-granted truths from a point of constipation. The artist does not ‘deny’ there are certain truths about a world of sheds, just that, it’s a load of made up nonsense, mostly.

Survive being Single: Angel Gold from Myspace

I want to hear you holla, hear you scream my name, as the Spice Girls once sang (sans Geri Halliwell), but aside from that some of you may be SINGLE.

Yes.  This means you never go on holiday and noone cares whether you get home alright or how drunk you get when you go out with your mates.  YES! It also means that sometimes you buy Jammie Dodgers just to see a friendly face (Thanks Jeff Green, always reference your stolen gags, gag fans).

Some of you may be perplexed by this state of affairs so it’s only right as my duty as internet philanthropist, I show you some of the advantages of being single.

Advantages

1.  No one leaves wet towels on your bed anymore

2.  It doesn’t matter that your bathroom door handle is broken.

3.  No one walks over your white rug anymore with their shoes on.

4.  No one tampers with your car stereo or touches the buttons just to annoy you.  This also applies to the passenger seat of your car. 

5.  You don’t have to stay up until 1am on a work night having an ‘discussion’ (argument) until you finally relent and agree with them because you have to be up in 6 hours. 

6.  If you get really drunk when you’re out with your mates, no one sulks the next day because you didn’t phone when you got in.  As this obviously means that they mean NOTHING to you and are INSIGNIFICANT and you were too busy having fun/getting off with someone/snorting coke off supermodel’s backs.

7.  There are no shoes in the hallway unless you put them there.

8.  Your garage no longer has loads of shit in it (but sadly, no one to mow the lawn anymore). 

9.  You automatically lose a stone in weight.

10.  You remember that you had ‘hobbies’ once upon a time. Hobbies are things that take up time that are pleasurable and make you feel good about self for those in relationships. 

11.  You are allowed to go to parties where there might be people you have hithertonow snogged/dated before.  You are also now allowed to speak to these people without fear.

12.  You don’t have to pretend it’s OK when somone messes up/breaks your stuff.   

13.  You don’t have to worry about the age-old ‘photograph dilemma’.  You look hot on a photo, they look like a serial killer.  You want to display said photo as, hey, you look great and that’s what matters, right?  They want photo to be burnt unceremoniously under cover of darkness.  This can also happen vice versa.  You go around to their gaff and discover a photo of yourself gurning like a loon while they look like bronzed god/goddess. 

14.  You don’t have to pretend you like White Musk from the Body Shop anymore, as you’ve been bought it by their mum four years in a row for Christmas.

15.  Fellas, you can get that tattoo you always wanted that your girlfriend scowled at when you mentioned.

16.  The ‘whose mates do we spend New Year with? ‘ dilemma is avoided, as you know, your mates are better. 

17.  Fellas, you avoid the ‘Poppodum Dilemma’ completely.  You can now get poppodums without fear of them being stolen when you go for a curry.  Your girlfriend will insist they are ‘fattening’, then proceed to eat all of yours while she waits for her main course. The Wench!

18.  Girls, you can wear your ‘fake tan’ pyjamas any night you like!  You can also store nail varnish and perfume in the fridge to optimum application benefits.

 

Hope that clears things up for you.  Until next time

The Gym

Just got back from the gym.  Managed not to look in those big mirrors next to the machines.  For some people, sadly, this is an all-too unmanagable feat.  Their eyes, magentised by the mirror’s attraction.  Drawn like the moon to the earth’s gravitational pull, they watch themselves work out. 

For mere mortals, the thought of watching your lycra clad frame jostle amongst the steel and pvc pads is visual anathema, however, I am transfixed by watching people watch themselves.

Are you are watcher?  or, like me, are you an eye-averter?

Touch me! Touch me! I want to feel your body…

…as Sam Fox, eighties lezzer and chanteuse, once sang.  But enough of that WoS enthusiasts…

about this time of year my eczema flares up into the shape of the soviet union, I cancel all my goating holidays in the Ottoman Empire, Eurasia and Persia, and I write a strongly worded letter to the Holy Roman Emperor.  As autumn advances upon us like Gary Lucy, sour faced hollyoaks gaylord, you may like to take up some of the following suggestions.

1.  Why not rent out your nodes of ranvier for 13 pesetas per day? 

2.  Move all your posessions into a tube of Germoloids

3.  Shout in someone’s face “I am NOT a library and you CANNOT ‘browse’ over me, Sir!”.  Consider emphasising this by spraying spittle.  Or maybe a small amount of spew. 

4.  Start a street fight betwixt two WW1 war poets (I can recommend Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfrid Owen.  I’ve got a feeling that Sasson repulsed Owen’s adavances and the element of ‘thwartage’ will make for a good rucus).  Consider throwing some chickens into the melee. 

5.  Make an amourous advance on The Hapsburg Empire. 

6.  Get youself tested for artefacts, remnants and leftovers. 

7.  Invite a feeling of tension into your home. 

8.  Sculpt your body down the gym so it resembles a barrell.  Walk on your tiptoes and refuse to talk about the exchange rate mechanism until the object of your affections finally relents.  Follow this up by laughing in a cavalier manner as you walk away from people.

9.  Whenever you answer the phone do not attempt to disguise your voice but pretend you don’t know the person who’s calling, even if it’s your mum.  “sorry no, no Fred here, you’ve got the wrong number.  What number did you dial? Yes, that’s this number.  No, no Fred here. Take care now.  Bye”

10.  During a conversation, half way through,change accent. 

Let us know how you get on with that.

Until then, I remain your humble servant

The Institute for Grinding and Bogling

 

 

“You crazy babe, Bathsheba, I want ya.  You’re suffocating, you need, a good shed” sang Black Francis.  And don’t we all agree with that sentiment? Of course.  Anyone would. That’s why WoS is the 5th most popular shed based blog after

1. Right Says Shed

2. Beds in Sheds

3.  Sheds in Beds

4.  Lord Rhomboid and his Shed Division

5.  World of sheds
In other matters, I have a proposal.  What we need in this country is an Institute of Grinding and Bogling.  This Instiute will fly in action should anyone be wrongly accused of ‘grinding’ and/or ‘bogling’ or any illegal grinding acts can be addressed by the proper channels. 
If someone is incorrectly accused of Grinding (haven’t we all been?  I know I have on at least 100 seperate occasions, each one more extravangant than the last) an application can be made to the Insitute to investigate.  This will be done by interviewing several sources (usually, Cardinal Mazarin, Cardinal Richelieu, le Dauphin and le Roi de Soleil) and reviewing video footage of alleged grinding.If allegations are largely insubstantiated, and injunction and legal proceedings will follow.  The slanderer will be dealt the punishment of watching MTV’s ‘The Grind’ until they can correctly idenitfy all 68 components of a ‘grind’.  They will then be forced to pull out all their eyelashes and categorise them into either ‘fluttery’ or ‘spindly’. 
I put it to you that such an insitute will save so much heartache and wrong doing in society.  Soon we shall all be able to roam the streets without fear of facing an illegal bogle.  no longer shall we fear being in a nightclub where some inebriated young chap decides to lock you in a ‘reverse unsolicited grind’ (this is a move where a gentleman approaches you from behind, so you can’t run, and puts his arms around you and then gyrates suggestively into your back).  Won’t the world be a better place? Won’t it make us all cry out “P’Tang Yang Kipperbang”.
and now I rest.  I feel all flushed now, and only essence of radiator water can restore my senses.
Until the next time, stay safe
 
Your pal in all ‘dance’ matters