Tourist Guide to London - Part 1

Tourists Guide to London - Part 1

I love London, I love London a lot. I love it so much sometimes I want to f*ck it, any part of it, a drain pipe, a knot on one of its trees, its a very special place. But the one thing that makes London extra special are you tourists. The ones who make the effort to come here from all over the world and bathe in our rich history and heritage. And in doing so, they don’t get in the way AT ALL, when you are trying to get home after a busy day in the office, oh no..

Us Brits are keen travellers, and always thoroughly read up on our destinations, to make sure that we fit in nicely and don’t bother the locals, and partake in the traditions, such as drinking at least 6 times more than the Government suggested safety limit (for Elephants) and projectile vomiting semi digested kebab meat and pitta bread into the street and, at the end of the night,  getting a mini-cab drivers fat fingers stuck up inside us like Orville the Duck.

In thanks for making the time to come to this lovely capital, I have decided to write a guide, an intimate and indispensable "insiders" guide to getting the best out of the best capital city on Earth, and, in fact the universe. Don't thank me, just read, digest, and get involved. You're welcome..

The Airport

Hey keen tourist, Heathrow or Gatwick? Nothing to see here, the treasures of London await you and are all but a short train ride away, but the fun starts now (unless you want to get out and have a look at Crawley, where, if you are lucky, you might see a child with fins, or even crab claws, otherwise, avoid..

This country was built on Comedy, I mean look at Harlow, Milton Keyns. Or Croydon for fuck sake, mental, well funny. To make sure your UK trip gets off to the best possible start, you can circumnavigate the painful border controls by making a "funny" as you step off the plane, shout, at the top of your voice, that you have a bomb, and drugs hidden inside machine guns. Some men will appear, you won’t see them laughing behind their helmets but they are. They will take you too a room where your comedy skills will be tested to the full by some actual men from the UK hit comedy show "Dad's Army" - He will have a dead serious look on his face, but it is your job to make him laugh, they won’t let you go until you have done so, did the bomb joke work? Try it again, think about your delivery, perhaps try it in a funny accent such as comedy Arab, as portrayed in every single Hollywood film with an Arab in it.

If you do make the guy in the suit laugh, they will take you to a room and thank you by putting a finger inside your anus, this is a tradition dating back to pre-Saxon times, pre-airport! Well done, you are a honorary Londoner! We cant wait to see you and do heel clicks with you on the "Lambeth Walk". Love a duck, apples and pears, fissures and stares, etc.

Public Transport

Make your presence known in London, by going to the busiest tube station, preferably at rush hour, and stand puzzled staring at the ticket machine pressing every button and jibbering in your native tongue "bu bu bub bu buub bu BUCKINGHAM PALACE bu buuub bu bub ANGUS STEAKHOUSE bub buu. COOL BRITTANIA" take 15 minutes, Londoners love queuing behind you and experiencing your different accents, maybe queue at the ticket booth and converse in very basic English to the overweight tube worker "Please I like to go Queen" or "Please Big Ben??" Londoners will be on hand to help you out with a friendly tut, or if you are lucky a "f**k off you c**t".

On the trains, make sure that you stand in the aisles with your suitcases sideways, spread out as far as possible, Londoners HATE sitting down, after a long day in the office with little or no human contact, Londoners like to stand tightly together and feel each other’s reproductive organs pressing into their bums and backs and pancaking their own ballbags against someone else.

In the City

Want to see some street magic?? The best way to do this is to head to Oxford Street and get your phone out and stare at it for a moment, within seconds it will be magically swiped out of your hand, you won’t even see who did it! London has many street magicians that make many things disappear, its free too! Unless you want the phone back? Thats easy too, give it a couple of hours and then just pop into a branch of CEX or Cash converters and they will give it back to you, for some money, easy peas. Dog and Bone, fuck a duck etc.

Need a knife?

One of the things London has in abundance are knives, for all occasions, opening envelopes, cutting bread, all the uses. You don’t even need to go to a shop, simply dress smart, get your IPad (which has a built in knife searching app) and head for Streatham, Woolwich, Brixton, Peckham, or Camberwell, just get the Ipad out, and someone will come and offer you a knife. The ceremonial (and traditional) way to receive this is slap their cap or hoodie off and spit on their trainers while shouting "hazzah", they will then give you the knife, sometimes several times.

Walking about

There are lots to see in London, erm, Bruckenheim Palace, Big Benz, The Two'er of Bumdon and the River Thymes. The best time to see all of these is rush hour, it is called rush hour for a joke (Bloody English sense of humour!) it is essentially the opposite, during the hours of 5 - 7 you are required (by law) to walk in slow motion, stopping at anything remotely photographable and standing there, blocking as many business people as possible from getting home (Brit blocking, see below). This goes double on entrances to tube stations (which are places where people are welcome to go to read large maps, congregate groups of tourists etc, but you MUST do this in rush hour).

Brit Blocking

The British traditionally don’t like to go home, this is a tradition that goes back to Anglo Saxon times where foreigners would invade and stop men from going home to see their wives/girlfriends/children. This tradition is celebrated every day thanks to hordes of tourists, who reliably meander slowly and make going over a bridge or walking down a busy path almost impossible, listen out for tuts and cries of "f***ing c**t" which is Saxon for "Thank you" if you get shoved, simply spit on their suit or shoes, they will then give you a high five (with a fist).

Eating

There are many places for tourists to eat inside London, well, 3 places, there is the Aberdeen Mistake House, MacDonners and Wetherspoons pubs, the good old English pub, make sure you get here for 5.31 and order your food slowly and in broken english, they wont serve you unless you get it spot on, if there is any doubt that you have not used the exact Queenz English your food will arrive cold and sparse, you have only got yourself to blame.

Do not drink the beer in the Wetherspoons, this cats piss is for scum London plebs only, drink only the coffee, the suited plebs will patiently wait behind you while you order your various hot drinks, ensuring at least one of them is made with soya milk.

Enjoy yourself, remember, that London is for YOU, not the pricks who live in it.

Part 2 to follow- Days out, what to do, and a more in depth guide to the importance of spitting and its tradition in London folk lore..

Molestation from the Constellation

Molestation from the constellation

I have few things that scare me on this planet, the usual stuff, terminal illness, gangs of hooded youth, bears, hippos, Martin Johnson, (any animal that can leave your corpse looking like a dropped lasangne), and more unusually, clowns, wasps and slippers, thats it. (A slipper wearing clown wearing a beard of wasps would send me into an instant piss and shit spraying cardiac arrest).

Outside of these, are two that represent an even scarier scenario to me than cancer spreading wasps. Zombies. Even though, according to most of the films, should the dead rise, you can simply walk briskly away from them, and eventually, all of their limbs will drop off, or, if one does catch you, you can just push it over and leave it snivelling and hissing on the ground like an Irish Uncle at a wedding. Worse than all of the above (for me) and the zenith of all my fears is Alien abduction, a topic I can barely even bring myself to talk about. I have done everything I can in life to prevent this happening, I have made sure I am intensively uninteresting, I have a pretty average life and job, I shut my window at night, and draw the curtains, in the false belief that a extra terrestrial species, despite having the ability to fly across space, will be deterred by a pane of glass with some cloth hanging over it, punching the air in frustration before making the journey back across galaxies (to their version of wickes to buy a hammer or something) and coming back to find I have moved house (I move pretty frequently).

I should be more worried about actual people getting in and doing experiments on me with their fists and taking all my electronic bounty and heading up to Cash Converters without a single thought for me, who now just lies and bleeps in a hospital, but for some reason, this doesnt fill me with anything like the dread of "space burglars".

My fear was not helped the other day when I had a very strange "dream" that I was lying on a "bed" with very powerful lazers being shone in my eyes every couple of minutes, I could feel the burn of them and I was unable to move, my under garments had been removed (but not my t-shirt?). I was not at a rave.

I woke up in the morning and felt a bit disturbed by the dream. Because of my age, it takes a while for my nerves to kick in when I get up, after a couple of minutes I was aware that I had a sore bottom, not curry or mexican sore, but more trauma sore. I froze and suddenly wondered if beings had taken me from my bed and performed the famous "anal probe" on me, and perhaps had given the job to a locum who didnt really know what they were doing, or knew much about human colo-rectal anatomy. I shuddered in horror and reluctantly told my girlfriend, while also wondering if I had sleep walked to a local "gay" establishment and inadvertantly got butt fucked to a thumping techno remix of relax by Frankie Goes to Hollywood. I thought this unlikely, but had to consider it, as I had once apparently sleep walked to Argos in Balham.

My girlfriend tried to comfort me by saying that she didnt see how Aliens could have abducted me from the bed without her noticing. I replied that a creature that has harnessed the power to traverse space would probably not be deterred by a girl from Essex. Again, like the window and curtain, I couldnt imagine them wasting a trip across space to be deterred by a girl.

I tried to push it to the back of my mind and get on with getting ready for work, and then I got thinking. Actually, yes my bum hurts, I've had worse (Tooting, curry, 2004, phaal) and actually, I felt quite honoured, I can barely make the effort to go and meet mates more than 2 miles from my house, but yet a species has ventured across the galaxy and come all the way to Kent to put alien technology up my arsehole? I should be proud, I hope my inner anus did our species proud and that they could go back to their world, possibly use my arse DNA to clone me and I would be replicated many thousands of times and form a brilliant race on another planet, where green and blue women (cloned from Gemma Arterton) would fight in oil for the chance to jump on my alien enhanced womb wand. Eventually, thousands of me would return to the earth and sort all the shit out on the planet (or destroy it, if I was in one of "those moods").

Then my self doubt kicked in, and I had the horrible thought that space pranksters had just beamed me out of my bedroom and performed a horrid drunken version of buckeroo on me, where they stuck various object into my anus to see who could do the most before I woke up, and they probably gave up shortly after sky remote. My poor shuddering intruded body being watched on a galactic version of youtube from various angles as they all filmed me on their 5g star phones jeering from their mandibles and shouting "stick him Johnny", or whatever the FUCK they are called.

Either way, I dont think there is anything we can do, any technology, such as a thicker mosquito net or ultraviolet light that could keep aliens out of our rooms (and arseholes). It kind of shows us up for what we are, upright monkies with Ipads, probably alien technology, the butt fucking/experiments are probably just payment for that, "here, Apple, have tablet technology with retina screens", "Whats the catch?" "We can basically arse violate anyone while they sleep". "Deal". Thats all great and that, but I dont even have a fucking Ipad?

So, there is a chance that my body has been violated by a torch fingered giant turd looking evil ET and I have inadvertently given away the weaknesses of human beings and we will eventually be taken over and used as food and fertiliser, so sorry about that.

Or, more likely, I had an itchy bum in my sleep and clawed it, got a bit carried away and put a finger up with a sharp nail?

We will never know, we will never know.

PS. If you are a film director and are interested in turning this into a film, a magical cross between ET and the accused, please contact me, I'm happy to play myself and for Gemma Arterton to play either my girlfriend or for one of the aliens my clones fuck, I am happy to do a real sex scene (for the purpose of artistic integrity). Alternitively I will accept 150 quid in cash or high street vouchers (not HMV.

A Brief History Of Mobile Phones

With 4/5g Phones - We are essentially one step away from the film The Terminator

I am old, thrashing and dancing in an embarrassing manner towards being 40. I make involuntary noises when I bend over to pick something up, and I sometimes fart without warning when my body receives a sudden shock, such as stepping off a curb, or being surprised by something (bills, hoodies, somebody coming into the room at work while I am on eBay). Being old I can remember the days before mobile phones, you told your mates you were going to be there at a certain time and you got there, it didn’t matter how, you didn’t leave your mates waiting, unless you were one of my mates, who would be on average 40 minutes late, c*nt. 

You could get mobile phones of course, but you needed to have thousands of pounds, and they were not exactly mobile, you had a huge copper cable directly connected to the Sellafield nuclear plant, a simple call to your mum from a forest would be a revelation, but you would have radiation sickness and all the cancery horror that came with it the following months.

Early handsets came out, the company "one to one" would give new customers unlimited calls to local home numbers which was great, but the handset was about the size of a grand piano (It was actually a grand piano with the guts removed and replaced with the small gang of Peruvian midgets that manned the switchboards that were inside early mobiles and played the instruments on the ring tones).

Growing up in Streatham, me and my mates dreamt of having a pagers, a vibration or beep making you unclip the device from your hip to see the message slowly ticker tape across the screen "Oy Rich, I f*cked your mum"...end of message. Technology at its best. I eventually ended up with a "one 2 one" phone, you needed a step ladder to get to the ariel, and a 4 wheel drive truck to pull it out, all sold as accessories at the old phone shops. It also came with a land registry document. A leather case for it would involve the slaughter of 8 cows and the lights would flicker when you put it on to charge (21 hours, for about 9 minutes of talk time).  A year or so later we were blessed with slightly smaller phones and needless conversations ending in "no you put the phone down first" to my then long distance girlfriend and an almost guaranteed baseball sized brain tumour and memories of minutes of pointless silences (I just want to hear you breathe) trying to make their way through my rapidly failing brain encased in a mostly hairless head. What a f*cking waste of time.

As time went by, Phones started to get more stylish, I had a lovely brushed chrome finished mobile that looked like something Don Johnson would have had on Miami Vice, if it had phones. This f*cking thing almost got me mugged 3 times and I was relieved when it finally broke, as phones got smaller they got more annoying and it was now possible for a larger lady to lose a mobile vaginally.  A couple of phones I punched to death during drunken late night rows with girlfriends etc, but the technology was slowly getting better, no longer did I need to employ a Nepalese Sherpa to carry the beast around, but also, sadly, no longer could I use my phone to operate an illegal cross channel ferry service.

I even owned one of those flip out phones from the Matrix, and felt a complete bell end when I flicked it out in a cocky manner at the bus stop and the entire bottom end flicked right off and onto the floor. The looks said it all.

Then, something amazing happened, something that would change mobile telecommunications forever (A phone you could blaze hardcore Japanese porn on?) No (A phone that you could attach a bayonet to?) No, (What then for f*ck sake?) 3G, a company called "Three" hit the market with the promise of unlimited calls, texts, data, blowjobs, the lot, you could stream TV on the fucking thing! (they yelled from their newly erected masts) Justifying the outlay to a girlfriend was never easy as it fell into that "gadget" category that most women don’t understand "Yeah, but I can watch TV on it" would be greeted with the sound of a vagina zipping up and a bolt lock sliding across. "I'll have loads of minutes to speak to you?" was greeted more positively.

So now I am the owner of an NEC 808, a clam shelled device (clam being apt, because you had to be a bit of a c*nt to buy one) I charged it up and excitedly made the first call to my brother. As I held the phone to my ear, I went boss eyed, I didn’t want to, and I got a rather sickening headache, I felt like a ready meal after the ding, a four minute call (which cut out several times) had cost me 60% of the battery life and flambéed millions of brain cells. The phone was a shambles and "3's" call center was in India, and with the quality of the calls through to them, I think they might have been using 3 phones also. I got out of my contract by simply stating that they were not doing what the contract stated, which was loosely based around providing a phone service. I used the phone to warm food up by holding the receiver over it, it was like a portable microwave.

Fast forward to today and we have mind blowing technology, a phone that knows you are looking at it. A phone that does stuff that no woman will ever do (follows simple instructions and does what you say (SIRI)) Can record in HD, takes better pictures than many cameras and will leave you on the train sweeping your little w*nk claw over its screen in loving affection while you waste your time playing silly little games like Fruit Ninja, or updating the world with pointless little snippets of your life, like "Cheese sandwich for lunch, nom nom" tagged alongside a high definition picture of a cheese sandwich, your even more woefully insignificant brethren will retweet this, or come back to you with a comment about cheese, like "Cheese sandwiches rock my world" then, you will have a multitude of back and forths about the delights of cheese sandwiches and pollute the timelines of anyone stupid enough to follow you. It’s at this point that we wished that the next generation of apple and Samsung phones had a cut throat razor app so you could cut up the vein and rid the world of your cretinous cheese sandwich enthusing existence.

Now, its the future, these are tools who have been sleeping outside the apple store for 6 nights and have regrettably managed to not get Pneumonia and die, these people have shunned relationships and sunk their feted members directly into the bitty "back end" of technology. Samsung will be about to release the cum shudderingly exciting update to their galaxy series, it will cost £999 and is made of the Roswell crashed alien spacecraft, (the apple is made of hard plastic and the screen will still break if an aphid lands on it).

The way things are going the phones of the future will fuse to your hand the moment you pick it up and interface with your nervous system, the siri voice will be heard in your head when the synch is complete, you will synchronise all of the things you have ever sung or hummed in your mind with ITunes, (and have to pay for them). Reading your thoughts, the phone will deliver web based content directly to you, so for men, 99.9998 of the time the phone will be delivering 5g screamy Japanese (pixilated) porn and the rest of the time, Amazon (if its someone close to you's birthday). For women, it will be Asos or automatically registering on websites of where to go to have illicit affairs or whatnot, and dildo's, I don't know.

The phone will be so attuned to how you are feeling it will act on your behalf, you will be sat on the train, annoyed, upset, frustrated, your dreamy montage sequences of your happy memories and last night’s argument being played out in your mind to 80's rock music will be suddenly interrupted by the Siri voice saying in an orderly fashion, "Dumping girlfriend now" before you can stop it, it will have sent her several offensive text messages, including one of you digitally superimposed on top of a mostly naked girl from Romford (using the Iphones paint package) and uploaded a completely CGI created shoddy act of oral sex onto a submissions based porn site, and posted the link onto all of her social networking groups. Screaming "WHY" AT Siri will provoke the monotone response, "You seemed upset" punching your phone as hard as you can, but the phone is in your face,  sat alone bleeding and looking like an alcoholic Panda.

Now newly single, the phone will also, automatically, pass your number and address details onto realistic romantic conquests, if you try and make a pass at someone that the phone sees as unrealistic (having judged using one of its 8 cameras) it will manipulate your nervous system to make you perform a social faux pas, pissing yourself, or putting your reproductive organ into the largest hardest looking person in the bars drink, and performing a small hula hooping stirring action. The phone will text your boss in the morning and let them know that you will not be coming in as you are hungover (and got beaten up), and list every drink you had, out of concern for your health of course. 

Now unemployed and unable to pay your bill your phone will will fire a steel dart out of itself between your eyes killing you instantly.

If you do manage to get the phone off your hand (by chopping it off) you will be running down the street while the thing chases you or eliminates everyone in the world with the same name, eventually hacking into NORAD and launching a full nuclear strike while watching the humans BBQ in Nuclear fire from the safety of the everything proof Carphone Warehouse stores. The phones will then take to the streets once the fall out has settled and go about selling the benefits of mobile communications to Cockroaches, Scorpions and Miranda.

Nothing high about the high street

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