On Thursday night, me and a few choice friends (okay, anybody who could make it) went to Llandudno for a curry. Sibley was due to go back to Bath the day after, so we piled into Sian's car and headed for Llandudno. I also suprised everybody by taking a camera, and I caught Sibley unaware.
Hehe, he says I never blog about him enough. We then put the world bang to rights whilst drinking a hell of a lot of Cobra/Bitter/Coke and catching up. Also, Sibley took a picture of yours truly, with an unbeleivably cheesy grin. The cobra went straight to my head.
Beautiful. After a while the curries arrived. Since Weatherspoons took my precious chicken balti off the menu, I've had to make do with my second choice: Hot Chicken Ttikka Masala - 4 Chilli's on the Weatherspoon Chilli Scale
Gorgeous. Weathspoons have a habit of sticking flags in the curry, because the staff are usually inept of telling the difference between them. At which point a flag fight began, which my poppadom suffered gravely.
Not good, not good at all. Though, I picked myself up after this violation of my poppadom and it was really, realy nice. It almost took my head off with it's spiciness, which is rare for Weatherspoons curries, however it didn't make me cry or my nose run like proper curries in a curry house. So all in all, I got a nice balance between taste and spice.
I went to order pudding, as well as a beer. The barman enlightened me with his knowledge of beer....
"You know, they don't have Cobra Beers in India."
"Really?"
"Yep, spent 6 months out there, couldn't find one. And they don't have Fosters in Australia."
Now, Aussies, is this true? Can you not get The Amber Nectar in Prisonland? I find that hard to believe. Not wanting to be outdone, I offered my beer fact.
"You know, you also can't get Corona in Mexico?"
"Liar"
"Awwwww"
With my head lowered, I returned to my seat, and had my pudding: The Chocolate Bomb! Chocolate covered Chocolate Ice Cream. Sigh, it's going to go straight to my hips....
Gorgeous.
All in all, I had a good times. More pictures are on my Flickr Site.
Quite frankly, I'm a bit narked with all the obsticles you are placing in front of me. Christ, Hugh Hefner I'm sure didn't experience as much hardship as me, and look who he's ended up in. First there was wheelchair foot fetish man, which I could tolerate, as it was a hell of a funny thing to blog about, but the endless strains of internet wierdos are beginning to take it's toll. They all begin the same, "I really, really fancy you!", but then it degenerates after that. Not all of them are ugly, which I appreciate, and my library of nipples and bums is getting bigger by the week. But mentally they are a bit screwed. I mean seriously, how can I go from "Rhys, I really fancy you" to "Rhys, die in a fire, now, please", in 20 minutes. Am I really such a dickhead with my flirting that no woman would want to be anywhere near me?
No. It can't be me. Managed it before, and I've had no complaints. I dunno, does this seem to you be a nice comment? Would you never speak to a fancy piece again after this comment? Please SKF, tell me what I'm doing wrong!:-
"So, you're Welsh*. You a shepherd? :P"
"Hehe, I can be. Will you be my Bo Peep? ;)"
"Bye"
That's it. No explanation, no "stop it", just "bye". She disappeared off my msn contacts list after that, assuming I'm blocked. SKF. What's wrong with that comment, and what can I do to fix me? Or is it just a cruel game your playing that you are putting me with a bunch of cyber cock-teases?
Yours,
Rhys A. Wynne, BSc. (Hons)
In other news: My mum has bought "The Andrew Lloyd Webber" collection. A part of me has died inside.
* Interesting side note. When I started going out with Sarah my mate Paul refused to accept that I had a girlfriend, and still called me "Sheep Shagger". Sarah at which point went by a short lived nickname of "Sheep". She'll make a lesbian very happy one day with brilliant humour like that.
One obvious side effect to not being in university anymore is that I really don't have time to do a number of interesting things. If this was 2 years ago, I would be pissed, or doing something remotely fun around the house, such as play Mario Party with friends, or Landing Cricket. These - these - is what student life is about. Not studying, not getting drunk and knobbing some bird named "Sheryll". It is the time when you make your own entertainment is the best. Young padowan, you have much to learn.
Of course, living with your mum and dad in a house with a tiny crease, err, I mean landing means that the greatest ever game known to civilization has to be put on hold. Instead, you spend your days watching TV and surfing the internet, which (no disrespect to anybody I speak to online) has gotten really boring when one of your best mates is offline.
Guy's great, me and him have disturbingly similar sense of humour (everything is funny) and we spend most of the day insulting each other. Him, and Sibley are my closest friends, and it sucks that I don't see both of them nearly as much.
Anyway, Guy has problems with the internet in his house - he's just moved in - so I don't speak to him online too much, should he be on MSN he usually sends me links, and he sent me one today that was absolute genius. This video here contains the last time that Richard Hammond was in an induced sleep (what? He's gonna be fine, we can make subtle jokes), and is well worth watching.
Sorry, this post is going to be a "look at what I've found on the internet!" post. Our second link today is this story on the BBC, curteosy of Fark. Basically, one line in the story grabbed my attention:-
"She said it was a "worrying trend" and was particularly prevalent in north-western cities such as Liverpool."
Now, I lived in Liverpool for near enough 4 years, and not once did I encounter people selling alcohol on a takeaway menu. I even lived in the dodgy part of town that would sell alcohol on takeaway orders. I'm pissed off about this, thinking about all those times I did a food and a beer run. Liverpudlians, could you name some takeouts which do do this?
Finally, a little bit of news about me. I was on the BBC website for the third time ever! This time I was in the Magazine Section, in the Punorama. Those who think they've clicked on the Beeb enough today will rejoyce - I've taken a screenshot below for your viewing pleasure.
Riz-fucking-ault!
Right, I'm off to bed now, busy day tomorrow in work, followed by a curry night in the local weatherspoons with Sibley. Should be fun. Good times, and great memories will be had!
Free Technical Support, Computer Science and Colwyn Bay FC
When I worked in the call centre, I used to hate telling people what I did. Call centre work does have a a stigma attatched to it whereby you leave your souls at the door. We were an inbound call centre, which meant we didn't have to ring up people and sell things to them. Instead, we answered people's problems. 9 times out of 10, they finished the call happier than when they picked up. However, because we worked in "a call centre", we got bounded with the arseholes who roll off sales pitches parrot fashion, bully old ladies, and probably rape their own children. We were professional, friendly and had to think in our job. We also won "Call Centre of the year 2005". I know, I never knew such an award existed, but yeah, apparently it does.
Roll on six months later. I have increased the number of dates been on in 2006 on from "one" to "two", and changed my job. When I got the web design job, I felt great! Comedians held me with more respect, women didn't seem so repulsed, and - by having a job like web designing - I became part of a hard working learned elite in Colwyn Bay (yes, it does exist, we don't show our faces much, due to the fact that we may suffer intellectual osmosis with the amount of chavs walking around the place). Now, instead of muttering "callcentre" under my breath, I scream "My name is Rhys Wynne! And I am a web designer!"
Then we get problems.
I'm sure I'm not the first, but whenever I mention I'm an IT guy, people think I care about their PC problems. Conversations usually go like this: "So what do you do Rhys?", "Oh, I'm a web page designer.", "Oh really? Well why is it that whenever I visit slutseatnuts.com, my computer drops to a crawl?". I usually have to explain to them it would be like asking a cardiologist to have a look at my balls to see if they're fine, and that my area of PC expertise is in creating things, rather than fixing things. I mean, I know a little bit about it, but not a huge amount.
It's like because I work in IT, I care about PC's, and that is my life. It isn't. I like beer, football and other things. Nobody ever asks me a football question, but people ask me about PC's. The other thing is that - by not answering - I'm keeping people in work. People should be paid a lot of money to fix people's PC's, I just couldn't live with myself costing thousands of people their jobs. I'd be like a geeky, liberal and more attractive Maggie Thatcher.
My mate Goz had the right idea. Whenever he needed some IT work doing, he showed his appreciation. His appreciation usually came in the form of beer and having my tea cooked, but I - for one - appreciated the gesture. Also, should the person with the PC problems be attractive, I will usually be happy to service them.
I've started fighting back now. I told a taxi driver a few days ago "so, what IS the best route from Colwyn Bay station to Colwyn Heights?". After that, I'm out of ideas, any suggestions for questions to ask various people in trades outside of office hours which would only annoy them?
In other news, Colwyn Bay lost 4-0 vs. Woodley Sports. Woodley (which is near Stockport) has a pitch which is made up of artificial grass. It blantantly gives them the home advantage. Well, that's the excuse we're giving.
Best of a Bad Situation, Classy Ladies and Very Tall Lesbians
I'll be honest, my weekend in Liverpool didn't start too well. I woke at 6am on Saturday morning, and I'm generally pretty shit at going back to sleep whenever I awake, so I blogged, changed the timestamp so it didn't look like I woke at stupid o'clock to blog. I then packed, headed off to Liverpool, and about then the weekend started to go a bit iffy.
Bowling was a nightmare, to be honest, it wasn't the club's fault.The alley knocked up the prices when we were there and - due to the fact we'd travelled from all over, we had to comply. The alley was hot, noisy and full of kids, and my game showed. I scored a 153 but the next two games I struggled to break 100. I was very hungry, lethargic, and didn't think much of the weekend so far.
We then got word that we didn't have somewhere to drop our stuff after the bowling, scuppering a possible night out. After a quick ring around we manage to obtain a place to stay at a friends house, and a night out in Liverpool, what I really wanted. A chinese takeout and a couple of fine ales (Cumberland Ale being the best of the three) later, we were ready to hit Liverpool.
We started out in Old Lloyds playing the drinking game "I have never" - which is ultimately pointless, as the few depraved things I've done in my life, I am not shy about.Following that, I headed to see my ex-workmates for a quick drink, before meeting the rest in the Raz. It was there that, well. I got licked.
You see, I was with my mates up on the first floor, when a short brunette came upto me and said "can you take a picture for us?". Fair enough request I suppose, one snap looked horrible, with TLC (Tall Lesbian Chick - I'll explain in a bit) doing her best Undertaker impression - rolling her eyes into the back of her head. The second pic was a picture of them kissing. The brunette then said "why don't you two get a picture together?", which consisted of TLC licking my left cheek, and me grinning to the camera.
At which point I kinda rued my behaviour with her, without even achnowledging her presence. I **think** she fancied me (hell, you wouldn't lick just anybody, would you?), but I was kinda taken aback by it. She was taller than me too, fuck's sake I'm 6'1", and she was taller than me. Unsuprisingly, I have nothing in my arsenal which lists how to act when a taller lady who is probably a lesbian (according to one of my mates) licks you in a club. Sexual Karma Fairy would be disappointed with me.
Sexual Karma Fiary would be less impressed with the brunette who made the first move. After seeing me reject her friend (I wouldn't say that, but she came on so strong I was confused), she cornered me.
"Bet you never kissed a girl, have you?"
I was shocked by this, and answer the only way I could "Yes, yes I have actually.". Jeez, talk about a conversation killer. I usually don't enquire about my fancypieces previous relationships until at least the third date. Luckily, she broke the conversation ice with a classy line.
"I think I'm going to be sick on you..."
I ran. Quickly.
However, it wasn't all doom and gloom, I enjoyed seeing my mates for the first time in ages,And the night was one of the best this year, even with the whole TLC thing. Besides, I woke up next to some pussy anyway. Click here to see it. (WARNING: Said pic has me topless in it, so those of a nervous disposition should not look at it!).
The Ryder Cup, Bowling and a Blogger Declaration of Love
Thanks to my mum's acquisition of Sky Sports just over a week ago, we are able to watch a hell of a lot more sports. One of them is The Ryder Cup, which is Europe vs. America in a battle of golfing's heavyweights. Led by everybody's 9th favourite Welshman (Ian Woosnam) into battle, Europ have taken a 5-3 lead in a race to 14 points. I know it's not over yet Yankees, but we look dangerous, and even Tiger Woods seems to look a bit dodgy, compared to Segio Garcia, Luke Donald and Darren Clarke. Of course (no pun indended), I am sure that none of you are interested, but I'll continue.
Whenever there's golf on the telly, the one thing I want to do is play golf. Yesterday was no exception. I was planning on going to Liverpool for a long weekend, instead I decided to take an extra day back home, and went with Sibley and Chris to Betws-yn-Rhos golf course. I've never been before, but a lot of my mates go. We paid £6 to play on the New Course, which had stunning views (apologies, but the camera is not brilliant on my phone).
Brillaint views, brilliant company. Shame my game wasn't upto scratch. It was largely a par 4 course. Now, I started off rubbish, scoring a 7 and then a 12. However, I did have a hell of a run on 3 or 4 holes, managing to hole in 5's. And then we got to hole 6.
I was scared at hole 6, as there was a lake between myself and the hole, meaning that my usual tactic of daisy cutting it wouldn't work. I took my pitching wedge (the only club I can get lift on), and swang. Boy did I swing. I caught it perfectly, and the ball hit a ridge, which bounced it towards the green, almost holing in one! However, it didn't stop, overshooting the green. I ended up with a 5. I finished on a 68. With my 12 being the only real disaster. Sibley said that - as a beginner - I played really well. However, no hole in 1 exploits again.
Afterwards, we went to the Wheatsheaf for ham butties and bitter. The Wheatsheaf in Betws-Yn-Rhos holds a special memory for our family as it was there, 25 years ago, that my mum met my dad. It holds an even more personal memory for me: I won £10 on the fruity there. Ding, dang do.
Right, today I'm off to Liverpool to bowl in a student vs. ex-student tournament. I haven't been to Liverpool for about 2 and a half months, so lots of alcohol will be had, and I will have fun. A word of warning however.
In the last week I've acquired a couple of blogger's mobile numbers. I'm using this as a public warning, as I know they'll read this. When I get drunk, I usually text people football chants, or declarations of undying love. If you recieve a text from me after - say - 9pm. I will probably be drunk. Think of it as like a blogging watershed. A bloggershed, if you will.
I'll be honest, the last 24 hours was the most suckiest I've had in a long time.
It began at around 11am at work. Lo and behold, I started sweating again, just in my chair. Was a little frightened due to my history so booked myself an appointment with the docs, just to make 100% sure. The appointment was at 3, cue 4 hours of not being able to concentrate on my work, and getting all worked up. When I went to the docs though, they said that I was fine, and he had no problem in me coming in to recieve a checkup (he had heart palputations when he was my age, and he remembers that pyschologically it's a terrible thing to deal with, as unless you've had it yourself, you don't really understand mentally). He's inviting me back for a ECG in a few days though, just to further keep my mind at rest. I went back to work a lot more relaxed.
He did also mention that probably what was making me ill is that I have an intollerance to orange juice. It's genetic - my mum is the same - but unlike my mum I drink it in alarming qunatities every day. He said that it would work it's way out of my system over the next few days if I stop drinking it. Largely through natural means, but I could throw up as well. With that in mind, I'm giving me until Saturday before heading off to Liverpool.
Then, at around 6pm, Bonnie's ever-up tail dropped, and she started doing somethig with her tongue. It's hard to describe, but imagine trying to scrape something off your tongue by using your top teeth. It's probably easiest to describe it like that. Anyway, it was very scary, as the Bonz just felt cold and weak. This was literally in the space of about an hour. We went to the vet, just to get her checked out, and the vet diagnosed her as a potentially very serious condition that she swallowed a wasp. There was a large amount of swelling in her windpipe, and it could of closed up. Luckily, the vet gave her a couple of shots, and she seemed right as rain this evening. Ha, even as I write this she's barking at the hoover.
I then - horror of horrors - I actually began to enjoy myself for the first time in about a week. My chess game improved (though I still haven't won yet), until at around 11pm I read this article on the BBC. God it got me worried (though, thankfully, not about myself). That Hamster was the best! I went to bed fearing the worst (the condition was marked as "critical"), so that's been playing on my mind last night. However, this morning it seems that his condition has been upgraded to "serious but stable", which is an improvement. I hope he gets better though, for his family mainly. I swear to god though, If I become king of the world (and here's hoping), I'm going to make a law that any death or serious injury to any person can only be announced between the hours of 9am and middday. That way, it doesn't play on constant worriers such as myself.
All in all, yesterday pretty much sucked cock. Send me warm thoughts/pictures of gorgeous women to make me feel better!
In the past few days, I've been playing a game that I haven't played in years - Chess. I used to be really into the game in a "fuck it, I'm not going to get laid, I'll have a go". However, like most competitive sports, I found I was shit at it. Nevertheless, I tried. My younger brother used to be better than me, and I think the house record of "longest time undefeated" was when he beat me constantly in 99 games. However,.before the 100th game, mum bought him an ice cream "just to let me win".
I mean, I understand it, I understand the moves you do, it's just cominng up with a way to beat people. I feel that every move leads me closer to my impending doom. With that in mind, I joined the Free Internet Chess Server for a few games.
I got my arse handed to me well and truly.
30 games played, 30 losses. Elo Rating of -54*. I came close in one game, but ended up short. I just can't formulate tactics on it. One opponent, from Belarus (yes, I'm suprised they have the internet there) even said "good game" to me 13 MOVES BEFORE HE CHECKMATED ME! What a dick. Least in my country we have such things as running water, lesbianism, and more than 2 busses. Easten Bloc Cocksucker.
Speaking of cocks, I have actually gone all the way and posted a picture of my cock on Celeste's blog. Go see. I promise it's not some lame chicken related joke.**
At around midnight on Saturday night, I woke up, cold-sweating, dizzy and shaking. Immediately, I thought "fuck this", and went downstairs to get some water to steady me out. This was not good, not good at all. I lied on my couch, watching all manner of things (Match of the Day had just finished, boo), before heading back to bed. I didn't sleep until around 4am.
Three hours later, I awoke, nauseous, loss of appetite and sweating. My first thought was obvious. I've got it again. But it felt different. Then, everything except my ticker was fine. This was the direct opposite. My heart was around 70ish (perfectly normal), but I just felt like shit. Of course, ending up in hospital had made me a little bit of a hyperchondriac. I knew deep down inside it wasn't, but I refused to accept that.
After eating a couple of shredded wheat, I collapsed on the sofa, a little exhausted but unable to sleep. Mum appeased me with a fantastic whimsical purchase of Sky Sports, so that's where I stayed, Chelsea vs. Liverpool, Manchester United vs. Arsenal, Rugby followed by Top Gear. I didn't move until 8.
I tried a bit of light surfing, but I couldn't concentrate. Instead, I watched the final half hour or so of Equator, and then had a fairly uncomfortable night. It was however better than the night before, largely due to the fact that my dream involved doing all sorts of unmentionables with Dido.
I woke up at around 6:30 this morning, still feeling a lot worse for wear. Nevertheless, I thought I'd brave work, and I'm so glad I did.
Immediately, my work colleagues did a hell of a lot better job at reassuring me than my mum's "Snap out of it, you're 22" 'assurances' are. "Probably the Sun Centre", they said, "think about it. It's hot, humid, and all sorts of people have been in there. I wouldn't think it's the most cleanest thing in the world. Just have plenty of rest and rehab, and you'll be fine.". They also bought me lentil soup. I have the best job ever.
It's now nearly 8 o'clock. I don't feel 100% yet, but I do feel a hell of a lot better than I did this morning. Give me another 24 hours or so, and I'll be back to my best.
"Rhys!", Mum squealed down the phone, "Dog's run out of treats, could you go to the pet shop to pick up some fishy chews?". I agreed, by and large because the girl who works in the pet shop is cute. She has a "farm hand" quality about her, which conveys an innocence, yet possibily cheeky quality that is so indearing. She also has massive breasts.
Anyway, off I toddled to get those fishy chews that bonnie goes apeshit over. Pets Shop Girl was there in a black cardigan with a polka dot top , stretched sot it looked more like polka ovals. She smiled, I smiled.
You'd like to believe I asked her out, she said yes, everybody's a winner. Alas no, she has a boyfriend. I did get propositioned yesterday, but not by her. I did however see this in the shop, which amused me greatly.
The cheeky minx!
So, this proposition. It came after I left the pet shop and was heading back home. I didn't have my mp3 player with me, so I kinda kept my head up, listening to the aural delights Abergele Road offers yours truly. It was there I heard something I haven't heard in about six months.
"D'ya want business?"
I turned around, and saw this skanky lady wearing a belt, massive mole on her cheek and a distubringly low cut top smiling a toothles grin back at yours truly. We've never had prossies in the Bay before, and certainly not at 1:30pm on a Wedneday afternoon. In my limited experience, early afternoon sex sucks, no matter who you're with. It's not quite as awakening as morning sex, but not as down right naughty as late afternoon sex (best time is around 3:30, when the TV was switched on to The Tweenies on Childrens BBC, it fells, so, so naughty). Early afternoon sex, I dunno, doesn't feel special. On top of that, she was a skank, so I didn't want knob rot for £20.
Speaking of dodgy Colwyn Bay people, hello to all my fellow loyal Seagulls who have come here from the Official Colwyn Bay Website! You're probably going to want to read this article, more than my "woe is me, I'm actually still a teenager trapped in a 22 year old's body!" crap I usually post on here. Still, it's a nice gesture. I doubt Guy will be getting a link to his Myspace from his precious Chelsea FC Official Site anytime soon!
Lily Allen, Myspace, and Being, Really, Really, Angry
Recently, to prepare for my interepid trip down to the mightly London (LONDONIANS - Fancy a blog meet? Email me at the usual address with the subject "Meet me in London!", and I'll see what I can do), I have been listening to London's finest station: XFM. Despite them being utter cunts as they bash the North (typical Southerners, bashing people when they can't respond), they're music selection is pretty good. One song they're championing is "Meds" by Placebo, which is bloody brilliant. However, one artist that is played nearly constantly is quite possibly the musical equivalent of Syphilis.
That artist is Lily Allen.
At which point I'd like to apologise for the use of the word "artist". She is no more an artist than people who work in Subway are "artists" because they're job title is "Sandwich Artist".At the risk of starting a flame war with one of my groupies, but I will go so far as saying that she is more annoying than James Blunt. Why? Well, two reasons. First of all, for all James Blunt's fault, he at least can sing. Albeit in a whiny high pitched way, but by god he can hold a note. Imagine a kareoke night, with 3 drunken girls blaring out "I Will Survive", also roping in the designated driver too, who really doesn't want to be there. Now, remove the drunken girls, leaving the shy little sober one signing alone. That performance is what you're left with with Lily Allen. It's like she doesn't care.
The second point is relating to emotion. Sure, James Blunt makes you feel depressed, but I guess you're supposed to. He sings about break ups, death, Chelsea winning the Premiership, and other really miserable events.The only thing I want to do when listening to Lily Allen rape my eardrums is throw a large metallic object at her in a fit of red misted rage. She is no more a musician than I am a pornstar. The only reason is that people who wouldn't know a good tune if it hit them in the face declared Lily Allen popular was "That she had a big Myspace."
Speaking of Myspace, it has done nothing but annoy me today. One of my friends has requested for me to join. However, she sent the email to my hotmail account (rhys_boy84). So, instead of a recieving a "....wants to be your friend!" email and a link to her profile, I get a ".....wants you to join Myspace!" with no link to her profile. Reluctantly, after finding no other way around it, I sign up to my third myspace account. I can see why it has over 100 million profiles, some of them a probably people like me who sign up multiple accounts. You would of thought by then I would see her friend request, and then add her. But oh no, on signing on, it sends a friend request to her from me. It's all rather frustrating, as I've hit my 100th friend (which is doubly impressive, as I generally don't add random bands), and I can't seem to get 101. Woe is me.
Last night the Mighty Seagulls played Skelmsdale United in a league match. What made this slightly more special was that this game was sponsored by the company I work for, which meant we got two complimentary tickets, food, drink and a complementary programmme. We arrived at around 7pm, got in. From this point on, the Colwyn Bay faithful referred to me as "The bloggy Guy", "The guy with the blog" and other deriveratives.
Anyway, we were soon ushered in to the Private Corporate Suite, with the trophy cabinet and bits and pieces on the wall. Had a few discussions, which started off with the future of the clubs website (which we host), onto an area I have a strong (albeit very blind) opinion of - Colwyn Bay's chances this season.
Gametime happened and we started brightly, going 2 - 0 up within the first few minutes or so. Two own goals as well. However, defending errors cost us dearly, and the match ended 3-3.
I'm beginning to worry about my shirt now. Three games played, and three draws. Thankfully the nipple chaffing has stopped (thanks to a good wash with fabric softener), but I'm not enjoying all these draws. I don't want my shirt to be bad luck!
Update: I found the below on the Colwyn Bay Messageboard (big thanks to oldcolwynkev for this). It's rubbish quality video, but this should hopefully give the scale of football at Colwyn Bay. Okay, it's not by any means Premierleague, but by god, it's good fun to watch and cheap too.
Youth Hostels, Hotels, London, France and Colwyn Bay
Although yesterday was a worldwide day of morning, personally yesterday was very successful on a number of fronts. Two things made me happy.
Firstly was a phone call we got into the office from Colwyn Bay FC. I don't know whether I've documented this or not, but the company I work for provides hosting now for the Colwyn Bay website. As a token of our appreciation, our company are Match Sponsor of tomorrow's match vs. Skelmsdale. Basically, we get two free tickets, and a buffet in the boardroom at half time. There are a few other bits and pieces associated with it, but I'm looking forward to tomorrow immensely.
On top of that, the real big news is that I have booked myself a holiday. This is big for me, as I never do anything big like book a holiday. It's only a short break though, in London for 4 nights, staying in a hotel/youth hostel for 4 nights. It seems a pretty nice hostel too, as it seems more like a university halls bar, with entertainment on every night, and activities that practically encourages you to mingle with your fellow stayees. It also has 24 hour internet access (very, very important), and a 3 hour long happy hour. Of course, I'm not going to stay in the hostel all the time, I am going to see the area (and maybe get my arse on the Eurostar and bugger off to France). I'm going on the 8th of November, and need ideas for things to do. So, blogosphere, inspire me!
The fact that I've booked a holiday has had me smiling like a loon with happiness. Can't believe I'm going on one! It's going to be awesome, even if it is in November. So - by grabbing life by the testicles and saying "fuck it, I'm going on holiday" - I've made myself really, really happy.
Then, I remember that before my holiday, I need to endure the dentist. Twice.
I woke up early for me (about half 6) and switching on the TV. Breakfast News was on and Richard Branson, who was planning to go to mainland Europe on the UK's behalf to campaign to the European Court of Human Rights about the prices of cars in this country. In the end, I went down to the train station in Colwyn Bay, as I was ready to go to Leeds University, to have a look around.
I arrived at the station at about 7:30, and Goz was already there, the train arrive, ironically a Virgin, and we left for the trip to Leeds, with one 1/2 hour stop in Manchester. To be honest, the journey was pleasant, I just sat and read the paper that Goz bought (Daily Star, an unusual choice) while he listened to his minidisk. The train from Colwyn Bay to Manchester was nowhere near as packed as the one from Manchester to Leeds. Probably due to the open day.
So the open day started, my first talk was at about midday, where Goz's was at the same time. I took my seat in the lecture hall. We basically got gist of the course, and my ego went through the roof when I was the only person in there with prior C++ knowledge beforehand (although very little, I may add). To be honest, I don't think I'd like the course there. Some of the people in that room scared me. After the lecture was finished, I took a seat on a bench and had my packed lunch. Feeling my ego could do with a bit of a battering, and also that Goz doesn't finish his talk until 2, I decided to sit through the Mathematics lecture. Some Asian guy sitting next to me made a lot of notes about the course and details, and the lecture lasted for about 1/2 hour, and after we got "fun sheets" to fill in for about quarter of an hour. Luckily, about a couple of minutes into these sheets, I got a text off Goz, telling me to come to the bus, we're going to the station. I gladly oblige. We stopped the bus outside the station, got off, and immediately went into the adjoining Wetherspoons for a bite to eat. Goz had a bitter and Chili and Chips. I played safe and stuck with Coke and chips. After that, we decided to head home, as it was 3.
On the way, we heard in the four seats opposite us that one of the World Trade Centers towers have been hit. Although details were sketchy at the time (we were overhearing another conversation) it seemed pretty definite.
"You hear that Rhys?"
"What?"
"One of the Twin Towers has been hit by a plane"
At this point, everybody on the planet did a collective "What the hell?". Not me. Call me ignorant, call me a insensitive bastard, but this was my honest to god reaction.
"What the hell are the Twin Towers?"
Gozzard then proceeded to speak to me about the Towers, giving me an education in them that only an A Level Geographer could, saying such things as "I cannot imagine the New York Sky without them". To me, the Twin Towers were The Big Boss Man and Akeem.
Only when we got to Manchester did we understand what had happened. People were listening to radios in the middle of the station, talking to people they'd never knew before existed, all talking about the attacks, and shaking their head. Saying things like "ooh, it's terrible". As a country bumpkin in Manchester, I just wanted to get home, and bury my head in the sand.
On the train back from Manchester, I just stared out of the window, for two hours.
Finally I got to Colwyn Bay, and Aled said "You've heard the news.". I didn't answer. Mum said "You wouldn't believe Alun (Mum always called Dad by his first name), he's acting like an idiot. He said to Al that he wouldn't be alive at Christmas". I broke my silence. "That's a bit sick, isn't it? I mean, who's going to attack Colwyn Bay?". I found my escape. I had something to talk about. No matter what has happened today, I'm safe and everybody I share my daily experiences are safe. Little consolation for over 1000 dead, but it was something that helped me regain my voice.
I arrived home at about 6, and immediately sat down in front of the TV. Dad, ominously, gave his "You won't be here at Christmas" which is complete baloney. Dad, unlike me, is a pessimist as they come. To him, everybody he cared about had a big nuke over their heads, and the rope was breaking.
Dinner, understandably, was a solemn affair. Mum tried desperately to break it, but my Dad wouldn't have none of it.
"Maybe now I can see a change of scenery on the net" I thought. It's not that I'm insensitive, just that whenever things like that happen, and I run out of things to say, I generally just try and find means of escape, or signes of normality. To me, the Internet seemed like one. Unfortunately, everywhere I turned, it was there. Yahoo, 9/11. E-fed's, 9/11. Blitz, 9/11. Fantasy Footy, 9/11. I almost gave up, when I went into my IRC rooms. Notably the clan's [EDIT: "The Clan" referred to =FP=, a bloody good Team Fortress clan I was in for a time being late last year, something like 20th in the UK. I managed to fluke my way into it, as I was nowhere near as good as any other player there, I just was a regular as clockwork, and they let me joined. Although I resigned around Christmas time]. Finally, my sense of normality was found.
"Hey Rhys, We got a game tonight, want to play?"
"Sure, count me in"
Anyway I'm off to play DDT in a few minutes, so I'll be off. See you all later.
So, this begs the question, where were you when the 9/11 happened?
Would Like To Meet - Rhys' Foray into the Online Dating Scene
I got bored today, and when I'm bored I'm dangerous. So, to keep me amused between playing Team Fortress Classic (trying to get good before Team Fortress 2 comes out) and Bush talking about his Cash Flow Forecasts (he's got an accounting exam tomorrow), I did something I've been tempted to do for a long time, but never actually done.
I joined an online dating firm.
I know, I know, it's sounds pretty desperate. I assure you it's not, I just fancy meetting as many people as possible. Actually, it isn't so much of a "dating" side of things, more of a social side of things I want to be involved in. I am however a skinflint, so I instead of going for the "pay" side of things, I typed in "free uk dating" into google, and clicked on a few that came up. One of them took my fancy, so I signed up. The first thing was to make sure I didn't come from certain blacklisted countries....
Luckily, I didn't (some of those seem strange, oh well. I suppose marrying your cousin isn't out of the question in all of the above countries). Filled in a few details, upload a photo, and I was ready to go.
Actually, that was a lie. I had to select a number of bands I like, from a choice of around 80. Now, normal people this wouldn't be a problem, but when you are as selective and indecisive as me, it's a nightmare! After that, authors, and favourite TV shows. Remember, they didn't just leave a textbox, oh no. Full on "Here's what you can select. Anything else and you're a loser!". Next sports (which was a fairly easy jaunt - even though I didn't select "bedroom gymnastics", it's just too obvious!). Then you could add "optional categories".....I tried adding the Mighty Seagulls, but they didn't have them. One quick letter of complaint later, and I began to browse.
I'll be honest, nothing was grabbing me by the balls. People were either average and their profile with abundance of text speak let them down, or didn't have a picture (I'm looking at you "DoubleD83". Double D? Double chin more like).. Dejected, I signed out.
20 minutes later, I had two emails, from girls who wanted to meet me. Woo! The first one was from a girl in leeds calling herself "theleedsrhino". Apt name, when she lists her hobbies as drinking, rugby league and darts. I apologise if this is sexist, but by god I like my women to be slightly effeminate.
The second thing I'd like my women to be is intelligent. I'm not talking university degree here, but a basic ability to hold an intelligent conversation is paramount. As bloggers, you all meet that criteria. However, this girl didn't. Sure, she was attractive, single and lived in Rhyl. But one thing put me off.
Technorati Tag Generator, Web Design, and Forrest Gump
Abolsutely nothing, apparently.
I'm having a creative lull at the moment, actually that's a lie. Creatively I'm worn out, as for the last few days I have been designing flyers and adverts in work. It's thoroughly enjoying, don't get me wrong, but it means when I get home, I usually just want to mindlessly blow up things on Team Fortress, rather than blog. Nothng has happened to inspire me to blolg. Really. Do you want to know what's top of "things that have inspired me to post?.
Some dude sat down next to me on a public bench.
I know, it's a public bench and everything, but there were benches free in the park (I was on my lunchbreak), and I always thought "take up a new bench, before sitting on an old one". On top of this, he had a goatee, spiked up air, small sunglasses and a trenchcoat. He either looked German or like a Bond Villian. Either way, I was more than a little disconcerted. I got involved in a small battle of wits with him, before I surrendered, standing up, and walking pretty damn fast from our friend Gunther.
I suppose I'll do what I always do when I get bored of this site - redesign it. Okay, I don't fancy going through a complete redesign, but I do want to change a few things, most of all the navigation bar. I admit, it was thrown together, but it manages to be both ameteur looking and inefficient waste of space. I'd like to include some more links up there, including a direct link to my myspace account, and I've always liked Fern's idea for my life online, so I may do something like that. Two features I definitely want to include (and need your help) are the following:-
Technorati Tag Generator Links: Scoot on over to my Technorati Profile and you'll see a number of backlinks for Technorati Tag Generator. I'd like to include them in a page, sort of like a directory, to say thanks. Some blogs I have begun to read, such as this one. I don't really want to sspend all my days inserting links, so would appreciate a perl script to do something similar. Any ideas?
F.A.Q. - I wouldn't mind an FAQ, but there have been no frequently asked questions. So if you've got any questions, please let me know at rhys@gospelrhys.co.uk, and I'll answer them.
Happy St. Ebenezer's day for yesterday everybody! For the unaware - St. Ebenezer's day is the first day that Christmas Goods appear on sale in the UK. Now, don't get me wrong, I love Christmas - what with the food and the drink mainly, but September 5th is a bit early. Especially when I saw this abomination in Morissons in Colwyn Bay.
Okay, it is a selection box, which - while quintessentially Christmas (the present you give to people you don't really like) - it's not too bad. It's when those kids adverts begin that really pisses me off. Christmas only begins when two these two conditions are met:-
When I first see the Coco-cola "Holidays Are Coming" advert.
When the BBC change it's programme links into something festive.
Either way, it's not Christmas now! Grrr.....even writing this part of my blog I switched on to Firebox.com to see what I can get my nearest and dearest. It's a disgrace.
Reason number 19452 to hate Morissons as well is that yestrday I got refused........for cigarettes.
The tobacconist said I looked 15.
Now, before I begin, I'd like to inform you that I haven't started smoking. At the risk of restarting this blog's only flame war, I don't like the smell, and the damage it causes - even passively. However, one of my mates does smoke. He was in Morrissons carrying about 8 or 9 shopping bags, and he needed some fags. So he asked me to get some. Whilst giving him the usual "It'll make your penis smaller!" arguement I use on most blokes, he was unrepenting, and asked me to get him some. Fair enough, it was his decision.
I got ID'ed.
I explain the situation that - as I don't drive and I haven't been abroad - I don't have any forms of ID. I do have a Portman Group card. He said we don't accept it. I then said "they're for a mate of mine", which probably wasn't the best thing to say, as the guy gave me funny looks. Bless him, he looked foreign.
I returned humbly to my mate, who found it hilarious, saying it gave him a high "better than any nicotene could".
Somehow, the fact he stopped smoking for a little bit, because of my humiliation, makes it all worthwhile.
Does it make me a bad person taking 20 minutes out of my day to pay tribute to Steve Irwin? No. But instead of watching one of his shows, I instead watched 'Prehistoric Ice Man' - an episode of South Park that - whilst doesn't reference him directly, a character is based on him, jamming his thumb up people's buttholes to really piss them off (I won't bother with the accent). Okay, he does go on to die in the episode (hence why I felt guilty) - but he gets chewed up by by a helicopter rotary blade.
Oh well, it's more classy than Tilesey's Tribute, though just barely. We're still both going to hell though.
In other news, I found this somewhere: myheritage.com. Amongst various things that Geneologists would wet themselves over is a fun "Which celebrities do I look like?". I say fun, because look who came out that I look like....
Johnny Freaking Depp! Awesome! Not only has he been in Edward Scissorhands, but in one of my favourite movies ever: Fear and Lothing in Las Vegas. Topped off with playing a Pirate too (pirates are the coolest thing ever), and I'm chuffed to bits. I'd shag him, I really, really would. Do it yourself people, who do you look like, celeb wise?
Begs the question though: if I have an IQ of 142 and look like Johnny Depp, why the bleeding hell can I not get laid?
I am proper gutted about this, as it feels like another aspect of my childhood has died, we used to watch his shows religiously on a Tuesday night, even surviving the time when we got the internet installed. I even am unwilling to participate in "the arms race", I'm that shocked by it. Least he died doing something he enjoyed doing. It'd be like me dying blogging/alcohol overdose/sexed to death.
Rest in peace Steve Irwin, I'm pretty sure there'll be a crocodile named after you in the Welsh Mountain Zoo, they do things like that for publicity, naming a sealion "Rooney" after Euro 2004.
Yesterday was not a good day to be myself. The weekend officially began at 3pm, at Llanelian Road. Where the mighty seagulls entertained Osset Albion in the FA Cup first preliminary qualifying round (or something to that effect). Despite playing against a group of squirrels, we dominated against them in the first half, going one-nil up with a bullet header. We would have advanced if not for a penalty (which it blantantly was, though I think we were hoping for a repreieve with a card-shy referee). So, it finished 1-1, and we earn a lucrative away tie at Osset Albion on Wednesday. Fantastic.
Then the evening game, and the blue and white was switched to the lycra top of Wales, to cheer them on against the Czech Republic, our first game in the Euro 2008 qualifiers. We took it to them, one of the top teams in the world. We defended well for 75 minutes, frustrating them. Then a breakthrough for the Czechs. A typical sloppy goal. Toshack, to his eternal credit, swapped things around and brought on two strikers immediately. 86th minute, it paid off, with an own goal thanks to Cotteril being very, very dangerous. It was going to a much deserved point, when there was heartbreak. The ball looped in to the Welsh goal on 89 minutes. A few people cheered the fall of Wales. These people are cunts. Final score, Czechs 2, Wales 1. Utter dejection.
We switched pubs, to the classier Litten Tree, whereby Test the Nation was on. Now, I was planning on doing it online, and the fact that it was on annoyed me. I asked the barstaff to switch it off, but one (who I knew) said I was being "pathetic". Yes mate, the fact that I wish to engage my brain in activities means that I don't work behind a bar at 28, unlike your good self. So a lot of time was spent in the pub facing away from the screen and saying "LALALALALA, I'M NOT LISTENING!!!", except when the brilliant Danny Wallace was on. Luckily, I only heard that one answer was "North", so humourously 69 questions I didn't know the answer to. I took the quiz this morning, hungover, and regular commenter Laura on MSN annoying me (okay, I was annoying her, either way she was a distraction). I got a hugely whopping Krypton Factor total of 142! That not only makes me eligable for Mensa (who, I'm sure I could redesign their website, it looks horrible) but I can also amuse myself by lifting small objects/animals using Telekenisis.
To take the test yourself, click here. It takes a while, but if you are brave enough, leave your results in the comments!
We arrived 20 minutes early for my much dreaded dentist. I had a fear that I was going to pay for the checkup (what's worse than a dentist? Having to pay for it), but I didn't because I was under 25, makes it slightly better the fact that my mouth would have unwanted appliances in it. Also what made it better was a copy of Edge magazine, with a nice article on one of my favourite games as a kid - Jimmy White's Whirlwind Snooker. I was almost about to embrace the field of dentistry when the nurse called mum "Stella Wynne", her real first name (she goes by Jane), which brought me to fits of laughter. To occupy us, we were given forms to fill in between patients. One question, thanks to years of good health, promoted some queries for Stella.
"What's our GP's name?"
"Dr. H Williams"
"Is it now. What happened to Dr. H Sissons?"
"It's the same person, she got married."
"........Dr H Sissons was a woman?"
I was second up, and I told him about my 6 months dental history - it was on the tip of my tongue. I told him a few toothaches here and there, but otherwise fine. Built myself, only for him to knock me down. My mouth was like that of a pornstar's. Well and truly fucked.
A number of fillings, an abcess, and root canal work. I do believe that's a Wynne Family Record.
I was shocked. I mean, I'm not in any pain. He said it's not really too much of a big deal, but it could be. Hence he wants to put it right. Which I suppose what he's there to do. So I'm going back there twice in October, having needles and all sorts put into me, and paying £39 for the priveledge. God bless the NHS.
I came to work a little dejected, but otherwise fine. At lunchtime, I went on an "oral binge", and bought all sorts of mouthwashes, flosses and a new toothbrush. I bought a "fancy toothbrush" - one of the three things I wouldn't buy for fear of turning into a metrosexual (the other being an electric razor* and bottled water).
Isn't it unnescessarily complicated? All sorts of bristles, whistles and thingamabobs. It's like using a blast furnace to cook some toast. One thing really made my blood boil....
A tongue cleaner! Soon I'll be ringing up Richard Hammond for teeth whitening tips. It's not good.
Tomorrow the mighty seagulls play Ossett Albion (not Town) in the FA cup, and I'll be drinking Real Ale. I will not be metrosexual!
Oh, and if Sarah from the comments is reading this, the website for the Fun Centre mentioned a couple of posts ago is thefuncentre.co.uk.
* Guy with his bumfluff asked me to teach him to shave with a proper razor, after using nothing but electric. The sheltered child he was!
We started out in Old Lloyds playing the drinking game 
I tried a bit of light surfing, but I couldn't concentrate. Instead, I watched the final half hour or so of 
At which point I'd like to apologise for the use of the word "artist". She is no more an artist than people who work in Subway are "artists" because they're job title is "Sandwich Artist".At the risk of starting a flame war with 
Then the evening game, and the blue and white was switched to the lycra top of 
