Monday, 9 January 2012


It's about this time of year that people tend to promise to do things that they will probably never stick to, all because it's a new year. The sentiment is great, I guess, but really it's a massive bag of arse. Don't give up or start doing something because it's January, do it because you want to, no matter what time of year it is. I mean, if I was to be serious about giving something up, I should really give up worrying. But that's never going to happen...

Those of you who know me well enough will know that I tend to worry about stuff. A lot. All the time. Needlessly in most cases. Either I'm too darn considerate or, more likely, I'm just a colossal fretting idiot. People say worrying will give you wrinkles. Not true. Next time someone says that to you, take their words, roll them up into a tight little package and jam them forcibly back down their rotten mouth canal. I'm living proof. I may have the odd wrinkle here or there, but if they were in any way correlated I would have the outward appearance of a 90-year old man's frozen bollock bag. I hope that's not quite the case...

Anyway, now we all know I'm a worrier, it's time to run through the things currently making my mind's metaphorical buttocks quiver. Then you can all laugh at me like gassed-up hyenas because I'm a fully grown adult tit.

1) My trainers. Yeah. Most people don't worry about their trainers because, essentially, they're just less leathery shoes. What's to worry about? Well, mine are a bit hard at the back an give me blisters. I worry about the amount of extra time I have to spend in the morning preparing plasters to prevent the kind of injuries a famous warrior from Greek mythology would also worry about.

2) My beard and hair. I literally have no idea when I'll next get the chance to shave. In my world, quite terrifying.

3) I'm running a marathon in April. I have to run roughly 26 miles. In one day. It's now January. This thought will haunt my every waking hour until I cross the finish line. Then I'll be worried about the fact that my hips have relocated themselves to my armpits.

4) This blog. It's probably a right crock of shit.

5) Other people. Yeah, my worrying isn't just confined to me. I constantly worry about other people. Anyone close to me, if you're having a rough time, know that I constantly worry about you. You're probably just fine. I should probably be eating cheese or selling dogs on ebay or something. Instead I'm worrying. About you.

6) My music. It's probably way too loud right? Sorry about that. I can barely hear it myself and I'm pretty sure it just got drowned out by a couple of ants having a fist fight, but I bet the Bulgarians next door are fucking livid with me. Maybe I should just stop playing it altogether. Better safe than sorry...

7) Text messages. If I sent one and haven't had a reply within half a second, I instantly conclude that it's because I've done something terrible and you hate every fibre of my shitty guts. Similarly, if I forget to reply to one, I take myself to the local vets and ask to be humanely put to sleep. Fortunately they have quite strict rules (laws?) about that, even if you're dressed like a lamb.

8) Smells. I have an OCD-like approach to personal hygiene. Seriously. I'm like a freak. But if there's a funny smell I instantly worry it's me and that everyone else thinks it's me too. Even though it's definitely not. I could sit next to a grizzly bear, fresh from a kill, with blood, insides, shit and arse all over his fur. I'd be convinced I was the smelly one and that I was in some way offending him. And the last thing I need to do right now is offend a massive bear.

There's loads more, but I'm starting to worry that I might be boring you. Or giving too much away. Or annoying the Bulgarians again with my key tapping...