Monday, 14 February 2011

Monday 14th February 2011: Bah, Humbug (Part 9)

I despise Valentines Day.

Well, what did you expect? Don't ever think I'd take an unbiased viewpoint for the sake of mere originality, you fools. I'll just take whatever's the most angry thing I can think of and write about that for your diversion (wouldn't dream of using the word entertainment).

But no, I genuinely do. I hate it. More than anything in the world, even after filling 40+ of these blogs with nothing but angry, faux-depressed, deeply unoriginal bile at the world. And references to meta-theatrical trickery without meaning or value. And crap spelling/grammar. Who's the dawg? ....

I have several reasons for hating Valentines day:

1. It's February.

2. It's innately false and intended to make non-single people feel anxious, and single people feel inadequate; though I suppose that's what it's meant to do in a society where relationships are valued and those without are mocked.

3. I failed to get through in the Chortle Student competition; which means that to all intents and purposes I am a failure, without merit, use or value and possibly seriously deluded about my comedic abilities. Although I am the one saying this, so I cant be that deluded, can I? (see what I did there? I took a negative, and spun it round to a complimentary pat on the shoulder. That's got to be quality. Book me, bitches!)

4. It's February. Didn't you listen the first time?

5. I've had a genuinely crap day so far, with as a high point, the moment where the lock on my bicycle decided to ruin my slowly improving mood by refusing to give way, even after kneeling down and turning the key with violent force, normally reserved for carpentry and veterinary operations. Then, the key turned to mush and snapped, charmingly, into my astonished hands. I did not have any spare key at hand at that particular point in time, so I shamefacedly hobbled over to a local bike shop, where I asked if he could help me. He did lend me a tong-like thing, to wriggle what was left of the key out of the lock. The best I could do now, he said, was give up, leave it there, and buy something else from his shop.

Right. Thanks for that sir. Thanks a lot. You have taken away the one thing of value I own on this horrid planet and in turn, punished me for it. Who are you? God? (Actually I do like my laptop. 500 grammes of electrified goodness. Purr.)

If this blog will not do my stillborn comedy career any good, then please let it help me settle the score with an unnamed bike salesman somewhere in Brighton I'm too cowardly to mention.

Again, self-defeating logic there. Yet, if you do defeat yourself, then at least you've won. And lost. I'm confused.

Thanks to Ian, the guy I bought my bike from, way back in September, I could leave with my bicycle intact and not rained on for 4 months and rusted to easily-collectable pieces. He actually cut through the lock, making this the first time I'd even stolen a bike. My own, mind. I'd never stolen a bike before. Not even a Donald Duck-shaped Claxon from the steering wheel of some kid. I've never done anything illegal on a bike. And that makes me an even worse Dutchman than many of you are convinced I already am. I don't deserve my passport. Wilders*, extradite me, I'm not worthy.

I have now bought a new bike lock. The only one available. It's from the well-known brand. SHEmx (clever, huh), which defines itself as a brand: FOR OUTDOOR GIRLS. It's pink. It's very pink. And the plastic bits at the end are purple. The lady behind the counter didn't even ask if it was a present, she just looked at me, with eyes saying: you are not worthy of purchasing anything. And now you bring this before me? How dare you mock the noble world of commerce with your presence? Go away from here, and never return! "that'll be 99 p please. Thanks, have a nice day!" The lock will now hang from my bicycle, saying: Here ye! Here ye! This is ridden by a girl! He has failed to ride a bike in a man's way, now he will sit side-saddle! Which no human being has done since 1204! Mock him and fling at him your vegetables and sharp kitchenware! Burn the failure!"

No it wasn't a good day. It can only get better. But still,

The Failure-train to Loser city is stopping at my house. Not even as a stop, just because of technical difficulties. In other words: epic fail. And I blame St. Valentine. So there. Deal with it.

6. It's February!

Love you all, thanks for being an internet-emotion valve.

* For a quick and hopefully clear-headed view on how horrible The Netherlands have become over the last five years, check out This World on BBC Two today at 7. It's about Wilders, and this man and his voters are so repugnant that I wanted to hand in my Dutch passport and nationality straight away. But did I? No. That's the Dutch mentality as well.


  1. Death to Valentine's Day. It's in February, the second worst month in the first half of the year.