An alternative, yet still productive, to do list...

1. Turn alarm clock onto radio alert, as opposed to war time siren mode.
2. Write abusive letter to the grey haired shitfuck of a bus driver at ARRIVA who arrived 5 minutes early last Tuesday when I was 20 yards from the stop. Prick.
   
3. Refrain from staying up ridiculously late for no reason at all.
4. Buy some edible, perhaps even imaginative cereal, as opposed to the dusty fuck flakes currently residing in the cupboard.
5. Tie Alan Titschmarsh's shoe laces together...if only in the mind.
6. Dream some more of travelling around Europe living on berries and stolen bread.
7. Commence the growing of a moustache, not a pretentious one, but a 1980'sesque, square working class one.
8. Ask that lovely waitress out.
9. Clean that drawer which has been dishevelled and disorganised for far too long. Feel satisfied.
10. Write a poem.
11. Head butt obnoxious, staggeringly judgemental local shopkeeper.
12. Buy some batteries.
13. Take all those pennies to the machine in the front of ASDA; collect £7.37.
14. Go and look for a dog down at the RSPA; take home a weathered but charismatic old fella.
15. Finally get round to polishing those shoes and restore them to their former glory.
16. Buy a Daim bar.
17. Book a flight headed for Biarritz in the summer.
18. Reflect upon a subtly pleasing week.

Things I hate...

I hate many things. I hate it when a pen runs out and it doesn't get thrown in the bin. I hate goatees. I hate liars. People who lie about what they have, what they don't have, about things they've done and things they haven't done. I hate falseness in general. I hate shit telly; cooking shows with boring ass chefs, 'Cash in the Attic' especially, where people sell all their cool stuff for like £600, and rubbish quiz shows with easy questions and presenters with impossibly white teeth. Some times its okay though. I hate it when things that should work don't; computers, toasters, pencil sharpeners. These small failures irritate me something terrible. I hate it when buses come early (they come early more frequently than you would think) and I really hate it when people are late and make me wait (although it must be stated that I'm the late one most of the time). I hate baths that are too hot, bad breath, especially turkey breath, and when my pint is pulled without a head. I hate it when Liverpool lose and Manchester United win, but I hate the fact I'm meant to hate people from Manchester? I hate Christian Evangelists. They scare me a hell of a lot. I hate all religious extremists for that matter. I consider religious people to be mentally ill to some degree.

I hate racism, its just completely dumb and archaic. I hate cheap profiteroles. I hate microwaved meals and tinned sweetcorn. People are lazy man. I hate biting my lip, literally and figuratively, ill fitting suites and rudeness. I hate people who profess to have a passion for something, but actually enjoy the image associated with said thing, more than the thing itself. I hate followers. Followers of trends, scenes, fashions. Unless they really have a love for the trends that they're following of course. This isn't usually the case though. I hate standing on plugs. I hate the fact that I still avoid standing on cracks in the pavement. I'm 22 and not superstitious at all, why do I still do this? I hate Uri Gellar, Benny Hinn and Richard Littlejohn. I also hate Ben Fogel, the big, smug prick. Although my mum tells me he's actually alright on Countryfile.

I hate it that people think its cool not to read. They cannot be for real, can they? I hate politicians that lie all the time. I hate boring girls that have no interests and wear too much make-up. Why do they think it is attractive to be stupid? It really isn't. I hate unambitious, unadventurous people. I hate people who make judgements without finding out for themselves. I hate narrow mindedness. I hate it when people are tight, and people who are negative...all the time. I hate shaved eyebrows on men, and when people wear glasses and don't medically need them. Whats that all about? I hate pretentiousness. I also hate overly branded clothing, especially the Louis Vitton pattern. Revolting. I hate Abercrombie and Fitch, All Saints and Cult. Terrible clothing outlets. However I simultaneously hate that people judge others based on the clothes they wear. Very superficial. I hate it when people say that Eastenders is better than Coronation Street.

I hate it that traffic wardens operate on commission, that John Lennon died when he did, and dust. Dust makes me sneeze. I hate that the majority of people don't care about stuff like politics, history or the environment, but they really care about something their sisters boyfriend may or may not have said about them last week. I hate it when old people think they're right because they're older. Older definitely doesn't mean wiser. I hate it when the timetable at the bus stop has been defaced, or completely removed for that matter. I hate it when fungus has grown on a perfectly good looking block of cheese and men who own big horrible dogs. Just because your dog is hard doesn't mean you are mate. I hate silver service. I hate formalities. I hate the fact that there are no answers in life; just questions. However I love this mysteriousness in equal measure. I hate wasting time, I hate hamsters, I hate onions. I hate it when people get on the train without first letting you off. Wankers. I hate it when liberals are so left with their ideas that they are no longer in the real world. I hate corruption. I hate war. I hate corrupt war. Is there any other kind though? I hate the thought of spiders crawling up my leg when I' in bed. I hate the way I always misplace train tickets, and keys. Argh, I hate so many things.

But most of all, more than anything else, I hate the fact I have to die one day, and that I wont be able to hate anything anymore.

An interesting proposition...

I recently purchased the North West edition of 'The Loot', a regional advertising weekly, in search of a potential flat or house tenancy. Innocent enough. Upon reading I became increasingly suspicious of a particular sector marketing in the publication. Adverts for massage parlours were large, numerous and of a markedly sexual orientation. You needn't be a genius to make the obvious associations here.

Perhaps if I quoted some of the rhetoric featured in these ads, you may better understand my astonishment. 'Cheshire Catz, under new management. We look forward to getting our claws into you!'; 'Pussycats Massage Parlour...Discreet rear entrance, free parking'; 'Bailey's of Rochdale...three lovely ladies available daily....Adult DVD's and Dance Pole on premises'. Now forgive my facetiousness but what could a dance pole possibly have to do with holistic therapy? I don't remember Stavros down the old Greek Baths requiring any metallic poles for his routine? Thats because Stavros was offering massages and not fellatio, or any other services which intend to arouse the penis.

The overtness of these marketing campaigns are quite incredible. The sexual innuendo involved is blatant, the visuals which accompany them scandalous. One parlour's advert features a woman grabbing her own tit. I mean come on!? Some of the lesser established 'masseurs' are freelance, women evidently offering an independent, mobile service. Their marketing approach is even less subtle. Take an add I found this week in the Personals section of the 'Buy and Sell' (you may note I expanded my research here); 'LADY 4 in/out calls. 07500*****0'. 'LADY', doesn't even specify any professional service here, remarkable.

Many suggest that the Police come in for too much flak, that they have a difficult job to do, but I have to disagree in some respects. Given, they face a difficult task in policing the mischievous and sometimes deranged inhabitants of our odd little country. However glaring opportunities for criminal investigation, such as this, make me wonder what the CID actually do all day? All of the mobile 'masseurs' leave their phone numbers for fuck's sake, has nobody down the Metropolitan HQ seen an episode of The Wire? The Force are either gravely out of touch with the real world or some high commissioner of the Vice Squad is getting his palm greased handsomely. Either way, its pretty awful Police work.

The whole episode provokes broader questions for me, notably; why the hell do they not just legalise prostitution? We all know that it goes on, and will go on, regardless of the laws. Where there are old/ugly/socially inept men with erections, there will be prostitutes. Each year that passes without a relaxation of the laws, I scratch my head that little bit harder. What exactly are the cons' of this argument again? Legalising prostitution would bring in a much needed source of revenue for the taxman and simultaneously drive the heinous criminals out of the trade, who in many cases enslave their female workers. Legalisation would also serve to humanise the sex workers, and help them to shake off problematic domestic circumstances which seem to accompany illegal prostitution, such as drug and physical abuse. And without intending to ram the point home, legalisation would make the trade cleaner, as any prospective worker would have to comply with health regulations. Win, win, win.

However, as per usual, our government moves slow on the issue, unlike our American, and many of our European counterparts, where you can get a hand job in a major city as easy as you could find a bicycle pump. It would probably be easier actually. The prudish stiffs in Westminster are still living in an idealised time where sex is the domain of the courted and young people should go out and get an honest trade. Wake up and smell the 'essential' oils!

Here, prostitution remains confined to classified ad magazines (or should I say unclassified ad magazines?) under secretive guises (or should I say remarkably non secretive guises?). This facade cannot go on for much longer. Perhaps I should take Gordon Brown and his cabinet down to 'Cheshire Catz' myself, see if I can open their eyes for them, show them what is going on here. I wonder if the trip would have an adverse effect on Mr Brown's career though? Well Of course it would, bystanders would see their Prime Minister leaving a fucking brothel.