The 6am finish.

Friday appears to be becoming a recurring event these days. With, like the best novels, a recurring theme. Needless to say this latest one has a more small town feel than most. During the course of this blog I've alluded to the fact that I am indeed from Warrington and these days quite single. Now, I'd done the moping bit to a tee and not really made any moves to rectify this recently. Most of my mates are set up, have kids, or are indeed married themselves (we're all 27-28.......) so it's kind of hard to go out and get involved, particularly when you throw in the excessive working hours of a hardcore recruitment machine like I.

So this Friday, I thought, on the advice of the Ex to go out and indeed "get involved". In no particular order the silliness included:

1) Testicle manipulation in a non gay way. Batwing. Goat. Bullfrog.

2) Utilising my H&M scarf as a limbo tool for the various ladies in a 90's bar in Warrington.

3)Getting told I looked hot by a pretty lady in a pink dress. But not sealing the deal. (What is wrong with me!!!?)

4) Falling into someone's garden, still keeping my Marlboro lit.

5)Competing for the most stylish "Mary Poppins" stair slide with my mate Nick. A Pop-off. As it's known.

6)Informing a random lady in Friar's Court that my name was Silas Fordyce III and I ran a sugar plantation in Maui. She walked off. She'll never wear my Panama hat.

7)Withdrawing £30 from a machine and getting hit up for £200 by my bank. £201.75 to be precise. Clearly inflation has hit a peak.

8)Getting told (at least) twice that I looked like I should be gay because I'm too groomed to be straight. Like a thoroughbred.

9)Taking a ladies number and then realising that all i'd done was enter her name. And only a surname at that. Cue much Facebook stalking. Dial "R" for rapist.

10)Texting my boss at work at 5am to say "I love you". She saw the funny side. Thankfully.

This all ended around 6am. There was more. But my mind fails me. I fucking (ironically) love Warrington. Where else can someone bop to Showaddywadyy in time honoured fashion while supping Stella at £1 a pint? Go to a nightclub where they'll play Kings of Leon and Scooter one after the other? Only in Warrington dear readers. Even better I have a visitor to give this tour to on Friday. W.A.R.R.I.N.G.T.O.N. What a god honest tour de force. Yes. Yes. Yes. I live here and I accept it, embrace it and appreciate it for what it is. Warring-fucking-ton.

Harry's Wedding

Well the card of fate has been played. Spurs now have nothing but a relegation battle to play for. To be fair, credit to Manchester United. They were impervious in defence, Vidic is a machine and Rio's Simpson lip just seemed to defy all before it. I haven't the energy to write too much further on this subject except to pinpoint Harry's floral arrangement sported jauntily at Wembley yesterday.

It simply begs the question, if Harry had taken the cue from Mr Nicholson above - was he the guy who soiled Carlos Tevez's face and neck with the acid burns? But what next Mr Redknapp? Shock buzzers? Pepper flavoured chewing gum? Blue mouth sweets? Fart spray? Hopefully next season Spurs will be sponsored by some form of Blackpool joke shop. There's an industry that the credit crunch can't deny, and neither should it. £0.99p for plastic ice cubes with flies in? £1.49p a Whoopee cushion? You just can't put a price on the classics.

Friday Damnation

Friday was a good day for me. I did my first placement in my new job, made some commision, and got to leave at 4pm. This pleased me twofold as not only did it mean leaving the thankless task of Friday afternoon recruitment behind but allowed me to get into Manchester earlier where I was due to meet some of my old crowd from Progressive and First People Solutions.

I arrived in Manchester around 5:30pm and busted into Room for a couple of fine Aztec Lagers, I'm not into product placement, but hey I like Cusquena. It's no Red Stripe, but then what is? I met with my ex-colleauges Alec, Jaime and Andrew and fully enjoyed the catch up. Clearly the cock five had been forgotten.

I was due to meet a certain Mr J.Howard of Timperley next, and this is where it got silly. Now I like Jamie, he looks like Mr Burns at 25, calls me "Warrington", enjoys talking about Tampax, AIDS and VD, and is a great chap and pure hilarity, but he is quite an involved partner for a night out.

We did the usual Manchester things. Drink in Room and Panacea, swan around in Chaophyra and get shouted at by some Albanian men, clearly selling illicit substances. It was like being in Grand Theft Auto or Scarface but with me dressed as Danny Zuko in tight black t-shirt and jeans. A really fucked up dream but real! We also met Howard's mate Eddie - who invited us back to his Pub. I really have no recollection from here on in, but apparently I tried to get the Grease Megamix on in Prohibition and told some girl that she looked like an icon forged from sexual Granite. This is clearly a weird chat-up line but I've never been one to honour convention. It didn't work to be fair, as she was with some dude who I can only describe as athletique, romantique and fantastique. But the comedy was well recieved and I got told I looked like Superman thus recieving a temporary ego boost.

So we ended up at Eddie's pub on Oldham road. Free red wine (?), fags from the vending machine, and bridge. Playing Bridge at gone 2am. Drinking red wine and smoking Lamberts. It was excellent. I woke at 3pm this morning confused as to how I'd got there. I was like a prisoner in the upstairs bed and breakfast portion of this place. Hungover and on a massive comedown, with no phone battery I was sure I'd be Josef Ftrizled here forever. Howard had fucked off and this Eddie cat was nowhere to be seen. It was quite the experience rocking downstairs to the locals enjoying a Saturday afternoon pint. Quite the adventure.

James if you wish for another evening out, I'm more than ready.

Me, Gaz and Daz

Here's a little something about me that I hope most would agree with: I take pride in my appearance. Agreed? Good. This leads me onto my experiences today at the local gymnasium. In my mind any chap who wishes to look the part, impress the ladies and feel less like Jabba and more like Shabba probably should visit the gym. I do at least four times a week, with varying degrees of success.

I also like to listen to the various conversations around me while I perform dips, enjoy the Swiss ball and generally swan around in a vest. This being Warrington these conversations vary in quality, but never in humour content. Warrington is many things; parochial, middling, Northern, and unsophisticated but I was sure I'd never come across such brilliance.

More to the point, I enjoy the freeweights. Make no excuses for it. The freeweight section is normally crammed with monstrous chaps who dominate it with testosterone and neckless fashions. Two characters in particular constantly rule this particular roost. A reasonably short chap with no hair and loads of tatoos - built like Fred Flinstone on protein shakes. This is Gaz. Or "steds" or "steddo" as I understand. The other is slimmer and pastier but still fairly mighty. This is my new gym pal Daz. Nice.

So one day there I was - dressed like Billy Elliot - bench pressing some weight when in walks Daz, high fives Gaz and begins to talk:

D: "Alright Steds lad, you out last Friday?"

G: "Sound Dazza yeah I fucking was right. You wouldn't believe it mate. All the fucking shit happens to me."

D: (excitedly) "Was it that bird mate?"

G: "Fucking right Dazza, see what happened right"

D: "Yeah mate....what happened right?"

G: "Fucking you'll never guess what happened right!"

D: "Fucking what happened Gaz, what happened right?"

G: "Well this bird right?"

D: (spits) " Yeah right?"

G: "This fucking bird, I'd smashed her all round me living room with me cock and the silly slag wouldn't suck me off! I'd left her walking like John Wayne, John fucking Wayne, and she wouldn't suck me fucking prick!"

D: (shocked at such an affront) "I hope you told her mate - this was the same one who said get off the steds - you can't do that you're fucking name is Steds!!"

G: (Nods sagely) "Yeah mate - just got some more blood in it and told her to fuck off or suck me prick"

Class. Needless to say Gaz got his cock sucked and was content with his lot in life.

Let's flash forward to today now. 8:15pm. I'm doing situps. I'm wearing a vest and jogging bottoms. I look camp. Daz swans over to me and says:

D: "Alright big lad, do you live here or something? Fucking got some good guns going there! How much do you lift?............."

Great stuff. Daz and me. Me and Daz. The massive powerhouse payroll clerk who can chest press 140kg. Maybe if I keep this up I can be their new mate. I've clearly passed some sort of test. Maybe in time they can call me "Brains". I can but cross my fingers and pray.

The Quill of The Chase

Now. As I've mentioned previously I do indeed work in recruitment. In the IT sector. There's a recession on and jobs are at a premium. 15 minutes ago I came back from a meeting with Sony Ericsson who're letting 135 staff go, and I'm assisting the outplacements project. As part of the process I interview the candidates and advise them on what we can do to help. All fine, right?

Yes, in theory. However candidate number three did something today that blew my tiny little brainbox. Allow me to set the scene.

C++ Architect walks in stage left. Hunched, balding and face like a clumsy beekeeper. Sits down. Opens pad.

Me: Adam, good afternoon my name's Andy Smith, I'm from Amiqus, I understand you're looking for a new solutions architect role in London working within UML?

Candidate stares at me, says nothing and nods. Hand reaches into inside pocket and produces pen.

Me: (incredulously) Is that a fucking quill?

A quill. A motherfucking, flamingo feathered, Dickensian, dipped in ink quill. What's more it was pink. Pink like the underside of a flamingo. Pink like Scottish Salmon drizzled with balsamic. Pink as a newborn. Pink like Julian Clary. P.i.n.k.

I tried to get a picture on my mobile when he had to pop out, but the bastard was too quick. Heedless I've highlighted a similar product. Outrageous.

Super Jonny Woodgate

More Spurs I'm afraid. Bryne, when and if you read this you'll have to admit that Hull are starting to look mildly doomed. I mean Manucho? I did however enjoy seeing Anthony Gardner being put on his arse by a Palacios rocket shot. I've loved the guy since he limply shook my hand at a Spurs/Leicester reserve game and made a strange gurning noise that should've been a hello. I think maybe he just enjoyed touching my fairy liquid soft hands. Brilliant.

However back to the point. I'm all for seeing a Spurs win, particularly when it drags us 5 pts clear of the drop. But seriously. Woody. What the fuck. With that goal celebration I reckon he's paying tribute to me, my glasses and this blog. Alternatively we've got the hand beast of Pan's Labyrinth anchoring our defence. That my friends is a scary prospect, and certaintly not one I'd like to see in the street outside Majestyk Nightclub. Kate Lawler must've shat her pants each and every morning.

Cockfiving the credit crunch

Now. I've been guilty of some things in my time. Drinking too much. Eating cheese before bedtime. Soiling myself in public. Stealing flowers from gardens for dates. Robbing from the rich and giving to the poor and suchlike. But I seriously feel the power of positive thinking in this current economic climate is the only way to deal with it.

"Yes we can" says Barack, and fuck yes I agree with him. This is why I've decided to tell the world to drop a cockfive on the credit crunch.

Cockfive - Nb - "The act of slapping ones cock into anothers hand, usually accompanied by the phrase - cockfive!!" See also - highfive, titfive, lowfive.

I invented the cockfive when I got made redundant before Christmas. I work in recruitment so the irony wasn't lost on me at all. But essentially booze and illicits take their hold and I rocked the cockfive out on my last boss. It was as popular as High School musical and an instant cultural phenomenon.

So my message is - when this whole world starts getting you down, fuck getting up on the roof, and just cockfive it all.

In another world I am still working in recruitment - and have established 4 interviews this week for guys who have been made redundant! There is a market out there. Positive thinking plus genital slaps prove it.