21st century 'Twas the night before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas and there in my flat,

not a creature was stirring, not even a rat.

I was just brooding that cold lonely night,

that another year had passed in my search for Miss Right.

*

Yet I was alone and my cupboard was bare,

save for Inflatable Amy and she had no air!

All I really wanted was a nice peice of tail,

Yet in 2008 it seemed I would fail.

*

I had stopped believing in Santa and how,

but lateral thinking was needed now.

Hanging a stocking could do me no harm,

and St Nick might leave me a lady to charm.

*

I crawled to my bed, thinking positive bits,

and fell straight asleep dreaming of tits.

When suddenly I awoke to a massive clatter,

and leapt out of my bed to see what was the matter.

*

I threw open the window to see on the snow,

a rusty old sleigh and 8 reindeer in tow.

And atop of it all was a fat jolly dick,

I knew in a moment he must be St Nick.

*

I looked in amazement as I saw on the ground,

Santas sack had fallen and scattered around

were women, dressed only in undies, most risque,

as I watched Santa take a big swig of whisky.

*

Santa leaned forward and and pulled out his list,

it was quite clear to me that the old sod was pissed.

"We're here for Andy" he called with a shout,

"Bugger, last year I missed him right out".

*

"So its double pressies this year" and he called to the ladies

"Up Donnas, up Hannahs, up Sarahs, up Sadies"

"Shin up that drainpipe, for fucks sake be quick"

"I'm running real late" worried St Nick.

*

Right then I remembered from when I was a boy,

That if you saw Santa he left you no toy.

So I shut down the window and leapt into my bed,

As visions of brunettes danced round my head.

*

I closed my eyes and kept quiet breathing,

for an hour after I heard the old sleighbells leaving.

Then downstairs I crept excited as hell,

would the woman Santa left ring my desperate bell?

*

As I peered in my stocking my hopes raising higher

was it Donna or Sadie, Sarah or Hannah?

Would she be blonde, tall or quite wee?

Not that I cared if she would shag me.

*

With great trepidation I peered inside,

But the immense disappointment I just couldn't hide.

"Oh Crap" I exclaimed, "I am under a jinx"

"All the daft twat has left me is Slippers and Lynx".

****

***

**

*

© OddBat 2008

The secret of eternal youth...

Recently I was discussing with a colleague how our respective weekends went. She's happily married and described the idyll of family life, kids, breakfast, Tescos, nappies and vomit... hmmm.

I am recently separated and now have the doubtful pleasure of mixing part time fatherhood with the single life... On weekends I don't see my son this usually means, Breakfast, Tescos, beer, ciggies and vomit...

As I described a particularly beery weekend she asked how I managed it, she has a big boozy night and needs the rest of the weekend to recover, an entire weekend on the ale was she felt simply impossible, especially as she's now 41!

Her problem you see is that she hasn't discovered the secret of eternal youth, for by her measurement of age I too am 41.... but I'm not, for I have discovered that elusive secret. Eternal youth is mine.

You see, on my 29th birthday I was shocked, I was embarking on my 30th year yet I felt no older than I had when I was 19... I didn't want to be in that same position years hence so resolved to discover the secret of eternal youth. Now you may well say that this is a little ambitious, the conundrum which has perplexed the worlds best thinkers and scientists for several millenia, the problem that kings have literally offered their kingdoms if the finest brains of their respective ages could find the hallowed formula....

Yet I was determined to solve the conundrum, armed only with... well actually, my own intellect.

Clearly to regular readers of this blog this may seem a tad overambitious, although the Internet was in around at the time, so I could call upon that prodigious resource... the only problem was I had neither Internet access nor any interest in computers... in fact my only real interests at that point were booze, cigarettes, booze, women and booze.... in that order.

You may well take the view that the prospects for my quest were weak... but undaunted I began my search for a solution, believing fervently it would lie at the bottom of a recently drained glass.

Regrettably... no luck. But I have a "never say die" attitude, and so continued my search and after looking into the bottom of many glasses, reading the beery runes... and experiencing the beery runs... Eureka! I had it, the secret of eternal youth, well the secret of eternal "29ness" anyway.

The difficulty with aging is that on the anniversary of their birth the whole world adds one year to their age, hence they advance remorselessly into middle age, old age, dotage etc... Not me, ever since 1996 (my 29th birthday) I have on each subsequent birthday added one year to my date of birth!!!

Simple, on my last birthday, 24th Februaury my date of birth advanced one year to 24th February 1978, this birthday I added 1 year to make it 1979... eternally 29... and not a grey hair in sight...

Provided I keep away from the mirror....

© OddBat 2008

Living forever is strictly for the birds...

I was surfing the Internet yesterday afternoon during a huge rainfall and stumbled upon some research which apparently confirms that a strained marriage increases the chances of death in women..

Now I love "research" and "surveys", especially those that state if I do such-and such, or refrain form doing so-and-so this will increase or decrease my chances of death...

I don't want to seem picky but I happen to believe my chances of death are utterly unrelated to my lifestyle. If I decide to partake of smoking, it doesn't increase my chances of death, in the same way, eating lentils every day doesn't decrease it. Lets face it, I could decide to take up the horrendously dangerous occupation of standing in an election against Mr Mugabe in Zimbabwe (and just to add to the thrill factor confront him threateningly brandishing a knife). Yes, of course his HUGE bodyguards will ensure I end up in a bodybag... but... but, that won't have increased my chances of death, which stands throughout my life, from birth at... well... 100%! Same for all of us, no matter how bad or good we are, the chances are the same for all organic life on earth. Death is a 100% outcome.

Nonetheless this was a serious piece of research, so taking their thought process... being an unreasonable bugger to your wife would, it seems, ensure her mortality factor goes up, 101%, 110%, 150%.? So... grumpy old men, here's your chances to even up the odds, make your missus life hell, well, OK, carry on as normal and you should increase her chances of a demise to an utterly impossible extent.

Ah yes, but women are said to live longer than men. Then again that's probably a reflection of the increased divorce statistics, because taking this research to its most logical conclusion, once divorced these ladies chances of death must reduce! What to... 99%, 80%, 50%?

Note the research doesn't indicate what effect an unhappy marriage has on men, although from my "secondhand" experience I can confirm the chances of chronic earache increase exponentially. I assume it doesn't effect our chances of death that stay at a sensible, if depressing, 100%. No avoiding the grim reaper for us then lads...

But girls, well girls, to live forever make sure you marry a man who'll give you hell, then divorce him... repeat throughout life and statistically your life will never end, you'll live forever.

Then again... maybe it'll just feel like it....

© OddBat 2008

Men in skirts

About a month ago I attended at the Nottingham Pride in England. For those unfamiliar with these events they are organised by the gay community but open to all, I am one of the "all"... straight... but I do have a range of friends with differing preferences. Entertainment was for the most part provided by transvestite acts, some were not convincing, others were excellent. Overall the quality of the event was very high, as high as some of the skirts and High heels.

Now here runs a strange thought, apart from Scotland - in the form of the ubiquitous kilt - why is it that skirts are only worn by women and the clergy? Some will answer that its obvious... men dont have the legs, yet many women I know are prepared to watch a soccer match which bores them rigid just 'cos they like the players legs in the shorts. So could it be that in fact it is a necessary prerequisite for the clergy to have good legs? If not then why the skirts?

Actually historically it does seem that for the top post (the Papacy) the use of a skirt like garment has a useful function, apparently when elected during the middle ages a new pope was carried on a chair aloft of his cardinals whence he splayed his legs revealing his gonads whereupon the cardinals then remarked "Behold... the Pope is hanging well". This tradition arising after a female (according to legend... Pope Joan) was successfully (albiet mistakenly) elected to the top job. It is said that the tradition of seating the new Pope and carrying him aloft of the cardinals upon election stems from that event, to ensure the duly elected pope is male. Today he does not spread his legs to display his genetalia however.

The night before the Nottingham pride my sister, her girlfiend and some friends (all gay) took me out to a gay bar. Now admittedly I have been to many gay bars in the past, it is a good night out, the gay community really knows how to enjoy themselves. No loud thugs challenging you for a "fite" with the words.. "wor lookin' at my bird/ face/ pint"... yes drunken men really challenge others to fights if they feel their pint of ale is receiving lecherous glances! On this occasion however my sister told me to be very careful as she would take me to a "militant" gay bar, one where straights are wholly unwelcome. Indeed my usual reaction to unwanted attention "no thanks... I'm not interested" would immediately lead to the challenge "are you straight?". The punishment for a "yes" being a severe beating... if you're lucky.

Now since I don't seem to be that attractive to gay men... I am not oftened propositioned in gay bars, I felt I would be OK and was assured it would be an experience. Well experience it was, I was beseiged by offers and chatup lines, much to my friends amusement... and more than a little jealousy from some! Needless to say whilst I could deny my interest to a few...to deny to all would have ensured they reached the inevitable and sadly (for the sakes of my health) true conclusion that I was a traitor in their midst. It is strange sitting in a gay bar surrounded by interested gay men dressed in England shirts with the words "love" and "hate" tatooed on their knuckles, knowing that it may be a good idea to choose a slow dance with one of them to get rid of the others. The problem is which is the least dangerous? Which will grope me the least? And how long can my hysterical so called friends make their drinks last before we can leave?

But what started this off is what ended it... whilst I, a straight bloke dressed in jeans and a T shirt was defending my honour from a group "militant" gays some monumentally good looking men at the bar dressed in skirts were ignored.

Now, it being widely believed that all men have a gay propensity is it the case that in fact wearing a skirt wards off unwanted advances?

Certainly that would fit in with the clergies wishes, although whether all Scots would be so pleased....

© OddBat 2008

Who wins?

Recently I was down the pub recently and talking crap with the lads when one of my mates began bemoaning the problems he experiences with his moblile. He grumbles that it repeatedly drops calls. He's checked the battery, had it sent off, handed the phone back to his supplier but they say there's nothing wrong, so he asked me what he should do. I said I'd have a word for him with the provider and see if we could do something.

Now I'm not a contract lawyer, I'm a divorce lawyer but it is one of those things... as long as you're a lawyer people bring all of their problems to your doorstep, usually with the words "I know you don't do that, but you're a lawyer". They seem to think all law is the same, that even though I did study contract law as part of my exams, it will (in their view) have remained totally unchanged over the 20 or so years since I last did it. This is like saying to someone "Oh I know you did your maths O level 20 years ago but could you explain Google algorithm to me? I mean its all maths isnt it..?" Well... er... yes, but not as we studied it in the 1980's, well over a decade before the internet and Google. Can't people get this?

Let alone, there is precious little law shared between contract and divorce anyway, they're 2 seperate disciplines, its like asking a carpenter to amputate your leg on the basis "well a saw is a saw... isn't it? If you can make a good job of a table leg must be a synch to saw off my leg"... My reply to such a pillock would be... "Why yes, of course... I could make a nice dovetail joint from your cartilage and fix a Louis xvi replacement... you'll look swish in the dining room!!!"Of course nobody would. Yet the perception is the law is stationary, it does not move, that the English Parliament and US Congress got bored of passing laws a few decades ago and decided to leave everything the same...Huh...?

Now as it happens I did have a word with the mobile phone company and persuaded them that as he was on contract they really should renew the phone, after all he's the one using it from day to day and he'd be the best one to judge if its working. Without much trouble they agreed a replacement, which he was pleased to receive but needless to say yesterday he was bending my ear saying it was still dropping calls. So it must be a generic problem? Right... Yep, it is a generic problem, generic to him. Washing machines, cars, fridges, irons, even ironing boards... if it can go wrong it will go wrong... to him... or that's how he views it. Needless to say it doesn't go wrong, he just makes it wrong... mainly by his absolute refusal to read the instructions on anything. He can work it out, and get it wrong all on his own... then get me, or some other friend to put it right. Mind you its usually simple and he's always happy to buy us a pint or two. Many a night I've fallen over and knocked myself unconscious thanks to his generosity.

But it occurred to me, who actually benefits from this arrangement? He buggers up and one or other of his mates sorts it out for him, usually by retrieving the instruction manual. So he buys us some drinks.

Is he the beneficiary? Er... I don't think so... he has to cope with everything failing and nothing working quite as it should till someone gets round to helping him out... it then costs him a few rounds down the pub.

Am I... or those that help him out, the beneficiaries? Well no, not really. We waste valuable time which we could be using at work earning real money, at home with our families, or just wasting valuable leisure time... not only sorting it out but also talking about it down the pub when we could instead be discussing such subjects as:-
Questioner: Who'd you screw..? That blonde from Brookside but with Ghonnorea... or Anne Widdecombe?
Reply: Does Anne have any diseases?
Questioner: No, clean as a whistle!
Reply: Er... is Anne Widdecombe wearing a sack on her head?

Is the State the beneficiary? Well, that is more difficult. We earn less money and so pay less tax, but superficially at least, we spend more on beer, well Dave does anyway, so the taxman gets extra taxes from beer sales. On the other hand the government has to dispatch ambulances to treat us when we fall into the middle of the road helpless. So overall probably not.

So who gains? Why the landlord of the local, of course! He sells us beer while Dave describes his problem in great detail, more beer while we try to solve it for him without having to do anything and even more beer when he buys us the pints for the final resolution.

Oh and I suppose beautiful and ugly women in equal measure, since we have less time to leer, jeer, or speculate on what it would take to actually go to bed with them...

© OddBat 2008

Moose free zone...

After living with my girlfriend for 15 years we've split up and I've found myself back on the singles scene...

Now initially I approached this with relish and threw myself into the part of a bachelor actively seeking female company and was immediately surprised at how easy it all was. I'd never been that successful with women in my 20's. Oh I'd had a number of girlfriends but "pulling" on a night out with the lads was usually restricted to my raising my trousers after a visit to the Gents... And the more beer I consumed the less likely females were to show any interest in my feeble attempts to chat them up. Of course when drunk my chat up lines tended to go..."Eerrr you luk luverly... fancy a pint? Bugger I need a piss!... 'ang on a mo"... Strangely enough they didn't and my only company on the long stagger home was the ubiquitous kebab.

That was the 1980's, today the world has moved on, or perhaps I have, but I found it very easy to "pull" although not so easy to make the one night stand into a lasting relationship... and after a year has passed I'm now feeling the need for something less transient and more permanent, but the pubs and clubs seem no place to find this...

So my thoughts trailed inevitably to the Internet, a dating site, the problem is which one... something generic like http://www.match.com/ ... or more specialised, say for the over 40's, or those only looking for a long term relationship?

Once you start to look for anything on the search engines you get immediately sucked in...

Are you a millionaire wanting a young nubile blonde?

Are you looking for a Russian bride..?

Perhaps a Chinese bride..?

Thai..? Indonesian..? Asian..?

Its like deciding on your takeaway after a night on the ale, the problem is if you make the wrong choice on a takeaway you're on the loo for the night, make a wrong choice on dating and well... the consequences are much more long term, and painful... take it from me... I'm a divorce lawyer.

There are speciality sites for every type of dating conundrum, Want to date only those sharing your own STD? Theres a site for it... Want to date only blondes? Yup... that's possible too.

And it was whilst trawling through this plethora of choice I came across http://www.darwindating.com/

Now this site operates on a perversion of the Darwinian premise, the survival of the best looking. Yes I kid you not dear reader... DarwinDating is apparently a moose free zone. All potential members have to submit photos of themselves when they will be voted on by the membership to determine if they have the stunning looks to join... most fail... indeed it is rumoured that one of the site owners submitted an application for membership and was promptly rejected!!

But this leads inevitably to the big question, if all members on this beautiful site are elected by the membership then which came first; the elected... or the electors? How were the first members chosen? The old chicken and egg scenario. And you can't go and see the membership unless you are acclaimed handsome... so what will confront you if your application is graciously approved? Well, if the first few members were ugly... and lets face it that's just a likely to be the case as handsome, beauty being in the eye of what would have been at the start a very subjective membership of one, then surely the votes will be to reject the handsome and admit only like types...

I felt an application coming on until, alas I found there was an age restriction as well. It seems males reach their sexual peak at 18 (eh... lads... lads) and girls when they're 30. So DarwinDating takes the view anyone over 35 is too old to breed within their membership. No, honestly its true, not only looks but age... and surely the emphasis on dating to breed is not Darwinism but Eugenics... a wholly darker proposition.

Now it should be added that this site, whilst it seems to operate in accordance with its own rules does at least acknowledge the silliness of it all... pointing out that Charles Darwin himself was no looker and in a supreme irony therefore could not join the site dedicated in his name... and is free to members so if it is a truly subjective horror show then nothing is lost...

The same cannot be said for http://www.hotenough.org/ which actually genuinely follows this principle in a pay site, although you can be admitted if over 40... and the under 40's are not allowed to vote in that classification. In fact the whole membership process is sooo complex with different tiers for the stunning as opposed to the merely beautiful... and for age groups too. To join you have to score at least a 6 and maintain that score in order to retain membership being constantly subject to the vote...

Unsurprisingly, annual membership is probably a bad idea, especially with my looks...

**Oddbat would like to point out he is not claiming to approve any of the sites mentioned in this blog and is not advertising or receiving any payment or commission... but if any of those mentioned want to slip him a tenner, or free membership (Ok... so the membership is unlikely!)

© Oddbat 2008

Ida Maria.. continued

Now on my last post I examind the possiblity that boys live to their names... "Sids" for instance wear knotted hankies on their head on vacation but girls live to themselves... and used the example of the latest chart single by Ida Maria ... " I like you so much better when you're naked"...

Now, I don't mean to critisise but... surely... she can't be serious... I could understand if it were sung by a bloke... although no doubt the "Wimmins" liberation movement would call for the castration (if they were feeling gentle) of the male artiste concerned... but it is the way it is... girlies do look very nice naked... but blokes... sorry, but lets face it... the old meat 'n' 2 veg are hardly pretty... mind you that's not too surprising for if you read the bible... and I am sure all my readers have perused the worthy text carefully... it can be seen at Genesis that God spent 7 days creating the world and ALL Life in it...

Only 7 days... all that...

And guess what he created last of all..? Yup... us... man... the very last design at the end of a monumentally busy week... No wonder he hasn't been seen around much for the last few millenia or so... I know how much rest I need after cleaning the loo out... if I spent a whole 7 days doing it I'd be resting till my dying day... indeed I'd be too tired to let go of the bogbrush... so there'd have to be a sunroof on my coffin... actually good idea that... catch a few rays on the way to the service... no need to worry about skin cancer then either....

So there you have it... God spends 7 days creating the universe, heaven, earth... the billions of species of plants, insects (Why, Why, Why Wasps...?) and animals... gets ready to knock off for the week and finds one last thing on his list... bloody hell... an animal with brains...

You can imagine it can't you...? Dying for the toilet and a few beers, suddenly finds... got to create man... so hardly surprising he looks round the garage at what he's got left... and of course its not much... he could make the species from scratch but he really needs a crap, a pint and a kip so just digs around... finds a couple of spuds and a sausage... job done...

"Bugger"... says mankind....

Of course after a while man starts squinnying... he can't make any friends... hardly bloody surprising with the disastrous design... the other species can't stop laughing... so taking sympathy god removes a rib and fashions around it what SHOULD have been the design... and its good... bloody good... no shocks there then... he's now on overtime... this one'll be made to measure... Woman...

So... was it gods last joke on his very best masterpiece to ensure it had to sleep with his most ugly creation... did he have to clinically supress her vomit function to ensure she could?

Or is it true... did God really have to mess womens brains up soooo badly that they actually really think men look better naked????

Or is IDA MARIA really just rebelling against the curse of her name...?

Fetch me the knotted hanky... my brain hurts...

© OddBat 2008

Ida Maria... I knew an Ida

On my way home last Sunday I was listening to the chart... yes... that is the singles chart... not some kind of review about the functions of excel... when I heard a song was making its way up called Ida Maria... now initially I thought they had mispronounced... surely Ave Maria... a little upmarket for Radio 1 but who knows???

No...it wasn't Ave Maria... it was in fact a young artiste struggling with the unfortunate name IDA...

Now I knew an IDA when I was a kid in the seventies... she was a friend of my Grans... habitually in surgical stockings... complaining about her varicose veins and lamenting the loss of her "Sidney"during the war... So... you may think... isn't that quite cute/sad... pining for her dear husband all those years... well no... not really... Sidney was her Yorkshire terrier... killed when he strayed onto a Ministry of Defence training ground... Her husband... Albert... left her shortly after the war for the girl who gave him double helpings of dumplings in the NAFFI... as IDA never tired of reminding us...Now this is clear evidence of the resurgence of prewar names... y'know the ones that nobody would touch with a bargepole after the war 'cos they were as naff as... well... rationing, rickets and Goebbels... Today however so many girls labour with the names... Emily... Amy... Rose... now it seems the worst are coming back... Ada and Ida... Yet only girls are subjected to this trend... Noticed any boys named Sidney, Albert or Roger in the christening announcements... of course not... they're rubbish names... Kind of conjures up the image of an overweight bloke in a string vest with a pot belly, snowy white legs, socks and sandals... sporting the obligatory knotted hanky...

Now ironically I did spot just one fashion disaster on my holiday... and decided to have a word with him... we knotted hanky wearers must stick together... Guess what..? He was a Sid... so this is the problem... Men don't have the imagination to depart from the reputation carried by their name... christening a child Albert is to condemn the poor infant to a handlebar moustache, obesity and a lifetime of gout...

But girls... well it seems the fairer sex revel in the opportunity to overturn the reputation accorded by their names...Well one can only assume so by IDA's latest offering entitled "I like you so much better when you're naked" a song whose lyrics wholly challenge the reputation that goes with her name...

My grans friend IDA would NEVER sing that... "....Eee"... she'd say..."Don't tek off yer cardy... yer'll catch yer death in this 'ouse... can't get gas board to do nowt... plays havoc wi' me piles... 'angin like grapes they are..."

C'mon... who'd want to take off their clothes after hearing that...?

© OddBat 2008

Distressed Jeans...

I was flying home from my summer holiday recently and looking through the inflight magazine was astonished to see a review of what "man about the town... Ian" was wearing today... "yellow distressed boned jeans..." Now I dont know about you but there is one colour for denim and that is blue... well at a push black too, but red, green or white NOOOO... and yellow.... yellow.... the outerwear that tamed the wild west in budgerigar YELLOW... you have to be pulling my leg.... but then the next point struck me....DISTRESSED.... Now hold on a mo... how the hell do you DISTRESS a pair of jeans..? Are there people in the Levi factory whose job it is to yell at the products how worthless they are... saying things like no girl could possibly fancy them... or... "see that peice of dog turd out there... that's what we used to colour you we did... you really are a shit pair of denims...". Now this raises 2 questions...

1. Firstly... How do you get a job as a "Jeans Distresser"... Have you ever seen that advertised? Me neither so its fair to say they must promote from the factory floor... but there's no point in promoting the ones that make good jeans... how can they distress them..? So they must promote their worst weavers to the post... which beggars the question... if your promotion propects hang on being rubbish at your job why does anyone bother to do it well? Maybe that explains my rapid promotions through my profession however... but I've not yet reached the giddy heights of client distresser so I'm guessing it must be a boardroom post... How are these decisions made?...
"So who do we have for promotion today to the board?"
"Er, well there's Simpkins, been at the comany for 10 years... grammar school... Oxford... 1st class honours... wife called Margery and 2 children.. Maddison and Benjamin"
"Hmmm yes....but is he crap enough"...
"Well we have Shirker... been with us for 8 years... off sick most of the time when he's not drunk... wife called Elvis and 4 children called AstonVillaAreShit, BirminghamCityAreTheBest, PissOnTheVilla and UpTheBlues... all girls..."
"Excellent... clearly the right caliber... promote him to the distressing post and double his salary... obvious Chief Executive material..."

2. Secondly... How the heck do you distress an inanimate object...? Well perhaps the answer lies in the remainder of the description... "BONED"
Now I had to think carefully on this... how do you "bone" a pair of jeans... surely you bone fish...(ie remove the skeleton from the carcass in preperation for service to the diner)... This to me seemed impossible... unless Levis actually buy up fish skeletons... stitch them into the jeans and then employ someone to remove them... surely here I am going too far... not only a distresser but someone to add fishbones to a design and another person to remove them..? So what did this mean... a quick look at the dictionary gave me the answer... apparently in the verb form to "bone" is slang for a male having sex with a female... ie "I chatted 'er up at the Red Lion... bought her a double vodka and coke... she dropped her knickers and I boned her in the gents"... or... "Since I got my new Ford Focus with double turbo camshaft I'm boning 2 or 3 girls a week... they love the leather gearstick..."

So have each pair of these distressed jeans actually been sexually assaulted by a paid employee just to distress them..? The mind boggles... I mean... how do you have sex with a pair of jeans? And won't it stain them? On this basis I felt further investigations were appropriate so looked very carefully to find the stains... all for research purposes you understand... I'm not usually to be found staring at the groin of a bloke wearing yellow jeans... but do you know what..? There were no stains apparent... so does the distresser/jeans assaulter wear a condom..? Or was in fact the clue to this conundrum before my very eyes.. It seems so... for although we are reassured the said jeans are new... they in fact look old... hence the distressed statement.... these jeans are made brand new, perfect in every way... then put through a machine to wear them out so they LOOK old... Can you imagine being born looking 52 years old..? You'd be distressed... one can only imagine how the jeans might feel...

Surely this raises questions on the nature of our society... its just too much trouble for us to buy a pair of jeans and wear them for a long time so they look well worn... no... we in the West are way too idle for that.. we prefer to pay for a company to make new jeans and then have a machine wear them out for us... and we wonder why as a nation we are becoming obese!! We can't even make the effort to wear out our clothes... Where will this end..? Will I be able to buy underwear with a brown streak down the rear... just so I don't have to go to the effort of skidmarking them myself?

BUT... here is the real irony of this... I have a one in one out rule in my wardrobe... Any new clothing purchased must be compensated by an old item going to Oxfam... Now I am not hard on my clothes so on this basis there will be someone in the 3rd world wearing my old clothes and looking smarter than me in my new ones... Erk!!

Finally you may be interested to know the price for these ready rubbished jeans... They're yours for "only" £237...

And a full frontal lobotomy presumably...

© OddBat 2008