Hello, just a tiny blog post while I’m working late, just to relive the tedious bits inbetween running updates and hoping to god the things come back afterwards.

It’s good having Youtube at work, as you have all the music you want.

A fair while ago, I was in a bit of a downtrodden funk while residing in the current quarters here in London, a place with 6 letters in its name. You see, I have to be honest, where I am currently staying, I am fully convinced the place is only held together using sellotape, blu-tack and some sour cream from Belgium.

The shower alters between burning pain of hot, and a temperature so cold, it makes you forget about women for at least 72 hours. There appears to be an animal not of this earth living in a pile of crap underneath the stairs, and when questioned about this, the answer I received was “It mostly comes out at night, mostly….”

It has got to the point where I don’t even venture home after work for some time, simply to avoid having to trundle back until it’s absolutely necessary. I suppose that’s why despite my best or not very best efforts, I have dropped back to seldom writing on this tome of the damned as much, my uber of a machine, lies dormant within the clutches of the cave, powerless and gathering dust.

Before even heading down to the big city, I knew what the place was like beforehand, a throwback to the 1970’s eastern europe where a turnip had to be shared between 50 people and electricity was something to be afraid of, and yet, just like the Jews believing the Germans when they said “Go on, you have a nice shower now” I believed it was the best situation.

That opinion had altered and of course that led to the situation with the Flat scams from Gumtree, of which I have still heard nothing from the mentioned combatants, so still gun-shy from that ordeal, I tried something different:

Yes, that film did feature myself from that fateful evening.

The event was called as you may have guessed from the crappy title, Flat Night Fever and was a brain child of some twisted psychopath who works for a flatmate website whose name escapes me.

The idea is quite like speed dating except without a 40 year old man with an Elvis fixation and therefore having a quiff in his hair…you would find him on the 5th floor where there was actual speed dating in the same place.

You go around meeting potential flatmates, asking them details about their place and take details. That’s it. The plus side is you have more than three minutes. The downside was it was in an expensive bar where even tap water costs you a fiver and before they started you were forced to watch a glittering example of bad acting which was something to do with how not to behave as a flatmate or something, you couldn’t really tell as they had the volume of wasps next to a speeding train.

Still never mind, maybe what gets presented after will be good.

Looking at central we had some estate agents who were eager to sign people up to studios for £400 a week. A f**king room in, as it turns out, not very central London I have to say, given one lot of properties were based in Crawley, for £400 a week.

So around I go, and met a very attractive lady who had a room in Bermondsey, a place described to me before as an armpit. Because she was very nice looking, The Lord of Leisure turned on the charm, with all the presence of a custard stain on a shirt. Somehow it was working, even the most absurd jokes which have been handed down from generation to generation, she seemed to laugh.

But the room had no room according to her good self for the mighty uber beast PC, and regretfully the discovery of how easy it is to get a lady was not on the agenda for this evening, it was cut short, and I wandered off. I spoke to various people, all whom were wanting lots of money for not that much.

There was even an older lady who was annoyed that she was was asking for a lot of money and people at the event wanted cheap accommodation. Where she was, it wasn’t near any lines of transport either, she really needed a good slap, and that’s being kind.

The best one actually was with a oriental fella from Hammersmith who I was sitting next to in the youtube video above, he was very nice, it wasn’t far from the Piccadilly line for work, only sharing with him and it was £700 a month all inclusive.

I almost went for it, but alas after looking at the ongoing money situation, because moving down cost a lot of money in the first place, I need to be cheaper than that, and so I let that golden opportunity pass by into the night. It appears I will have to wait just a little longer.

So another night out in the West End, and another learning experience. One which was actually was more beneficial than gumtree’s wonderful system. It was worth while to know the type of people you were likely to meet when going for house or flat shares,

Yes, Episode 4 is still in the dulldrums of my hard drive, it’s contents lying forgotten and unloved. Some extra content has been added here and there, but I guess it’s harder to sum up the experiences of being here in the dirty big city place.

Because so much has happened in such a small space of time and also with talking about various things on the blog as well, it’s a handful trying to get something together that not only makes little sense but is slightly funny as well.

Rest assured, it plagues my mind every day at the moment, along with various other questions like Why did I steal that traffic cone, and can photocopiers make people smaller, and more than likely there will be something produced very soon.

It’s been fun on the button being a lazy sob for all those who feel the need to wander around looking for something to do, like what are those strange things called….something that is supposed to make you sound interesting at dinner parties…bananas….socks….ah hobbies!

Of course this has meant in the meantime that I have slacked off in performing my duties in informing you all on the strange and mythical world that we all inhabit. For instance, there was a poster which I thought I would never see written down last week after the premiere of the Dark Knight:

Basically at first I thought that Batman had been arrested for all the damages he had caused in Golem City and he now had to do hard time getting bat-raped by a man called Susan in the showers. But no, all it turned out to be was the actor had a falling out with his mum. Ahhhh, isn’t that nice? Mind you you tend to get this strange stuff from the Welsh, don’t you? (now I await the email which complains about mentioning that the Welsh is strange. And yet, I still only expect one email about it….)

And then Thursday afternoon after a hard day’s sitting down, it was suggested to me to have a rest in Green Park, a park that is green. Actually in London, that sounds like a strange concept, but I have seen as many as 22 trees so far, so it’s not totally alien. I basically lied down on the floor, looking at the sky, thinking, well let’s be fair not an awful lot, and it was a breath of moderate toxic air.

The sun was out, the heat was bearing down, cooking everyone it could find, and the only thing that could have made it even better was a beer.

But all good things mustn’t last and the time came to go home.

At least, to go back to the place where I’m staying. I prefer not to call it home, because if I actually conceded that fact, I fear I would begin crying. No, home is where there is a proper shower, and there isn’t someone there, who basically for some reason, makes you want to strangle him, screaming “How can you be made of so much grease?”

The weekend was filled with not an awful lot to be fair. But now is not the time for speculation and lies. That’s for Monday’s blog post….

Basically this was something that was shown from Shawn from Gamers with Jobs over a Skype conversation on the weekend, and during the conversation which included talking about Knights of the Old Republic, a link was presented to watch something by that bloke who did Buffy a while ago, and I sat down and watched an evil mad failure’s blog mixed with musical songs.

I tell you now, it was good.

Very Good.

To the point that I want the DVD despite the love bits, it was nice to be on the side of the wannabe bad guy for once, and I want more. Whether or not there will be more is uncertain, considering the ending which for once shall not be revealed, but at least there was something new produced, which is a testiment to the Internet, it doesn’t matter if you don’t have the distribution channels, you can actually put together things with the budget of a Chinese meal.

The video streams showcasing this bizarre twisted, yet highly watchable doo-hickey have dried up now and only the Americans can get it on ITunes now but perhaps at some point they will see the error of their ways and open it up to the rest of the world.

So for now I leave you with the link to it. Enjoy!

Sleepy days are often followed with a hard day’s work, and today proved that point without a doubt, and more will follow in the days ahead. That’s not even the worst thing taken from today, far from it in fact, you can argue that keeping yourself busy away from the prospect of playing with your belly button fluff one more time.

But it was after the day’s graft that I find myself once again at the alter of the fabled celebrity. Another premiere closed off Leicester Square, crushing the crowds in a hurtful attempt to keep the general public away from people who appear in films which don’t just frequent the shelves in your favourite back alley stockist.

You would think by the first and only encounter so far with such a spectacle that I would have been out of my mind to venture another attempt at mingling with the crowds, in a vain attempt to see such people like Michael Caine, who basically has a movie credit list longer than my arm, or Maggie Gybns…Gnry…Grenade in the flesh simply to shout about the type of Movies I would see her star in.

But this one had caught the eye for the simple reason that it was for the European showing of The Dark Knight, the second of the remade Batman series which made huge strides away from “Comic book Skegness” to “Dark and moody Butlins holiday camp”.

The film had been overshadowed of course by the death of the Joker off screen, Heath Ledger who died aged 28 after an overdose, had by all accounts given such a show-stealing performance, that his co-stars gave him the limelight far more, and all bets for the man to win an Oscar are off.

In the UK we don’t find out until Thursday this week how good the film truly is for ourselves, the humble paying public but so far the reviews have basically painted a Picasso. A masterpiece worthy of the time and effort given by the cast and crew.

However, that aside, I now firmly believe that unless you are on that carpet of which few people tread except if you are one of the Borg, I mean the PR people, it’s a complete waste of time to even bother to turn up.

You would have more fun picking you nose hairs clean using a steak knife and a CD of polka hits.

The Police were on their best behaviour, constantly moving the ever increasing crowd around like John Wayne moving his herd to market. The stars kept themselves to themselves around one tiny area, with only the bloke who plays Harvey Dented in the film lasting longer than 20 seconds with the crowd.

The showcase of the affair, the motoring of the bat cycle from the film, complete with flaps that go up and down a lot like someone suffering the shakes, proved that it can go backwards and forwards a bit. Sometimes, more than once.

The Magic of the movie business once again, is shown up to be like Britney Spears. Once everyone wanted to know, now just look at what happened to the old fart. Frankly, it would be too much to endure people standing on my feet again for the fleeting glimpse of people who, it appears are rather happy in their own world, perhaps never ever wishing to step into ours.

Some would say that’s the opinion of someone who is envious of the positions built up by people who work hard to get where they are today. In this instance, you’d probably be right.

It gets discouraging in a sense to be reminded of the simple fact that you are just a bloke in a crowd while others nearby can swoon around like they own us all. They know they do too, and somehow it’s difficult to argue with that. They entertain us, and these days, that is power.

In some ways you want a piece of that and you start wondering how you get it. Then the answers hits you like a well placed impact to the joy department. Talent is one thing, but you have to know the right people, a fact of which London excels at pointing out to you again and again, just like when that lady walks around on the street with her skirt caught in her knickers, and the women all rush to tell her the fatal mistake.

(Us men just perve. Nature wins again!)

I suppose until such time through either luck, talent or those places which get you the tickets for you without breaking a sweat, and that day comes when I can walk down the poo-stained street and into a cinema with people in the know, let’s put this slumbering beast to bed and instead worry about what’s growing between my toenails. Far more entertaining….

Yes, it’s a very good question.

The short answer is: I was having some more quality time at home, before the troubling event of Natalie returning to her homeland for some time, will she stay, will she come back? Will I keep asking silly questions? Whose line is it anyway? Find out after the break.

I suppose for a lack of a better thing to write at this moment, it’s just all rather sad at the moment, and in time, that feeling will be cured by our good friends, alcohol and dirty naughty magazines. In the meantime, relax and enjoy the rest of your day and tune in later on tonight for the continuation of ramblings on t’internet.

Providing of course I don’t get sidetracked by drinking or the premiere of The Dark Knight with some more people wandering around on a carpet in desparate need of hoovering.

For good behaviour, or perhaps as punishment for crimes against humanity, I’m taking a few days away from Ooh Sometimes, to catch up with some sleep, some writing of a different nature and also to enjoy one’s self while thinking up new sick and twisted evil things.

We’ll return on Saturday with a round-up of the weekend before’s happenings when we left sunny London to go back to reality for a couple of days, watching a silly film with no-longer pregnant “A Joile Fish-Lips” and some other bloke, and of course having fun hanging with some old friends aplenty.

Add to that some random talk about something which more than likely will have caught my eye over the next few days, It’s all to play with the ready money round…no sorry wrong show.

Take it easy campers.

London, home to the rich, the famous, the useless, the meek, the poor, the comical, the brave, the homeless and frankly, more useless people. In total, you have around 8 million meat bags making their way home within the M25 night after night after working 9 to 5 at financial institutions such as Woolworths, McDonalds and selling the Big Issue.

But some at least do go to a home of some description, be it the luxury flat above, or as most are forced to do, share with 12 Albanians and a transvestite.

You see, a fair while ago it was confirmed that London has some of the most expensive property in the world. If you wish to live in the city you basically have to be prepared to pay around £275,000 for studio flat in Soho, and remember that’s just one room with a bucket in the corner for you to relive yourself.

Even when the price dropped by £20,000 last month given the state of the economy here in broken Britain, you know you will always pay a premium.

Renting pricing has gone up by 8% in recent times, owing to the fact that you can buy a hotdog easily in the capital, but it makes for a lousy 2 bed detached, people are just consigned to the fact there is no affordable housing, no you can’t count the part buy, part rent, you end up just as broke and you have even less of the property.

Times are tough. And therefore when you trawl through the likes of Gumtree.com trying to find a nice place to live around the devil’s armpit, you will come across adverts that will catch your eye quicker than you catch a naughty disease from someone who was friendly.

Here was what the criteria at the time of the search:

1 Bed room flat – Anywhere you won’t get stabbed.

Granted this wasn’t likely to yield any great results, and it would mean another night trawling through the bins at Aldi, just looking for that nice extension to the living room. But wait, what’s this?

Not one but two adverts for one bedroom apartments in wait for it, the center of London?!?! All bills included as well? Hmm…

Using the Gumtree email dookickey, I contacted both of the individuals to find out what the story was:

One landlord was a Dr. Michael Silloway, who was a M.B., B.A.O., B.Ch. D.O.R.C.P.I. M.R.C.G.P. MTTS, RAC, B.Y.O.B. and well, what the hell, let’s throw in every letter of the alphabet in for good measure. The other was someone either a boy or a girl or a strange mixture of the two, Oliva something, you may think it’s a girl, but there were no objections when I repeated typed sir in the email correspondence.

Naming these people on the Internet is quite a thing to do, this laying the way for potential trouble, however I’m convinced I will not suffer any ill effects as a result of naming them and there is a reason why:

Both were scams.

QUICK! HIDE THE TINY PEOPLE! AGHHHHHHHHHH! But wait, hold your horses, the bad people didn’t get anything, except for 5 minutes of my time, and this experience is one which is best shared.

Therefore in conjunction with one of children television’s best loved productions, Ooh Sometimes presents:

Now of course, you’re going to want to know how do they try it on with you? Here’s how it all goes:

• First you email them asking about the flat, having had an orgasm at such a possibility of affordable rent in the center of town.

• They then respond telling you about how much it costs, and ask about your intentions. They also tell you at this point that they don’t have to rent the place out, but after speaking to an imaginary friend, it would better to let the place out and have someone look after it.

• You then respond with how long you hope to have the place for and a bit about yourself. At this point, you will not reveal you intend to use the flat as a brothel.

• They then tell you that they have wasted quite a bit of money coming down from magicland or wherever they are and require proof you have the money BEFORE you even see the place. And remarkably proof of income is not allowed.

• You wonder what else you could do, so you ask.

• They get into touch with their army of lawyers (even the engineer in Leeds had one, amazing) and then suggest that you do a Western union transfer to someone you know and then transfer the money back to yourself and then forward them the slips.

• You then get suspicious.

After speaking with people in the know, and even the fraud officer at Western Union to see what their angle would be, it turns out this is all a way to scam money from either you or Western Union (if they are lucky, you will do over both)

One again, something in the city which looks too good to be true, is. Even just a simple task of finding somewhere you can actually stand coming home to on a nightly basis is made more difficult by persons unknown hoping to make a quick buck from someone who just arrived in a sense.

An Ooh Sometimes top tip appears to be: suspect everything and everyone.

Again, another video from YouTube and this time it’s not featuring Jizzy tissue or any rappers who get home with the downies or whatever the hell people from the ghetto of Guildford are supposed to say and do these days:

No, this is something rather speical for your dining and dancing pleasure today.

A while ago in the year long forgotten, 2001, a game was released from the cluches of Remedy Entertainment and 3D Realms onto the market. It had matrix style action, a story as complex and harrowing as discovering your sister in bed with another woman, and more lines filled with cheese than the whole of Leicester.

Max Payne, whose name filled various mobsters and secret government organisations with dread, bullets and very slow movement, became a popular franchise in the gaming space, perhaps simply because the main character looked like he needed a good bowel movement and a sequel was produced which took it all and improved it quite a lot without moving away from what made the game great.

For some reason the sequel never sold as well, and basically until this day, that was the true last we had seen of the man who ate painkillers like they were the nice sweets you get from Quality Street, not the brown ones that get left by everyone.

Until now.

Ladies and gentlemen, the trailer for the Max Payne Film….