Getting some time back - 20 Days

I've just realised that the time zone difference between here and my new home will mean that I'll be able to watch The Ashes at a more sociable hour. If I had still been in the UK the matches would have started about 11pm, through to 6am. Now it will be 5pm to 12. That's totally watchable. Another advantage is that I no longer have to stay up until 4am to watch the wrestling PPVs (although they wont be free any more), and when the season comes around I can watch the baseball without trying to stay awake until 3am.

Just as important, I will suddenly be a further 6 hours younger than the people I'm younger than, and 6 hours less older than the people I'm currently older than, assuming they stay in the UK.

Now, this is pretty great. At first I was thinking of things I could do with those extra six hours, like try to beat my half-million score on bejewelled blitz, do a million keepy-uppies, or learn every Oasis song on guitar. But I then thought of something even better, I can just cancel out six hours of my life that I thought I'd never be able to get back.

Trivium (30mins) - These guys supported Iron Maiden at the SECC a couple of years back. We got in late and had already rather disappointingly missed Lauren Harris, so we weren't in a great mood, and the generic shit metal being churned out by these guys wasn't helping. But metal is metal, and both my brother and I do like a bit of metal. However, we'd grown out of the typical metal posturing by then and therefore were rather unimpressed by the lead singer's "I fucked your mother" jibe to someone near the front of the stage. The sound of silence and a thousand eyes rolling followed, and half the crowed retired to the bars and left Trivium to finish their set.  I don't mind a bit of the old trash talking, but I prefer it to be witty and usually not involving shagging peoples relatives. There's also nothing worse than turning up at a gig and finding the support is pish.......

Scatter (30mins) - These guys take the biscuit as the shittest group of musically minded people I've ever seen. I think the term "indefinite hiatus" means they're all toilet cleaners now. They supported Belle and Sebastian, and were utterly dreadful. They were a cross between Charlie MacKenzie from "So I married an Axe Murderer" and the shittest band playing the music you hate the most. The twat lead person wore a beret and read from his book of shit, and there was a sign on the stage that said "Abyss/business" and I wanted to kill him with it. Everything they did offended my everything. So I'm quite glad I'm getting that half hour back.

Kid A (50 mins)  - I loved OK computer. It is the perfectest album since Dark Side of the Moon. Kid A made me cry. I knew what I was in for, and that it was a departure, but I loved Radiohead and listened to it from start to finish hoping that the pretentiousness would seep into my mind and I'd love it, but I couldn't. I tried and I failed. I couldn't bring myself to listen to it again, it's like when they have to stop giving CPR in the movies, it was gone, and there was no bringing it back.

don't even look at me

Conspiracy Theory (40 mins) - I know the movie probably lasted more than 40 minutes, but I reckon that's about as long as I lasted. Who knows, it may have been a good movie, but it sure wasn't doing it for me. I was also drunk, and agreed to go to the movie with a nedette I worked with. I couldn't stand her, couldn't stand the movie, and the nachos were soggy. Part of the disappointment was in my 18 year old self, who thought he fancied said nedette, but experienced the clarity of reverse beer goggles, as the drunker I got the more I realised that she was an irritating hoor. I got up and left the movie and never saw here again, cos she got fired.

Telesales - (2 hours) - On two occasions I ventured into the world of telesales. First I tried to sell double glazing when I was about 19, as at the time I was a student and I figured that my soul was worth £5ph. I did a quick interview, and they really liked my phone voice and put me to work. However, the problem with me and sales is that I have a superpower, and that is ultra-empathy. From the very first call it felt like I was on the other end of the line, and I just wanted to tell myself to fuck off. I had one of those moments when the baddie realises what he's doing, looks at his hands, and then helps the good guys beat the bad guys, who were only just recently his friends. I just couldn't do it so I apologised and left.

I thought that 3 years later it would have been easier, especially since this was for a charity, but I couldn't say "Roy Castle Cancer Fund" without thinking I was collecting money to give Roy Castle cancer, which was kind of a dickish thing to do since he was already dead and no longer playing trumpets. I once again walked out mid-shift, and requested that my one hour's pay be donated to charity.

Property Unlimited (20mins) - If I listed all of my dealings with estate agents here, I'd probably have to fly round the sun to get my time back, so I'll just pick the worst of them all. Despite me telling said agent that I had researched the market, and the rental process, she proceeded to spout utter bullshit to me. It seemed that all those safety regulations I had heard about didn't matter, and that she could get me £350 per month for the house. Of course she could, because selling things for a lot cheaper than they are is a great sales technique if you want to make fuck all money. Oh, but their fee was higher than everyone else's too. So I had been taken for a mug by the poisoned dwarf of an agent, who also claimed that their company was the biggest in the area and that she was fucking great. The time she spent in my kitchen talking to me devalued my house, and had any other agent knocked on my door that night I would have signed them up just on how shite she was. I ended up renting the place out for £500.

Once by James Herbert (more than whatever I needed to get to to make 6 hours) - OK, I've overshot here, so I may have to take a one way trip to Alaska at some point.

I read this whole book. All of it. Every single word, all the way to the end, and god knows why. It was bollocks from start to finish. Reading about men shagging fairies isn't really my thing. There is nothing sexy about the word "mound" when used to describe a lady's (or in this case, paedophil-ey young fairie's) parts which must not be named. I'm sure the protagonist shagged some other beings in the book, mostly in bad language, and yet I still read on, and the ending was rubbish, I think a house fell down or something.

So, if emigrating means I can forgive myself for being the kind of guy who can persevere through over 500 pages of badly written fantasy porn, but can't last an hour working for charity, so be it.

Sorry Roy.