Now let me tell you this, last week I spent the majority of the week away from University. It was a welcome escape which came at just the right time.
Don’t get me wrong, I love University and enjoy both my course and the social life immensely but living amongst students, in halls, is like living in an alternative universe. You spend all your time in each others pockets, not literally I must add, that would require the dexterity and skill that only the little Chinese man in Ocean’s Eleven possesses. The little things that annoy you about people are magnified, and if you are a grumpy old man like me, this sets the wheels in motion for weeks of moaning and angry rants about anything and everything.
In any normal environment, and if I was any normal person, these rants would end up ostracising the people around me. Luckily this is far from a normal environment, and I am far from a normal person. My rugged good looks and even more rugged facial hair gives my admirers the sense that the grizzly bear within could be unshackled at any time, and they have come to expect, accept and somewhat love this facet of my personality. However, I do not enjoy being grumpy and needed to get away to rediscover the happier, more charming Holden.
The week began with a visit back to the family home in Poole, Dorset to see the old, crazy parents I mentioned last week. It was nice to be back in a bedroom that had wallpapered walls instead of breeze blocks. It was nice to sleep on a double bed, with a mattress that didn’t have a plastic, waterproof coating. The trust that you won’t need a piss guard on your mattress at the age of 23 is the kind of trust you could only expect from an adoring parent. It was nice to be fed with proper food. It was nice to be able to watch television whilst lying on a sofa. And at the risk of never living this down, it was nice to have a cuddle from the people that gave the world the greatest blogger you will ever meet. I joke of course, my sister has never written a blog, and if she did it probably wouldn’t be as good as mine.
Whilst in Poole my lovely Father took me to see Ricky Gervais’ new stand up show Science. Gervais is my hero and, needless to say, I thought he was excellent. Obviously after the show I dropped Ricky an email, giving him some tips on what he could have done better. I haven’t received a reply yet but I’m sure that’s because he is so busy re-working his show to fit in my ideas. I think if he takes my advice he could go pretty far.
After popping back to Luton for a lecture I skipped merrily on to London to revisit the sight of some of my greatest triumphs. To name but a few, the demolition of a KFC Fully Loaded Meal in under 2 minutes, the creation of a make shift business card to impress a particularly attractive American barmaid, and the completion of the Hip Hop Workout 2 DVD whilst wearing a Rob Lowe vest.
Whilst in London I visited my trusty Romanian stylist Florin. He gave me the greatest haircut this side of Bucharest. The salon he works in has a list of clients that consist of some British comedy stars, such as Michael McIntyre and Reece Shearsmith (League of Gentleman). I know what you're thinking, why haven’t you included your name on the list Sam? Well as you know readers, I am too modest. The problem with the 2 examples I have given is that they both have awful hair. Let’s brush past that (see what I did with the brushing comment?).
Being back in London was fun. I caught up with some old friends. I say some because a couple were around the same age as me.
Seeing friends helped me rediscover who I really am and made me realise I have been acting quite differently at Uni because it is such a young and carefree environment. In particular my friend Mule, who strongly resembles Max Branning of Eastenders fame, helped me to restore faith in myself, and more importantly the Holden Charm.
Now, if you aren’t familiar with the Holden Charm it is either because you are a) male, b) related to me, or c) not sexually attractive.
The charm knows no bounds. It is powerful. It is dangerous. And most of all, it is effective. But strangely it has been lacking of late. I needed the words of wisdom from Max, I mean Mule, to prompt me to dust the charm off, and bring it back out.
I also got to spend some invaluable time with my little sister. When I say little I don’t mean she is younger. In fact she is 6 years older than me, she is just tiny, like Ronnie Corbett but thin and without the golf jumpers. Come to think of it she is another person who could actually live in your pocket. Not that you would want her to. She has far too much wind and needs feeding on an hourly basis.
My sister is the greatest. Fact. There isn’t much else I can say on the matter without writing a whole other post. Needless to say she helped to restore the happiness that exudes from this blog. And also she let me eat some of her crispy aromatic duck after I crudely overlooked it when ordering a Chinese meal on Friday.
To round off the near perfect weekend (I only had one KFC, hence the ‘near’) I went up to Manchester to see my team Manchester United play, with my best friend Ally Harris.
Whilst I love seeing United play, and win, at Old Trafford the trips are so fun because of the journey. Ally is a strange best friend. I say that because, apart from just generally being a little strange, we don’t seem to speak or see each other much but when we do we are guaranteed to have an awesome time, regardless of what we are doing.
It’s also quite strange that I actually do like him, or call him my best friend. This is because he is one of those annoying people that seem to be good at everything. I usually hate those people. He is about as good at sport as you can get without being professional, he is intelligent (nearly as clever as me), a good cook, a good driver, a good physique (I’m not gay), can eat more than me (now that is impressive), and if you squint a bit I suppose some people might say he is semi handsome. The one thing Ally can’t do is sing, and this brings me on to the journey.
The journey consists of 3 essential items; anticipation of the match with feverish football debates, a KFC at the service station for lunch (and in an ideal world, another KFC for dinner) and singing along to the Manchester Playlist.
The latter is the most important. The playlist consists of 11 hours worth of painstakingly selected sing along songs. These tunes can range from Boyz II Men to Bon Jovi. It is essential that there is exactly the right blend of songs to ensure we are in full voice for the whole of the journey. The only problem is, for a delicate and beautiful voice like mine (for those of you wondering if I’m classically trained, I’m not, it's just natural) it is hard to stay pitch perfect with Harris whaling next to me. Although it does make for some great looks from passers by.
So I leave you with this thought my friends. Now that I have been very complimentary about my friends and family will they actually start to READ MY BLOODY BLOG?
Tuesday, 24 November 2009
Saturday, 14 November 2009
Parents
Now let me tell you this, last week Ingrid Lamb, my friend and long time object of my affection, told me that she felt I was still holding something back in my blog. Now, Ingrid is Australian so it's not unusual for something silly (and often inaudible) to come out of her mouth but what she said actually made some sense.
(At this point I am concerned that you may have seen the title and think Ingrid Lamb is my mother. She is not. Firstly, I find her attractive so that would just be weird. Secondly, as previously stated she hails from the land of Koala Bears and Wallabies so if she was my Mum that would make me a bit Australian and I don't use the phrases "bloody sheilas" and "flaming galah" anywhere near enough to be an Aussie.)
So, in an attempt to give you alot more of me I have decided to write about something very close to my heart. My parents.
Being older than most people here I tend to have older parents. Come to think of it they have always been old, even before I was older than everyone else.
An example of the difference between my parents and the parents of my (insert sarcasm) esteemed peers is the use of technology. Most parents nowadays are as well versed as their kids when it comes to using gadgets, computers etc, whereas my parents are still coming to terms with the invention of electricity. The only power their generation is familiar with is flower power.
Whilst most speak to their parents via webcams on Skype, or via Facebook, or MSN, I speak to mine using the trusty old telephone. The problem with this is that my Dad still thinks you need to shout when on a mobile, and my Mum, well she is just scared of phones altogether. You think I joke, but she openly admits that she hates using the phone. She fears it ringing. And when she does pick up, well she always sounds suprised that there is someone else on the other end despite the fact it has been ringing for 3 minutes whilst she is still realising that the ringing is coming from her phone and not the phone in the lastest Inspector Poirot mystery she is watching on television.
Some fear heights, some spiders, some the dark. My mother fears phones. When she does call she carefully rehearses her introduction. Mum, I know its you, you don't have to introduce yourself! But what happens when I don't pick up and it goes to answerphone? This flusters her. She now has about 5 seconds to rehearse a message. This spells disaster. Just the other day I woke to the following voicemail. "Hi Mum! No, oh, no. I mean hi Sam it's Mum. Oops. I'm going mad!"
Another thing with older parents is they can't get names of famous people or brands right. Instead of JJB Sports, it's JB sports. Instead of Go Ahead Bars, it's Go Bars. And my personal favourite from some years back. Instead of Daniel Beddingfield, it's Dereck Bedfield.
Dereck Bedfield? He's sounds like the kind of guy who wears a flat cap and breeds carrier pigeons!
My Dad is now on Facebook, which still amuses me. He is from Oldham, in Greater Manchester. He used to work in a cotton mill as a child. And now he is on Facebook. Oh how the world has changed.
Frank Holden, or Big F as he is sometimes known, is the definition of old school. He is a typical Dad.
He gets angry if someone parks outside the house because it's "his space". If something electrical breaks in the house, whether its a lamp or electric tin opener, it's always because of "those bloody things you've been downloading on the t'internet Sam!" And if anyone touches his Logic Problems puzzle book, which he has a monthly subscription to by the way, there is hell to pay.
It is a great source of amusement for me and my sister that our Dad is Northern. He says things funny. Things like "Bloody hell fire!" And he tells stories of when "those bloody Nazi's bombed our chippy!"
Despite all these strange little nuances I think my parents are the best in the world and I love them very much. They are the most intelligent, generous, kind, hard working people you could ever meet. Which begs the question, what the hell happened to me?
(At this point I am concerned that you may have seen the title and think Ingrid Lamb is my mother. She is not. Firstly, I find her attractive so that would just be weird. Secondly, as previously stated she hails from the land of Koala Bears and Wallabies so if she was my Mum that would make me a bit Australian and I don't use the phrases "bloody sheilas" and "flaming galah" anywhere near enough to be an Aussie.)
So, in an attempt to give you alot more of me I have decided to write about something very close to my heart. My parents.
Being older than most people here I tend to have older parents. Come to think of it they have always been old, even before I was older than everyone else.
An example of the difference between my parents and the parents of my (insert sarcasm) esteemed peers is the use of technology. Most parents nowadays are as well versed as their kids when it comes to using gadgets, computers etc, whereas my parents are still coming to terms with the invention of electricity. The only power their generation is familiar with is flower power.
Whilst most speak to their parents via webcams on Skype, or via Facebook, or MSN, I speak to mine using the trusty old telephone. The problem with this is that my Dad still thinks you need to shout when on a mobile, and my Mum, well she is just scared of phones altogether. You think I joke, but she openly admits that she hates using the phone. She fears it ringing. And when she does pick up, well she always sounds suprised that there is someone else on the other end despite the fact it has been ringing for 3 minutes whilst she is still realising that the ringing is coming from her phone and not the phone in the lastest Inspector Poirot mystery she is watching on television.
Some fear heights, some spiders, some the dark. My mother fears phones. When she does call she carefully rehearses her introduction. Mum, I know its you, you don't have to introduce yourself! But what happens when I don't pick up and it goes to answerphone? This flusters her. She now has about 5 seconds to rehearse a message. This spells disaster. Just the other day I woke to the following voicemail. "Hi Mum! No, oh, no. I mean hi Sam it's Mum. Oops. I'm going mad!"
Another thing with older parents is they can't get names of famous people or brands right. Instead of JJB Sports, it's JB sports. Instead of Go Ahead Bars, it's Go Bars. And my personal favourite from some years back. Instead of Daniel Beddingfield, it's Dereck Bedfield.
Dereck Bedfield? He's sounds like the kind of guy who wears a flat cap and breeds carrier pigeons!
My Dad is now on Facebook, which still amuses me. He is from Oldham, in Greater Manchester. He used to work in a cotton mill as a child. And now he is on Facebook. Oh how the world has changed.
Frank Holden, or Big F as he is sometimes known, is the definition of old school. He is a typical Dad.
He gets angry if someone parks outside the house because it's "his space". If something electrical breaks in the house, whether its a lamp or electric tin opener, it's always because of "those bloody things you've been downloading on the t'internet Sam!" And if anyone touches his Logic Problems puzzle book, which he has a monthly subscription to by the way, there is hell to pay.
It is a great source of amusement for me and my sister that our Dad is Northern. He says things funny. Things like "Bloody hell fire!" And he tells stories of when "those bloody Nazi's bombed our chippy!"
Despite all these strange little nuances I think my parents are the best in the world and I love them very much. They are the most intelligent, generous, kind, hard working people you could ever meet. Which begs the question, what the hell happened to me?
Monday, 2 November 2009
Procrastination!
Now let me tell you this, procrastinating is a big part of my life.
They say that (who are they? I'm guessing the 100 people they survey on Family Fortunes) life is a bitch. And if the Family Fortunes crew, or the FF 100 as they are known in Les Dennis' circles, are to be believed, and life truly is a bitch then procrastination is life's bastard child.
Yeah that's right, what I'm saying is Life went out, she got tanked up on some cheap liquor and ended up hooking up with some hairy guy with a mullet who claimed that he used to be in the Hells Angels just because he had a leather jacket, and he never called her again. 9 months down the line, bam! Procrastination pops out and hatches a plan to become the bane of my life!
A prime example of me procrastinating is this blog. I intended to publish my ramblings every couple of days. My last post was on 23rd October. That is 10 days ago. My fans have become restless, the Holden hotline has been ringing off the hook, and some have come very close to the edge.
Now let me give you another example. My mobile phone insurance. I forgot to cancel it despite the fact I have taken out a cheaper insurance. Why did I not cancel it at the time? I was too busy procrastinating! What has this cost me i hear you cry? To be Frank (and if you have met my dad there is no doubt i will be one day) £13.99. That is the equivalent of the best Boneless Banquet Variety Bucket money can buy!
But now I have become self aware, much like when Robocop realises he used to be a human man, why can I not stop procrastinating? I simply don't know.
It is true, I am very lazy, but when you know it is inevitable that you will do something why not do it NOW rather than later?
As I wrote that I came up with the answer. Amazing. I actually just had an epiphany. A lightbulb moment. Although my bedside lamp is broken so there was no light, just a whole lot of bulb.
So what is the answer I hear you cry? Well, I am easily distracted!
Come to think of it I have subconsciously tried to remove any distractions from my life since coming to Uni. I have brought no television or games consoles. I have literally removed Eggheads and Pro Evo from my life. My brain is trying so hard to stop me from being distracted but it is not winning. This is because my libido and stomach conquers all.
I am surrounded by nubile, young, succulent, pert, desirable pieces of food, and a few girls.
These 2 things make me procrastinate. But how do I stop them? I mean everyone has to eat, and with a face like this I'm always going to be surrounded by women longing for me to blog all over them.
So let me conclude this second, rambling post with this question. If we did not procrastinate would our lives become easier, more structured or would they become regimented, boring, and Eggheadless?
They say that (who are they? I'm guessing the 100 people they survey on Family Fortunes) life is a bitch. And if the Family Fortunes crew, or the FF 100 as they are known in Les Dennis' circles, are to be believed, and life truly is a bitch then procrastination is life's bastard child.
Yeah that's right, what I'm saying is Life went out, she got tanked up on some cheap liquor and ended up hooking up with some hairy guy with a mullet who claimed that he used to be in the Hells Angels just because he had a leather jacket, and he never called her again. 9 months down the line, bam! Procrastination pops out and hatches a plan to become the bane of my life!
A prime example of me procrastinating is this blog. I intended to publish my ramblings every couple of days. My last post was on 23rd October. That is 10 days ago. My fans have become restless, the Holden hotline has been ringing off the hook, and some have come very close to the edge.
Now let me give you another example. My mobile phone insurance. I forgot to cancel it despite the fact I have taken out a cheaper insurance. Why did I not cancel it at the time? I was too busy procrastinating! What has this cost me i hear you cry? To be Frank (and if you have met my dad there is no doubt i will be one day) £13.99. That is the equivalent of the best Boneless Banquet Variety Bucket money can buy!
But now I have become self aware, much like when Robocop realises he used to be a human man, why can I not stop procrastinating? I simply don't know.
It is true, I am very lazy, but when you know it is inevitable that you will do something why not do it NOW rather than later?
As I wrote that I came up with the answer. Amazing. I actually just had an epiphany. A lightbulb moment. Although my bedside lamp is broken so there was no light, just a whole lot of bulb.
So what is the answer I hear you cry? Well, I am easily distracted!
Come to think of it I have subconsciously tried to remove any distractions from my life since coming to Uni. I have brought no television or games consoles. I have literally removed Eggheads and Pro Evo from my life. My brain is trying so hard to stop me from being distracted but it is not winning. This is because my libido and stomach conquers all.
I am surrounded by nubile, young, succulent, pert, desirable pieces of food, and a few girls.
These 2 things make me procrastinate. But how do I stop them? I mean everyone has to eat, and with a face like this I'm always going to be surrounded by women longing for me to blog all over them.
So let me conclude this second, rambling post with this question. If we did not procrastinate would our lives become easier, more structured or would they become regimented, boring, and Eggheadless?
Friday, 23 October 2009
University Life!
Now let me tell you this, this is my very first blog posting. For those of you that know me for the loud mouthed, straight talking, fast food consuming, Ricky Gervais wannabe that I am it may come as a suprise.
So what has brought on this blog from a man that is lazier than the Bute Court security guards? Deena Ingham, that's what!
Deena Ingham is my effervescent, inspiring and often scary Report & Writing lecturer. Now I know that most of you, after reading this, will find it hard to believe I am studying a degree that has anything to do with writing but let me promise you, as I tell most of my one night stands, I am usually better than this. It's just that I am currently fighting the effects of the worst man flu Luton has ever seen.
Oh, if I hadn't mentioned before i am studying at the University of Bedfordshire and my campus is set in the picturesque and multi cultural town of Luton. If you haven't been to Luton before please give it a visit. It's not that I recommend it, it's just that you won't understand my sarcasm unless you do.
I am studying Sport Journalism. This is because I want to be John Motson. I wouldn't mind being in his sheep skin either. I did ask if the coat came free with the course, but apparently not.
I arrived at uni just over a month ago. I wish I could paint you a picture of a snotty nosed kid with tears in his eyes, bags in hand, staring up at the overbearing Halls of Residence that was to be his home for the next 4 years, full of trepidation, but my use of metaphor is often clumsy and at that time I didn't have a cold.
As an old man (23 years old) I was scared that I may have trouble fitting in with the youth of today. There was nothing to worry about. I was exactly what these youngsters needed in their lives. An older, mature, handsome man that they could look to for guidance and support, and someone who could dress up as Father Christmas during the festive season.
Now I have made it sound like I am the father of the group, this couldn't be farther (see what i did there?) from the truth. I have been pampered, preened and generally looked after since I arrived. Who knew 18 year olds had the life skills to look after me? I consider that I am doing them a massive favour. After keeping me alive for 3 years they will be ready to have their own babies!
I wish I could elaborate more on my first month at uni but I simply can't be bothered to type any more. All you need to know is that so far I have won 2 breakdancing contests
, 1 strawpeedo competition 
and came 4th in a 27 team pub quiz.
Stats dont lie people, i'm pretty impressive!
Holden out!
So what has brought on this blog from a man that is lazier than the Bute Court security guards? Deena Ingham, that's what!
Deena Ingham is my effervescent, inspiring and often scary Report & Writing lecturer. Now I know that most of you, after reading this, will find it hard to believe I am studying a degree that has anything to do with writing but let me promise you, as I tell most of my one night stands, I am usually better than this. It's just that I am currently fighting the effects of the worst man flu Luton has ever seen.
Oh, if I hadn't mentioned before i am studying at the University of Bedfordshire and my campus is set in the picturesque and multi cultural town of Luton. If you haven't been to Luton before please give it a visit. It's not that I recommend it, it's just that you won't understand my sarcasm unless you do.
I am studying Sport Journalism. This is because I want to be John Motson. I wouldn't mind being in his sheep skin either. I did ask if the coat came free with the course, but apparently not.
I arrived at uni just over a month ago. I wish I could paint you a picture of a snotty nosed kid with tears in his eyes, bags in hand, staring up at the overbearing Halls of Residence that was to be his home for the next 4 years, full of trepidation, but my use of metaphor is often clumsy and at that time I didn't have a cold.
As an old man (23 years old) I was scared that I may have trouble fitting in with the youth of today. There was nothing to worry about. I was exactly what these youngsters needed in their lives. An older, mature, handsome man that they could look to for guidance and support, and someone who could dress up as Father Christmas during the festive season.
Now I have made it sound like I am the father of the group, this couldn't be farther (see what i did there?) from the truth. I have been pampered, preened and generally looked after since I arrived. Who knew 18 year olds had the life skills to look after me? I consider that I am doing them a massive favour. After keeping me alive for 3 years they will be ready to have their own babies!
I wish I could elaborate more on my first month at uni but I simply can't be bothered to type any more. All you need to know is that so far I have won 2 breakdancing contests
, 1 strawpeedo competition 
and came 4th in a 27 team pub quiz.Stats dont lie people, i'm pretty impressive!
Holden out!
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