Becoming a Plymouth Argyle Cheerleader.

A few years ago now I applied and auditioned to become the match day announcer at Plymouth Argyle. Due to an utter travesty and no doubt some dirty behind the scenes politics, I didn't get the gig. I've not harbored  a grudge at all but just before each game I go to at Home Park, when the teams are being announced I tend to cry and start screaming "IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!" at any fan that will listen.

http://haroldbishopslovechild.blogspot.co.uk/2010/07/hblc-as-plymouth-argyle-match-day.html

Today there has been a chance to make amends for that sleight. It's come to light that Plymouth Argyle are employing a gang of cheerleaders (I'm pretty sure when more than one of them get together it's called a gang) and I intend to be one of them. Hopefully the main choreographer if I get my arse in gear and practice.


The first step is to send an application email -

When I saw a Tweet from the Argyle account this morning hinting at big news, my stomach fluttered with excitement. Most fans assumed it would be a new signing or something to do with the grandstand but I knew it was something bigger. Something better. Boy, was I right.

Since the age of 24 I have dreamed of being a cheerleader, jumping around and performing complicated routines. The bits where they throw fellow spandex-cladded cheerpeople up in the air and sometimes catch them just blows my mind.

I will be honest and say that I have little previous experience in this line of work. Once at a gig I proceeded to wave my hands in the air like I just didn't care but I doubt it's really comparable. I understand the need for fitness and suppleness due to the complex nature of the sport and can confirm to you that I have attended seven beginners yoga sessions over the past year so I'm pretty sure I can withstand the demands put on my body by cheerleading. My yoga teacher once described my as "surprisingly bendy for someone with such short hamstrings". If I need references, I can get hold of that guy and I'm pretty he'd quote that right back to you.

Finally, I look bloody good in outfits. Although never having worn spandex/lycra, I've dressed as Wonder Woman on a couple of nights out in what is quite frankly a raunchy figure hugging costume. I pulled this off with gusto with plenty of men in the bar I was in telling me that I looked a natural. I will attach a picture of me in said dress to confirm this.

I hope this application is sufficient. I'm now going to shave my arms, legs and testicular region to cut down on wind resistance while I get some practice in.

Thank you.

HBLC

I attached the photo that you can see at the top of the page where I can be seen wearing the said raunchy outfit. After re-reading my application, I'm supremely confident that I'm going to get the gig. Adding the photo was just insurance.

Time to start an intensive training regime comprising of lunges, skipping and spinning around really fast. I've got this in the bag.

UPDATE - I have an audition! 1st of June I will have to strut my stuff, break out the moves and show them just what I am made of.

Giant Creme Egg!

Ever wanted a 1.6kg Cadbury Creme Egg?

Here's a video of the first bite.

She's a Lucky, Lucky Lady.

Because homemade Valentines cards are so much more romantic.

Motorboat Whiplash.

I received my 1pm phone call as promised. Unfortunately the application I chose to record the conversation didn't actually do its job. Basically I managed to sustain my laughter while talking about 'the incident' and I've been asked to provide a Doctors certificate confirming my whiplash. I will see what Doctor Vincenzo Enormous can whip up.


After a quick trip to see Doctor Vincenzo Enormous, I have been given a certificate which pretty much confirms my suspicions.

Einheitliche Dating.

That's 'Uniform Dating' for those of you that didn't get a C in GCSE in German like myself. So how hard do you think it would be for a Nazi soldier to get a date on a site that is for people who like uniforms? Well it's pretty damn easy.

"Was a bit peckish in my photo, LOL!"

Meet Klaus. The robust, fine looking member of the 11th Panzer Division. Fresh from battles on the checkout at Woolworths. Klaus quickly became a wanted man. Not wanted due to probable war crimes but wanted by women for his uniform.

Ladies man.

Unfortunately Klaus was a bit too tight to shell out the required deutschmarks to gain full access to the site so had to make do with sending one well written, witty and down right hot message to the fine fraulein of his choice.

In. The. Bag.

Klaus has a sense of humour too.

LAUGH OUT LOUD.

With jokes like that, it's no wonder Klaus is beating them off with a stick. Must be the thought of seeing his panzerschreck.

And how far is he prepared to travel to meet to woman of his dreams? No Fuhrer than twenty miles!

UPDATE. Banned from Uniform Dating!

"To protect our members, we have suspended your account due to it being reported as suspicious"

It's a depressing day when a Nazi looking for love is considered suspicious. Political correctness gone mad. Klaus - alone forever.
  

Too Many Creme Eggs? You Must Be YOLKing!

What do you do when you've purchased 240 Creme Eggs? Complain to Cadbury that one of them was shoddy of course!

Dear Cadbury.

You guys make Creme Eggs and I applaud you massively for this. They have been a mainstay in my diet for many years now.

Now, a couple of months ago I purchased 240 crème eggs. I realise that acquiring ten kilograms of them is tantamount to self-harm but I’ve been getting through them at a bloody good rate, only needing to up my running by an extra 75 kilometres a week. Last night I reached into the last remaining box and picked out an egg. It felt okay, had no superficial damage and was at a temperature that wouldn’t render it melty or solid. Unwrapped it and visually inspected like I always do. All good.

I took a bite.  “OH MY GOOD GOD!” I shouted. It was empty and hollow. As empty and hollow as David Cameron’s smile. I went outside and threw the offending confectionary into a local building site, not wanting to see it again. I heard it clang off the bucket of a JCB followed by a man swearing but that’s neither here nor there.

I’m sure everyone involved with the design and build of the Cadbury creme egg empire has a pretty decent knowledge of how real eggs are formed. I wouldn’t expect any less as I can imagine the amount of research that went into making creme eggs was damn extensive. Therefore each member of staff should know that an egg shell is formed after the albumen wraps itself around the yolk, then a hard shell is gradually developed. If you have no egg white or yolk, you can have no shell as it has nothing to form around.

This crème egg had no white or yolk. Therefore it’s an abomination, goes against science and evolution and is terribly offensive to poultry.

All I ask is that Cadbury accept the egg forming process which has been around for thousands and thousands of years and stop trying to ruin it with its own brand of science. No one wants an empty egg. No one.

Yours.

Dean Pascoe.

I managed to display my anger in word form and for this I expected a few boxes of Creme Eggs from Cadbury as an apology to the massive sleight dealt out to me. But no. A corporate letter displaying no sense of humour at all and a £1 voucher. A £1 voucher which could only buy me one Creme Egg from a high street retailer. The headed Cadbury paper didn't even smell of chocolate. I mean, come on! The worst part is that they've assumed the egg was filled entirely with chocolate instead of their "special" filling which is wrong and was clearly outlined in my complaint. Willy Wonka wouldn't have overseen that. Cadbury amateurs.

Click to MAKE MASSIVE.

In case of people expecting eggxageration (HAHAHAHAHA!) in my complaint, I really did have 10 kilograms of Creme Eggs. Most people have said that's way too much but those people will never understand the love me and Creme Eggs share. The love is so much that I have just ordered another hundred of the little buggers. As just eating them as is can get a little tiresome after a while, I've been experimenting.

1) The BBQ.

Fired up the Weber and whacked a couple of them on there. Extremely sickly and I got burnt on the foil. Unpleasant.

2) Brownie. 

Cookie dough base, Creme Egg middle and a brownie topping. Divine.

3) Masterchef.

Creme Egg wrapped in bacon and served on a rocket salad. F**king disgusting and almost put me off both bacon and Creme Eggs for life. Almost.

4) Scottish.

Creme Eggs in batter and deep fried. It's no wonder the Scottish life expectancy is on par with some of the poorest nations on earth when this is their daily diet. Tasted amazing though and thoroughly recommended.

5) Scotch Creme Egg.

Creme Egg encased in sausage meat, covered in bread crumbs and then deep fried. Devine. Surprisingly devine.

Next for me is the Creme Egg Cornish Pasty. A combination of two of my favourite things and one of my worst. Creme Eggs, Cornish Pasty and a heart attack.


A final thing. If you didn't soil yourself at the pun in the title, you're dead inside.

I'm Now An Entrepreneur.

I wont lie, it did take me a number of goes to spell "entrepreneur". I didn't pansy out and let the spell check take over, oh no. I kept going 'til the red squiggly line disappeared like a real man.

I've been working at becoming an entrepreneur (first time, get in) for some time now but have struggled to come up with a genuinely useful idea, something that every member of the public will need, something that will adorn those little JML stalls dotted around Poundland. I didn't realise just how difficult it was and I've come away with utmost respect for people like Alan Sugar, inventor of the now obsolete fax-phone thing. I can only assume it took him months of deep thought and energy drinks as well. I'm not comparing myself to Sir Alan by the way. That would be ludicrous as he's much older than me and is a Cockney. I'm just implying that we have the same knack for inventing things and share an entreprenueral...entreprenural...entrepreneurial mindset.

My breakthrough came when I'd had a day at the football and fancied coming home to some beer, a pizza and a nice relaxing bath. I realised that the three are not usually mixed but it just made so much sense to me. I've oft used the phrase "it goes together like a bath, a pizza and a beer" to describe things that just work together perfectly so you can see why this worked in my new entrepreneurial brain. I quickly Googled "beer, bath and pizza solutions" to check some madman hadn't got there before me and stolen what is clearly my idea*. Fortunately there was nothing.

I set about designing my creating on the back of a Lidl 'deal of the week' flyer (I hear Lord Sugar does this) and eventually settled with a design that is basically a shoebox and a flag. Over complication of ideas is the killer of invention. Simplicity is art.

Building this craft took no time at all as I am very skilled in the art of putting bits together from other bits. I haven't been taught this, it's come naturally and to save a wasted email, no I cannot teach it. Lovingly crafting the flag came first. It needed to have a clear typeface to announce to the world the name of my product, the item that is missing in their lives. Next was the NOW UNBRANDED shoebox. It looked perfect and I knew my dream was realised. But what if it didn't work? It would have been a disaster far worse than the Titanic but with obviously fewer casualties.

I began to lower it to the bath with trembling hands. I let it drop the remaining three inches as I could feel a sneeze coming. Phase one was complete...it didn't burst into flame! Phase two involved the pizza. I chose a meat feast for no other reason than I was craving it at the time. I think any topping would work on the 'Pizza and Beer Pontoon', maybe with the exception of a Hawaiian because the idea of it is completely abhorrent to me. One slice at a time, the pizza boarded. Easy. The potential iceberg to my Titanic was always going to be the UNBRANDED bottle of Carlsberg Export lager. Now was not the time for thinking so I just placed it on and jumped back, waiting for death or glory. GLORY! It still floated. My genius had been realised and I knew that I've got the next big thing on my hands.

For practicality, this had to be tested with a person in the bath to see how easy it can be used. Unfortunately this hasn't been done yet as I had run the bath bollock-blisteringly hot and could only get a quarter of my body in. I'm still calling it a success though and anyone that says other wise can shut up.

I knew I had to take this to Dragons Den so I announced to the Twitter world that I would be on the show for the next series. A bit pre-mature but I'm confident. Even more confident when comedian Al Murray made a legally binding (must check this) offer for my business.

Hahaha, like I'd give away 24%. He must think I'm a mug. I applied online to Dragons Den, seeking a more sensible £20,000 for only 5%.

Click for evenbiggernes.

I'm so certain this will be a success that I'm currently building the next model. It's basically a shoebox with a disposable BBQ on top of it....because who doesn't like burnt BBQ food in the bath?

*Years back I invented the spork. I found out weeks later that it had already been in use since probably the seventies but I refuse to acknowledge this and I am currently claiming a monetary percentage of every one ever made. It's a long, drawn out process.