Naughty Little Rivers.

I recently wrote the following status on Facebook, “My brother and I once made a SIM of our stepfather, deleted the doors, cooked until there was a fire and we laughed whilst he burned to death”

This got me thinking about my childhood, for quite an innocent looking thing I was in short, a little bastard and here is the evidence to support that.

Benidorm - On a family holiday to Benidorm I found a new hobby, playing in lifts, I had been told not to so obviously, I played in them all the time. Now I couldn’t have been any older than 7, my little brother was still in a pushchair, mainly cus he was a fat fuck! A girl, also on holiday took a shine to me and used to follow me around, this got on my little boy tits! One sunny day whilst left unattended by the pool, very Mrya Hindley like, I told the girl I wanted to play a game. I took her in the lift (and fucked her with a float...just kidding) and proceeded to the top floor, once there I asked her to race me out, she ran leaving the lift and I pressed the button back to the ground floor...Pleased with my work, I skipped back to the pool...This is when I heard the almighty screams from the girl stuck at the top balcony, My Dad saw me coming from the lift, and just knew I was responsible! He smacked me, he had to everyone in the Hotel thought I was a mini Fred West, On the plus side, she stopped following me.

The Bishop – I attended a Catholic school as most of you know. One year was more important than usual as a V.I.P Bishop (Bishop GAGA) was coming to do a mass for us, oh the excitement! The hype went on for weeks, the R.E teachers all got their library haircuts trimmed and brought new knee length skirts for the occasion! Mrs. Murphy even got a new broach, the minx! So just like when the Pope comes at the end of Sister Act, the whole school is there to listen to this probable child molester talk about that Christ dude. My best friend at School was Lucy Milkamanavicius and we decided that this visit needed spicing up. We repeatedly did the Mexian Wave through-out Mass, giggling. It was, to be fair, very funny, until at the end when I was face to face with my head of year and very short of a valid excuse, we both had cramp didn’t work. I wasn’t laughing when a letter was sent home and I had to write a letter of apology to Bishop Gaga. I obviously learned my lesson as the year after we gave the Jesus in our main hall a bindi during one mass, using a laser pen.

Discount Videos - In Walsall, where I grew up their used to be a shop called ‘Discount Videos’ It was high up in the Quasar centre and had lots of sections in the widow and was the main focus from outside on the High Street. So in each section of the window was a letter, D...I...S...spelling out Discount videos in capital letters. Lucy and I decided that we wanted to change the spelling, this task was easy as the words were just display boards with letters in the window, So we looked at it kinda like a big game of scrabble...We spend 20 minutes in the shop carefully re-arranging and turning round boards until we were happy with the outcome. We turned round the letters we didn’t need so they appeared blank from the outside, once done we went back on to the High street to look at our masterpiece...There it was’ CUNT videos’, we sat there on a bench pointing at it going ARRRRRRR.....

Luckily, I grew up saw the light, found Christ and changed the error of my ways...

Home Sweet Home?

Id arrived back in Cardiff and had been inside my new home for fifteen minutes before I left for the pub, it just seemed so bare and smelt like the 1970s! The weeks that followed just made me feel even more miserable. My household contents were minimal so I was boiling water in a wok, cooking in a wok, eating from a wok. Also it appeared that the cool thing for cats to do is piss up my backdoor, so for the first few weeks my house smelt like a neglected Nana’s pants and then there were the spiders, so many of them I actually felt like I was living in a web.

One averagely mundane day I was watching this spider with pure amazement through my glass door; I have never seen a spider so big in my life. Whilst watching, two wasps fly up onto the roof terrace right near Mama Legs’ web, she makes a pounce with her mother fucking 6 feet legs and grabs one of the wasps and runs into a crack with it! My mouth actually dropped open; the only thing missing was David Attenborough’s voice narrating the event. I can honestly say that I haven’t been that mortified since I saw Geri Halliwell’s dress for the Spice Girls reunion.

A few days later I get a broom and wipe away the webs, Mama legs falls and runs out into the world. A few days later, after a few lemonades, I look out onto my garden and who is waiting on the wall for me? Fucking Mama legs, she’s wearing Burberry and sovereigns and screams at me that she’s old east end, proper, and I shouldn’t mess with her! I re-introduce her to the broom!

I also have the world’s smallest toilet; It’s like Hagrid from Harry Potter trying to take a shit on a Hobbits toilet. When you sit down your knee will bang the door open!

Then there are the fucking seagulls. The first time I heard them I was convinced it was the apocalypse! Ive never seen or heard anything like it, it was how I would have imagined the Blitz! Hitler had dropped his load in the form of gulls all over my street. There was rubbish all over the streets and if they weren’t squawking, fucking or eating they were fighting over food. Also they ate my weight watchers quiche.

The final rotten cherry of my new homely experience came in the form of traffic equipment. I came home from a night on the tiles and I was eating a kebab on the end of my bed, Kerry Katona style. This is when I noticed a traffic cone on the bedroom floor. At first I assumed I’d brought it home with me, then I saw all the glass and as I was relatively sure I hadn’t thrown it through my own window it dawned on me like a big dirty STD...I hate living here!

These track pants are the only things that fit me right now...

I was walking through Boots the other week when I noticed something I hadn't seen in a very long time! It used to be a familiar sight and once upon a time had told me things I liked and although it was for a small fee, we were friends all the same... I'm talking about the dreaded Boots weighing scales!

I had once read that weighing yourself is unhealthy and would eventually lead to eating disorders and self image issues, however, as I did read this in an Vanessa Feltz column, I hadn't really taken any notice!

I stood on my old friend, stood upright while it took my height measurements and gripped it handles like an old lovers hand. After stamping in that I was male (I do have a penis) and my age, which is also increasing, I stepped off gracefully in anticipation for the ticket.

The ticket dropped out the bottom, I took a look and im not kidding you I was that distraught I dropped my half eaten Greggs steak bake on the floor! Lets just say the scales deserved every penny it charged me after I had just spent the last few minutes putting it under extreme conditions with my official heavy ass!!! I instantly thought "If only I had listened to Vanessa!"

In an instant panic I went and brought a wok!

The wok was not to beat myself to death with, my actually train of thought was to live on healthy Mediterranean vegetables and healthy stir fry's until my face looked more meagre and less like a big fuck off moon.

With every intention of sticking to this and starting a healthy work out plan, I've completely failed! The only success in this task was admitting I have the willpower of a moth. Beer, nights out and fast food have become like the light bulb in my life and I'm that stupid fat moth that cannot stop flying at the 'weal pwetty lights' even though it will fry its wings until it burns to death!

I don't want to be a fat moth, they freak me out!

I'm being deadly serious about a major shake up in my lifestyle, as Summer is approaching I think everyone is starting to re-asses their lives and map out what they want and how they plan to get it! Reality has also put his foot in my door...

So If my next blog doesn't tell you I've lost a few pounds (and I'm not talking about being pick pocketed on a night out) then I will pick another element of my life to moan about and poke fun at! So for now, my famous last words will be...

If Kerry Katona can do it, so can Rivs!

Spring is here.

Hey Adam fans,

Sorry I havent blogged in so long, Ive been working really hard, having fun.

So the spring is upon us and the fear of self image should be starting to dawn its pretty head on most of us, the rest should be accepting there really is no hope. I personally go on a fitness phase during spring which I generally keep with until the winter reappears. During winter my motto is "Why keep going to the gym when I have Photoshop?" However, after seeing photos from Friday night of me looking like Oswald Cobblepot (The Penguin) I actually want to get on a running machine and run myself thin, Eddie Izzard managed it.

I went running on Friday afternoon and celebrated my first day back into fitness by drinking my body weight in beer and scoffing my face with battered sausages. FAIL.

The night out was absolutley epic and included me and my friend Lucas covering our faces in black eyeshadow, making a Shannon Matthews sign and fingerpainting the town. I ended up looking like a complete twat and attempted to fib my way out the 'look' by claiming it was based on the Robin Hood; Ban the Taxes as styled recently by Sienna Miller. This totally failed as everyone remembers all the jokes I made about Haiti.

During the night out Lucas, not only managed to pull his look off but also pulled three boys, at the same time. (Thats a blog in its own right) We also lost Shannon Matthews; I wont even make a joke about that but will say, thank fuck she is used to it.

The night ended 'In Bed with Madonna' as every night with a gay man should. By the time I leave the rest of the gays and get home its 1.pm Saturday afternnon. I eat the contents of my freezer, falling asleep to the sounds of Lady Gaga.

16 hours later, I awake, the clocks have gone forward so slightly delirious, I wonder about the time and then shout at myself for sleeping like one of Harold Shipman's patients.

So I hope you have enjoyed my blog and have made the right decision to start counting the calories. In doing so remember when the summer lands you will be reaping the rewards and counting the men that want a piece of you, rather than the pieces of chicken in your KFC family bucket, for one.

Love (most of) You.

xx