After a brief writing hiatus, ladies and gentleman, I hath returned. I knew it was time to call it a day for the blog when my Mum deleted me off Facebook. She reckons she did it because I kept texting her demanding to know why she's flirting with men on her statuses, but I know it's really because she couldn't stand seeing this blog pop up now and then. Not to mention having to see the picture of her son in a pink jacket and god awful hat, thumbs up looking like a complete penis. Why did I choose that picture anyway?

I hope i'm not the only one that gets scared by eating out at a new restaurant. I have a crippling fear of unfamiliar menus, and it's often what sways me to decide against a fancy new place and settling for Nandos instead. Fucking hell, this is all in French, how do I know what I'm ordering without getting google translate up on my phone? And how much of a gorm am I gunna look trying to pronounce that one to the waitress?

It becomes especially difficult when you're on holiday, as I have recently discovered. I've just come to the end of a wonderful week in Rovinj, Croatia. It's a pretty amazing place. It's a fishing town and it's close to Italy, so you're either eating pasta, pizza or fish. Me being the man of the world that I truly am I thought i'd try a bit of fish, lovingly captured in waters nearby and placed carefully onto my plate. What I was actually presented with was an actual animal, with eyes staring deep into my soul as if to say "why, James, why?" or whatever the Croatian translation is. Probably something with way more z's than seems necessary.

First I checked if he had a pulse and then I pondered whether his name would have been Paulo or Francesco. And that's when I knew I had a problem, and not just a mental one. Morally, where do I stand on this one? It's no different to having a fish cake at home, so why am I so repulsed by what's on my plate? Don't get me wrong, I still enjoyed picking him up, putting on an Italian accent and getting him to plead my girlfriend for mercy, but I was never about to eat the little chap.

That's it, I thought, i'm gunna have to turn into a veggie. If it's good enough for Paul McCartney and Lisa Simpson, it's good enough for me.

Surely, in this day and age, we don't need to kill animals to survive? There's so many alternatives, aren't there? The truth is that most of us are hypocrites. Not many would have eaten Francesco, and similarly we all get outraged upon discovering we've actually been eating horse meat, or them pesky Muslims have conned us into eating Halal. Or when we find out some mental country somewhere is eating cats and dogs with their chips.Yet we think nothing of munching into a maccies or getting the barbie out while summer's *actually* happening. My morals seem to lead me into only being a vegetarian when I can give my meal a name or if I could envisage it being my pet. Nobody gives a fish finger a name do they? And if they do, they want sectioning. Although now i'm thinking about it, I doubt i'll ever be able to eat a fish finger again without naming it first...Roger, perhaps?

So James, you rambling fucking fool, what are you going to do about it? Well, maybe i'll have a stab at being a veggie, but I know it's never going to last. As humans we naturally want to develop, evolve, gain more intelligence etc but I reckon once i've moved on from my ordeal in Rovinj, i'll be back to burying my head in the sand and pretending to believe that somehow another beings life is of less value than mine. So I do apologise Frannie me old pal, but I sincerely hope you're resting in peace up there in fishy heaven. Away from little dishy's, and boats that come in.

It’s been a while since i’ve done one of these and it’s mainly because i’ve had absolutely nothing to write about; my life isn’t particularly interesting to anyone. However, I was encouraged by a couple of mates last night to keep up the writing, which was particularly touching because they’re usually a right pair of bellends. This one’s for you boys.

In amongst all this election stuff lately i’ve been thinking pretty deeply. This is always worrying because I usually struggle to think anything deeper than “blimey, what if I can’t get a ticket for Dover away next season? Could I get in the home end?” but i’ve gone ahead and thought away regardless. The question i’ve been asking myself is why do all the values we’re taught as children get thrown out the window as soon as adulthood sets in?

How deep is that?

I remember being taught fundamental values in school, on kids TV and from my Mum and Dad. All those stories and fables you used to read. Share with others, be honest, treat people how you want to be treated, be understanding and polite, slow and steady wins the race. That last one doesn’t have much relevance, but the rest do. And it’s a cracking point nonetheless.

What i’m getting at is that you look at them having debates on the tele, shouting over each other, giving out a bellyful of “raah” whenever someone says something they agree with. Is this what we should aspire to when we’re children? If so they ought to change this business about putting your hand up and waiting patiently, because I sense if you do that in one of these debates you’ll never get heard. What kind of example are these people setting?

“Share with others” is definitely something they could do with learning about. Our NHS is being dismantled so that MP’s with money in private healthcare can get richer. At least they’re sharing amongst each other, but it’s balls to the majority i’m afraid. I saw the other day that the 85 richest people in the world earn the same amount as the poorest 3.5 billion. Basically children, share until you leave school and then lie, cheat and steal whatever you can at the expense of everyone else and you’ll get to the top in no time.

While all this is going on, all the people in authority who we’re taught to trust are on TV blaming the poor for it. “Yeah, alright, the banks crashed because of greed and criminal negligence, stealing from you all in the process, and we let them get away with it. But it’s them bloody Romanian job seekers and the unemployed you want to watch out for." I could give examples all day but I want a cuppa before bed and i’m running out of time. No-one wants to fall asleep when they’ve got a cuppa still in prime drinking temperature.

 It’s not just politics i’m talking about though. You look at the big bosses at work and many of them are bullies, they have no regard for people as humans and they just want to get as much money out of you as possible. Seemingly the bigger the business, the less tax you need to pay. The message: if you want to do well in life, cheat whenever possible. The bigger the business, the lower the wages paid and the lower the working conditions. The message: if you want to do well in life, don’t share with others and don’t treat people fairly and equally. Everything we’re taught is ultimately contradicted somewhere down the line.

The world would be a better place if we could all step back and remember those basic values we were taught as kids. I just wish the people in charge saw it the same way.

After a string of three blogs in a couple of weeks, it’s now been approximately fifteen years since my last entry. I knew it would happen, you knew it would happen, we all bloody well knew it would happen; I ran out of steam pathetically, devastatingly early. But much like Jesus Christ himself I’ve decided fuck it, it’s time to return and give it another crack of the whip. It's officially Easter come early.

I’m like those people who make New Year’s resolutions every single January. “I’m going to jog three nights a week for the whole of 2014”, “i’m going to stop smoking”, “i’m going to lose 10 pounds before the summer holidays”. It’s a lovely thought, but you’ll come home from work and say bollocks to running, i’m sitting in and watching Eastenders. You’ll quit smoking for two weeks before reverting back to your chimney like state in time for February and, let’s face it, the only ten pounds you’re gunna lose will be the tenner you hand over to McDonald’s for two big Mac meals and a double cheeseburger (prices are approximate).

Yes, it’s not just me guilty of starting something and then losing all motivation before too long, so balls to you all.

It’s one of life’s crucial lessons; try and keep your cards a bit closer to your chest. Go in wearing nothing but your Y Fronts declaring yourself at War with the world will make you look a bit of a twat when you end up failing to conquer anything further East than Reading. And who the fuck wants to conquer Reading anyway? It’s a terrible, terrible place. Compare yourself to someone like Jesus Christ himself and you will be made to look foolish when all you’re doing is writing a shit blog that nobody’s reading any more. No one gives a fuck that you’re going to attempt to exercise more often, but they will be impressed when you’re actually out doing it.

Wouldn’t it be better to spring it in to conversation a year down the line just how far you’ve come? “How’s everything going then Dave?”, “Yeh pretty standard, haven’t had a fag for a year and a half now”. Out of the blue, tell them how much weight you’ve lost. “Nice one Dave, you’re looking a bit slim as well?” “Funny you should say that mate, I bought myself a pair of skinny jeans the other day for the first time since I was eleven.” Just fucking throw it at them what an athlete you’ve become since you started going for a run on the sly. “Fucking hell Dave, you’re doing alright nowadays aren’t you? Tell me, have you been exercising as well?” “Yes mate, I've just come back from Sochi, I won Gold as captain of the bobsleigh team.” Do bobsleigh teams have captains? Either way, your mate’s not gunna know, and by jove you’ll knock him bloody bandy.

So where does this leave me and my blog, other than at the very bottom of society for me, and at the very bottom of the most read list for the blog? The answer is that even God doesn’t know. Jesus Christ, on the other hand, just may. And I’ve got a funny feeling the next instalment won’t be too far away...but i’m not making any promises.

We all have those moments of reflection. Something happens that really makes you think: things are gunna have to fucking change. You’re going to have to step up and make something of yourself. It might be the death of a family member, being sacked from a job, a near-death experience or narrowly avoiding the photographer at Thekla on the Thursday you’ve skived off work. For me, my moment came a few days back when I tried (without avail) to explain to my girlfriend why seeing the Steward get twatted by the ball at Birmingham away was probably the funniest moment of my life. It may not be a classic Eureka moment, but all the same the message is loud and clear; it’s time to grow up McGaz mate.

This sparked a mini assessment of where I am in life...21?! I still feel like i’m 16, and i’m still waiting for the Chairman of Liverpool to knock on my door and offer me the player-manager role on a 24 year contract. I’d settle on 30 grand a week initially (it is the dream job after all, money is no object) but after a year or two i’d be demanding parity with Mourinho and the chance to retire to the Maldives by the time I reach 40, and live out the rest of my days in the bliss of being filthy rich. Occasionally I must admit that I start to doubt whether this dream will come true. But then, when i’m just about to hit the low point, some twat of a Facebook Philosopher makes some post along the lines of “anything is possible if you keep on believing”, with a photo of Ghandi or someone in the background and I get sucked right back in again. Keep the fucking dream alive, man.

 I reckon it’s something facing many people my age. Many are just finishing Uni and coming to terms with the all round depression of having to find a job- and any job will have to do. Others didn’t bother with Uni and are now into a fourth or fifth year of working in a job they hate, with little prospect of any great progression in their career or indeed the climb on to the fabled property ladder. I’m somewhere between the two, what with being a drop out and everything. “Chin up McGarry,” I hear you cry, “stop being such a little fanny”. Solid advice that may be, it still strikes me as a bit of a shit state of affairs for 20-odd year olds nowadays. Unless they’ve been to Eton, obviously.

If you’ve made it to this paragraph without closing the page and giving your wrists a particularly vicious slitting, you’ll be pleased to know things are about to get better. I’ve discovered a cure for all these concerns. That cure is nothing more than a good old fashioned spot of compulsive lying, and I shall go on to explain why. There’s a bloke in work who’s a bigger loser than I am, but he’s the happiest camper I know (he’s neither a genuine camper, nor a genuine homosexual, just a figure of speech). He’s taken to lying repeatedly, and despite everyone else knowing his tales are a work of complete fiction, he takes a shit of a lot of joy from them. Good on him I say. And good on his mate, who in the only three bets he has ever made in his life, has made a combined £195000 from a stake of just under a hundred quid. Apparently.

 In fact, I might mention that Liverpool job to him; I bet he knows someone who could set me up.

So I got the first one out of the way, and i’m now into the dark world of writer’s block. Now I’m not one to desperately seek the approval of others so I’ve not been counting, but from my first entry I’m estimating I’ve probably got something similar (ish) to 27 Facebook likes, 3 shares, 3 Retweets, a Favourite and a text of congratulations from my Sister. I didn’t even think I had 27 friends on Facebook or a Sister who loved me, so suffice to say, the past couple of days have been emotional.

Considering that equated to an unadulterated success that I can surely never replicate, I have since been considering whether or not to go out on a high. Don’t panic, I don’t mean i’ve been weighing up the pro’s and con’s of jumping off the Suspension Bridge, I mean packing in the blog as a regular thing and doing a Christmas special every year instead. I think it’s a plan with plenty of mileage, but i’ve decided to crack on regardless; times are tough at Union Berlin and I need a distraction. Besides, according to my profile page I have gained myself a very small but committed following in Europe who I couldn’t bear to let down. Who’s viewing my blog in Spain, Denmark and Germany anyway? Whoever you may be; thank you my Mainland cousins, it’s your support that keeps me going.

Apparently, anecdotes are the name of the game when it comes to blogging, so I’ll share with you my bus journey from yesterday. It was on time for once, and feeling ultra confident I immediately dismissed the notion of sitting downstairs and proceeded up the steps instead, minding not to fall straight back down them as soon as the driver set off unnecessarily quickly, definitely with the express intention of doing me as much damage as possible. 1-0 you bastard, i’m alive to tell the tale.

Upstairs was an assortment of small children exchanging jokes. This one lad worked the crowd with the following- “what’s bigger, the Earth, Jupiter, the Sun, or a Galaxy”, and when one of the little kids would say “a galaxy”, he would reveal that they were actually incorrect, because a galaxy is merely a chocolate bar. It’s not great, but they were five years old so i’ll let him off. Well, I thought it wasn't that great, but the fella looking after them thought it was the most hilarious line he’d heard in all his existence. He turned around in my direction and shouted “OI STEVE!” immediately I assumed I was about to be brutally murdered in a tragic case of mistaken identity, however it turns out that there was another member of their entourage sat at the back. Thank God for real Steve, because I was about to attempt a dramatic escape by diving through the front window.

Now Steve must be cool, because despite the fact he was with a group of people, he decided it was fitting to ditch them and go straight to the back of the bus, on his own, about ten rows behind the rest. Steve was the Dad, and he responded to the call with some kind of strange grunt. “Steve, get on this joke your lad’s just come out with”. The Boy needed some encouragement before delivering his joke again, but eventually he plucked up the courage and presented his Dad with the same options- Earth, Jupiter, the Sun or a Galaxy. I’m speculating at this point because I was facing the other way, but i’m assuming Steve had a look of pure bewilderment on his face as if to silently ponder what a Jupiter was. Ten seconds or so later he replied “err, Earth innit?” Good effort mate, but not quite the answer we were looking for.

Later in the journey one of the kids was on his knees facing the wrong way when the driver suddenly braked, throwing him off his seat in the process. Steve shouted over “see, this is why I tell you to always sit on your bum, Daddy’s always right, remember!”...good God, I fucking well hope he isn’t.

I have been cautiously edging towards the land of the blog for a while now. The trouble I have motivating myself to do anything is neatly summed up by the fact that it is only now, a full two years after dropping out of my Journalism course at Uni, that I have decided to finally start writing one. As a young aspiring Journalist I couldn’t be fucked, now i’m working in an office nine til half five for 5 days a week i’m all over it. What a nobhead.

Gloomy introductions over with, I intend to use this blog as a platform to entertain the world. And by the world I don’t really mean the entire Universe, I mean myself and my Mum who will be the sole readers. Seeing as it’s my first one though, i’m banking on a couple of loyal friends and maybe the odd intrigued half-stranger to retweet the living daylights out of it and propel me into stardom, perhaps even super-stardom. Yes, this entry is my one hope...no wonder it’s taken me four years to write it.

It’s not actually taken me four years, by the way. I’ve been quite busy in that time, especially when you consider what a lazy twat I truly, truly am. I’ve been to Uni and back (those two events occurred unusually close together), i’ve started working full time, i’ve been to endless football matches, plenty of big gigs, many a disgustingly drunk day/night out, i’ve even had a couple of metal rods stuck in my back. I should expand on that last one but I won’t, seeing as you already know exactly what the story is there, Mum.

It does make me laugh, incidentally, that blogs are one of these new big crazes over the last few years. It’s socially acceptable to have a blog (you may disagree that there is anything acceptable about the standard of this entry, to be fair) yet if you were stood in the pub at the match and piped up to inform everyone you were looking forward to going home and updating your diary, everyone may well politely request that you put your drink down and get the fucking hell out of their site. It’s effectively the same thing. I suppose the difference is that your blog is for the public to see, but let’s face it; nobody’s reading your blog mate.

But having said all that, I will keep this up to date wherever time allows. Updated with what, exactly, i’m not yet completely sure. There’ll be football, there’ll be music, I might even have a sneaky dabble in politics but mostly it’ll just be reems of absolute bollocks. Bollocks, at least, that is designed to give you and I a brief chuckle at the end of another one of those days. However, as all of us know whether man, woman or child; sometimes you come home from work and your only worldly interest is to guide Union Berlin to the playoff spots on Fifa. Never mind the blog, bring it on you bunch of little German bastards.