Category Archives: sex

The Queens English….

As someone who uses words as a way of earning a living, it would be fairly reasonable to assume that I have an extensive vocabulary. Trust me, this is not the case.

On more occasions than I care to remember, I have tied myself in knots trying to be clever by using words I don’t even know the full meaning of and trust me, that is never a good thing on live television. Especially when I’ll have been there to speak as an ‘expert’ on a specific subject and will have had precise points I wanted to make. The consequence being that instead of coming across as any kind of authority, I’ll have appeared as nothing more than a thick yob.

Quite why I fell into this trap escapes me because as I’ve always told anyone who wants to write, you must know your market because if you do that, you will always give it what it wants. Given that my market is ‘me’ (and blokes like me) it doesn’t take a genius to understand that simple is best. Be it simple to read or simple to listen to.

I was reminded of this basic truth whilst putting together my new website (www.dougiebrimson.com) because whilst it is primarily a promotional tool for my work, its secondary function is to promote…. well, me! Be it as a potential colleague or as a potential speaker.

Therefore, it seems fairly reasonable to assume that trying to be too clever would be counter-productive.  Not least because when I turn up, whoever has hired me is in for something of a shock!

That’s not to say that the website has been dumbed down at all, but it was put together with the notion of ‘what you see is what you get’ at the forefront of my thinking.  Not easy when you dislike talking about yourself as I do.

I actually think it has come together very well and certainly the response thus far has been extremely positive.  However, I am aware that it is lacking a certain something… it’s not really ‘blokey’ enough. Quiet what I do about that has become something of a quandary. After all, anyone clicking on my blog will rapidly learn all they need to know about me as an individual but those that don’t might well form a very different impression.

One idea was to include a ‘comment for the day’ page but this idea is fraught with danger dependent as it would be on my mood that morning. Similarly, ‘word of the day’ would be fairly misleading given that it would inevitably infer a degree of intellect I do not possess and would fairly rapidly feature words I would never use in a million years. Remember, my favourite word is and always will be ‘bollocks’.

Another idea was ‘joke of the day’ but this was rapidly dismissed on account of my love of www.sickipedia.org and the inherent dangers that lie with that! After all, in recent months I’ve been labelled homophobic, sexist, racist and even ‘heightist’ (long story) and whilst I know that I’m none of those things, anything that adds weight to such outrageous accusations is best avoided.

So quite what I’m going to do about this remains something of a mystery. Of course I could just leave well alone but that in itself isn’t exactly blokey.

After all, tinkering is what we do!

The mystery of Women.

green street, top dog, sex, vibrator, orgasm, anal, brimson, football, soccer, soldier, army, killer If you know anything about me, have read any of my books or even digested the introduction to this blog, you should be under no illusions that I am a bloke.

I like doing blokey things, acting in blokey ways and speaking in the language of bloke.

And I love blokey stuff.  For me, the Screwfix catalogue is nothing less than ‘man porn’ whilst one of the highlights of each and every month is the sound of ‘Bike’ magazine dropping on my mat.

And the older I get, the more blokey I become. Some would say this manifests itself in a lack of tolerance, impatience and my moaning about anything and everything however I prefer to regard it as increasing awareness of what’s going on around me and commenting accordingly.

But the truth is, I don’t actually see any problem with intolerance and since I’ve passed the big 5-0, I don’t really see why I should be patient about anything or anybody if I don’t want to be. After all, my times running out so it’s an extremely valuable commodity.

Sadly, it seems that I am a dying breed and the only people I blame for that are other men because we, as a sex, have allowed this to happen to us. We’ve sat back and done nothing whilst a relentless anti-man campaign has been waged against us and are now at the stage where the only real man to be seen anywhere is Jeremy Clarkson. That in itself, is horrific.

The troops at the forefront of this campaign against us are of course, women. Now for the record, most of my best friends are women and I far prefer the company of females to males. In the main, they tend to be funnier, far sharper and certainly more intelligent. But they can also be vicious when provoked. I know this, because I have a habit of provoking them. Sometimes on purpose admittedly, but mostly by accident.

There can’t be many men who know the power a steely gaze or stony silence can wield more than I because I experience them with alarming frequency. They can be terrifying. And since the ‘easy life’ element of a males DNA is one of the more influential, we quickly learn that in most cases it’s far better and safer to put up and shut up.

Woe betide any man who for example, points out to his partner that being on her period is no excuse for turning into a world class pain in the arse and since she has one every four weeks, by the age of 30 she should kind of be used to it. Similarly, were a man to point out to his other half the simple truth that whilst child birth might well be painful, it was actually what the female body is designed to do so continually referring back to it as something ‘you don’t have to go through’ is kind of pointless because we can’t possibly go through it as we don’t have a womb.

However, not poking our heads above the menstrual parapet does have its repercussions. Not least because by allowing the female sex to carry on unchallenged with what is often totally unreasonable behaviour, we almost reinforce it.

But of course the dreaded cycle only occurs every four weeks and whilst hugely powerful, it can by its very definition only be used at specific times. And so women have a far more controllable weapon system at their disposal. One which can be brought into action at a seconds notice and employed in all kinds of situations ranging from getting her what she wants to stopping him enjoying what he has.

It’s the well honed stick with which all men will be beaten at some point or another and is of course, the guilt trip. And the engine which drives the guilt trip is oppression. Centuries of it.

wife, woman, sex, slave, dating, love, romance, divorce, gay, lesbian, homosexual Now I’m the first to admit that the control exercised over women by my forebears has bordered on criminal but my generation has done more to facilitate sexual equality than any other so could someone please explain why I’m still paying for what my grandfather’s lot got up to? Yet pay we do. Me seemingly more than most.

Yet in spite of this, I have to say that I actually consider the guilt trip to be a phenomenal thing. Not simply because of its flexibility, but because if we dare accuse a woman of using it, her inevitable denial will, more often than not, actually make us feel guilty for making the accusation in the first place. How on earth can you compete against that? The simple answer is you can’t. Which takes us back nicely to ‘put up and shut up’.

As if that isn’t bad enough, these days women aren’t the only troops we have waging war against us. Oh no, these days they have allies.

The first and most dangerous are gay men. Now I’m in no way shape or form homophobic but come on. Better dressed, usually richer and more often than not happier (mostly I suspect, because they don’t have to deal with women on any kind of sexual level) what chance do we have against that lot? It’s a horrible admission to have to make but it is a fact that I rarely meet a gay guy who doesn’t have some attribute or other I’m not jealous of. A sentiment I doubt is reciprocated!

Yet it is also a fact that their mission to undermine the heterosexual male by making us look and feel bad in front of the female sex has been relentless and phenomenally successful. Not only does it show no sign of slowing down, it actually appears to be gathering pace. A prime example of this assaulted my senses last week when Gok Wan ‘did’ a male for the first time (sic) on his TV show ‘How to look good naked’. Quite where they found the 35 year old sap who featured in the show I do not know but if anyone ever utters the phrase ‘and with the final addition of a man bag…..’ to me, they will be heading for A&E before the final syllable has tailed off. And please don’t get me started on the idea of male make-up. I’m still of the opinion that any man who use hair gel is a bit suspect.

Women of course, think very differently. They throw themselves behind the teachings of Gok and the gay Gestapo so forcefully that it becomes their mission if not their duty to impose this thinking on ‘their’ men.

Sadly, there are plenty of males who do fall for all this gumph and this leads us nicely into the other army determined to make us blokes look bad. They are the middle men, The Metrosexuals. Or as I prefer to call him, the hetrogays.

If you Google metrosexual, you come up with all kinds of definitions. They are, apparently, comfortable with the concept of male grooming and up to speed with the latest fashion trends. Understanding, sympathetic and above all, more considerate of his female brethren, they are at the very least within touching distance of their feminine side and have at the bare minimum, some concept of the impact both the menstrual cycle and the menopause have on the female of the species.

They also seem keen to wear a cloak of ambiguity when it comes to their sexuality. ‘To cause confusion’ is a sentence you will often stumble across when looking for a reasonable definition. I’m not even going to think about that let alone explore it.

Now speaking as a bloke, we used to have a word for males like that. It is, to quote the great Del Trotter, tart. I’m sorry, but any man who uses moisturiser or actually believes that he needs let alone deserves paternity leave needs taking out and beating. Oh and so we a clear, if you call yourself a house-husband, all you’re really saying is that your wife is cleverer than you.

Yet such is the arrogance of the hetrogays that they do not see this. Instead, backed up by the women and the gay movement, they perceive themselves to be better than we mere men. To them, we are nothing less than inferior because we have not adopted ‘their’ ways.

What a croc of shit.

The problem, as I see it, is that there are just too few role models for the average man these days. Aside from the aforementioned Mr Clarkson, I can count on one hand the number of men who work in either the media or music I would fancy a night out with and even football, for so long a sport which provided society with a steady stream of hard drinking, womanising  gentlemen, now seems to be little more than a conveyer belt of bland, stupid or moronic.

But this demasculinisation of men cannot continue and therefore it’s left to the rest of us to set an example and call a halt to this. We have to start encouraging our fellow males to man-up and be what they are supposed to be; men.

I’m not suggesting for one second that we need a return to pre-suffragette (or even 1950’s)dinner, green street, top dog, sex, vibrator, orgasm, anal, brimson, football, soccer values and I’m certainly not advocating any kind of sexism. But what I would like to see is a degree of fairness and equally, some kind of recognition that it is actually ok to be a heterosexual bloke. Because actually, it really is.

So come on men…. let’s have you. Let battle commence.

sex, lads romance, love, vibrator, george clooney, fart, lads, guys

For more insight into the mystery of the female psyche, please read my novel Billy’s Log. It’s full of them!

 

*This blog was originally posted in 2010 but amongst other projects, I’m currently working on the sequel to Billy’s Log and so it came back to mind. Sadly, it’s as current now as it’s ever been which is a bit sad really.

 

writing, writer, screenwriting, sex, sexism, men, women, love, romance, football

 

men, women, author, screenwriting, top dog, green street, martin kemp, battle of the sexes, sexism, racism, football, lads, soccer, guys

 

 

Do It Yourself…. go on, you know you can.

As a writer of a certain age and someone who is well known for telling things as I see them, it should not come as an surprise to learn that I am often in trouble of some kind of another.

I have for example, been banned for life from the TV show ‘Soccer AM’ for remarks I made in my book ‘The Geezers Guide to Football’ about host Helen Chamberlain and even once had a contract for a proposed book torn up for the sole reason that my very female editor took great exception to something I had written about the impact of the menstrual cycle on we poor males.

To be honest, I am quite happy with this position. In fact, truth be told I actually revel in the infamy some of my remarks attract because having a reputation as someone who is willing to speak their mind and tackle issues others dare not has proven to be quite lucrative. Yes, I am indeed one of those loons who crop up on the news every so often talking about anything from football hooligans to my distrust of anyone involved with the Labour party.   

Yet when I’m speaking or writing, every single word I utter is considered and whilst it might occasionally attract criticism, I never say anything I do not genuinely believe and cannot or will not back up. Which is ironic given the fact that as anyone who knows me personally will confirm, when I’m not talking in the media or writing for publication, I do have a habit of unwittingly engaging mouth before brain and saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. This is never more true than when I am talking to women when with alarming frequency, I drop myself in the mire.

I once for example, crushed one of my best mates by informing her that whilst she looked frighteningly healthy, her face looked somewhat rounder than normal (only to be informed, somewhat tearfully, that she’d spent the previous month dieting and exercising like a fanatic) and on another occasion, mentioned to another of my closest friends that having just signed her first book deal, it might be a good idea to lay off the Cadbury’s because she was going to have to have her photo taken at some point and the camera adds ten pounds.

In both instances, like always, I started out with the best intentions but knew even as the words were coming out of my mouth that they were going to be taken in the wrong way. By then of course, it was too late and the consequences for me were severe and well deserved ranging from a lengthy stony silence to my own gut wrenching guilt. Either way, they added up to trouble.

I could of course, put up some kind of defence for my insensitivity by arguing that it is typically male and to a certain extent, it is. However, I would also argue that where women are concerned, the fact that we males tend to be insensitive, unromantic or even simply stupid is mostly the fault of the female of the species. We are relatively simple beings you see whereas the other lot are phenomenally confusing.

On an almost daily basis they do things which bemuse and bewilder us then ridicule us because we don’t understand them! Equally, they spend large portions of their lives demanding honesty from us but continually ask us questions which are specifically designed to make us lie!

I mean for goodness sake, all women must know that ‘how do I look?’ is only going to attract one answer so why do you feel the need to dump him in that minefield by asking such an obviously provocative question in the first place?

Be clear, crystal clear, other than love, the greatest emotion any male in a relationship will experience is self preservation. It’s the reason why we take our partners shopping when we almost all hate it with a passion, why we stay in when we would rather go out and why you rarely hear any man say anything along the lines of ‘why aren’t you as good looking as your friend/sister/mother?’ or ‘that dress makes you look like a seal wrapped up in gaffer tape.’

It’s also why no male with a brain in his head will ever speak those seven little words that are guaranteed to earn him a period in a Siberian wasteland; ‘I’m not doing that, that’s woman’s work’.

Which is, in many ways, something of a liberty given that there is one area of domesticity where many women remain more than happy to play the ‘I’m not doing that, it’s man’s work’ card. However, when this particular boot is on the other foot, it is applied sure on the knowledge that there will be little or no complaint because it is still both accepted and expected that as men, this is actually our domain. I speak of course, of DIY.

Quite why it has remained thus is a mystery to me. This is after all, 2010, not 1910 and the majority of women are more than capable of doing anything a male can do. For the most part DIY isn’t exactly rocket science and ‘check penis is in place’ isn’t stage one of wallpapering the living room or assembling an Ikea bookshelf.

Yet the idea of a woman doing DIY by choice as opposed to actually having to do it as a result of the lack of a capable/willing man remains not only unusual, but something of a source of humour and if nothing else, that’s incredibly patronising.

Personally, I not only relish the idea of any woman taking up the rollers and power tools, I am happy to celebrate it. Not because the ability to wield a paint brush is some kind of sexual turn-on (well, not to me it isn’t) or because the capacity to use a Black & Decker is some kind of confirmation of female empowerment. It’s simply because if my partner is capable of doing it, it means that I don’t have to. Indeed, as I have often informed my own son, in terms of opposite-sex attractiveness it is vital to remember when sizing up a prospective long-term partner that anything which potentially lightens the load on him as a male should certainly be up there with ‘own car’ and ‘decent sized breasts.’

You see, like most males, I am inherently lazy and in my spare time, I enjoy doing one of two things: enjoying myself or nothing. DIY fits into neither of those categories because it is a loathsome chore.

Don’t get me wrong, 18 years as an engineer in the RAF and a couple of decades racing cars and motorbikes have certainly equipped me with the ability to carry out pretty much anything and I’m still at my happiest rolling around under a car or tweaking an engine. But these activities fall into the ‘enjoying myself’ category whereas DIY is more often than not ‘necessary.’ And don’t give me the ‘satisfaction of a job well done’ argument. I prefer ‘thank god that’s finished.’

That isn’t to say I’m not happy to change a bulb, fit the odd plug or even help out around the house. Nor does it mean that if my beloved wanted something doing which I know would make her happy, I wouldn’t do it for her. But what irritates me is the continuing inference that as a man, DIY is my job. It isn’t, not any more. Those days are long gone in exactly the same way as washing up or ironing is solely the responsibility of the female. In these enlightened times it’s a brave man or a fool who remarks that the vacuum could do with a trip out or, perish the perish the thought, that there’s a nappy that needs changing!

So why is it still acceptable for women to use that same argument when a shelf needs putting up?

That’s right… it isn’t. It’s actually quite sexist. 🙂

A version of this blog was previously posted on www.moanaboutmen.com

The Unsung Joy

Recently, whilst undergoing the trauma of a Virgin trains journey from Watford to Manchester, I met a woman. She was middle aged, expensively dressed, stunningly pretty in a Helen Mirren type of way and remarkably intelligent. All attributes which marked her out as being on a slightly different social and intellectual plane than myself. Indeed, it’s fair to say that in any other circumstance, we would never have met in a million years. However, on this occasion, fate threw us together and as a result, we spent two glorious hours sharing one of those experiences which come along all to rarely but which, when they do, leave you glowing with fulfilment and achievement. Sad to say, we never even exchanged names and when she left the train at Stafford, we both knew that we would never meet again. But we’re adults and we knew what we were doing. So why not?

What did we do? Well, we moaned. Non-stop. Not just about Richard Branson and his trains, but about the Labour Party, today’s youth, the weather and even the state of English football (not a subject I would never normally enter into with a female but hey…). It was fantastic.

Reflecting on our conversation as I went on to eventually complete my journey some hour and a half late, I realized how much I love a good moan. It isn’t just good for the soul it’s good fun. Which is a good job really, because I have a lot to moan about. After all, not only have I been cursed with decidedly average looks, but I’ve always been a bit on the ‘plump’ side. Add this to the fact that I began losing my hair quite early on in life and an arse the size of the Isle of Wight and you can see why I harbour a deep rooted resentment toward my parents. To make matters even worse, in my teens, I developed an affection for Watford football club. And whilst that was great at first, I have since learnt the full implications of such an obsession. Especially the financial ones! I could go on, but you get the drift.

However, since I’ve been writing, I’ve learnt that moaning has other benefits. For not only does it provide a much-needed outlet for frustration and stress, it is also a fabulous defence mechanism. Let’s face it, being a pessimist means you are rarely disappointed.

But more importantly, moaning is actually a valuable and under appreciated research tool. Listening to people moan can be an incredibly useful and informative experience because unlike any other form of communication, moaning is completely disarming. After all, we only really do it when we feel passionate about something and you can’t fake that like you can flattery or self-importance. It’s as real as it gets. And when you get that degree of feeling, that’s when you get truth and genuine opinion. Two things that are vital if you’re a writer searching for information or even some inspirational dialogue.

So please bare that in mind the next time you get on a train and the only empty seat is next to a big bald miserable looking bloke. It might be me and you could be just the person I’m looking for.