I’ve moved to youtube

Sorry for my lack of posting! I’ve decided to take the YouTube route and switch up the blog to a podcast type style.

I WILL actually keep to a schedule and upload regularly on there.

Hope to see you there.

Channel: Ollie’s Life And Other Funny Stories


Raymond Can’t Colour In The Lines

If you haven’t noticed already, I don’t write things in chronological order.  I THINK OF SHIT, I WRITE IT DOWN, IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT, FUCK OFF.

I’ll be backtracking to prison for this story, it was around my fourth month inside, so I’d started to settle in. When I say settle in, I mean accept it. You don’t fucking settle in, it’s not homely. I’d just had what they call ‘pasta surprise’ for lunch, the surprise is… it’s fucking shit. Not surprising at all really, is it? Would be ten times more surprising if it was delicious.

I was laying on my bed, concentrating on holding down today’s meal, when a very odd man approached my door. A man I later found out to go by the name, Raymond. His abundant amount of grease soaked hair stretched down to his white T-shirt in a way that, from the amount on it, I can only assume, he’d purposefully washed it in gravy.  He had also quite clearly altered his tracksuit trousers in to shorts… without the help of any scissors. His eyes were at an angle that looked like they were more interested in what his ears were up to than what’s going on in front. He proceeded to present to me some colouring he’d done. He’d paid absolutely no attention to the outline of the fish that was on the page, in fact, after looking at it for some time, I think he’d just dipped his arse in paint and sat on it.

“YOU WANNA BUY?” he proudly hollered at me, smiling eye to eye. It was clear a mile off this bloke was particularly… differnt. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings; I could just picture him going back to his cell devastated, crying while wiping the paint off his arse thinking “all my hard work, for what?” So I pretended to be interested and just said the first thing I could think of that wouldn’t be offensive.

“Cor it’s bloody good mate but I just haven’t got the room!”

Raymond blankly stared round my empty cell, disregarding the multiple places I could put his bum print, then walked out backwards, staring… sort of at me.

I spent the rest of the day dazed by the events that had unfolded earlier on.  I went downstairs for sociable time with a bunch of people I didn’t like.

Here he comes.

Raymond’s walking towards me, with not one, but two new masterpieces with him. He’s obviously not as stupid as he looks and after evaluating how empty my cell is, he’s decided I could easily fit two of his modern art pieces in there.

The last thing I want is these things displayed in my fucking cell for all to see. I was stabbed a month ago, I don’t need colourings, shit colourings at that, stuck on my fucking wall. People will think I’m mentally disabled and exploit me, I just fucking know it.

He opened his mouth in a way I could see “YOU WANNA BUY?” was about to come out, so I quickly tried to distract him. “You fancy a game of pool, mate?” Raymond stopped and began laughing at me. “GOOD LUCK! I’M THE BEST”


We began to play and it very quickly became apparent, Raymond is in fact not the best at pool. I’m trying my bardest to let him win but people are beginning to congregate and watch, whispering. THEY THINK WE’RE FUCKING MATES, AS EQUALLY SPECIAL AS ONE ANOTHER. I’m looking around at people as they point and laugh at us two “buddies”. Raymond’s got a ball in his mouth. I’m not having this.

I decided I’m not being nice anymore and pot all the necessary balls for me to win. As I pot the final ball, Raymond’s head lifted up and looked at me like I’d just asked him if it would be okay for me to to shit on his feet.  He whispered…


“Sorry Raymond?”

This man fucking errupted.


Raymond is now coming at me, with his cue, which, although he can’t use correctly, turns out he’s not fucking bad at swinging it around his head in anger. Everyone is most certainly laughing at me now, I’ve got a full on audience. I can’t defend myself, can I? That’s going to go down well isn’t it. “Oh, Mr Holland, despite your excuse of  “he started it”, we will be giving you extra charges for punching a disabled man.” Fantastic.

“I’m sorry you’re right, I’m a cheater.”

Raymond put his cue down and thanked me for admitting that I’d actually swindled him out of winning but informed me sadly, we won’t be friends anymore.

No need for those drawings then?

Tariq Likes Webcams 

“Make sure you’re looking at the camera please Mr.Holland”  I’ve got five days before I’m out of prison and I’m about to have a fantastic conversation via webcam with my probation officer, Tariq.


Fucking webcam!?, webcam!? Oh while we’re here, you might as well chuck me your fucking Bebo as well fella! All this fucking technology we’ve got nowadays and my fucking probation officers essentially just added me on msn.



A large asian pixel began to form in the centre of the screen, as it became clearer, I could see this man getting angrier and angrier at me frantically waving at him mouthing ” CAN YOU SEE ME?”



Tariq spent the next thirty minutes listing the reasons why he hated me, and how he basically couldn’t wait for me to get home, so he could fuck me with his big law abiding dick . I didn’t really care, I don’t know why he thought I cared? Does he think I wanted to be mates? Does he think I’d found out weeks before, we have similar birthdays and that has joint party written all over it, but due to his sudden change of opinion on me, I’ve had to cancel the whole event, but I’ve already payed the deposit for the bouncy castle, and I’ve phoned the bouncy castle company up myself, only to be told that unfortunately it’s company policy that they can’t give me a refund?

I couldn’t give two shits, nor one, for that matter,  I’m going home Tariq. When I get there, I’m getting in to my pants, and celebrating by seeing how many apricot yoghurts I can fit in and around my mouth, and there’s nothing you can fucking do about it SIR.

Turns out there’s loads he can do about it.

Didn’t really quite comprehend how much power probation officers have over you. Last week I was waving at him on chat roullete for fucksake, I’ve fucked it.

Tariq proceeded to metaphorically bum me once a week for an hour for 9 months. If I so much as put a plastic bottle in the glass bin he’d send me back to prison.

I hope his days are now filled with minor inconveniences. I hope every Victoria sponge he bites in to for the rest of his life isn’t perticularly moist. The man is fucking ridiculous. According to Tariq, I’m not allowed a girlfriend? I’m not allowed one? I can only assume he thinks if and when I get a girlfriend, I’ll duct tape a funnel to her mouth and just pour cocaine down it? Is that not how relationships work?

Long story short he’s my boyfriend now.

He’s not really he’s a dick.. and I’m not gay.

Just wanted to rant about him really.

Oh, That Ex Druggy is Back

I’m sure my fans (Got so many by the way, can’t move for fans) have spent the last few month’s in absolute pieces due to my lack of writing. You handed in your notice at work because juggling the nerves of wondering where I’ve gone and your job in the city was too much to cope with.  You’ve had the Bill Withers timeless classic “Aint No Sunshine When Shes Gone” on repeat for the last 6 months, but you replaced “she” with “he” because you never forgot that I was a big strong man. Your own wife, your dear sweet wife, has left you, because you said you’d never love again after I left. 

Well have no fear, Ollie’s fucking here,With an explanation as to why I decided to give up blogging… but… take it back up again.  So yeah.

I’m an extremely indecisive person, who gets ideas fast then without hesitating, creates them. Now that serves me well creatively SOMETIMES.


Fuck me do I churn out a lot of shit ones as well.

I’ve tried multiple attempts at making my own clothing line with erm..minimal success. 

I once thought I could start my own shoe restoration company, with no knowledge in that area whatsoever… bit weird really, people would have been so disappointed after ‘The Shoe Doctor’ (name I decided for my company) ‘fixed’ their shoes. No shoe doctor at all am I, not even a shoe nurse or a shoe student for that matter.

So unfortunately I had got it in my head that blogging was just another shit idea of mine. I thought nobody liked it, felt rather embarrassed about the whole thing and deleted everything.

I then emailed WordPress like an idiot begging them to help me find my old posts, as if they just have them on file ready, which yano.. they don’t..obviously.

But I will be posting tragic stories from my life once again, and will possibly attempt to re construct some of my old posts as best I can.