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?

Vaporub and Dog Poo Fits

So I was in Paris with my girlfriend having something to eat. 

By my girlfriend, I mean my mate Dan

By Paris, I mean we were in my shed 

By having something to eat, I mean we were sniffing drugs 


My pals and I all have F.O.M.O, (fear of missing out) disorder. One of our friends has caught wind that we’re together, because Jay’s posted a snapchat to his story with the caption ‘lads lads lads ‘ dancing. When the reality is, it’s not lads, there’s two of us, he’s dancing to no music, and the sheds so small every time he danced vigorously throughout that video he was bashing me in the head. Never the less our mate wouldn’t  accept it, and has decided to come. 

He’s turned up looking like he’s just been told someone’s kicked his cat half a mile down the road. Turns out he’s had a really bad cold, and thought vapo rub decongestion gel for your chest, goes on your top lip, so it had blown his fucking head off. 

Hahaha that still makes me laugh. 

This particular mate of mine liked ketamine. Never was my thing to be honest, always believed ketamine’s for stable dwelling animals. Can’t really comment, the majority of this story took place in a shed. 

After many hours of borderline gay bromance chats, pretend videos of us acting like we’re on our first lads holiday to make anyone who didn’t come round feel shit, we went for the final cigarette of the night/morning. 

Dan and I are discussing how warm it is for 5:30 am, I turn to seek agreement from our other friend with us… he doesn’t look very well.

“You look silly” I said, how nice. 


He’s hit the floor and started having a fucking fit. Even worse for him, he’s landed on one of my dogs shits, perfectly in the centre of his back on his white t shirt, and began spreading a sort of shit angel. 


Really puts things in to perspective when you’re trying to make sure your mate doesn’t swallow his tongue. 

We phoned an ambulance, and sat waiting shitting ourselves. 

He’s dead. 

HAHAHAHAA  he’s not he’s fine, just don’t do ket.

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.