There's something odd about women! No, probably not what you're thinking - but their ability to postpone the "purse retrieval moment"!
This is quite definitely NOT a reference to their willingness or ability to pay for the fuckin' stuff - no, it's a reference to their poncing about AFTER having loaded everything into bags and into the trolley. Oh yes - AFTER packing etc, they suddenly realise that they MAY be required to actually locate a fuckin' credit card from a purse - a purse hidden in the depths of a pissin' handbag. The times I've spent waiting in a queue, watching a female trying to locate a purse and a card, AFTERwards. My issue is simple: every cunt who queues at a checkout KNOWS that payment is due rather shortly. So why on earth does any individual decide that preparation is pointless, and decide to search for a means of payment at the death?!
Fuckin' sort it!
...
Tuesday 28 December 2010
28.12.10 American Lingo
Proper term: Alternative
American crap: Alternate
Proper term: Envisage
American crap: Envision
Proper term: Orientated
American crap: Oriented
...
American crap: Alternate
Proper term: Envisage
American crap: Envision
Proper term: Orientated
American crap: Oriented
...
28.12.10 Up & Down the Country
How tiring it is to hear this phrase on a weekly basis. Most typically, it's used by politicians, but whoever uses it, there's an unease on my part. Why? Quite simple, really; there's an unfairness, because no one seems to appreciate any 'side-to-side' factor. The lateral element has been massively overlooked by so many public speakers, who continually use the standard "up and down the country" without realising the other options available.
From North to South in the UK, it is 683 miles, but it's obviously not "the country" when referring to the UK. Technically, Scotland and England are separate, so the new figure for England (the largest distance involved) is 402 miles. Yes, up and down the country would in effect mean 402 miles up, and 402 miles down. Now let us consider the lateral movement. The widest point is supposedly 302 miles; however, from Landsend to Ness Point in Suffolk (NR33 0NP) it's 450 miles via motorways, but even direct, it's over 400 miles. So, we are in fact arriving at the following conclusion:
Up and down the country (England) is circa 400 miles if one adopts a "Scottish border south to the Channel" approach, and it's a similar distance if one adopts a "Cornwall across to Suffolk" approach! So henceforth, people ought to say both "up and down the country" AND "from side to side of the country".
...
From North to South in the UK, it is 683 miles, but it's obviously not "the country" when referring to the UK. Technically, Scotland and England are separate, so the new figure for England (the largest distance involved) is 402 miles. Yes, up and down the country would in effect mean 402 miles up, and 402 miles down. Now let us consider the lateral movement. The widest point is supposedly 302 miles; however, from Landsend to Ness Point in Suffolk (NR33 0NP) it's 450 miles via motorways, but even direct, it's over 400 miles. So, we are in fact arriving at the following conclusion:
Up and down the country (England) is circa 400 miles if one adopts a "Scottish border south to the Channel" approach, and it's a similar distance if one adopts a "Cornwall across to Suffolk" approach! So henceforth, people ought to say both "up and down the country" AND "from side to side of the country".
...
28.12.10 Royal Fruit
I don't know about you, but I was in no way interested enough to tune in to that crappy programme at 3.00pm on Christmas Day. Why on earth would I have the slightest interest in the Queen's Peach?
...
...
28.12.10 Tip-toe
Pissing around and trying to avoid saying what one thinks was best demonstrated very recently, through an article in the newspaper. We are all going to die. This is a simple fact, and whoever you are, you know you're going to die. There's no point in pussy-footing around the subject. However, I came across a lovely example in the Daily Mail (18th Dec 2010) where the writer was clearly 'nervous' about noting the eventual demise of the Queen. The actual quote was:
"When the Queen dies - as, like all of us, she eventually must - her son is determined to succeed her."
At what stage did the writer decide that we (the readers) are so thick we'd need to have it explained that just like us, the Queen will one day die? Overly reverential crap - that's what it was! Poncing around any subject highlights inadequacy on the part of the author/writer/journalist.
...
"When the Queen dies - as, like all of us, she eventually must - her son is determined to succeed her."
At what stage did the writer decide that we (the readers) are so thick we'd need to have it explained that just like us, the Queen will one day die? Overly reverential crap - that's what it was! Poncing around any subject highlights inadequacy on the part of the author/writer/journalist.
...
28.12.10 A Few
In my opinion, "two" is not "a few". For sure, two is a couple, or a pair, or even a brace - but not a few. I am sure there is much agreement on this. However, my contention that three is the starting point for "a few" was recently rejected by someone who shall remain nameless. She said "a few" was four. I asked how two could be a couple and four a few, without three being accommodated. She said "three is neither here nor there "! After some effort on my part, there was a begrudging acceptance on her part that three might be allowed to be "a few", but she was not happy.
I know that 3 or 4 will be "a few" to most people on the planet; but where does "a few" stop? Is 5 "a few"?
Once you get to five, things start to get complicated and contentious. We can surely all agree that more than six is more than "a few". So, we must decide then on what to do with 5 and 6. Do we allow them to be "a few" or have we strayed into other territory? - eg. a handful? On the one hand, five digits in a hand could make that appropriate, but it's the subject matter that will determine things. A few people is 3 or 4, but I contend that 5 would be okay as well. The sixth would make them a group or half-dozen. But small sweets - a few could easily be 5 or 6!
What about "too few"? Is that 3-6, which is by no means enough? Or not enough, as in a shortfall of 3-6? "Two few" would of course be 6-12. Confusing? Yes! Glad that's over - phew!
...
I know that 3 or 4 will be "a few" to most people on the planet; but where does "a few" stop? Is 5 "a few"?
Once you get to five, things start to get complicated and contentious. We can surely all agree that more than six is more than "a few". So, we must decide then on what to do with 5 and 6. Do we allow them to be "a few" or have we strayed into other territory? - eg. a handful? On the one hand, five digits in a hand could make that appropriate, but it's the subject matter that will determine things. A few people is 3 or 4, but I contend that 5 would be okay as well. The sixth would make them a group or half-dozen. But small sweets - a few could easily be 5 or 6!
What about "too few"? Is that 3-6, which is by no means enough? Or not enough, as in a shortfall of 3-6? "Two few" would of course be 6-12. Confusing? Yes! Glad that's over - phew!
...
28.12.10 Fuel Pumps
Two Things
1 Why is it that on some occasions, when filling your car, someone using the other side of the pump means that the dispensation of fuel to your own car slows significantly? Surely technology has advanced sufficiently such that the power to a petrol pump is not watered down when someone else uses the same outlet!
2 Can someone explain why ASDA has most commonly adopted the approach of a central 'pay as you leave' kiosk? Occasionally there are two separate kiosks, but the majority of stations provide the single approach, and the obvious problem of the left-hand side being preferable. Unless the customer has with him/her a passenger, and that passenger is either party to the PIN of the payer or the settlement is in cash, then paying is actually impossible without the driver leaving the car and walking around to the kiosk. The result is that cars commonly switch to the left hand side when exiting the petrol station. The designers/architects are twats.
...
1 Why is it that on some occasions, when filling your car, someone using the other side of the pump means that the dispensation of fuel to your own car slows significantly? Surely technology has advanced sufficiently such that the power to a petrol pump is not watered down when someone else uses the same outlet!
2 Can someone explain why ASDA has most commonly adopted the approach of a central 'pay as you leave' kiosk? Occasionally there are two separate kiosks, but the majority of stations provide the single approach, and the obvious problem of the left-hand side being preferable. Unless the customer has with him/her a passenger, and that passenger is either party to the PIN of the payer or the settlement is in cash, then paying is actually impossible without the driver leaving the car and walking around to the kiosk. The result is that cars commonly switch to the left hand side when exiting the petrol station. The designers/architects are twats.
...
28.12.10 Body Parts
Adenoids
Act 1, Scene One:
Family living room; on one sofa, Mother, with a sleeping dog alongside; on the other sofa, Father and Son.
Dog: Snores loudly.
Father: Bloody hell, what a racket!
Mother: She ought to have her adenoids removed.
Son: What do adenoids do?
Mother: I'm not sure; what do adenoids do? (turning to Father)
Father: Make a fuckin' noise!
Mother: I know that, but what do they do when they're not making a noise?
Father: Keep quiet!
QED
...
Act 1, Scene One:
Family living room; on one sofa, Mother, with a sleeping dog alongside; on the other sofa, Father and Son.
Dog: Snores loudly.
Father: Bloody hell, what a racket!
Mother: She ought to have her adenoids removed.
Son: What do adenoids do?
Mother: I'm not sure; what do adenoids do? (turning to Father)
Father: Make a fuckin' noise!
Mother: I know that, but what do they do when they're not making a noise?
Father: Keep quiet!
QED
...
28.12.10 Repeats
How do the cunts get away with it? In years gone by, it was normal to expect repeats of programmes some years later, or at worst, some months later. Now, however, it's normal practice to have repeats within fuckin' days! Just about every programme that's cost more than 50 pence to make is scheduled to be shown again within a 1 week period. This is completely disgusting and tragic. The whole TV industry has lost the fuckin' plot, and gets away with murder.
An example this last week was Jamie Oliver, and a few twats joining him in a pub for a "festive" lock-in. Apart from the fact that the term "festive" has been so over-used and inappropriately used in recent weeks, it was considered okay to show it AGAIN on Christmas day - a repeat! Elsewhere, "Jamie's Best Ever Christmas" (in two parts) was also getting two outings! Disgraceful!
The schedules are now littered with double helpings of shit. Perhaps the worst example was the 6-hour exposure of the arsehole know as Jonathan Ross. Not content with eating up 3 hours of prime time TV at 6.00pm on Sunday 19th December, the Channel 4 bosses thought it acceptable to send him out on to our screens once again - this time on Boxing Day, for a 7.00-10.00pm slot!!!!!! What the fuck? At prime time, another dose of trivial shit lasting 3-hours on the nation's favourite toys, with his nauseating waffle accompanying shit TV. Cuntin' crap. Cuntin' crap.
...
An example this last week was Jamie Oliver, and a few twats joining him in a pub for a "festive" lock-in. Apart from the fact that the term "festive" has been so over-used and inappropriately used in recent weeks, it was considered okay to show it AGAIN on Christmas day - a repeat! Elsewhere, "Jamie's Best Ever Christmas" (in two parts) was also getting two outings! Disgraceful!
The schedules are now littered with double helpings of shit. Perhaps the worst example was the 6-hour exposure of the arsehole know as Jonathan Ross. Not content with eating up 3 hours of prime time TV at 6.00pm on Sunday 19th December, the Channel 4 bosses thought it acceptable to send him out on to our screens once again - this time on Boxing Day, for a 7.00-10.00pm slot!!!!!! What the fuck? At prime time, another dose of trivial shit lasting 3-hours on the nation's favourite toys, with his nauseating waffle accompanying shit TV. Cuntin' crap. Cuntin' crap.
...
28.12.10 Football Positions
The so called 'pundits' regularly refer to strange parts of the football pitch - I say strange because until recent times, they did not exist at all. Apparently the large square of grass (an oblong within the parameters of 100-130 yards long and 50-100 yards wide, but typically 115 x 75) has some special areas known as 'the Hole' and 'the Gulley' !! Further, there are also 'Channels' in which players sometimes move! These references seem more akin to cricket than football; clearly the pundits are trying to create some sort of mystique about their talents and observations, and want to bamboozle us with fancy jargon. Basically, they're all talking complete shit.
While I'm on the subject of football, there has been a decline in observation of the rules over the last three years, such that nowadays, it's actually more common to see a corner kick where the ball is not placed in the 'D' rather than within the confines of the small arc in each corner of the pitch. For anyone interested, the purpose of the quarter circle at each corner is not decorative; each is there so that the player takling a corner knows where to place the ball - supposedly WITHIN the markings. The current trend amongst players is to place the ball so that a tiny part of it 'overhangs' the white line. The officials (twats) seem to have abandoned all sense of logic let alone the rules themselves, and they lamely allow kicks to proceed illegally.
...
While I'm on the subject of football, there has been a decline in observation of the rules over the last three years, such that nowadays, it's actually more common to see a corner kick where the ball is not placed in the 'D' rather than within the confines of the small arc in each corner of the pitch. For anyone interested, the purpose of the quarter circle at each corner is not decorative; each is there so that the player takling a corner knows where to place the ball - supposedly WITHIN the markings. The current trend amongst players is to place the ball so that a tiny part of it 'overhangs' the white line. The officials (twats) seem to have abandoned all sense of logic let alone the rules themselves, and they lamely allow kicks to proceed illegally.
...
Monday 20 December 2010
20.12.10 Moving Forward
The words "moving forward" are quite simply pathetic. They add nothing of any value to anything, yet seem to find their way into everyday speech more and more - especially in the media and in business and politics.
"Moving forward" is included at every opportunity by those who seek to divert our attention from some unholy cock-up for which they are responsible. By uttering "moving forward", the speaker is in effect daring us to be useless backward-thinking idiots by harking on about old issues. The speaker is saying "I'm forward looking and progressive, and if you don't join me in looking forward and being positive, you're basically a moaning shit who wants to drag us all backwards". So, "moving forward" is a blocker to holding people to account. That's the intention anyway.
The reality is the words mean fuck all, and it's hardly possible to utter "moving backwards", is it? People who say "moving forwards" usually have something they don't want you to go on about which highlights their inadequacy, failure, lack of ability or ignorance. Often it's code for "let's sweep everything under the carpet, and look at what I now want to concentrate on".
Beware twats uttering "moving forward" - they're never up to much.
...
PS: Just to confirm this last point, it's a sad fact that on signs approaching Middlesbrough, a new slogan is being used, to the amusement of me and probably many others. They now read - you've guessed it -
Middlesbrough
Moving Forward
Well, Middlesbrough's not up to much either!
...
"Moving forward" is included at every opportunity by those who seek to divert our attention from some unholy cock-up for which they are responsible. By uttering "moving forward", the speaker is in effect daring us to be useless backward-thinking idiots by harking on about old issues. The speaker is saying "I'm forward looking and progressive, and if you don't join me in looking forward and being positive, you're basically a moaning shit who wants to drag us all backwards". So, "moving forward" is a blocker to holding people to account. That's the intention anyway.
The reality is the words mean fuck all, and it's hardly possible to utter "moving backwards", is it? People who say "moving forwards" usually have something they don't want you to go on about which highlights their inadequacy, failure, lack of ability or ignorance. Often it's code for "let's sweep everything under the carpet, and look at what I now want to concentrate on".
Beware twats uttering "moving forward" - they're never up to much.
...
PS: Just to confirm this last point, it's a sad fact that on signs approaching Middlesbrough, a new slogan is being used, to the amusement of me and probably many others. They now read - you've guessed it -
Middlesbrough
Moving Forward
Well, Middlesbrough's not up to much either!
...
20.12.10 Quiet Tonight
Weather forecasters are most typically twats. They cannot seem to talk sense at all. Recent efforts highlighting the dumbing down have included various phrases and diamonds, such as:
"There'll be vague bits of brightness"
"With bits of rain and drizzle"
"And some spits and spots of rain"
"Some bits and pieces of rain"
"Things will bubble up . . ."
"A line of clouds are still . . ." [grammar!]
"It'll be quiet tonight . . ." [fuck the noise forecast, what about the weather!]
...
"There'll be vague bits of brightness"
"With bits of rain and drizzle"
"And some spits and spots of rain"
"Some bits and pieces of rain"
"Things will bubble up . . ."
"A line of clouds are still . . ." [grammar!]
"It'll be quiet tonight . . ." [fuck the noise forecast, what about the weather!]
...
20.12.10 Money Off
In a rush to join the checkout queue in Peacocks recently (necessary because Fucker's Law states that as soon as you decide to pay for something, every other browsing cunt decides to make a move to the checkout as well) I found myself behind my son, who staked a claim on my behalf and beat two other shoppers. Pleased with the outcome, I let him proceed with the purchase while I browsed a bit more.
Handing me the bag containing the shirt, he announced to me the price paid - some 20% less than I expected. I then discovered that a "Student Discount" had allowed him to save me some money. Whilst I was thankful for this small benefit, I was also rather irked that he was given special treatment, simply because of his student status, closely linked to a general age bracket. If I had joined the queue, then I would have paid 25% more than my son for the very same item - without even knowing that Students could buy for less.
On the one hand, I do not begrudge anyone some discount, but the arbitrary nature of the qualification for discounts is often annoying. In Focus, it's house movers who get discount. Often it's OAPs. I regularly see lower rates for those on benefits of some description, and also for those with disabilities. One thing is very clear to me - I never qualify. Anyway, back to Peacocks. I fail to see how the store is not ripping off consumers when it can throw away 20% of the purchase price just because the person arriving at the checkout may be learning something. I considered viewing things the other way round, and my son seemed to take my point when I used this tactic to explain my point.
His presentation of a £5 T-shirt and pleasure at finding it would cost just £4 was nice. But imagine queuing, expecting to pay £4 for a T-shirt, to be told at the checkout "sorry, you're old and past learning, so it'll cost you £5 not £4". Same outcome, based on the same facts and 'offer'.
I have now employed my son as Chief Purchaser, for anything where a student discount might apply - pending arrival of my student union card! You can teach an old cunt new tricks!
...
Handing me the bag containing the shirt, he announced to me the price paid - some 20% less than I expected. I then discovered that a "Student Discount" had allowed him to save me some money. Whilst I was thankful for this small benefit, I was also rather irked that he was given special treatment, simply because of his student status, closely linked to a general age bracket. If I had joined the queue, then I would have paid 25% more than my son for the very same item - without even knowing that Students could buy for less.
On the one hand, I do not begrudge anyone some discount, but the arbitrary nature of the qualification for discounts is often annoying. In Focus, it's house movers who get discount. Often it's OAPs. I regularly see lower rates for those on benefits of some description, and also for those with disabilities. One thing is very clear to me - I never qualify. Anyway, back to Peacocks. I fail to see how the store is not ripping off consumers when it can throw away 20% of the purchase price just because the person arriving at the checkout may be learning something. I considered viewing things the other way round, and my son seemed to take my point when I used this tactic to explain my point.
His presentation of a £5 T-shirt and pleasure at finding it would cost just £4 was nice. But imagine queuing, expecting to pay £4 for a T-shirt, to be told at the checkout "sorry, you're old and past learning, so it'll cost you £5 not £4". Same outcome, based on the same facts and 'offer'.
I have now employed my son as Chief Purchaser, for anything where a student discount might apply - pending arrival of my student union card! You can teach an old cunt new tricks!
...
20.12.10 It's Behind You!
Have you noticed that queues are getting longer? Do you know why? I'll tell you - it's all because of fuckin' cases with wheels.
In the old days, going on a trip of any description would possibly mean taking a bag or suitcase. Whatever the style of luggage, it was a sure thing that every cunt could carry an item or two. Now consider for a moment the practice of queuing - 'old style'. People would wait in line or move forward in a line, carrying their bags when time to edge forward, and putting them down when they had to stop. Generally the luggage would be transported alongside the person, and reside (temporarily) next to the owner when progress was not possible.
These days, none of that is the way of things. Instead, we have the invasion of the trolley cases to contend with. It seems that manufacturers of any item of luggage are now hell bent on including wheels and an extendable handle. This applies to even the poxiest, smallest, most pointless bag going. I've seen bags little bigger than a lunch box being pulled along behind some cunt who's so lazy, it's apparently necessary and preferable to drag it rather than carry it.
The effect of the trolley invasion is to lengthen queues. Each owner of a bag-on-wheels drags the contraption along, and forces the person behind to allow extra room for movement. Getting too close to the trolley in front risks kicking into it, bruising an ankle, or even stumbling and tripping up. So, no longer do bags and cases reside to one side, they take up space behind. If a traveller takes up (rather than has) two square feet, then the luggage will take up a further two square feet when all are stationary, but the luggage will occupy an extra 4 square feet if being dragged via the extendable handle. So, the queue multiples are x2 for static, and x3 for moving. And all this when the world is rather overcrowded!
...
In the old days, going on a trip of any description would possibly mean taking a bag or suitcase. Whatever the style of luggage, it was a sure thing that every cunt could carry an item or two. Now consider for a moment the practice of queuing - 'old style'. People would wait in line or move forward in a line, carrying their bags when time to edge forward, and putting them down when they had to stop. Generally the luggage would be transported alongside the person, and reside (temporarily) next to the owner when progress was not possible.
These days, none of that is the way of things. Instead, we have the invasion of the trolley cases to contend with. It seems that manufacturers of any item of luggage are now hell bent on including wheels and an extendable handle. This applies to even the poxiest, smallest, most pointless bag going. I've seen bags little bigger than a lunch box being pulled along behind some cunt who's so lazy, it's apparently necessary and preferable to drag it rather than carry it.
The effect of the trolley invasion is to lengthen queues. Each owner of a bag-on-wheels drags the contraption along, and forces the person behind to allow extra room for movement. Getting too close to the trolley in front risks kicking into it, bruising an ankle, or even stumbling and tripping up. So, no longer do bags and cases reside to one side, they take up space behind. If a traveller takes up (rather than has) two square feet, then the luggage will take up a further two square feet when all are stationary, but the luggage will occupy an extra 4 square feet if being dragged via the extendable handle. So, the queue multiples are x2 for static, and x3 for moving. And all this when the world is rather overcrowded!
...
20.12.10 Lidl Lunacy
The Daily Mail on 18th December contained a thin magazine advertising various products from Lidl. Close inspection of the content revealed some rather strange information, and unusual marketing approaches. Some examples of the oddities follow.
Aluminium Coin Case £8.99
The descriptive tag stated "Ideal for coin collectors" - No shit, Sherlock! Well it'd be no cuntin' good to a potholer, would it!
Leather Wallet
"High quality leather wallet with various storage compartments for coins, debit/credit cards, bank notes and much more". What utter bollocks. First, most people rather expect a wallet to be good for storing this shit - it doesn't need to be spelled out. Second, what does the "much more" refer to? Kitchen sink? Instructions for a remote control aeroplane? Lego?
Illuminated Globe £9.99
Scale: 1:42,500,000 Size: 30cm (dia.)
Brilliant! A globe that's a bit bigger than a football, and we need to be told a scale. So, when looking at the fuckin' thing, I'm fully aware that every millimetre on the globe represent forty-two-and-a-half million millimetres in real life. What a meaningful and valuable piece of information that will make or break the sale.
Champagne Bowl £14.99
"Great for keeping your champagne or other drinks cold" I should fuckin' hope so because if it doesn't, we might as well not buy it! "Also suitable for use as a fruit bowl." Wonderful extra information, that; I'd never have thought of it without the hint. Maybe it should be noted that it could provide a template for a crappy Blackadder haircut if turned upside down and plonked on some twat's head!
Ultrasonic Cleaner £16.99
"Easy-to-read LED display" is hardly the most original selling point these days. It's not as if competitors' products all have "smudged gothic script on a blotting-paper dial, behind murky perspex" is it!
There was also a watch that was apparently "water resistant". Well, fuck me - that's saying a lot, isn't it. What does that really mean anyway? I'm water resistant! (unless I'm on holiday by the pool).
Lidl . . . . shit.
...
Aluminium Coin Case £8.99
The descriptive tag stated "Ideal for coin collectors" - No shit, Sherlock! Well it'd be no cuntin' good to a potholer, would it!
Leather Wallet
"High quality leather wallet with various storage compartments for coins, debit/credit cards, bank notes and much more". What utter bollocks. First, most people rather expect a wallet to be good for storing this shit - it doesn't need to be spelled out. Second, what does the "much more" refer to? Kitchen sink? Instructions for a remote control aeroplane? Lego?
Illuminated Globe £9.99
Scale: 1:42,500,000 Size: 30cm (dia.)
Brilliant! A globe that's a bit bigger than a football, and we need to be told a scale. So, when looking at the fuckin' thing, I'm fully aware that every millimetre on the globe represent forty-two-and-a-half million millimetres in real life. What a meaningful and valuable piece of information that will make or break the sale.
Champagne Bowl £14.99
"Great for keeping your champagne or other drinks cold" I should fuckin' hope so because if it doesn't, we might as well not buy it! "Also suitable for use as a fruit bowl." Wonderful extra information, that; I'd never have thought of it without the hint. Maybe it should be noted that it could provide a template for a crappy Blackadder haircut if turned upside down and plonked on some twat's head!
Ultrasonic Cleaner £16.99
"Easy-to-read LED display" is hardly the most original selling point these days. It's not as if competitors' products all have "smudged gothic script on a blotting-paper dial, behind murky perspex" is it!
There was also a watch that was apparently "water resistant". Well, fuck me - that's saying a lot, isn't it. What does that really mean anyway? I'm water resistant! (unless I'm on holiday by the pool).
Lidl . . . . shit.
...
20.12.10 Fifty Cents
McDonald's in Amsterdam has the nerve to charge for a piss. At the prevailing exchange rate, I was charged 42 pence [ie. 50 euro cents] when visiting a few weeks ago. It seems that there's not enough profit on a coffee at nearly two euros, so Ronald wants to make money when customers piss it away. Disgraceful.
Just for the record, I'd like to highlight the strange ratios for the various facilities provided. There were, in the men's toilets: 4 urinals, 1 cubicle, 2 sinks and 1 hand dryer. This was disturbing on a number of levels, and mathematically, the set-up was completely flawed. Now, I appreciate that far too many people fail to wash their hands after doing their business, but the Dutch are certainly not helping in improving hygiene though. First of all, the urinals to cubicle ratio of 4:1 suggests only 20% of users need either privacy or the chance to let go of more than piss. Then, with only two sinks provided, there's space enough for only 40% of users (at capacity) to wash their hands. With just a single hand dryer, there's only a 1 in 5 chance of drying one's hands if the toilets are busy. All of this creates a flawed approach by Ronald McDonald. 50 cents is outrageous considering the profits achieved by the company, and totally out of order considering the impossible odds of having a piss, washing one's hands, and then getting to dry them!
...
Just for the record, I'd like to highlight the strange ratios for the various facilities provided. There were, in the men's toilets: 4 urinals, 1 cubicle, 2 sinks and 1 hand dryer. This was disturbing on a number of levels, and mathematically, the set-up was completely flawed. Now, I appreciate that far too many people fail to wash their hands after doing their business, but the Dutch are certainly not helping in improving hygiene though. First of all, the urinals to cubicle ratio of 4:1 suggests only 20% of users need either privacy or the chance to let go of more than piss. Then, with only two sinks provided, there's space enough for only 40% of users (at capacity) to wash their hands. With just a single hand dryer, there's only a 1 in 5 chance of drying one's hands if the toilets are busy. All of this creates a flawed approach by Ronald McDonald. 50 cents is outrageous considering the profits achieved by the company, and totally out of order considering the impossible odds of having a piss, washing one's hands, and then getting to dry them!
...
20.12.10 SPOTY
I am quite sure he's a very nice guy, and so my comment is not about the individual concerned. Nevertheless, a Darts player?
Sports Personality of the Year is already a questionable term, because in the vast majority of cases, sports men and women struggle to display any traits that might suggest they have personalities. In fact, very many take up sport precisely because they have no personalities. To have second place in the 2010 competition awarded to a darts player brings a whole new level of absurdness to gong-handing-out.
When I have a pint and throw a few arrows, I don't consider that I'm actually partaking in 'sport'. Until a few years ago, these "athletes" used to hold the darts in one hand and a lit fag in the other - while the eighth pint sat on the nearest table! Sport? Fuck off.
...
Sports Personality of the Year is already a questionable term, because in the vast majority of cases, sports men and women struggle to display any traits that might suggest they have personalities. In fact, very many take up sport precisely because they have no personalities. To have second place in the 2010 competition awarded to a darts player brings a whole new level of absurdness to gong-handing-out.
When I have a pint and throw a few arrows, I don't consider that I'm actually partaking in 'sport'. Until a few years ago, these "athletes" used to hold the darts in one hand and a lit fag in the other - while the eighth pint sat on the nearest table! Sport? Fuck off.
...
20.12.10 Men In Black
My views on 'lollipop people' are well known, but if you have no awareness, see my previous posting on the subject. This week, an unexpected development means that I now have to call into question the role of the Community Support Officers. I originally considered them to be "watered down police officers", costing less and achieving less. I was used to seeing them about the place, and budgets no doubt go further when you get this cheaper input; pound for pound, you get more CSO than Police Officer.
This week I observed two CSOs joining in with a couple of teachers, and helping to guard a line of school children who were on some sort of errand or local visit. Now, whether they were visiting a church to do brass rubbing, or visiting an old people's home to be rubbed, it strikes me as outrageous that their crossing of a road was 'marshalled' by two CSOs, each looking like something from 'Men In Black', ear pieces in place. We've replaced lollipop people and teachers and classroom assistants with CSOs now!!! What next? Are they going to cook meals and oust the local dinner ladies from Primary Schools?
CSOs are supposed to help the Police, and keep 'law & order'. I fear they have got tired of being insulted by 13-year-old drinkers, and have chosen instead to supervise the under-nines, in a glorified playground duty role. What a fuckin' joke!
...
This week I observed two CSOs joining in with a couple of teachers, and helping to guard a line of school children who were on some sort of errand or local visit. Now, whether they were visiting a church to do brass rubbing, or visiting an old people's home to be rubbed, it strikes me as outrageous that their crossing of a road was 'marshalled' by two CSOs, each looking like something from 'Men In Black', ear pieces in place. We've replaced lollipop people and teachers and classroom assistants with CSOs now!!! What next? Are they going to cook meals and oust the local dinner ladies from Primary Schools?
CSOs are supposed to help the Police, and keep 'law & order'. I fear they have got tired of being insulted by 13-year-old drinkers, and have chosen instead to supervise the under-nines, in a glorified playground duty role. What a fuckin' joke!
...
20.12.10 Pretentious Piss
It's the season for perfume ads, and don't we know it! Dozens of shitty, meaningless images and words intended to encourage us to spend fifty quid on racoons' piss in a fancy bottle. In one of the ads, the 'frag' part of 'fragrance' is pronounced such that it rhymes with 'slag'. Pretentious arseholes! The smells on offer are marketed in the most peculiar ways, and we're supposed to be impressed. When I want 'Stella' I have something in mind other than a perfume. Other names are slightly repetitive;
Gucci by Gucci
Ricci Ricci
What next? Cunti Cunti ?
...
Gucci by Gucci
Ricci Ricci
What next? Cunti Cunti ?
...
20.12.10 Petits Filous
Who was it who decided that tiny portions of anything are somehow better? It's quite clear that "Petits Fuckin' Filous" with its non-petits price represents the worst value for money slop-in-a-pot on the market! Anyone who buys it has more money than sense. The only thing shittier than pots of Petits Filous is the advertising approach. The PF adverts are quite simply crap. Spits Life Out is a rather appropriate anagram.
On a tangential note: manufacturers and retailers have been fucking with our minds for a long time, particularly regarding sizes.
Fun Size = no fuckin' fun at all!
Snack Size = not big enough
Multi-pack Size = you'll need to eat a pack to be satisfied
Family Size = enough for a husband, wife and foetus only
Bumper Pack = Not as big as you would expect
...
On a tangential note: manufacturers and retailers have been fucking with our minds for a long time, particularly regarding sizes.
Fun Size = no fuckin' fun at all!
Snack Size = not big enough
Multi-pack Size = you'll need to eat a pack to be satisfied
Family Size = enough for a husband, wife and foetus only
Bumper Pack = Not as big as you would expect
...
20.12.10 Scandals
Allegedly . . .
Wagner is being investigated for claiming benefits while 'performing' on X-Factor.
One Direction - investigations centre on claims from some of the members for EMA whilst clearly not attending school for many weeks. In an interview by government agents, information was forthcoming in a rather typical fashion: Liam started first, with an attempt at sincerity as he sang the first two lines. Harry then joined in, adding a couple of supporting comments. Then, the other three all said the exact same thing in out-of-tune tones, but added nothing to the plot. They pleaded in unison, and then asked for permission to go outside to the playground with everyone else, after a group hug at the end of the submission.
Cheryl - investigations have revealed that her new 'Blood Group Diet' is useless, and on 15th December it was reported to be the "worst celeb food regime of the year" in the press.
...
Wagner is being investigated for claiming benefits while 'performing' on X-Factor.
One Direction - investigations centre on claims from some of the members for EMA whilst clearly not attending school for many weeks. In an interview by government agents, information was forthcoming in a rather typical fashion: Liam started first, with an attempt at sincerity as he sang the first two lines. Harry then joined in, adding a couple of supporting comments. Then, the other three all said the exact same thing in out-of-tune tones, but added nothing to the plot. They pleaded in unison, and then asked for permission to go outside to the playground with everyone else, after a group hug at the end of the submission.
Cheryl - investigations have revealed that her new 'Blood Group Diet' is useless, and on 15th December it was reported to be the "worst celeb food regime of the year" in the press.
...
20.12.10 BolloX-Factor
Aren't you glad that's all over now? I know I am. So Matt won and most people agree that this was the right result. Whether he makes it or not is another issue. Anyway, some of the shit/inane/repetitive/crap comments and observations on this last series that I can now put behind me include the following:
Cheryl Cole
"I thoroughly enjoyed it." This was a favourite phrase that got an outing in just about every show, as did another effort, "You're a little pop star". What patronising shit! Her whining was nauseating, and at one point I seriously considered she had a crush on Rebecca, as she tried to relay how wonderful she thought Rebecca was, as an artist, as a mother, as a woman, as a Scouser, as a performer, as a human being, as a Nina Simone tribute, as a person etc etc. [ I used to have a circular saw that made a distinctive noise less intrusive, annoying and repetitive than Rebecca's singing ] Another curious quote from CC was, "This could be a real moment for Mary". What the fuck does that mean? I recall that fairly early in the series, CC said "You're only as good as your last song." Well, in that case, you're shit Cheryl. I remember making a note to myself that she cannot even mime in tune.
Louis Walsh
Poor Louis, he never said anything worthwhile all series. Some of his often repeated catchphrases were:
"You're in the final", which was said to each finalist - what a revelation!
"You made it your own."
"The people of XXX love you." Insert for the XXX as appropriate, from: 'Liverpool', 'Ireland', 'Lilliput'.
It would have even been refreshing to have heard him utter "Pot o'Gold' rather than 'You've got a great recording voice'.
Simon Cowell
He's been odd this series, and in some instances, a twat. Some of his silly comments have included:
"I genuinely think . . ." This often used introduction suggested that there must have been many past comments made which were not reflecting his genuine thoughts(?)
"One thousand per cent."
"A million per cent."
"A hundred and ten per cent."
"Two hundred per cent."
Dannii Minogue
The most enlightening quote from Dannii was one which rather explained the farce regarding the Final, which was creatively arranged to include 4 contestants rather than the 3 that have featured in the final in previous series. Clearly Simon wanted Cher to be included in the so-called Final. On the last (Sunday) show, the opening few minutes included comments from the judges from the previous (Saturday night) programme, and Dannii said: "I'm looking forward to the final tomorrow". That's right, Dannii, the final was indeed on the Sunday and the Saturday show was the Semi-Final. So, Mary, you only reached the Quarter-Final, and Cher, you were Nowhere! Cher + Rap = Crap
The series overall was a disappointment, and the judges were mostly awful. Louis should return to the Play-Doh pots that occupy him in the X-Factor closed season. Cheryl should make that move to the States, and stay there. Simon should try and find some of the integrity that he once had. Dannii, who sometimes comes out with some rubbish, did for the most part show herself to be the best judge (Nicole aside). Dermot probably has a 'claw grip' on a further stint as host. I'm glad it's over and I can reclaim my life.
...
Cheryl Cole
"I thoroughly enjoyed it." This was a favourite phrase that got an outing in just about every show, as did another effort, "You're a little pop star". What patronising shit! Her whining was nauseating, and at one point I seriously considered she had a crush on Rebecca, as she tried to relay how wonderful she thought Rebecca was, as an artist, as a mother, as a woman, as a Scouser, as a performer, as a human being, as a Nina Simone tribute, as a person etc etc. [ I used to have a circular saw that made a distinctive noise less intrusive, annoying and repetitive than Rebecca's singing ] Another curious quote from CC was, "This could be a real moment for Mary". What the fuck does that mean? I recall that fairly early in the series, CC said "You're only as good as your last song." Well, in that case, you're shit Cheryl. I remember making a note to myself that she cannot even mime in tune.
Louis Walsh
Poor Louis, he never said anything worthwhile all series. Some of his often repeated catchphrases were:
"You're in the final", which was said to each finalist - what a revelation!
"You made it your own."
"The people of XXX love you." Insert for the XXX as appropriate, from: 'Liverpool', 'Ireland', 'Lilliput'.
It would have even been refreshing to have heard him utter "Pot o'Gold' rather than 'You've got a great recording voice'.
Simon Cowell
He's been odd this series, and in some instances, a twat. Some of his silly comments have included:
"I genuinely think . . ." This often used introduction suggested that there must have been many past comments made which were not reflecting his genuine thoughts(?)
"One thousand per cent."
"A million per cent."
"A hundred and ten per cent."
"Two hundred per cent."
Dannii Minogue
The most enlightening quote from Dannii was one which rather explained the farce regarding the Final, which was creatively arranged to include 4 contestants rather than the 3 that have featured in the final in previous series. Clearly Simon wanted Cher to be included in the so-called Final. On the last (Sunday) show, the opening few minutes included comments from the judges from the previous (Saturday night) programme, and Dannii said: "I'm looking forward to the final tomorrow". That's right, Dannii, the final was indeed on the Sunday and the Saturday show was the Semi-Final. So, Mary, you only reached the Quarter-Final, and Cher, you were Nowhere! Cher + Rap = Crap
The series overall was a disappointment, and the judges were mostly awful. Louis should return to the Play-Doh pots that occupy him in the X-Factor closed season. Cheryl should make that move to the States, and stay there. Simon should try and find some of the integrity that he once had. Dannii, who sometimes comes out with some rubbish, did for the most part show herself to be the best judge (Nicole aside). Dermot probably has a 'claw grip' on a further stint as host. I'm glad it's over and I can reclaim my life.
...
Sunday 12 December 2010
12.12.10 Mixed Menu
Location: Amsterdam
Date: 29th Dec 2010
Written in English, as a so-called "Chinese Option" on the "Tapas Menu" in Holland was "Dim Sum in Sweet Chilli Sauce". Oh, and this was in an Irish Bar!
I was tempted to ask for Scrambled something or other, but the establishment was ahead of me.
...
Date: 29th Dec 2010
Written in English, as a so-called "Chinese Option" on the "Tapas Menu" in Holland was "Dim Sum in Sweet Chilli Sauce". Oh, and this was in an Irish Bar!
I was tempted to ask for Scrambled something or other, but the establishment was ahead of me.
...
12.12.10 Take Me Out
What a completely shit programme. Who on the planet decided to sanction another series of this complete crap? He or she ought to be shot.
"No likey, no lighty!" [ ??? Stupid arse ]
Fuckin' criminally dumb. The women on this programme portray women in the worst possible light. I would rather be run over by a tram than have to endure another second of this fodder from ITV.
...
"No likey, no lighty!" [ ??? Stupid arse ]
Fuckin' criminally dumb. The women on this programme portray women in the worst possible light. I would rather be run over by a tram than have to endure another second of this fodder from ITV.
...
12.12.10 Ofsted
Please read the following message, played to callers on hold, when the switchboard is busy.
Newcastle College were recently awarded 'Grade One - Outstanding' in all areas, by Ofsted.
Quite clearly Ofsted has not properly assessed the institution, and has made a mistake regarding the "all areas" part of the award. Grammar is clearly not on the agenda or on the syllabus, based on the third word.
...
Newcastle College were recently awarded 'Grade One - Outstanding' in all areas, by Ofsted.
Quite clearly Ofsted has not properly assessed the institution, and has made a mistake regarding the "all areas" part of the award. Grammar is clearly not on the agenda or on the syllabus, based on the third word.
...
12.12.10 Paper
In the very old days, going to the cinema involved the purchase of a ticket, and that Ticket was in fact a small piece of printed paper, approx 5cm x 2cm. The kiosk (where the ticket was issued) was typically some way from the actual entrance to the viewing room, and it was common for there to be dozens of people milling around in the foyer - people who had yet to pay and get their tickets. Against this backdrop, it seemed reasonable for there to be an employee at the door (to the room with the screen in) who tore in half each ticket presented. This stopped people sneaking in.
Now compare that to Ryanair and what happened last Sunday. The new way of things is for passengers to print off boarding passes, so getting past the security chap (who was sitting, bored out of his skull) and entering the 'snake' was possible with a subtle flash of our two A4 sheets of paper. It wasn't, of course; a piece of paper is indistinct unless you look properly at it. After a battle with the "Security" process, and a short wait in a lounge, it was time to board at the relevant gate. As usual, a queue formed, and at the head of the line was a woman in a blue uniform that didn't fit. Well, that's not fair on the uniform; it did of course fit someone, someone of the appropriate size, but it most certainly did not fit the heffer who'd put it on that morning. When at last it was time to hand over our two A4 sheets of paper to 'heffer', I watched in amazement as she ripped them in the messiest fashion I've ever seen. They were not ripped in half, but an 'approximation of half', and just as a playground bully might snatch your homework and rip it in half, she presented all the remnants to me. I pondered whether she'd have managed if I'd handed her a Telephone Directory, and on reflection, thought that it too would have been mullered and handed back in bits. So, Ryanair basically employed someone to stand there and rip paper in half before handing it back.
Six yards behind her, another employee was collecting something. Six paces later, I became aware that she wanted the bottom 'half' of each sheet. She was about 5'5" and nine stone, so was clearly unable to manage paper tearing - especially two sheets at a time. So this pointless extra step meant I examined the mess in my hand, and offered two of the remnants. Considering Ryanair is known for cost cutting, I'm amazed that one multi-functional person couldn't be found to tear bits of paper in half, and then keep one of them. It's not as if there were any expectations from passengers to watch an employee model a Swan, using A Level Origami!
The paper trail continued. After being herded down a walkway and a tunnel, we all then found ourselves on the tarmac, queuing to walk towards the plane. Entry to the plane was via a glorified 'loft ladder'. It was slightly larger than a loft ladder, but not by much. Stepping on to the plane, I was required to present the two remaining scraps of paper, and the attendant (distracted by the phone) made the most pathetic mark on each with her biro. Imagine you are on the phone and holding a pen, and I hold a couple of bits of paper near you in mid air. With a force no greater than that required to tickle a tapeworm, you need to make a tiny mark somewhere on the paper as I move away. Fuckin' ludicrous, eh? Still, these rigorous steps helped us all fly safely. I sat down, and read the only useful piece of paper in the whole process - the Sunday paper.
...
Now compare that to Ryanair and what happened last Sunday. The new way of things is for passengers to print off boarding passes, so getting past the security chap (who was sitting, bored out of his skull) and entering the 'snake' was possible with a subtle flash of our two A4 sheets of paper. It wasn't, of course; a piece of paper is indistinct unless you look properly at it. After a battle with the "Security" process, and a short wait in a lounge, it was time to board at the relevant gate. As usual, a queue formed, and at the head of the line was a woman in a blue uniform that didn't fit. Well, that's not fair on the uniform; it did of course fit someone, someone of the appropriate size, but it most certainly did not fit the heffer who'd put it on that morning. When at last it was time to hand over our two A4 sheets of paper to 'heffer', I watched in amazement as she ripped them in the messiest fashion I've ever seen. They were not ripped in half, but an 'approximation of half', and just as a playground bully might snatch your homework and rip it in half, she presented all the remnants to me. I pondered whether she'd have managed if I'd handed her a Telephone Directory, and on reflection, thought that it too would have been mullered and handed back in bits. So, Ryanair basically employed someone to stand there and rip paper in half before handing it back.
Six yards behind her, another employee was collecting something. Six paces later, I became aware that she wanted the bottom 'half' of each sheet. She was about 5'5" and nine stone, so was clearly unable to manage paper tearing - especially two sheets at a time. So this pointless extra step meant I examined the mess in my hand, and offered two of the remnants. Considering Ryanair is known for cost cutting, I'm amazed that one multi-functional person couldn't be found to tear bits of paper in half, and then keep one of them. It's not as if there were any expectations from passengers to watch an employee model a Swan, using A Level Origami!
The paper trail continued. After being herded down a walkway and a tunnel, we all then found ourselves on the tarmac, queuing to walk towards the plane. Entry to the plane was via a glorified 'loft ladder'. It was slightly larger than a loft ladder, but not by much. Stepping on to the plane, I was required to present the two remaining scraps of paper, and the attendant (distracted by the phone) made the most pathetic mark on each with her biro. Imagine you are on the phone and holding a pen, and I hold a couple of bits of paper near you in mid air. With a force no greater than that required to tickle a tapeworm, you need to make a tiny mark somewhere on the paper as I move away. Fuckin' ludicrous, eh? Still, these rigorous steps helped us all fly safely. I sat down, and read the only useful piece of paper in the whole process - the Sunday paper.
...
Thursday 9 December 2010
9.12.10 Security!
Do I feel more secure when travelling, what with the extra care and attention exercised by the security staff at airports now? Do I fuck!
My recent flight with Ryanair involved the typical check-in procedure, with a transit through 'Security'. There was no 'beep' as I walked through the metal detector doorway, so I was free to collect from the belt my small "less than 10 kilo bag measuring no more than 55x40x20cm". However, the tray containing my belt and coat, plus see-through bag had been put to one side. Eventually, the woman asked if it was mine and after my 'yes', proceeded to explain what the problem was. Apparently the contents of the bag [toothpaste, soap, hand gel, cream and shampoo - all tiny in size] were not the problem. No, it was the bag itself that was a threat to national and international security. Anxious that she didn't escalate things to DEFCON 2 or scramble fighter jets, I asked for more information. She said my bag was 40cm not 20cm.
I of course immediately disputed her assessment of my ziplock bag, knowing there was no way that it was a 40cm square, and did so with some amazement that if it was her job to check the size of polythene bags against a cuntin' bag index, she really ought to have a better sense of scale. Apparently the bag must be 20cm maximum and hold no more than 1 litre. I thought about the 50ml deodorant, 75ml toothpaste, 60ml of hand gel, 25ml of cream and tiny bar of soap, deciding that was in total less than a quarter of a litre (for both of us travelling!) and fought to resist opening the tiny tube of cream [which was 1% hydrocortisone] and smearing it over the face of the woman; clearly there was neither enough cream nor the power within it to make any impact in reducing the irritation before me.
There was no choice - I was forced to obtain a smaller sealable bag. I disputed her claim of 40cm again, and she introduced over 30cm as a back-up position. So, we were in the realm of 30-40cm square. I offered to bet her £10 my bag was not that big and held out my hand. She wouldn't take the bet (just the piss!). I learned I'd have to buy a bag from a machine for £1, or maybe consider going to the Boots shop where they were supposedly available for 20p. For the first time in my life I uttered the fantastic line of -
"So I've got to go to Boots and use a twenty pound note to buy a twenty pence bag to put this stuff in?"
You know her answer already, don't you. I was saved from moving or having to further underline the incredulity with which I was absorbing this 'Fawlty Towers' moment, because the woman next to me offered a spare bag. The transfer was made (not a flight transfer, but the passing of liquids from one fuckin' useless small bag to another even smaller fuckin' useless bag, under the eyes of the all-powerful security personnel). The apology from the mild mannered (but nonetheless fascist) security operative was limp. She presented me with the 'oh so large' redundant bag, saying I could have it back but couldn't put anything in it. What a fuckin' fiasco.
For the Record
My bag was 26cm x 26cm, and would have been the cause of my failure to fly, had I not switched to the smaller bag and reduced the amount of C4 explosive that could in theory be contained within. Of course I never shook hands, so never held out for my £10 from Mrs Ziplock.
The official bag I used (thanks to the fellow traveller) which was both sanctioned and admired by the woman in charge was actually 19cm x 19cm. I'm sure her husband is happy, as this stupid twat thinks his 5-inch dick is 8 inches long.
PS: For anyone interested in the maths on the volume aspect -
According to Anthony C. Robin, an approximate formula for the capacity of a sealed expanded bag is:
...
My recent flight with Ryanair involved the typical check-in procedure, with a transit through 'Security'. There was no 'beep' as I walked through the metal detector doorway, so I was free to collect from the belt my small "less than 10 kilo bag measuring no more than 55x40x20cm". However, the tray containing my belt and coat, plus see-through bag had been put to one side. Eventually, the woman asked if it was mine and after my 'yes', proceeded to explain what the problem was. Apparently the contents of the bag [toothpaste, soap, hand gel, cream and shampoo - all tiny in size] were not the problem. No, it was the bag itself that was a threat to national and international security. Anxious that she didn't escalate things to DEFCON 2 or scramble fighter jets, I asked for more information. She said my bag was 40cm not 20cm.
I of course immediately disputed her assessment of my ziplock bag, knowing there was no way that it was a 40cm square, and did so with some amazement that if it was her job to check the size of polythene bags against a cuntin' bag index, she really ought to have a better sense of scale. Apparently the bag must be 20cm maximum and hold no more than 1 litre. I thought about the 50ml deodorant, 75ml toothpaste, 60ml of hand gel, 25ml of cream and tiny bar of soap, deciding that was in total less than a quarter of a litre (for both of us travelling!) and fought to resist opening the tiny tube of cream [which was 1% hydrocortisone] and smearing it over the face of the woman; clearly there was neither enough cream nor the power within it to make any impact in reducing the irritation before me.
There was no choice - I was forced to obtain a smaller sealable bag. I disputed her claim of 40cm again, and she introduced over 30cm as a back-up position. So, we were in the realm of 30-40cm square. I offered to bet her £10 my bag was not that big and held out my hand. She wouldn't take the bet (just the piss!). I learned I'd have to buy a bag from a machine for £1, or maybe consider going to the Boots shop where they were supposedly available for 20p. For the first time in my life I uttered the fantastic line of -
"So I've got to go to Boots and use a twenty pound note to buy a twenty pence bag to put this stuff in?"
You know her answer already, don't you. I was saved from moving or having to further underline the incredulity with which I was absorbing this 'Fawlty Towers' moment, because the woman next to me offered a spare bag. The transfer was made (not a flight transfer, but the passing of liquids from one fuckin' useless small bag to another even smaller fuckin' useless bag, under the eyes of the all-powerful security personnel). The apology from the mild mannered (but nonetheless fascist) security operative was limp. She presented me with the 'oh so large' redundant bag, saying I could have it back but couldn't put anything in it. What a fuckin' fiasco.
For the Record
My bag was 26cm x 26cm, and would have been the cause of my failure to fly, had I not switched to the smaller bag and reduced the amount of C4 explosive that could in theory be contained within. Of course I never shook hands, so never held out for my £10 from Mrs Ziplock.
The official bag I used (thanks to the fellow traveller) which was both sanctioned and admired by the woman in charge was actually 19cm x 19cm. I'm sure her husband is happy, as this stupid twat thinks his 5-inch dick is 8 inches long.
PS: For anyone interested in the maths on the volume aspect -
According to Anthony C. Robin, an approximate formula for the capacity of a sealed expanded bag is:
...
Wednesday 8 December 2010
8.12.10 Gran Canaria
Tuesday 7th threw up a few interesting things/comments. The first involved a discussion about the numerous bank holidays in Spain, and the prevalence of Saints' days - whatever their various names. Reference was made to one such day by Maria, as follows:
"Some stupid woman who never had a screw"
I also had an exchange with Marc, as follows:
TMWSC: "Do they still do camel rides in Maspalomas?"
Marc: "Yes, but now it's called the whorehouse!"
Finally, whilst standing at the counter in a coffee shop, I observed the speedy arrival of a silver Toyota van. It pulled up outside the entrance, and a young chap walked quickly in, carrying a flat box, within which were four cucumbers. That's right, this was a delivery of just four cucumbers and I was (and still am) baffled as to why it was necessary for these to be delivered in some sort of emergency procedure by courier.
...
"Some stupid woman who never had a screw"
I also had an exchange with Marc, as follows:
TMWSC: "Do they still do camel rides in Maspalomas?"
Marc: "Yes, but now it's called the whorehouse!"
Finally, whilst standing at the counter in a coffee shop, I observed the speedy arrival of a silver Toyota van. It pulled up outside the entrance, and a young chap walked quickly in, carrying a flat box, within which were four cucumbers. That's right, this was a delivery of just four cucumbers and I was (and still am) baffled as to why it was necessary for these to be delivered in some sort of emergency procedure by courier.
...
Saturday 4 December 2010
4.12.10 Gallery of Rogues
Simon Cowell Cheryl Cole
Louis Walsh Dannii Minogue
Brian Friedman Dermot O'Leary
...
4.12.10 Cystitis TV
Fuckin' pissin' Wii adverts are everywhere. There's a constant stream of adverts, twee as fuck, showing inane twats enjoying themselves on a Wii. We used to have a Wii; I was always wanting to have a go, but when it came down to it, I couldn't quite manage, and interest tailed off. It was sold a year ago, the console and controllers plus loads of games, all for £250 - that really was taking the piss.
If I see another staged, awful "Redknapp" advert (that probably took 3 days to shoot) then I'll scream.
Nintendo adverts are even worse. The 'Jedward' ads are shit, but I suppose if they're being paid a fortune, they'll do anything. The 'DS' adverts are even worse, mainly because the games are crap and people's apparent enjoyment of them is a farce. [NB: DS is short for DipShit]. Also, if old people want to keep their brains active, there are better ways than £100+ for a machine and much more for the games, especially if they've already got Alzheimer's Disease or Arthritis and cannot work the fucker, assuming they can bloody find it! Stick to Countdown, and one bar of the electric fire.
...
If I see another staged, awful "Redknapp" advert (that probably took 3 days to shoot) then I'll scream.
Nintendo adverts are even worse. The 'Jedward' ads are shit, but I suppose if they're being paid a fortune, they'll do anything. The 'DS' adverts are even worse, mainly because the games are crap and people's apparent enjoyment of them is a farce. [NB: DS is short for DipShit]. Also, if old people want to keep their brains active, there are better ways than £100+ for a machine and much more for the games, especially if they've already got Alzheimer's Disease or Arthritis and cannot work the fucker, assuming they can bloody find it! Stick to Countdown, and one bar of the electric fire.
...
4.12.10 Cold Snap
"A sudden brief spell of cold weather" can be described as a "cold snap", according to the Reader's Digest Oxford Complete Wordfinder [ A Unique and Powerful Combination of Dictionary and Thesaurus ].
Now, as far as I'm concerned, I do not want to hear after today the term "snap", because the spell of cold weather has extended well beyond "brief", and the suddenness has completely died a death!
While I'm talking about the weather, I must relay a ludicrous comment from a BBC Radio presenter a week ago, in her preamble to a forecast. Her wondrous words were:
"We've a major snow event on the way tomorrow"
EVENT! My God, presenters talk shit . . . .
PS: Clearing snow from the road outside the house a week ago, hours of fun digging because no other fucker bothers. At 3.50pm, down the lane comes a chap of about 50 years, wrapped up in coat, gloves and hat. As he passes, he greets me with "Good Morning" and in doing so, emits fumes that confirm he's completely pissed. This was further evidenced by some other utterance which was impossible to understand. Off he strolled, in a world of his own.
...
Now, as far as I'm concerned, I do not want to hear after today the term "snap", because the spell of cold weather has extended well beyond "brief", and the suddenness has completely died a death!
While I'm talking about the weather, I must relay a ludicrous comment from a BBC Radio presenter a week ago, in her preamble to a forecast. Her wondrous words were:
"We've a major snow event on the way tomorrow"
EVENT! My God, presenters talk shit . . . .
PS: Clearing snow from the road outside the house a week ago, hours of fun digging because no other fucker bothers. At 3.50pm, down the lane comes a chap of about 50 years, wrapped up in coat, gloves and hat. As he passes, he greets me with "Good Morning" and in doing so, emits fumes that confirm he's completely pissed. This was further evidenced by some other utterance which was impossible to understand. Off he strolled, in a world of his own.
...
4.12.10 DFDS Waffle
The section at the front of the DFDS Seaways "Welcome on Board" brochure has a bit of blurb from Mr Carsten Jensen, Executive Vice President. I rather suspect that he composed his paragraph on the return leg of a test run on the Newcastle - Amsterdam service, having chilled on something in a coffee shop. Judge for yourself.
Dear Guest,
When, in a little while, the hustle and bustle of city life recedes into the horizon, you can look forward to a journey of a rare calibre. As your hosts, the staff at DFDS Seaways are here to pamper you with a carefully selected blend of pleasant and enjoyable experiences - whether you're travelling with good friends, as a couple or alone, or if you want to spend a couple of wonderful days with your family. You will find yourself tempted by recreations above and under deck, taste impressions from all corners of the world and entertainment for all ages. But what makes this experience so refreshingly different is that, on top of all this, we've added oceans of water. The great big blue extends as far as the eye and the journey stretches - and in your soul, way beyond that.
Welcome aboard
Spaced, don't you think?
...
Dear Guest,
When, in a little while, the hustle and bustle of city life recedes into the horizon, you can look forward to a journey of a rare calibre. As your hosts, the staff at DFDS Seaways are here to pamper you with a carefully selected blend of pleasant and enjoyable experiences - whether you're travelling with good friends, as a couple or alone, or if you want to spend a couple of wonderful days with your family. You will find yourself tempted by recreations above and under deck, taste impressions from all corners of the world and entertainment for all ages. But what makes this experience so refreshingly different is that, on top of all this, we've added oceans of water. The great big blue extends as far as the eye and the journey stretches - and in your soul, way beyond that.
Welcome aboard
Spaced, don't you think?
...
Friday 3 December 2010
3.12.10 Pointless (No.2)
Konnie Huq
Why is it that the broadcasting world is somehow obliged to provide her with a job, despite her talents being more lightweight than a gnat's dick? She's like the silica gel in flat-packed furniture - you incidentally notice it, you cannot work out why anyone really bothered putting it there, and you get on with your life which is better without silica gel in it!
SILICA HUQ
KONNIE GEL
Keep Britain Tidy - Dispose of litter thoughtfully
...
Why is it that the broadcasting world is somehow obliged to provide her with a job, despite her talents being more lightweight than a gnat's dick? She's like the silica gel in flat-packed furniture - you incidentally notice it, you cannot work out why anyone really bothered putting it there, and you get on with your life which is better without silica gel in it!
SILICA HUQ
KONNIE GEL
Keep Britain Tidy - Dispose of litter thoughtfully
...
Thursday 2 December 2010
2.12.10 Eddie Stobart
It is now the done thing for businesses to create catchy phrases and straplines to enhance their products or services. This practice is in many cases a complete waste of time, and often the resultant blurb is ludicrous. I recall an article in the paper some months ago showing how this has reached the police, and the straplines of various police forces were listed. Banal statements in all cases. Why on earth does any police force think it has to explain what it's trying to do?
Cleveland Police
Putting People First
Northampton Police
Putting Communities First
Leicestershire Constabulary
Protecting our communities by reducing crime and anti-social behaviour
Devon & Cornwall Police
Building Safer Communities Together
Thames Valley Police
Working in partnership to make our community safer
Staffordshire Police
Keeping our communities safe and reassured
Strathclyde Police
Working Together - Building Safer Communities
Hampshire Constabulary
Working for safer communities
Norfolk Constabulary
Our Priority is You
South Wales Police
Keeping South Wales Safe
Kent Police
Protecting and serving the people of Kent
Avon and Somerset Constabulary
Working together to make the communities of Avon and Somerset feel safe and be safe
Humberside Police
Protecting Communities Targeting Criminals
North Yorkshire Police
Delivering modern policing in a traditional way
Lothian and Borders Police
With You, For You
Sussex Police
Serving Sussex
West Midlands Police
Serving our communities, protecting them from harm
West Mercia Police
Serving - Protecting - Making the Difference
Gloucestershire Constabulary
People First Policing
Eddie Stobart
Delivering Sustainable Distribution
What the ****! Delivering Distribution????!!!! (Of the sustainable type) What utter rubbish! The Sussex Police Chief obviously thought that "Sussex Police" really needed the Serving Sussex explanation. Meanwhile, the directors of Eddie Stobart thought that we'd all be better informed by finding out that the fuckin' great lorry was part of a strategy to "deliver distribution". Tosh.
...
Cleveland Police
Putting People First
Northampton Police
Putting Communities First
Leicestershire Constabulary
Protecting our communities by reducing crime and anti-social behaviour
Devon & Cornwall Police
Building Safer Communities Together
Thames Valley Police
Working in partnership to make our community safer
Staffordshire Police
Keeping our communities safe and reassured
Strathclyde Police
Working Together - Building Safer Communities
Hampshire Constabulary
Working for safer communities
Norfolk Constabulary
Our Priority is You
South Wales Police
Keeping South Wales Safe
Kent Police
Protecting and serving the people of Kent
Avon and Somerset Constabulary
Working together to make the communities of Avon and Somerset feel safe and be safe
Humberside Police
Protecting Communities Targeting Criminals
North Yorkshire Police
Delivering modern policing in a traditional way
Lothian and Borders Police
With You, For You
Sussex Police
Serving Sussex
West Midlands Police
Serving our communities, protecting them from harm
West Mercia Police
Serving - Protecting - Making the Difference
Gloucestershire Constabulary
People First Policing
Eddie Stobart
Delivering Sustainable Distribution
What the ****! Delivering Distribution????!!!! (Of the sustainable type) What utter rubbish! The Sussex Police Chief obviously thought that "Sussex Police" really needed the Serving Sussex explanation. Meanwhile, the directors of Eddie Stobart thought that we'd all be better informed by finding out that the fuckin' great lorry was part of a strategy to "deliver distribution". Tosh.
...
2.12.10 Foreign Articles
On my very recent 'mini cruise', I was intrigued by the sticker on the inside of the toilet lid, in my inner cabin. Lifting the lid, it was impossible to miss the directive:
Do not throw foreign articles in the toilet
Accompanying these words was a simple picture (similar in style to the red triangle signs in the highway code) and three different things had been chosen to highlight what a 'foreign article' might be, in relation to unwanted disposal via the toilet. The pictures were of:
A glass bottle, a cardboard carton (eg. a pint of milk) and two biscuits.
Now, in all my years, I've never been tempted to try and flush a glass bottle down the toilet, nor have I found the toilet a useful device for getting rid of empty cartons. Finally, biscuits are always eaten, so why I'd ever find myself anxious to flush two of them down any loo I can't imagine.
I finished having a piss and left the loo, taking with me my glass bottles, biscuits and milk carton - and went in search of a bin!
Interestingly, the ships 'Rules' included a ban on travellers bringing their own food on board. With this in mind, it's hard to imagine where the cartons and biscuits would come from, as they were not sold on board the ship. Finally, I'd like to highlight that I was further confused as to what makes an article "foreign". I was on a ship with a 'Country of Origin' stated as Denmark, that was travelling from Holland to the UK, and called the King of Scandinavia - and the crew was 95% oriental. Hmmmm . . .
...
Do not throw foreign articles in the toilet
Accompanying these words was a simple picture (similar in style to the red triangle signs in the highway code) and three different things had been chosen to highlight what a 'foreign article' might be, in relation to unwanted disposal via the toilet. The pictures were of:
A glass bottle, a cardboard carton (eg. a pint of milk) and two biscuits.
Now, in all my years, I've never been tempted to try and flush a glass bottle down the toilet, nor have I found the toilet a useful device for getting rid of empty cartons. Finally, biscuits are always eaten, so why I'd ever find myself anxious to flush two of them down any loo I can't imagine.
I finished having a piss and left the loo, taking with me my glass bottles, biscuits and milk carton - and went in search of a bin!
Interestingly, the ships 'Rules' included a ban on travellers bringing their own food on board. With this in mind, it's hard to imagine where the cartons and biscuits would come from, as they were not sold on board the ship. Finally, I'd like to highlight that I was further confused as to what makes an article "foreign". I was on a ship with a 'Country of Origin' stated as Denmark, that was travelling from Holland to the UK, and called the King of Scandinavia - and the crew was 95% oriental. Hmmmm . . .
...
2.12.10 Roses
Cadbury's Roses (or will they in due course be renamed Kraft's Roses) come in tins and boxes. It seems that the company has dispensed with all logic, evidenced by my latest assessment of the large circular tins currently 'doing the rounds' in supermarkets. Logic would dictate that 1 kilo might be a sensible weight to put inside the large tin. Oh no - that would be silly. Instead, the tins contain 975g, which is reduced to 943g not counting the wrappers. I am quite sure that the few missing grams all add up to a nice increase in profits!
Sod Kate Humble and her Spring Watch / Autumn Watch - far better to give attention to TMWSC's Roses Watch
..
Sod Kate Humble and her Spring Watch / Autumn Watch - far better to give attention to TMWSC's Roses Watch
..
2.12.10 Queen's English
The Queen's English is sadly a diminishing phenomenon - or as some would have it, 'phenomena!' Everywhere one turns, there's a high chance of encountering examples of poor English, and worse, a complete ignorance that there's anything wrong.
I was 'on hold' recently, eagerly awaiting input from a human at a call centre. An automated message chirped intermittently, with:
"Your call will be answered as soon as we possibly can."
What complete nonsense! There was no point in raising the poor grammar with the hapless woman who eventually took my call.
On 11th November, Richard Madeley (who was standing in for Chris Evans on Radio 2) had with him Fiona Phillips who was there to give comments on the day's newspapers. It says it all, really, when a broadcaster utters rubbish, and includes:
" . . . .the more costlier . . . ."
A TV advert a few months ago included the phrase "just one bacteria" and also started a sentence with "The bacteria is . . .".
The whole world has dumbed down, and it appears that nowadays, there is no high standard to be achieved to qualify for broadcasting, journalism, or teaching! Even songwriters can be twats. Take "Old Town" by The Corrs. The song sounds like Alan Shearer could have written it ('wrote it', in Alan's case). It rather irks me that understanding of past participles is so rare. The songs lyrics include:
"She's broke his heart"
and
"This boy has broke down"
And this evening, on It Takes Two, on BBC2, a chap called Ben was commenting on the dancers' dresses, and mentioned there were sequin on one particular dress. Since when has cuntin' sequin been plural?
Even Elvis Costello was not immune back in 1979, as a line in a song demonstrates:
"Oliver's army is here to stay, Oliver's army are on their way". Army is SINGULAR. You have managed, Elvis, to get it right and wrong in the same line of a song! Surely you had to have noticed that one of the two fuckin' versions must be wrong!
...
I was 'on hold' recently, eagerly awaiting input from a human at a call centre. An automated message chirped intermittently, with:
"Your call will be answered as soon as we possibly can."
What complete nonsense! There was no point in raising the poor grammar with the hapless woman who eventually took my call.
On 11th November, Richard Madeley (who was standing in for Chris Evans on Radio 2) had with him Fiona Phillips who was there to give comments on the day's newspapers. It says it all, really, when a broadcaster utters rubbish, and includes:
" . . . .the more costlier . . . ."
A TV advert a few months ago included the phrase "just one bacteria" and also started a sentence with "The bacteria is . . .".
The whole world has dumbed down, and it appears that nowadays, there is no high standard to be achieved to qualify for broadcasting, journalism, or teaching! Even songwriters can be twats. Take "Old Town" by The Corrs. The song sounds like Alan Shearer could have written it ('wrote it', in Alan's case). It rather irks me that understanding of past participles is so rare. The songs lyrics include:
"She's broke his heart"
and
"This boy has broke down"
And this evening, on It Takes Two, on BBC2, a chap called Ben was commenting on the dancers' dresses, and mentioned there were sequin on one particular dress. Since when has cuntin' sequin been plural?
Even Elvis Costello was not immune back in 1979, as a line in a song demonstrates:
"Oliver's army is here to stay, Oliver's army are on their way". Army is SINGULAR. You have managed, Elvis, to get it right and wrong in the same line of a song! Surely you had to have noticed that one of the two fuckin' versions must be wrong!
...
2.12.10 Whisky
Famous Grouse !! ??
Famous! Famous! Famous, my arse! Go on then, tell me - what's it's name then??? Yeah, right - very "famous".
...
Famous! Famous! Famous, my arse! Go on then, tell me - what's it's name then??? Yeah, right - very "famous".
...
Sunday 28 November 2010
28.11.10 Award Winning
The phrase 'award winning' is a clever one. It implies quality/brilliance/achievement, and yet does not actually give enough detail for one to know if the thing or service actually has any real value. "The Man Who Says Cunt" is an award winning blog if I decide to give myself an award! [even if that award is simply a Smartie and homemade certificate].
It was with all this in mind that I last week sat down to eat at a Holiday Inn restaurant. Looking over the menu, I came across the following:
Award-Winning Pork & Cracked Black Pepper Sausages
With creamy mashed potato and gravy
At £13.95, it was a touch expensive, but so was everything else. Two things struck me. First, what was the 'award'? Second, the mash and potato combo was clearly of lower quality, not having picked up any award. To satisfy my curiosity, I asked Peter (the waiter) to enlighten me on the phrase 'Award Winning'. Expressing surprise that the menu did not include this information, he disappeared for three minutes (during which time he liaised with the chef, he later confirmed). Upon his return, he presented a sheet of paper - a downloaded copy of a certificate issued by BPEX (the British Pig Executive) confirming a Gold Medal had been awarded to York House Meat Products in the Traditional Pork Sausage Category for 'Hampshire Outdoor Bred Pork with Cracked Black Pepper'.
Satisfied that the phrase 'award winning' was appropriate (although it was in 2007 !) I decided to order, adding Green Beans & Carrots (£1.95) as a side dish. Whilst these vegetables matched the mash and gravy in being 'awardless', the green beans had the perfect level of squeakiness. Peter moved on to other diners, making sure he continued to finish each and every exchange/utterance with "No problem".
The food was okay, but I think that as with the life of sausages themselves, certificates extolling the virtues of any one variety should have a shelf life, and ought to be revoked every once in a while. Three years on, with certificate on the wall, I suspect the makers have lost interest a bit in maintaining standards. Still, I was hungry and ate it all.
I decided to have a dessert, and opted for Knickerbocker Glory - but without whipped cream. Now, I am not sure whether the absence of the cream technically invalidated the tall glass's claim to be a Knickerbocker Glory, but I ploughed through it, trying to minimise the success of the raspberry goo that seemed to want to accompany every spoonful of other stuff.
So, remember, next time you come across something said to be "Award Winning", why not take things a step further and find out more about the award. BPEX's award of Food Sausage of the Year 2007 GOLD has this last week reached an audience greater by 2 - Peter and me. Now I share it all with you.
...
It was with all this in mind that I last week sat down to eat at a Holiday Inn restaurant. Looking over the menu, I came across the following:
Award-Winning Pork & Cracked Black Pepper Sausages
With creamy mashed potato and gravy
At £13.95, it was a touch expensive, but so was everything else. Two things struck me. First, what was the 'award'? Second, the mash and potato combo was clearly of lower quality, not having picked up any award. To satisfy my curiosity, I asked Peter (the waiter) to enlighten me on the phrase 'Award Winning'. Expressing surprise that the menu did not include this information, he disappeared for three minutes (during which time he liaised with the chef, he later confirmed). Upon his return, he presented a sheet of paper - a downloaded copy of a certificate issued by BPEX (the British Pig Executive) confirming a Gold Medal had been awarded to York House Meat Products in the Traditional Pork Sausage Category for 'Hampshire Outdoor Bred Pork with Cracked Black Pepper'.
Satisfied that the phrase 'award winning' was appropriate (although it was in 2007 !) I decided to order, adding Green Beans & Carrots (£1.95) as a side dish. Whilst these vegetables matched the mash and gravy in being 'awardless', the green beans had the perfect level of squeakiness. Peter moved on to other diners, making sure he continued to finish each and every exchange/utterance with "No problem".
The food was okay, but I think that as with the life of sausages themselves, certificates extolling the virtues of any one variety should have a shelf life, and ought to be revoked every once in a while. Three years on, with certificate on the wall, I suspect the makers have lost interest a bit in maintaining standards. Still, I was hungry and ate it all.
I decided to have a dessert, and opted for Knickerbocker Glory - but without whipped cream. Now, I am not sure whether the absence of the cream technically invalidated the tall glass's claim to be a Knickerbocker Glory, but I ploughed through it, trying to minimise the success of the raspberry goo that seemed to want to accompany every spoonful of other stuff.
So, remember, next time you come across something said to be "Award Winning", why not take things a step further and find out more about the award. BPEX's award of Food Sausage of the Year 2007 GOLD has this last week reached an audience greater by 2 - Peter and me. Now I share it all with you.
...
Friday 26 November 2010
26.11.10 Aggravation
Mr Roy Hodgson, the Liverpool Manager, was interviewed on 20th November after a 3-0 win over West Ham, with the three goals all being scored in the first half. He was of course pleased with the result, but used a curious turn of phrase:
"It's a shame that in the second half we couldn't aggravate the score"
What? Can you imagine the half-time team talk in the dressing room? "Come on Stevie, Fernando, we've got them on the run. Keep it tight, lads, don't make any silly mistakes, and let's push forward. I'd like you all to try to aggravate the score."
Jolly good show, splendid, what!
...
"It's a shame that in the second half we couldn't aggravate the score"
What? Can you imagine the half-time team talk in the dressing room? "Come on Stevie, Fernando, we've got them on the run. Keep it tight, lads, don't make any silly mistakes, and let's push forward. I'd like you all to try to aggravate the score."
Jolly good show, splendid, what!
...
26.11.10 Celebrity?
Take a close look. What do you get if you cross Woody Allen with Peter Cook, and add a sliver of Paul Daniels?
Gillian McKeith
What an utterly revolting creature.
...
Gillian McKeith
What an utterly revolting creature.
...
26.11.10 Today Please, Josephine!
The "Sliding Doors" moment of my life may have happened today, at the point I decided on which queue to join at Morrisons. I opted for the first one I came to, 'manned' by Josephine. Ahead of me was a couple whose shopping on the conveyor was not a mountain by any means. I was able to put some of mine on to the conveyor, expecting that I'd be served quite soon.
My worries arrived rather quicker than the speed with which Josephine scanned goods. Inch by painful inch, the conveyor progressed, to allow me eventually to transfer all my shopping from the small trolley. To my left, I would already have been in the process of packing my shopping, as that checkout operator was of normal talent. Josephine's till would have benefited from an overhead sign (perhaps a re-working of the old '9 Items or Less' sign [ we all no that should have been "Fewer" ] which is no longer in use since the introduction of the new tills, called: You do all the scanning yourself, while someone stands and watches you. Josephine's sign could have said "9 Minutes or More" to serve as a warning regarding the wait, for those naive enough to join her queue.
The only amusing thing about her dedication to process the shopping was her grappling technique when trying to scan a 2.5kg bag of potatoes. The inanimate objects within the bag were rolled, mauled and pinned down as Josephine hoped they would yield, and allow their barcode to register on the fixed scanner. I was transfixed as she wrestled with the bag for ages. If it had been dough, it would have received a fantastic kneading. Needing to leave, I refrained from commenting, and continued to pack.
I will of course in future avoid any till operated by Josephine - no doubt a lovely woman, but not ideally suited to checkouts.
...
My worries arrived rather quicker than the speed with which Josephine scanned goods. Inch by painful inch, the conveyor progressed, to allow me eventually to transfer all my shopping from the small trolley. To my left, I would already have been in the process of packing my shopping, as that checkout operator was of normal talent. Josephine's till would have benefited from an overhead sign (perhaps a re-working of the old '9 Items or Less' sign [ we all no that should have been "Fewer" ] which is no longer in use since the introduction of the new tills, called: You do all the scanning yourself, while someone stands and watches you. Josephine's sign could have said "9 Minutes or More" to serve as a warning regarding the wait, for those naive enough to join her queue.
The only amusing thing about her dedication to process the shopping was her grappling technique when trying to scan a 2.5kg bag of potatoes. The inanimate objects within the bag were rolled, mauled and pinned down as Josephine hoped they would yield, and allow their barcode to register on the fixed scanner. I was transfixed as she wrestled with the bag for ages. If it had been dough, it would have received a fantastic kneading. Needing to leave, I refrained from commenting, and continued to pack.
I will of course in future avoid any till operated by Josephine - no doubt a lovely woman, but not ideally suited to checkouts.
...
Wednesday 24 November 2010
24.11.10 Sandwich
Level 1
Fancying a sandwich, I looked along the shelf at ASDA and decided upon a Breakfast Triple: Sausage, Egg & Bacon, Egg & Bacon, and Egg & Sausage.
Level 2
Closer inspection of the packaging revealed a slightly more in-depth description of the above sandwich, as follows.
"Malted bread with egg mayonnaise, pork sausage, smoke flavour sweetcure bacon, brown sauce and tomato ketchup. White bread with egg mayonnaise and smoke flavour sweetcure bacon. Malted bread with egg mayonnaise, pork sausage, brown sauce and tomato ketchup"
Level 3
Ingredients: Egg Mayonnaise, Sausage and Bacon: Malted Bread [Wheat Flour, Water, Malted Wheat Flakes, Wheat Bran, Yeast, Salt, Malted Barley Flour, Emulsifiers (E472e, E471), Vegetable Fat, Spirit Vinegar, Malted Wheat Flour, Wheat Gluten, Flour Treatment Agent (E300), Reduced Fat Egg Mayonnaise (28%) [Hard Boiled Egg, Reduced Fat Mayonnaise [Water, Rapeseed Oil, Cornflour, Spirit Vinegar, Pasteurised Egg Yolk, White Wine Vinegar, Sugar, Salt, Stabiliser (E440),Dijon
I have absolutely no intention of typing any more of this stuff - the above ingredients represent just one of the three sandwiches!
The further sections on ingredients for the two extra rounds are then followed by more blurb:
Contains gluten, milk, wheat, barley, egg and mustard. May contain traces of nuts and/or sesame seeds.
NO ARTIFICIAL COLOURS OR HYDROGENATED FAT.
!WARNING: Not suitable for a low potassium diet. Extra care has been taken to remove shell, although some may remain.
I will not bother noting the dubious 'nutritional' information.
In summary, then . . . . . . . Un-fuckin-believable! No wonder the country's in a mess, obesity and heart disease are on the rise, and arteries are fucked. The shit that's in food is mind boggling.
...
Fancying a sandwich, I looked along the shelf at ASDA and decided upon a Breakfast Triple: Sausage, Egg & Bacon, Egg & Bacon, and Egg & Sausage.
Level 2
Closer inspection of the packaging revealed a slightly more in-depth description of the above sandwich, as follows.
"Malted bread with egg mayonnaise, pork sausage, smoke flavour sweetcure bacon, brown sauce and tomato ketchup. White bread with egg mayonnaise and smoke flavour sweetcure bacon. Malted bread with egg mayonnaise, pork sausage, brown sauce and tomato ketchup"
Level 3
Ingredients: Egg Mayonnaise, Sausage and Bacon: Malted Bread [Wheat Flour, Water, Malted Wheat Flakes, Wheat Bran, Yeast, Salt, Malted Barley Flour, Emulsifiers (E472e, E471), Vegetable Fat, Spirit Vinegar, Malted Wheat Flour, Wheat Gluten, Flour Treatment Agent (E300), Reduced Fat Egg Mayonnaise (28%) [Hard Boiled Egg, Reduced Fat Mayonnaise [Water, Rapeseed Oil, Cornflour, Spirit Vinegar, Pasteurised Egg Yolk, White Wine Vinegar, Sugar, Salt, Stabiliser (E440),
I have absolutely no intention of typing any more of this stuff - the above ingredients represent just one of the three sandwiches!
The further sections on ingredients for the two extra rounds are then followed by more blurb:
Contains gluten, milk, wheat, barley, egg and mustard. May contain traces of nuts and/or sesame seeds.
NO ARTIFICIAL COLOURS OR HYDROGENATED FAT.
!WARNING: Not suitable for a low potassium diet. Extra care has been taken to remove shell, although some may remain.
I will not bother noting the dubious 'nutritional' information.
In summary, then . . . . . . . Un-fuckin-believable! No wonder the country's in a mess, obesity and heart disease are on the rise, and arteries are fucked. The shit that's in food is mind boggling.
...
Tuesday 23 November 2010
23.11.10 Litter Hotspot!
At Junction 6 of the M62, there's a sign that says:
Litter hotspot. Please take your litter home.
What the fuck!? What's a litter hotspot ?? Oh dear, it's a hotspot, so instead of throwing this wrapper out the window, I'll take it home and dispose of it responsibly. Now, I'm not at all knocking the sentiment here, and I abhor idiots who lob shit out of a car window. However, the idea that a 'litter hotspot' is some sort of special zone that means people will adopt new behaviours is quite laughable. What's the next sign going to be then?
Murder hotspot; please kill a cunt somewhere else and dispose of the body responsibly.
Hmmmmm. As far as I'm concerned, the term "Hotspot" relates to Strike It Lucky and not a lot else.
...
Litter hotspot. Please take your litter home.
What the fuck!? What's a litter hotspot ?? Oh dear, it's a hotspot, so instead of throwing this wrapper out the window, I'll take it home and dispose of it responsibly. Now, I'm not at all knocking the sentiment here, and I abhor idiots who lob shit out of a car window. However, the idea that a 'litter hotspot' is some sort of special zone that means people will adopt new behaviours is quite laughable. What's the next sign going to be then?
Murder hotspot; please kill a cunt somewhere else and dispose of the body responsibly.
Hmmmmm. As far as I'm concerned, the term "Hotspot" relates to Strike It Lucky and not a lot else.
...
Sunday 21 November 2010
21.11.10 Roundabout £500k
Times are hard, and priorities have to be considered. In such circumstances, it is unbelievable that some projects carry on regardless, whether worthwhile or not. Take the local (to me anyway) "upgrade" of two roundabouts. For many years, these two round things have served the public quite well, allowing vehicles to pick a route and in some cases change the general direction of their travel to coincide with their planned journey. All that was required was an ability to know that clockwise was (and still is) the preferred convention. Now, even in this part of the country, the very thickest cunts can do that!
The two roundabout had existed unchanged for so long that there was no issue for drivers negotiating them. Sure, at rush hour, there were build-ups of traffic, but cars can't be made to disappear. The council was obviously anxious to spend loads of money, and came up with a hair-brained scheme. The work undertaken includes:
...
The two roundabout had existed unchanged for so long that there was no issue for drivers negotiating them. Sure, at rush hour, there were build-ups of traffic, but cars can't be made to disappear. The council was obviously anxious to spend loads of money, and came up with a hair-brained scheme. The work undertaken includes:
- Planting trees in the middle of one of them. [How the fuck can that be either necessary or advantageous? It simply means visibility is reduced. Two dozen massive trees, requiring many people and JCBs for no benefit is utter madness.]
- Traffic lights installed for the five routes into one of the roundabouts.
- Minimal road widening, with new kerb stones all round. [Nothing wrong with the old ones.]
- New signs, including one black & white arrow sign that's about 30 feet long! [Every cunt knows to turn left!]
- New road markings all over the place.
- Dozens of men at work for very many weeks, not to mention the advance planning etc.
...
21.11.10 Fabi-o-so-shit
Quite simply, Fabio Capello is clueless, uninspiring, inept and a clown. There's little else to say, and very many would agree with this assessment of the England manager.
However, more clueless, more inept and more clown-like is the Football Association! For some strange reason, the FA decided that appointing a non-English-speaking 'club football' manager to our highest position in football was appropriate, and unbelievably, that he was worth £6M per year in wages.
Worse, much much worse, was the FA's complete fuck-up in the run-up to the World Cup, when it extended his contract (when it did not need to) so that his terms of employment included a full two year's notice period!
Now we are stuck with him. Ask yourself this - if your employer paid you £6 Million per year, would you leave and give it up, or would you want paying? I suspect we'd all like the money. So, who is the biggest plonker/twat? Not Fabi-o-so-shit. No, instead we should be thus describing the collection of idiots making up the FA, which has 'Sweet FA' in terms of options now.
...
However, more clueless, more inept and more clown-like is the Football Association! For some strange reason, the FA decided that appointing a non-English-speaking 'club football' manager to our highest position in football was appropriate, and unbelievably, that he was worth £6M per year in wages.
Worse, much much worse, was the FA's complete fuck-up in the run-up to the World Cup, when it extended his contract (when it did not need to) so that his terms of employment included a full two year's notice period!
Now we are stuck with him. Ask yourself this - if your employer paid you £6 Million per year, would you leave and give it up, or would you want paying? I suspect we'd all like the money. So, who is the biggest plonker/twat? Not Fabi-o-so-shit. No, instead we should be thus describing the collection of idiots making up the FA, which has 'Sweet FA' in terms of options now.
...
Saturday 20 November 2010
20.11.10 Panic Room
No, not what you're thinking. The "Panic Room" that may spring to mind is the one in the film of that name, with Jodie Foster playing the lead, supported by Kristen Stewart as her daughter. Earlier today, I found myself witnessing the existence of a panic room that was (and still is) somewhat larger than the one in the film. So large, in fact, that hundreds of people were inside.
The idea, of course, is that those inside a panic room are safe, and no one can get in. The 'twist' on the version I came across today was that not only could no one get in, no one could get out! The very large panic room contained everything one could possibly need to survive for many months, possibly even years. I will put you out of your misery and now reveal more about this strange place; you may be surpised to learn that it was none other than an ASDA store.
Many thousands of square feet containing all sorts of items had attracted hundreds of people. Inside, they wandered around, warm and safe, ignorant of the outside world, and they mooched around choosing things they'd like to have. I was outside the store, and wanted to get in - but the 'panic room' was resisting my advances. The main reason for this was not the presence of steel doors, concrete walls or a time lock. No, the ASDA store was technically open and not supposed to be a 'fortress'. "What made it so?", I hear you ask. The fucking entrance being six feet wide, that's what!
So, the retail giant decided that this particular store would best serve its customers' needs by allowing them a six-foot wide opening, through which every single shopper (complete with trolley - and possibly pushchair/wheelchair/guide dog/delinquent kids) must enter and leave. What a fucking bottleneck! Twats!
I was recently in another town's version of a panic room, where the entrance/exit was in fact a pair of six-foot doors, affording a very slight improvement on the above, despite their being at right angles to each other and encouraging a 'free for all' in the entrance area. However, to get to the main area, there's a small walkway, and this is where there's usually a problem. Two weeks ago, I was obstructed by multiple cunts with trolleys, who had stopped to chat. A security guard sat close by, doing nothing; not surprising as no fucker could easily move let alone get in with a bomb or out with a fillet of beef under a jumper. After what was a painfully slow 'edging' process, further progress was then actively discouraged by an inanimate object - a fucking metal 'carousel' containing baguettes! So, one of the things jeopardising entry to the store (and creating a risk that I might abort) was the point-of-sale structure resulting from some idiot's insistence that I might desperately need a baguette for 50 fucking pence - on my way into a massive shop!
Don't panic - I didn't buy one. As for today, I managed to get inside, and when leaving some forty minutes later, I avoided the oncoming fat man.
.....
The idea, of course, is that those inside a panic room are safe, and no one can get in. The 'twist' on the version I came across today was that not only could no one get in, no one could get out! The very large panic room contained everything one could possibly need to survive for many months, possibly even years. I will put you out of your misery and now reveal more about this strange place; you may be surpised to learn that it was none other than an ASDA store.
Many thousands of square feet containing all sorts of items had attracted hundreds of people. Inside, they wandered around, warm and safe, ignorant of the outside world, and they mooched around choosing things they'd like to have. I was outside the store, and wanted to get in - but the 'panic room' was resisting my advances. The main reason for this was not the presence of steel doors, concrete walls or a time lock. No, the ASDA store was technically open and not supposed to be a 'fortress'. "What made it so?", I hear you ask. The fucking entrance being six feet wide, that's what!
So, the retail giant decided that this particular store would best serve its customers' needs by allowing them a six-foot wide opening, through which every single shopper (complete with trolley - and possibly pushchair/wheelchair/guide dog/delinquent kids) must enter and leave. What a fucking bottleneck! Twats!
I was recently in another town's version of a panic room, where the entrance/exit was in fact a pair of six-foot doors, affording a very slight improvement on the above, despite their being at right angles to each other and encouraging a 'free for all' in the entrance area. However, to get to the main area, there's a small walkway, and this is where there's usually a problem. Two weeks ago, I was obstructed by multiple cunts with trolleys, who had stopped to chat. A security guard sat close by, doing nothing; not surprising as no fucker could easily move let alone get in with a bomb or out with a fillet of beef under a jumper. After what was a painfully slow 'edging' process, further progress was then actively discouraged by an inanimate object - a fucking metal 'carousel' containing baguettes! So, one of the things jeopardising entry to the store (and creating a risk that I might abort) was the point-of-sale structure resulting from some idiot's insistence that I might desperately need a baguette for 50 fucking pence - on my way into a massive shop!
Don't panic - I didn't buy one. As for today, I managed to get inside, and when leaving some forty minutes later, I avoided the oncoming fat man.
.....
Wednesday 17 November 2010
17.11.10 Ode to X-Factor ***
Now Katie's been saved for the fuckin' fourth time
No slight misdemeanour, a right cuntin' crime!
In seeking attention this talentless twat
Displays all the traits of a right spoilt brat.
This fame hungry monster annoys with a flair
Much greater of course than that big wispy hair
Her straining and whining are rather obscene
We're tired of her drama, and Katie's no queen!
How utterly awful, how utterly shit
The crappy pink jacket that didn't quite fit
Not quite mediocre, not quite worth a yawn
It's Paije whose departure I'd truly not mourn.
By kicking out Aiden the public saw sense
Rejecting his claim of "I'm just so intense"
That's bollocks and bullshit and all that you bring
The truth is quite simple, you can't fuckin' sing.
As Katie looks on at the sharpening knives
Another week passes and Wagner survives
He can't sing for toffee, he's shit through and through
His presence is causing a hullabaloo.
Rebecca is stuck with two kids on her own
A state of affairs that she likes to bemoan
We're somehow expected to all be impressed
She's managing "Scouse-ly" to not be depressed.
The judges give views while she stands there agog
And finds herself nodding like 'Churchill' the dog
Well, yes, she can sing, and she has her own twist
It's nasal and taints every song on the list.
Departure for Treyc means all is now well
Her voice was okay but she just couldn't spell
It didn't work out, she did not make her mark
It's true to confirm there was no fuckin' spark.
When Cher sings a song there's a 9 in 10 chance
She'll rap and annoy with that one-footed dance
She's nowhere as good as the hype would suggest
We're still working out whom she's truly impressed.
Goodbye Belle Amie, it was always a 'No'
Just four extra people to pad out the show
You're almost forgotten, that's just how it is
An answer, perhaps, in a trivia quiz.
Hail Mary from Tesco, oh please don't "bogof"
We like that you're normal, in no way a toff
And so it's a pity your limits are clear
There's one type of song that you want us to hear.
It's Matt who's most likely to flourish and win
A painter who does what it says on the tin
He's tipped in the papers, the best of the crowd
While Wagner just grins with his head in a cloud.
And so to the band with a chance to excel
The target of teenagers screaming so well
They want One Direction and squeal with delight
Although all the singing's no more than "all right".
While Dermot is droning and Simon is smug
The Cole from New Castle might manage a shrug
She's useless and may as well fuck off for lunch
Or else find a toilet attendant to punch.
There's nothing much good or much bad to be said
Of Dannii Minogue or the stuff in her head
Not quite an endorsement, I think you will sigh
In fact she adds nothing but one extra "i".
But just to her right is the featherweight Elf
Who talks utter shit while in love with himself
Does anyone care that he cannot be heard?
Well, 'No', he is best when we can't catch a word.
We watch Simon pause for dramatic effect
But gone is his honesty, now I detect
He's playing some games and he's not being fair
While Gamu's at home in a state of despair.
While Wagner gropes Mary and Katie feels stressed
Rebecca flaps fingers and Paije 'does his best'
They Cher One Direction, a chart-topping hit
My money's on Matt, as the others are shit.
Copyright TMWSC
...
No slight misdemeanour, a right cuntin' crime!
In seeking attention this talentless twat
Displays all the traits of a right spoilt brat.
This fame hungry monster annoys with a flair
Much greater of course than that big wispy hair
Her straining and whining are rather obscene
We're tired of her drama, and Katie's no queen!
How utterly awful, how utterly shit
The crappy pink jacket that didn't quite fit
Not quite mediocre, not quite worth a yawn
It's Paije whose departure I'd truly not mourn.
By kicking out Aiden the public saw sense
Rejecting his claim of "I'm just so intense"
That's bollocks and bullshit and all that you bring
The truth is quite simple, you can't fuckin' sing.
As Katie looks on at the sharpening knives
Another week passes and Wagner survives
He can't sing for toffee, he's shit through and through
His presence is causing a hullabaloo.
Rebecca is stuck with two kids on her own
A state of affairs that she likes to bemoan
We're somehow expected to all be impressed
She's managing "Scouse-ly" to not be depressed.
The judges give views while she stands there agog
And finds herself nodding like 'Churchill' the dog
Well, yes, she can sing, and she has her own twist
It's nasal and taints every song on the list.
Departure for Treyc means all is now well
Her voice was okay but she just couldn't spell
It didn't work out, she did not make her mark
It's true to confirm there was no fuckin' spark.
When Cher sings a song there's a 9 in 10 chance
She'll rap and annoy with that one-footed dance
She's nowhere as good as the hype would suggest
We're still working out whom she's truly impressed.
Goodbye Belle Amie, it was always a 'No'
Just four extra people to pad out the show
You're almost forgotten, that's just how it is
An answer, perhaps, in a trivia quiz.
Hail Mary from Tesco, oh please don't "bogof"
We like that you're normal, in no way a toff
And so it's a pity your limits are clear
There's one type of song that you want us to hear.
It's Matt who's most likely to flourish and win
A painter who does what it says on the tin
He's tipped in the papers, the best of the crowd
While Wagner just grins with his head in a cloud.
And so to the band with a chance to excel
The target of teenagers screaming so well
They want One Direction and squeal with delight
Although all the singing's no more than "all right".
While Dermot is droning and Simon is smug
The Cole from New Castle might manage a shrug
She's useless and may as well fuck off for lunch
Or else find a toilet attendant to punch.
There's nothing much good or much bad to be said
Of Dannii Minogue or the stuff in her head
Not quite an endorsement, I think you will sigh
In fact she adds nothing but one extra "i".
But just to her right is the featherweight Elf
Who talks utter shit while in love with himself
Does anyone care that he cannot be heard?
Well, 'No', he is best when we can't catch a word.
We watch Simon pause for dramatic effect
But gone is his honesty, now I detect
He's playing some games and he's not being fair
While Gamu's at home in a state of despair.
While Wagner gropes Mary and Katie feels stressed
Rebecca flaps fingers and Paije 'does his best'
They Cher One Direction, a chart-topping hit
My money's on Matt, as the others are shit.
Copyright TMWSC
...
Sunday 14 November 2010
14.11.10 Katie Catastrophe
Would you fuckin' credit it! The sing-off should have been a perfect situation for dispensing with crappy Katie, and what happens? - It all goes so wrong. The Elf at last did something useful and created deadlock, but the public somehow registered more votes for cuntin' Katie than Aiden. Admittedly he was shit, and his hair was begging for a 'flake', but after the agony of prolonged exposure to Katie, we're still stuck with her!
Come on Wagner! And Cheryl, stop playing your face, you sulky wench - and sort out that Star Wars hair.
PS: Is it just me, or do you also think of 'Churchill' (the nodding dog) when Rebecca is on screen; ohh yes.
PPS: Has Liam's stylist modelled him on a Playmobil character? That hair!
Come on Wagner! And Cheryl, stop playing your face, you sulky wench - and sort out that Star Wars hair.
PS: Is it just me, or do you also think of 'Churchill' (the nodding dog) when Rebecca is on screen; ohh yes.
PPS: Has Liam's stylist modelled him on a Playmobil character? That hair!
Friday 12 November 2010
12.11.10 Bewdley
A sheep farmer living in Bewdley
Was known for behaving quite rudely
He was not so much blunt
As a right fuckin' cunt
Who 'liaised' with his flock rather crudely
Copyright TMWSC
Was known for behaving quite rudely
He was not so much blunt
As a right fuckin' cunt
Who 'liaised' with his flock rather crudely
Copyright TMWSC
Thursday 11 November 2010
11.11.10 Nil By Mouth
Jack Sprat could eat no fat
His wife could eat no lean
And so he never touched her twat
Nor she his 'runner bean'.
Copyright TMWSC
His wife could eat no lean
And so he never touched her twat
Nor she his 'runner bean'.
Copyright TMWSC
Wednesday 10 November 2010
10.11.10 The Art of Queuing
I am not good at queuing! Some people seem to be unbothered by waiting ages in line, and have developed a resilience that I cannot fathom. Where they may be 'black belts', I haven't even managed to buy a fuckin' Karategi.
The main problem in my nearest shop is the range of services available at the till, and I always seem to shop just behind some cunt with an agenda. On a recent visit, I stood waiting and watched a running order that was quite simply preposterous!
The main problem in my nearest shop is the range of services available at the till, and I always seem to shop just behind some cunt with an agenda. On a recent visit, I stood waiting and watched a running order that was quite simply preposterous!
- A small basket of items, each of which had to be scanned of course.
- A delay because the discounted bread had a bar-code that would not scan, so the till operator (the one with glasses who had to peer at the small numbers) fucked about, making multiple attempts at manually entering the correct number.
- A request for cigarettes; the till operator swivelled 180 degrees and played "mini cuntin' battleships", trying to locate the correct packet on the various rows & columns.
- Then it was necessary to pause, while the shopper searched for his loyalty card; I sensed the transaction might be concluding any second, but I was wrong.
- A mobile top-up for £20 was the next 'procedure'.
- Then, fuckin' two lucky dips on the lottery, and a 'number 4 scratchcard', whatever the fuck that might be. Dumbfounded, I seethed as Mildred (or whatever the till operator's name was) pissed about unlocking a plastic box containing a roll of cards, after entering details to get the Lotto ticket.
- Am I making this up? - NO! Next, a plastic cuntin' key that is used for the electric. I'm not sure how all that works, but I do know that Mildred had to stick the key in the yellow terminal and press buttons.
- FINALLY, time to settle up and fuck off; but not before lingering to stick a card in the machine and enter a PIN. "Cashback?" said Mildred. "I want 8 minutes of my fuckin' life back", I thought.
10.11.10 Shearer Delight
The Northeast's own guru, Alan Shearer, came out with a gem on MOTD, on Saturday.
"I've often said on a couple of occasions that I'd be worried."
Twat, eh! Still, there are also faceless people who erect signs, to display equal ineptitude in tangible form. Example:
Stairs are slippery when wet, please take care - British Rail Station
Well I rather though that most things when wet are a bit fuckin' slippery!
And one that caught me out a bit in London advised visitors to Hyde Park of a potential problem.
Sculptures can be hazardous at certain times of the day
Not quite sure what to make of that . . . . . . .
"I've often said on a couple of occasions that I'd be worried."
Twat, eh! Still, there are also faceless people who erect signs, to display equal ineptitude in tangible form. Example:
Stairs are slippery when wet, please take care - British Rail Station
Well I rather though that most things when wet are a bit fuckin' slippery!
And one that caught me out a bit in London advised visitors to Hyde Park of a potential problem.
Sculptures can be hazardous at certain times of the day
Not quite sure what to make of that . . . . . . .
10.11.10 A Wheel Question
Just how much does it cost for the needless transportation of wheels around the UK? Every minute of every day, there are thousands of rather heavy wheels being lugged around by heavy goods vehicles. I accept that lifting a set of wheels will save money on wear and tear, but that's not the point. So many are in the 'raised' position that surely the slight drain on fuel consumption per vehicle will add up to rather a lot (?) I know I wouldn't want to drive around with my boot filled with an axle and bloody great wheels+tyres!
Just a thought.
...
Just a thought.
...
Tuesday 9 November 2010
9.11.10 Wagner!
Think of 'Wagner' as the horse in the Grand National that's running along, doing its own thing, but without a jockey. Whilst others are trying to compete and win, and actually have a chance to do so, Wagner has no chance at all; in fact, he's a rather pointless distraction. But do you know what? It's rather funny to have him there, and something inside you thinks it might be really funny if the riderless horse somehow interferes with the other competitors, and totally mucks things up!
Come on Wagner - veer into the mainstream and trip up the other cunts!
[Cheryl - I've sorted out your appointment with the vet - he'll be putting you down in the morning; it's for the best, you useless . . . .]
Come on Wagner - veer into the mainstream and trip up the other cunts!
[Cheryl - I've sorted out your appointment with the vet - he'll be putting you down in the morning; it's for the best, you useless . . . .]
9.11.10 Hot Cakes
When was the last time you bought a 'hot cake'? No, not warm bread or a hot sausage roll - but a hot cake? Exactly! So, the expression "selling like hot cakes" is shit, and basically means not fuckin' selling at all!
While I'm at it, I'd just like to confirm that I have absolutely NO old rope and so I won't be expecting any money for it!
While I'm at it, I'd just like to confirm that I have absolutely NO old rope and so I won't be expecting any money for it!
9.11.10 Crisp Colours
It's just not on! For very many years, it used to be Green for Cheese & Onion, and Blue for Salt & Vinegar. That was just the way it had always been, and there was no need to change it. However, about twenty years ago, Walkers fucked up the market by switching the colours around. Going against the convention of the day, which all manufacturers had to that point adhered to, Walkers decided that Cheese & Onion packets should henceforth be Blue, and Salt & Vinegar packets Green.
This was unwarranted and confusing for many crisp eaters of the day. However, time is a great healer, and slowly but surely the market adjusted itself, with consumers getting used to this new coding system. To this day, standard crisps work to this colour coding.
BUT NO . . . . there is a problem! There is a renegade packet in our midst, which I discovered yesterday while expecting to taste Salt & Vinegar, holding an open green packet. Was it a rogue supplier, a foreign product? Not at all. The guilty party was none other than Walkers. For "Squares", the two flavours are in packets according to the old/original colour scheme! Outrageous!
Inconsistency is a crime, in my book. Whatever next? I am considering my options, as to what action to take. I will give the matter some serious thought, and keep you posted.
This was unwarranted and confusing for many crisp eaters of the day. However, time is a great healer, and slowly but surely the market adjusted itself, with consumers getting used to this new coding system. To this day, standard crisps work to this colour coding.
BUT NO . . . . there is a problem! There is a renegade packet in our midst, which I discovered yesterday while expecting to taste Salt & Vinegar, holding an open green packet. Was it a rogue supplier, a foreign product? Not at all. The guilty party was none other than Walkers. For "Squares", the two flavours are in packets according to the old/original colour scheme! Outrageous!
Inconsistency is a crime, in my book. Whatever next? I am considering my options, as to what action to take. I will give the matter some serious thought, and keep you posted.
Monday 8 November 2010
8.11.10 C-Trip
Coach Trip now has a twist, with supposed celebrities on board. Those of you who've read my earlier posting on Sheryl Gascoigne might have gained the impression that I'm less than impressed with people taking advantage of the "Gascoigne" name. Bianca, the one who appeared on that shit programme a while back (that I cannot recall - like I'm a Celebrity . . but indoors and shit, hosted by Ant & Dec) is on the coach trip and rather brilliantly, the host Brendan, who oversees everything, hadn't heard of her. In the paper, he's reported as saying that if the 'celebrity' had been Gazza himself, then it would have meant something! Excellent.
Kick her off, and see if she can hitch hike - that's what I say.
Kick her off, and see if she can hitch hike - that's what I say.
8.11.10 C-Factor
What a farce! Last night's judging revealed everything you'll ever need to know in concluding that Cheryl Cole is a wimp, a totally useless judge and in fact pointless. Her refusal to cast a vote in the sing-off was completely in sync with her lip-sync efforts when supposedly singing wishy-washy tunes. Miming to music, and not saying anything when it matters, but preening and lapping up attention all the time, she's pathetic.
On Saturday evening, in the minute's run-up to Mary's performance, she uttered a line to the camera that exemplified her uselessness:
It could actually be a real moment for Mary
What the fuck's that mean? It almost makes Alan Shearer sound intelligent! We all know Wagner shouldn't be in the competition, but do you know what - I think it's funny (for the time being) because it's fucking up the show and annoying the judges. But let's put that aside, because he'll be gone soon. Treyc and Katie were in the sing-off, and CC was asked to vote after Simon - but she refused. Dannii and the Elf both dragged out the act of giving a name, but eventually did so, to leave 2-1 with CC either to save Katie with her final vote or go to 2-2 and count public votes. She did neither! So, for the very first time in years, the "mentor" (Oxford English Dictionary: noun. A self serving c*** who goes to America when it suits) is allowed to skip having input. No bottle at all!
But is it 100% her fault? The whole world seems to pander to the needs of CC, and she gets let off the hook. I never thought she was a 'special needs' person, but clearly she is, and the bosses at X-Factor have recognised her limitations (of which there are so, so many). How Simon Cowell can sit next to her and allow such uselessness is beyond me, unless an under-table hand job is in play somewhere in this fiasco.
Katie is useless; I have an old bent screwdriver in a drawer somewhere, and it's of more use than her. The 'judges' suit themselves by keeping her it the competition, as it fuels the interest in the show and causes controversy. Treyc is a far better singer, but boring. So, it's Katie who gets reprieved because they like her being on the show.
Roll on next week, as I cannot wait to see the quivering Grimshaw astound me with his inability to hit the required notes, pronounce anything properly, or provide a genuine smile. His "intense" style is a joke, but not funny. "Indulgent" was what Simon said a while ago about one of his crappy songs, and each week, Aiden does indeed indulge in serving up wobbling versions of songs, making sure his nasal twang features here and there.
Cheryl should be instantly sacked and replaced by Nicole Scherzinger.
On Saturday evening, in the minute's run-up to Mary's performance, she uttered a line to the camera that exemplified her uselessness:
It could actually be a real moment for Mary
What the fuck's that mean? It almost makes Alan Shearer sound intelligent! We all know Wagner shouldn't be in the competition, but do you know what - I think it's funny (for the time being) because it's fucking up the show and annoying the judges. But let's put that aside, because he'll be gone soon. Treyc and Katie were in the sing-off, and CC was asked to vote after Simon - but she refused. Dannii and the Elf both dragged out the act of giving a name, but eventually did so, to leave 2-1 with CC either to save Katie with her final vote or go to 2-2 and count public votes. She did neither! So, for the very first time in years, the "mentor" (Oxford English Dictionary: noun. A self serving c*** who goes to America when it suits) is allowed to skip having input. No bottle at all!
But is it 100% her fault? The whole world seems to pander to the needs of CC, and she gets let off the hook. I never thought she was a 'special needs' person, but clearly she is, and the bosses at X-Factor have recognised her limitations (of which there are so, so many). How Simon Cowell can sit next to her and allow such uselessness is beyond me, unless an under-table hand job is in play somewhere in this fiasco.
Katie is useless; I have an old bent screwdriver in a drawer somewhere, and it's of more use than her. The 'judges' suit themselves by keeping her it the competition, as it fuels the interest in the show and causes controversy. Treyc is a far better singer, but boring. So, it's Katie who gets reprieved because they like her being on the show.
Roll on next week, as I cannot wait to see the quivering Grimshaw astound me with his inability to hit the required notes, pronounce anything properly, or provide a genuine smile. His "intense" style is a joke, but not funny. "Indulgent" was what Simon said a while ago about one of his crappy songs, and each week, Aiden does indeed indulge in serving up wobbling versions of songs, making sure his nasal twang features here and there.
Cheryl should be instantly sacked and replaced by Nicole Scherzinger.
Sunday 7 November 2010
7.11.10 Dear Deirdre
Here is the ultimate proof that the shit outlined on the problem page is bollocks. The following is a word-for-word account of one exchange from yesterday's paper. For the avoidance of doubt, my comments are in bold.
Q: My mate thinks she needs to go on a diet but she only weighs 7st. How can I get her to understand she's not fat? We're 16.
A: It sounds like a potential eating disorder. [ No shit Sherlock! ] Urge her to see her doctor for advice on healthy eating and contact Beat Youthline. Riveting stuff, don't you think? I realise Deirdre has employed technical know-how which surpasses that of Quincy and Petrocelli combined, but something tells me she's not had to put in too much effort here.
I reckon that I could quite easily provide a 'problem page' service, based on the useless fuckin' input from Dozy Deirdre. If it is simply a case of stating the cuntin' obvious, I'd be fine.
Q: I'm not sure of the location for this diaphragm; what's the best place for it?
A: Cunt
Q: I'm two-timing my fiancee with a colleague at work, and feel guilty, but cannot stop. What's your view?
A: You're a cunt
I think you get the idea, so I won't give any further examples. Nevertheless, I maintain that I'm equally as qualified as Deirdre to give advice.
Q: My mate thinks she needs to go on a diet but she only weighs 7st. How can I get her to understand she's not fat? We're 16.
A: It sounds like a potential eating disorder. [ No shit Sherlock! ] Urge her to see her doctor for advice on healthy eating and contact Beat Youthline. Riveting stuff, don't you think? I realise Deirdre has employed technical know-how which surpasses that of Quincy and Petrocelli combined, but something tells me she's not had to put in too much effort here.
I reckon that I could quite easily provide a 'problem page' service, based on the useless fuckin' input from Dozy Deirdre. If it is simply a case of stating the cuntin' obvious, I'd be fine.
Q: I'm not sure of the location for this diaphragm; what's the best place for it?
A: Cunt
Q: I'm two-timing my fiancee with a colleague at work, and feel guilty, but cannot stop. What's your view?
A: You're a cunt
I think you get the idea, so I won't give any further examples. Nevertheless, I maintain that I'm equally as qualified as Deirdre to give advice.
7.11.10 Turn The Lights Off
There's an obsession in local government for changing street lights, swapping older models for the latest design. In my region, the old silver posts are being replaced by green ones. It involves an inordinate amount of work, and the new ones are put in place alongside the old. At a later date, someone comes along to 'adjust the connections' before the old post is removed. The end result is that when it's dark, some fuckin' light is shed on an area below. Collectively, these little areas of light help cunts to find their way around. In actual fact, the end result is not unlike what already fuckin' existed. Still, in these times of supposed hardship and when there's a need for constraint, it's nice to know we do not have councils that waste money.
In some areas, lights are not actually being switched on, to conserve power and save money. This rather makes a mockery of installing new lights, then. As far as I'm concerned, the government could quite easily save loads of money by not only halting the stupid swap-out scheme, but turning off lights on motorways. Every second or third light could be turned off in most areas, to save millions of them shedding light; there's still enough to see.
Of course, saving money is the 'in thing' at the moment, and there are cut-backs everywhere you look. Times are hard and getting harder, and this is evidenced at a national level by the lack of planes to go on aircraft carriers. While all this is supposedly essential, it seems that giving away 37 billion pounds in aid (a big increase on the previous level) is something that the government considers sensible, warranted and possible. Cunts! This country is a fucking joke, and the left hand does know what the right hand is doing - it's tossing off a load! So, whilst I did think that turning off lights would be an easy way to reduce costs, what's the fuckin' point if the cunts-in-charge are giving that much away anyway. So, the lights may be on, but there's no one at home!
In some areas, lights are not actually being switched on, to conserve power and save money. This rather makes a mockery of installing new lights, then. As far as I'm concerned, the government could quite easily save loads of money by not only halting the stupid swap-out scheme, but turning off lights on motorways. Every second or third light could be turned off in most areas, to save millions of them shedding light; there's still enough to see.
Of course, saving money is the 'in thing' at the moment, and there are cut-backs everywhere you look. Times are hard and getting harder, and this is evidenced at a national level by the lack of planes to go on aircraft carriers. While all this is supposedly essential, it seems that giving away 37 billion pounds in aid (a big increase on the previous level) is something that the government considers sensible, warranted and possible. Cunts! This country is a fucking joke, and the left hand does know what the right hand is doing - it's tossing off a load! So, whilst I did think that turning off lights would be an easy way to reduce costs, what's the fuckin' point if the cunts-in-charge are giving that much away anyway. So, the lights may be on, but there's no one at home!
7.11.10 Sequence
Some may be familiar with Leonardo of Pisa, better known as Fibonacci, most often mentioned in connection with a sequence of numbers, as noted below:
0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144 . . . . .
I have my own sequence, known for obvious reasons as the C-Quence, although it is most definitely not of infinite length. Rather, it is a collection of just a few numbers, as set out below:
1, 4, 10, 12, 15, 20, 24
Some years ago, the numbers were slightly different; in the past there would have been an '18, but some of the other numbers were not in play; 4 has always been there though. Any idea what these numbers mean? NB: on this occasion, the 'C' does not in fact mean 'Cunt' but stands for something else. Have a drink and a think. I'll update this post with the answer below, in due course.
10.11.2010. 21.55hrs
The different options for the numbers of cans, when buying Carlsberg, from singles to a full crate
0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144 . . . . .
I have my own sequence, known for obvious reasons as the C-Quence, although it is most definitely not of infinite length. Rather, it is a collection of just a few numbers, as set out below:
1, 4, 10, 12, 15, 20, 24
Some years ago, the numbers were slightly different; in the past there would have been an '18, but some of the other numbers were not in play; 4 has always been there though. Any idea what these numbers mean? NB: on this occasion, the 'C' does not in fact mean 'Cunt' but stands for something else. Have a drink and a think. I'll update this post with the answer below, in due course.
10.11.2010. 21.55hrs
The different options for the numbers of cans, when buying Carlsberg, from singles to a full crate
7.11.10 Boyes
While shopping last week, I was about to enter a 'Boyes' store when I stopped, caught in a dilemma. I had to consider carefully whether to break the rule, as outlined on a sign on the glass door, and enter despite not qualifying to do so. The print was clear:
GUIDE DOGS ONLY
Now, not being a guide dog, I should not have entered. After a few seconds, I decided that the shop owners had most likely fucked up, and did in fact want paying customers (humans) to enter, browse and buy. I also considered that expecting dogs to read the sign and identify themselves as either a 'guide' or 'non-guide' variety was expecting a bit too much. In any event, I've never met a guide dog that carries cash or a credit card, so commercially it would be suicide for Boyes to restrict access so severely.
After entering, browsing and not buying, I left the establishment via a different glass door, located the other side of the tills, and walked out to the high street. For some strange reason, I looked over my shoulder, and discovered some more signs.
CCTV is in operation on these premises
I felt slightly cheated that I'd not known about this during my browsing, after entry through the other door. As I'd not been on a mission to steal anything, I decided my human rights had not been unduly compromised, and let the matter pass. Next to this sign was a further announcement:
No Food or Drink to be consumed on these premises
I quickly recapped and realised I'd not consumed anything, mainly because I'd normally go to a cafe or fast food place for food, rather than a cuntin' general hardwear/household goods/clothing store. Lucky for me I'm so fuckin' sensible, or I'd have unknowingly scoffed my way around the shop.
Perhaps, though, the most interesting sign was this one, which confused the fuck out of me - and as with all the signs, it was a proper printed one rather than a 'home made' effort:
All perfumes are locked away securely every night
Now, it was news to me that the local currency amongst people-up-to-no-good is now perfume! Do thieves (who are often known to operate in specific areas, as per further signs) complete dodgy transactions, and pay with 100ml of Denim, or Paco Cuntin' Rabanne? I've never found that a bottle of Jazz is accepted in a Post Office for stamps, or Rive Gauche satisfies the fuckin' butcher. So I find it hard to believe it's necessary for Boyes staff to lock away securely a few bottles/containers of smelly liquid each night, fearing that the local crime syndicates are likely to mount a raid on a small high street shop, in an area that's covered by CCTV (NB: not just in the street but in the shop as well, as per the sign!) and where parking requires a blue disc! So, on balance, I think that this is a good example of a Pointless Sign.
GUIDE DOGS ONLY
Now, not being a guide dog, I should not have entered. After a few seconds, I decided that the shop owners had most likely fucked up, and did in fact want paying customers (humans) to enter, browse and buy. I also considered that expecting dogs to read the sign and identify themselves as either a 'guide' or 'non-guide' variety was expecting a bit too much. In any event, I've never met a guide dog that carries cash or a credit card, so commercially it would be suicide for Boyes to restrict access so severely.
After entering, browsing and not buying, I left the establishment via a different glass door, located the other side of the tills, and walked out to the high street. For some strange reason, I looked over my shoulder, and discovered some more signs.
CCTV is in operation on these premises
I felt slightly cheated that I'd not known about this during my browsing, after entry through the other door. As I'd not been on a mission to steal anything, I decided my human rights had not been unduly compromised, and let the matter pass. Next to this sign was a further announcement:
No Food or Drink to be consumed on these premises
I quickly recapped and realised I'd not consumed anything, mainly because I'd normally go to a cafe or fast food place for food, rather than a cuntin' general hardwear/household goods/clothing store. Lucky for me I'm so fuckin' sensible, or I'd have unknowingly scoffed my way around the shop.
Perhaps, though, the most interesting sign was this one, which confused the fuck out of me - and as with all the signs, it was a proper printed one rather than a 'home made' effort:
All perfumes are locked away securely every night
Now, it was news to me that the local currency amongst people-up-to-no-good is now perfume! Do thieves (who are often known to operate in specific areas, as per further signs) complete dodgy transactions, and pay with 100ml of Denim, or Paco Cuntin' Rabanne? I've never found that a bottle of Jazz is accepted in a Post Office for stamps, or Rive Gauche satisfies the fuckin' butcher. So I find it hard to believe it's necessary for Boyes staff to lock away securely a few bottles/containers of smelly liquid each night, fearing that the local crime syndicates are likely to mount a raid on a small high street shop, in an area that's covered by CCTV (NB: not just in the street but in the shop as well, as per the sign!) and where parking requires a blue disc! So, on balance, I think that this is a good example of a Pointless Sign.
Saturday 6 November 2010
6.11.10 CC In The USA
Cheryl has just returned, after feathering her own cunt in the USA, and is rightly the subject of some serious dissatisfaction from her 'acts' on X-Factor. Not that I really give a toss about any of them (CC or the four oh-so-needy attention-seeking wannabees). Youngsters have long been told by parents to work hard, get an education, and it will all pay off. I think the updated version should perhaps be:
Be a chav, don't worry about being educated, pretend to sing, punch toilet attendants, associate yourself with people who might make up for your own shortcomings, hook a footballer, get your teeth and hair sorted, wait for your other half to fuck-up, ditch him whilst becoming the hard done by victim, suck up to industry people who might be useful to you, then look after number one at all times because you're worth it.
Be a chav, don't worry about being educated, pretend to sing, punch toilet attendants, associate yourself with people who might make up for your own shortcomings, hook a footballer, get your teeth and hair sorted, wait for your other half to fuck-up, ditch him whilst becoming the hard done by victim, suck up to industry people who might be useful to you, then look after number one at all times because you're worth it.
6.11.10 I'm Not A Celebrity
Can somebody please tell me how the fuck Sheryl Gascoigne qualifies as a "celebrity" ?
Here we have a woman who in her own right has nothing to offer anyone, but has proven she can take, take, take. In one single respect she is in fact recognised, then - for cashing in at maximum level, milking 'Gazza' for everything possible. Her 'association' with him thus offers her another opportunity to cash in. Bosses at "I'm A Celebrity . . . ." obviously think the British public is desperate to see a leech alongside the other horrible creatures in the Australian jungle.
The programme should therefore be renamed; I'm Not A Celebrity But My Estranged Husband Is, Although I've Long Since Decided Only To Look After Number One (Whilst Keeping The 'Gascoigne Name Because It's Handy) Get Me Out Of Here.
Here we have a woman who in her own right has nothing to offer anyone, but has proven she can take, take, take. In one single respect she is in fact recognised, then - for cashing in at maximum level, milking 'Gazza' for everything possible. Her 'association' with him thus offers her another opportunity to cash in. Bosses at "I'm A Celebrity . . . ." obviously think the British public is desperate to see a leech alongside the other horrible creatures in the Australian jungle.
The programme should therefore be renamed; I'm Not A Celebrity But My Estranged Husband Is, Although I've Long Since Decided Only To Look After Number One (Whilst Keeping The 'Gascoigne Name Because It's Handy) Get Me Out Of Here.
Wednesday 3 November 2010
3.11.10 Prisoners
No cuntin' prisoner should be allowed to vote. End of.
I see in the news that a criminal has been sent to prison after his failure to turn up for the 100 hours of community service he was 'awarded'. It seems he has a problem with 'motivation' and has declined to complete this (soft) option for his wrongdoings. So, the judge has now jailed him, and has expressed disappointment and dismay that someone could prefer jail to unpaid work. This whole saga highlights a sorry failure regarding the prison system in the UK - that prisoners are not forced to work anyway. So, this lazy cunt wants to sit around for a few months doing nothing, at great cost to the tax payer, rather than do a few hours work. If I were in charge, he'd be doing hard cuntin' labour while inside. Obviously with that sort of regime, we'd never have got into this position; the cunt would be glad to do community service to atone for his crimes.
So, prisoners should not be able to vote, and all prisoners should have to do work. If a prisoner refuses, then there should be no parole granted, ever. End of.
This country is so fucking soft and useless, it's embarrassing!
I see in the news that a criminal has been sent to prison after his failure to turn up for the 100 hours of community service he was 'awarded'. It seems he has a problem with 'motivation' and has declined to complete this (soft) option for his wrongdoings. So, the judge has now jailed him, and has expressed disappointment and dismay that someone could prefer jail to unpaid work. This whole saga highlights a sorry failure regarding the prison system in the UK - that prisoners are not forced to work anyway. So, this lazy cunt wants to sit around for a few months doing nothing, at great cost to the tax payer, rather than do a few hours work. If I were in charge, he'd be doing hard cuntin' labour while inside. Obviously with that sort of regime, we'd never have got into this position; the cunt would be glad to do community service to atone for his crimes.
So, prisoners should not be able to vote, and all prisoners should have to do work. If a prisoner refuses, then there should be no parole granted, ever. End of.
This country is so fucking soft and useless, it's embarrassing!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)