There are two types or categories of old people:
(1) The silent type
(2) The noisy fuckers who feel obliged to talk and fill the silence with a nauseating, rambling onslaught of shit information about anything and everything. It's as if they need to get it said in case they suddenly die.
It was Mrs MWSC's misfortune to be in a hospital opposite a bed occupied by a lady in category (2). I sat in the chair next to Mrs MWSC, who was fairly horizontal, but with two pillows. I'd arrived when the woman opposite, 83-year-old Joyce, was in mid flow, at 98 decibels to the nurse's 75. The exchange reached me in the corridor before I ever got to the room containing the four beds. Poor Mrs MWSC had endured a fair bit of Joyce, and was all for relocating to an asylum in preference to continued exposure to this torture. The nurse finished the "conversation" and we then had Joyce talking with/at her two visitors.
How she fucking went on; bin collections, holidays, relatives, medical complaints, her back, her dizziness, her kids, her handbag, her trips to Lloyds Pharmacy, her problems sleeping, the television standby feature, pills . . . . . . . and so much more. All revelations and ghastly details were delivered at the aforementioned 98db, and the two visitors played verbal tennis, providing prompts, queries and excuses for Joyce to keep going.
I was losing the will to retain all five senses, and was ready to give up hearing. Mrs MWSC was wondering whether there was any MRSA going spare, to relieve the pain of Joyce-exposure and help divert attention from the old dear. Thankfully, the two vistors left after a further fifteen minutes (lucky them). But Mrs MWSC was stuck in Bed 1, as were the other two women, in Beds 2 and 3. Fortunately the occupants of these other beds were females in 'Category (1)' and so not a fucking peep!
Once the visitors were gone, she switched to her other skill of making a fucking noise by rustling. She set about reading the Evening Gazette and struggling to breathe. I was going to become more involved with the latter and provide a helping hand (around her throat) but thought better of it. Before she started attacking the paper with a biro (crossword, I think) she received a visit from a registrar. He pulled the curtains around her bed, and this gave myself and Mrs MWSC a preview of what "The Voice" is likely to be like - the forthcoming BBC rival to X-Factor. From behind the curtain, we both heard the life story of Joyce. Mrs MWSC was able to recite certain sections of the output, having heard the answer to "what's been happening with you then, Joyce?" four times already. I will not torture you with the stuff discussed; one query from the doctor, though, was "Did you hit your head?" - a general enquiry about her various falls over the last couple of weeks. "Once," said Joyce, "I must have caught it as I had a black eye." Miss Marple indeed. Not for the first time, he then asked her, "Do you get short of breath?" Joyce said she did, while I was thinking "If I had my way, she'd be a whole lot shorter of breath".
"Bed 3" (as she was referred to by one of the nurses) provided us with some mild amusement. Apparently she'd had a fit or a 'turn', whatever that is, and was being observed. [Interrogation had actually established drink and drugs played rather a large part in her 'episode'] She'd been sleeping when I arrived, and somehow managed to sleep through the raconteur's loud revelations - unless she was pretending. When Joyce picked up her Gazette, "Bed 3" asked to go home, and was told that would be up to the doctor to decide. Some twenty minutes later, she'd had enough and decided to get dressed and leave. As she was going through the door, a nurse appeared and the result was that they headed for the main desk up the corridor, to sign a "self discharge". I wondered if 'pissing yourself' counted as a self discharge.
Ten minutes later, two nurses appeared through the door, one pushing a wheelchair. It was "Bed 3" being pushed back into the room to resume her position in, yes, bed number 3. "That's the problem with discharging yourself. What if no one had been around and you collapsed?" The nurse's question/concern brough a smirk to me and Mrs MWSC. How embarrassing to discharge youself and then collapse. However, ten minutes later, Mrs MWSC was saying "She went that way" to a different nurse, who had just walked in and seen an empty Bed Number 3. "Bed 3" had hopped it all of a sudden.
I left Mrs MWSC to read her book, noting that all was quiet from Bed 2, and Joyce was sleeping like an 83-year-old baby with 64 health problems, puffy legs, 22 types of pills in her locker, a tube up her nose and no mobiles to play with - but she was silent.
...
Wednesday 31 August 2011
Tuesday 30 August 2011
30.8.11 Overrun UK
This has got nothing to do with xenophobia, or racism, but everything to do with "the system", and how the UK is basically both stupid and fucked. Unfortunately the country has got itself into a mess from which it cannot now escape. The doors to the UK were opened by Labour in 1997, and the metaphoric doorman was noticeable by his absence. The invitation went out to pretty much anyone, and there was a stream of takers from all countries. The result was predictable, and in fact expected by those in the Labour government whose aim was to increase the mix of the general population such that its own chances of re-election and a sustained Labour administration were enhanced. This engineering by Labour has led to a system that's now overrun. This was inevitable.
We now have ludicrously high immigration, and the results of this policy madness are evident in many ways. The taxpayer now has to provide greater and greater subsidy for institutions and benefit payments, to cater for those new arrivals who cannot be blamed for wanting a better life. From around the world, people have flocked here, including many criminals. Even those not intent on committing crimes are in some cases just desperate. Sadly, whatever they do and whatever becomes of them, it can never be as bad as what they left behind. So, there's perhaps less of a deterrent to doing whatever might be needed to get by - legal or illegal. It is not therefore a surprise to learn that a third of criminals entering Britain's top youth jail last year were foreign. One in ten at Feltham Young Offenders Institute was from Somalia. There are many other statistics, and other nationalities highlighted, but the point is that accepting hundreds of thousands into the country has put a strain on everything: education, housing, jails, law enforcement, translation, healthcare, employment, benefits. The numbers and the demands/needs mean the system was and is fucked.
Worse, though, is the fact that little can be done about it. The EU legislation means we're tied to many policies. Rulings of one sort or another seem always to come down on the side of the disadvantaged, the claimants, the immigrants, the little guy. I have no idea what's right or wrong, fair or otherwise, but I do believe the outcome most often shows the UK government to be powerless. Some related statistics just released show that 25.1% of new born babies last year had mothers born overseas. In Newham, East London, that figure is 75%. Last year 241,000 foreigners were given permission to settle in the UK.
The economics are quite simple. Hundreds of thousands arriving, and the vast majority being a drain on resources, means that balancing the books will require higher taxes and mean fewer services, and poorer standards of service. This is all fine, if the policy was accepted by the country after being openly proposed. Unfortunately, the scheming Labour Party was far from open with its objectives.
Maybe it's actually no more than the UK deserves. All I know is that the UK will from now on become poorer year by year, as will its citizens. The drain on resources, the stresses on infrastructure and the adjustments so necessary in all areas will collectively mean it's "downhill all the way". As I said before, this is economics, maths, simple logic, and nothing to do with racism - but it's the fear of being accused of racism that's contributed so greatly to the scale of the problem now facing the country. If a boat that is full and holds 2000 passengers sets sail on an ocean crossing, having allowed a further 2000 on board at the last minute, then I would argue that the captain is asking for trouble. If we are to avoid mayhem, then someone needs to take charge and exercise due care and attention, for the benefit of all.
...
We now have ludicrously high immigration, and the results of this policy madness are evident in many ways. The taxpayer now has to provide greater and greater subsidy for institutions and benefit payments, to cater for those new arrivals who cannot be blamed for wanting a better life. From around the world, people have flocked here, including many criminals. Even those not intent on committing crimes are in some cases just desperate. Sadly, whatever they do and whatever becomes of them, it can never be as bad as what they left behind. So, there's perhaps less of a deterrent to doing whatever might be needed to get by - legal or illegal. It is not therefore a surprise to learn that a third of criminals entering Britain's top youth jail last year were foreign. One in ten at Feltham Young Offenders Institute was from Somalia. There are many other statistics, and other nationalities highlighted, but the point is that accepting hundreds of thousands into the country has put a strain on everything: education, housing, jails, law enforcement, translation, healthcare, employment, benefits. The numbers and the demands/needs mean the system was and is fucked.
Worse, though, is the fact that little can be done about it. The EU legislation means we're tied to many policies. Rulings of one sort or another seem always to come down on the side of the disadvantaged, the claimants, the immigrants, the little guy. I have no idea what's right or wrong, fair or otherwise, but I do believe the outcome most often shows the UK government to be powerless. Some related statistics just released show that 25.1% of new born babies last year had mothers born overseas. In Newham, East London, that figure is 75%. Last year 241,000 foreigners were given permission to settle in the UK.
The economics are quite simple. Hundreds of thousands arriving, and the vast majority being a drain on resources, means that balancing the books will require higher taxes and mean fewer services, and poorer standards of service. This is all fine, if the policy was accepted by the country after being openly proposed. Unfortunately, the scheming Labour Party was far from open with its objectives.
Maybe it's actually no more than the UK deserves. All I know is that the UK will from now on become poorer year by year, as will its citizens. The drain on resources, the stresses on infrastructure and the adjustments so necessary in all areas will collectively mean it's "downhill all the way". As I said before, this is economics, maths, simple logic, and nothing to do with racism - but it's the fear of being accused of racism that's contributed so greatly to the scale of the problem now facing the country. If a boat that is full and holds 2000 passengers sets sail on an ocean crossing, having allowed a further 2000 on board at the last minute, then I would argue that the captain is asking for trouble. If we are to avoid mayhem, then someone needs to take charge and exercise due care and attention, for the benefit of all.
...
30.8.11 Cheryl & Ashley
So, 'poor' Cheryl and Ashley had to revise their plans for a holiday. Apparently they were as gutted as Richard Branson's house that the fire on Necker Island meant a scrapping of plans for a romantic break. Having to put up with this level of inconvenience is truly atrocious for them.
As a 'second best', they had to consider alternative locations, including Roman Abramovich's home in St Barts. It's such a hard life, trying to make plans when out of the blue, lightning strikes. The hardship for C&A is clearly severe, but friends have indicated that Cheryl and Ashley will pull through, and make a go of things whatever life throws at them. Our heroes - endurance beyond belief.
...
As a 'second best', they had to consider alternative locations, including Roman Abramovich's home in St Barts. It's such a hard life, trying to make plans when out of the blue, lightning strikes. The hardship for C&A is clearly severe, but friends have indicated that Cheryl and Ashley will pull through, and make a go of things whatever life throws at them. Our heroes - endurance beyond belief.
...
30.8.11 Bird Seed
By the time I realised there was no bird seed in the house on Saturday, it was too late to do much about it. There is most definitely some logic to my concern, as I do have a bird requiring seed on a daily basis - otherwise my worry over bird seed would be a bit random. The realisation came at 6.30pm, but I was mildly comforted that I could get some on Sunday at the pet store in the next village. Jimmy had seed for Saturday, so was happy enough.
A late start on Sunday was followed up with a necessity to watch the Grand Prix. That's me we're talking about, not Jimmy. What I'd failed to realise was that on Sundays, the pet shop closes at 3.00pm. So, whilst Vettel was crossing the line, Jimmy was getting a bit cross and I felt I'd crossed a line. What with it being a Bank Holiday on Monday, the shop over the road would not be open in the morning. I decided I owed it to Jimmy to feed him his Sunday dinner (late) and my only option was a twenty mile round trip to Wilkinsons. I knew it was open until 4.30pm, so I dutifully went on a mission. Success followed, and Jimmy was catered for on Sunday, and Monday.
The bag of Canary seed was, I think, meant for a different bird - one called "Connie". I worked this out from the packaging; the one-kilo bag had the interesting strapline of "Keeps Connie Chirpy" which seems to have no relevance at all. The product itself was labelled as follows:
Wilko
Impeckable Canary Mix
A very good 'play on words' but rather worrying, as it suggested that Jimmy would struggle to peck the stuff. Fortunately he managed quite well.
There you have it - excitement all round.
...
A late start on Sunday was followed up with a necessity to watch the Grand Prix. That's me we're talking about, not Jimmy. What I'd failed to realise was that on Sundays, the pet shop closes at 3.00pm. So, whilst Vettel was crossing the line, Jimmy was getting a bit cross and I felt I'd crossed a line. What with it being a Bank Holiday on Monday, the shop over the road would not be open in the morning. I decided I owed it to Jimmy to feed him his Sunday dinner (late) and my only option was a twenty mile round trip to Wilkinsons. I knew it was open until 4.30pm, so I dutifully went on a mission. Success followed, and Jimmy was catered for on Sunday, and Monday.
The bag of Canary seed was, I think, meant for a different bird - one called "Connie". I worked this out from the packaging; the one-kilo bag had the interesting strapline of "Keeps Connie Chirpy" which seems to have no relevance at all. The product itself was labelled as follows:
Wilko
Impeckable Canary Mix
A very good 'play on words' but rather worrying, as it suggested that Jimmy would struggle to peck the stuff. Fortunately he managed quite well.
There you have it - excitement all round.
...
Monday 29 August 2011
29.8.11 David Coulthard
How stupid and petty of David Coulthard. I am so tired of hearing him refer to Sebastian Vettel during commentary with the stress on the second syllable. Everyone else manages to say the name with the stress at the beginning, just as it should be said. This is not even an argument about whether the first letter should be taken as a 'V' or an 'F' when speaking in English. It is acknowledged that the German means an 'F' sound, but generally we don't go around saying "FolksVagon" do we? Anyway, that aside, why oh why does DC insist on saying Vettel's name wrongly? For the record, it is said:
Sebastian Vettel (German pronunciation: [zeˈbastian ˈfɛtəl]
So, what is DC's explanation for consistently mispronouncing it? Here's what he himself says:
"I pronounce my name as David Coal-thart; everyone else pronounces it a different way. So when I am pronouncing names wrong [sic] when I am doing the BBC1 F1 coverage, my defence is no-one ever says my name correctly."
What a petty twat.
...
Sebastian Vettel (German pronunciation: [zeˈbastian ˈfɛtəl]
So, what is DC's explanation for consistently mispronouncing it? Here's what he himself says:
"I pronounce my name as David Coal-thart; everyone else pronounces it a different way. So when I am pronouncing names wrong [sic] when I am doing the BBC1 F1 coverage, my defence is no-one ever says my name correctly."
What a petty twat.
...
Sunday 28 August 2011
28.8.11 Sofa News
The DFS shit that infiltrates households via newspapers is rather tiresome. Glossy A3 sized pages showing the latest 'sale' prices must have cost a fortune to produce, and I've no idea what the company pays newspaper owners to slip the marketing material inside. I am struck by the names chosen for the various items.
The Spritzer
Slightly inappropriate name, as if you spill one, it won't just wipe off. The sofa is not leather, but covered with an absorbent hessian-type material.
The Envy
If you're mad enough to buy this at £499, you will most definitely not be the envy of your friends. A truly ghastly effort that is not worth describing.
The Omega
As the name implies, this is the very last sofa you should choose.
The Walcot
So aptly named, taking inspiration from Theo Walcott, possibly, as the finishing is awful. It's off white and a bit flowery and doesn't quite work.
The Dazzle
£799 for a plain white leather 2-seater sofa that doesn't dazzle.
The Dawson
This is a brown space station masquerading as a sofa. It's a ludicrous lump of who knows what, covered in the hides of seven cows. With £500 off, it's now only three fucking grand!
The Camden
This 4-seater looks horrendous, with a pattern that's an absolute riot.
The Rapier
A strangely named corner sofa, considering it's leather and anything sharper than a staple, let alone a rapier, would be lethal to the covering.
The Mason
As attractive, comfortable-looking and fashionable as a brick.
Don't forget the DFS deals. But would you credit it, though, I've no interest in a sofa being deposited in my room for 4 years. Terms and conditions apply. Remember, the goods may wear out long before you finish paying for them, and that's your lookout/tough luck. 0% APR representative. 0% IQ of store representative.
Strangely, a Harveys catalogue seems to have appeared in the last day or two as well. The various items of furniture have all been named with varying degrees of appropriateness, ranging from none to 'fuck all'. Let's look at some examples:
Eva, Swing, Bel Air, Club, Mistral, Consular, Julpiter and Empire
These are all sofas
Swing, Boat, Calais, Wessex, Alexis, Astoria and Forrester
These are all table and chairs sets
Las Vegas, Hong Kong, Derby
These are swivel chairs with a stool
...
The Spritzer
Slightly inappropriate name, as if you spill one, it won't just wipe off. The sofa is not leather, but covered with an absorbent hessian-type material.
The Envy
If you're mad enough to buy this at £499, you will most definitely not be the envy of your friends. A truly ghastly effort that is not worth describing.
The Omega
As the name implies, this is the very last sofa you should choose.
The Walcot
So aptly named, taking inspiration from Theo Walcott, possibly, as the finishing is awful. It's off white and a bit flowery and doesn't quite work.
The Dazzle
£799 for a plain white leather 2-seater sofa that doesn't dazzle.
The Dawson
This is a brown space station masquerading as a sofa. It's a ludicrous lump of who knows what, covered in the hides of seven cows. With £500 off, it's now only three fucking grand!
The Camden
This 4-seater looks horrendous, with a pattern that's an absolute riot.
The Rapier
A strangely named corner sofa, considering it's leather and anything sharper than a staple, let alone a rapier, would be lethal to the covering.
The Mason
As attractive, comfortable-looking and fashionable as a brick.
Don't forget the DFS deals. But would you credit it, though, I've no interest in a sofa being deposited in my room for 4 years. Terms and conditions apply. Remember, the goods may wear out long before you finish paying for them, and that's your lookout/tough luck. 0% APR representative. 0% IQ of store representative.
Strangely, a Harveys catalogue seems to have appeared in the last day or two as well. The various items of furniture have all been named with varying degrees of appropriateness, ranging from none to 'fuck all'. Let's look at some examples:
Eva, Swing, Bel Air, Club, Mistral, Consular, Julpiter and Empire
These are all sofas
Swing, Boat, Calais, Wessex, Alexis, Astoria and Forrester
These are all table and chairs sets
Las Vegas, Hong Kong, Derby
These are swivel chairs with a stool
...
Saturday 27 August 2011
27.8.11 Stupid Questions
The top three stupid questions of the day were as follows:
1st - "Can I interest you in a pack of ten Mini Cheddars today?"
[Till operator in Poundland]
2nd - "For the lottery, yes?"
[Till operator in the Co-op after I said "Two lucky dips please"]
3rd - "Do you need carrier bags?"
[Till operator in Morrisons, for my £126 worth of shopping!]
...
1st - "Can I interest you in a pack of ten Mini Cheddars today?"
[Till operator in Poundland]
2nd - "For the lottery, yes?"
[Till operator in the Co-op after I said "Two lucky dips please"]
3rd - "Do you need carrier bags?"
[Till operator in Morrisons, for my £126 worth of shopping!]
...
27.8.11 Women of Renown
Recent news stories have highlighted the actions of a few women who seem to be a waste of space. Earlier this week, we had the story of the woman in Manchester who was caught with designer gear looted in the riots. Whilst she didn't do the looting, it didn't stop her choosing stuff from the selection offered by her flatmate who'd gone out for a night on the town. What makes this story more pathetic is that five years ago, when she was 19, she won £100,000 on bingo. Apparently it took her only four months to get rid of all the money. What a state to get into. Twat.
Next we have a twenty-three-year-old model who was this week sentenced to 16 months for nicking £9,400 worth of mobile phones from Carphone Warehouse in Woolwich. It's a bit late to start weeping when you're about to leave the dock and return to jail. Twat.
Then we have a nineteen-year-old female, who the court heard admitting that she ended up with an assortment of looted Xbox games consoles because she "found them" on the ground . . . . . because she "had no way of getting home" . . . . . and because "everyone else was getting away with it". The court heard these pathetic comments from a pathetic individual who clearly wanted to take no responsibility for her actions and just wanted it all to go away. After such stupid comments, she pleaded not guilty to three charges of theft and one of receiving stolen goods. Twat.
Today, I see a story in the paper that at first glance seems to be centring on the actions of children; well, thieves actually, rather than another useless woman. In Liverpool, two kids were caught on CCTV stealing from a shop. One was aged four and the other was six! But they were not out alone. No, their mother was close by, and able to supervise. At one point the six-year-old girl apparently grabbed a can of Red Bull, looked towards the doorway and asked: "This one, mum?" What a mother! Cunt.
Then we have another mother of rather more than dubious character, displaying the ability to fuck up big time. She left her two sons in an unlocked car at 3.45am, so she could go boozing with a pal. Her eight-month old baby was strapped into a car seat, while the two-year-old was in the footwell. At court in Manchester, she wept after being told she could be jailed when she goes to crown court. Twat.
...
Next we have a twenty-three-year-old model who was this week sentenced to 16 months for nicking £9,400 worth of mobile phones from Carphone Warehouse in Woolwich. It's a bit late to start weeping when you're about to leave the dock and return to jail. Twat.
Then we have a nineteen-year-old female, who the court heard admitting that she ended up with an assortment of looted Xbox games consoles because she "found them" on the ground . . . . . because she "had no way of getting home" . . . . . and because "everyone else was getting away with it". The court heard these pathetic comments from a pathetic individual who clearly wanted to take no responsibility for her actions and just wanted it all to go away. After such stupid comments, she pleaded not guilty to three charges of theft and one of receiving stolen goods. Twat.
Today, I see a story in the paper that at first glance seems to be centring on the actions of children; well, thieves actually, rather than another useless woman. In Liverpool, two kids were caught on CCTV stealing from a shop. One was aged four and the other was six! But they were not out alone. No, their mother was close by, and able to supervise. At one point the six-year-old girl apparently grabbed a can of Red Bull, looked towards the doorway and asked: "This one, mum?" What a mother! Cunt.
Then we have another mother of rather more than dubious character, displaying the ability to fuck up big time. She left her two sons in an unlocked car at 3.45am, so she could go boozing with a pal. Her eight-month old baby was strapped into a car seat, while the two-year-old was in the footwell. At court in Manchester, she wept after being told she could be jailed when she goes to crown court. Twat.
...
27.8.11 Garden Gate
Is this about as pathetic as it gets? Have we sunk to the lowest possible point? Has modern Britain degenerated into a place of no common sense, over-regulation, buffoonery and pettiness? It would appear to be a resounding "Yes" to these questions, based on the approach adopted by councillors in Dorset. After using a gate in their garden as access to a public park for the last 19 years, Mr & Mrs Pearse have now found themselves barricaded in. Thanks to the parish council attitude, there is now a seven-foot wide fence set one inch in front of the gate. It was obviously judged as appropriate to waste £500 getting workment to turn up without warning and block it off the gate.
There is a lot that's wrong with the world, and a quite considerable amount that's wrong with this country. Building this seven-foot fence to pen in a couple in Dorset does fuck all to solve anything. The councillors are cunts, in my opinion.
...
There is a lot that's wrong with the world, and a quite considerable amount that's wrong with this country. Building this seven-foot fence to pen in a couple in Dorset does fuck all to solve anything. The councillors are cunts, in my opinion.
...
27.8.11 Testing Times
It is a sad state of affairs when those studying for exams are let down by the establishment. A number of factors combine to make it more challenging for students to do well, while the rewards for actually doing well are diminishing.
Schools are desperate to look good, and so have in many cases adopted a flawed approach of offering exams in subjects that are easier to teach, and easier to do well in. In the 1996/7 academic year, half of all fifteen-year-olds (293,000 students) sat GCSEs in English, Maths, Sciences, a language and History or Geography. By 2010 only 22% (141,000) were studying those key/traditional subjects. Schools have aimed for a boost in league table positions, while the kids are conned. Good old Labour, halving the quality. Also, non-academic qualifications dished out since 2004 have increased by 3800%.
So, is it that exams are getting easier? Are teaching methods now targeted so that pupils are instructed how to get marks rather than learn? Possibly a bit of both. So, the losers are actually the students, especially when it's now expected that anyone worth anything will have achieved numerous A or A* grades. Watering down the value of an A was done some years ago, and the introduction of the A* means an A is now 'run of the mill'. In fact, in some people's eyes, an A is a failure as it's not the top grade. How mad!
Universities are faced with many more students than they have places for, and distinguishing between candidates is becoming impossible. To help in assessments, universities are commonly looking at GCSE results, as A Level results don't provide enough variation. So with three good A Levels, a candidate might not be offered a university place because a rival had three stars next to the 'A' grades at GCSE level. However, both candidates may not be given a place, if some of the positive discrimination policies work their way through - ie. if you come from a poor background, then that "trumps" a clever kid whose parents work hard and earn money.
A quarter of girls pass GCSEs at A or A*. There's been almost a tripling of the proportion of A grades since the exam was introduced in 1988. This does nothing to help employers, universities or the students. Cynics now write off the efforts to pass exams, saying it's easier to pass now. Well, the cynics are right. It doesn't mean the students don't work hard, but it does mean that the system is fucked.
Labour drove far too many people towards education. What with EMA, and government encouragement, stupid numbers of young people stayed in education and then sauntered off to get degrees in anything that was going. Now we have some realisation. We reached a stage where almost half of all people took higher education, so there's an inevitable mismatch between the aspirations and expectations of young people with bits of paper, and the employers who have to give jobs out to hopeful candidates who often face odds of 1/100 against landing the job.
Too many people spend time getting passes in things that will do them no good, delaying the point at which they will have to work out how to earn a living. Parents and taxpayers spend money keeping them in education, deferring what will then be a tidal wave of claimants for benefits, when they either finish education or leave because they cannot afford to carry on - or, discover they are not actually clever enough.
Benefit claimants will thus comprise those who are thick, or useless, or lazy or cunts, alongside those who are clever, confused, disappointed and not catered for. The economy is in dire straits, and there will be thousands of disappointed people who have talent, a reasonable level of education but no income, waiting on a chance to do something with their lives. There will be as many other who are in the same situation, but have done nothing to try and help themselves. This will breed resentment all round.
Knowing when to stop is as important as motivating yourself to start. Getting an education and qualifications is important, but knowing you've reached the exit level is just as important. The government of the day has a responsibility to maintain standards, and a balanced system so that all parties benefit. If the testing is not right, then nothing will be right. I fear we have perhaps 'teased' thousands of youngsters, wasting their time with education that will serve no purpose.
...
Schools are desperate to look good, and so have in many cases adopted a flawed approach of offering exams in subjects that are easier to teach, and easier to do well in. In the 1996/7 academic year, half of all fifteen-year-olds (293,000 students) sat GCSEs in English, Maths, Sciences, a language and History or Geography. By 2010 only 22% (141,000) were studying those key/traditional subjects. Schools have aimed for a boost in league table positions, while the kids are conned. Good old Labour, halving the quality. Also, non-academic qualifications dished out since 2004 have increased by 3800%.
So, is it that exams are getting easier? Are teaching methods now targeted so that pupils are instructed how to get marks rather than learn? Possibly a bit of both. So, the losers are actually the students, especially when it's now expected that anyone worth anything will have achieved numerous A or A* grades. Watering down the value of an A was done some years ago, and the introduction of the A* means an A is now 'run of the mill'. In fact, in some people's eyes, an A is a failure as it's not the top grade. How mad!
Universities are faced with many more students than they have places for, and distinguishing between candidates is becoming impossible. To help in assessments, universities are commonly looking at GCSE results, as A Level results don't provide enough variation. So with three good A Levels, a candidate might not be offered a university place because a rival had three stars next to the 'A' grades at GCSE level. However, both candidates may not be given a place, if some of the positive discrimination policies work their way through - ie. if you come from a poor background, then that "trumps" a clever kid whose parents work hard and earn money.
A quarter of girls pass GCSEs at A or A*. There's been almost a tripling of the proportion of A grades since the exam was introduced in 1988. This does nothing to help employers, universities or the students. Cynics now write off the efforts to pass exams, saying it's easier to pass now. Well, the cynics are right. It doesn't mean the students don't work hard, but it does mean that the system is fucked.
Labour drove far too many people towards education. What with EMA, and government encouragement, stupid numbers of young people stayed in education and then sauntered off to get degrees in anything that was going. Now we have some realisation. We reached a stage where almost half of all people took higher education, so there's an inevitable mismatch between the aspirations and expectations of young people with bits of paper, and the employers who have to give jobs out to hopeful candidates who often face odds of 1/100 against landing the job.
Too many people spend time getting passes in things that will do them no good, delaying the point at which they will have to work out how to earn a living. Parents and taxpayers spend money keeping them in education, deferring what will then be a tidal wave of claimants for benefits, when they either finish education or leave because they cannot afford to carry on - or, discover they are not actually clever enough.
Benefit claimants will thus comprise those who are thick, or useless, or lazy or cunts, alongside those who are clever, confused, disappointed and not catered for. The economy is in dire straits, and there will be thousands of disappointed people who have talent, a reasonable level of education but no income, waiting on a chance to do something with their lives. There will be as many other who are in the same situation, but have done nothing to try and help themselves. This will breed resentment all round.
Knowing when to stop is as important as motivating yourself to start. Getting an education and qualifications is important, but knowing you've reached the exit level is just as important. The government of the day has a responsibility to maintain standards, and a balanced system so that all parties benefit. If the testing is not right, then nothing will be right. I fear we have perhaps 'teased' thousands of youngsters, wasting their time with education that will serve no purpose.
...
27.8.11 Brown Gold
The going rate for Easy Cook Rice is about £1.25 per kilo. Sugar is typically sold at around 88p per kilo, and even Crunchy Nut Cornflakes (for which you don't need the sugar) are sold at less than £3.00 per kilo. Butter's about £5.00. Meat is a bit more expensive, of course, but even so, chicken breasts are circa £6.00 per kilo and I bought some rump steak yesterday, on offer at just under £7.00 per kilo.
All of the above makes the cost of a small bar of Galaxy chocolate more shocking than ever. The 46g bar was 69p. Unbelievable - one and a half pence per gramme. Not in the league of gold, but way above the general cost of other foodstuffs, as mentioned. It makes the chocolate £15.00 per kilo.
Galaxy TV Advert
"Oo, I know what I feel like" [she goes to the cupboard but her chocolate is gone]
"Who was it this time?" [photo of her with her two female house mates]
"I'm glad they don't know about this place" [she opens a box, retrieved from under her bed]
"Think hiding it, think Galaxy" [strap-line message for the product]
Real Life Experience
"Oo, I fancy some chocolate" [TMWSC nips to the Co-op]
"What the fuck!" [69p for the tiniest bar of Galaxy]
"Waste of time coming to this cuntin' place" [leaving the shop]
"I'm glad I remembered where I hid something better" [smiling]
"Think Curly Wurly, think 5 for a pound, think result" [Multi-pack from Morrisons, £7.69/kilo]
...
All of the above makes the cost of a small bar of Galaxy chocolate more shocking than ever. The 46g bar was 69p. Unbelievable - one and a half pence per gramme. Not in the league of gold, but way above the general cost of other foodstuffs, as mentioned. It makes the chocolate £15.00 per kilo.
Galaxy TV Advert
"Oo, I know what I feel like" [she goes to the cupboard but her chocolate is gone]
"Who was it this time?" [photo of her with her two female house mates]
"I'm glad they don't know about this place" [she opens a box, retrieved from under her bed]
"Think hiding it, think Galaxy" [strap-line message for the product]
Real Life Experience
"Oo, I fancy some chocolate" [TMWSC nips to the Co-op]
"What the fuck!" [69p for the tiniest bar of Galaxy]
"Waste of time coming to this cuntin' place" [leaving the shop]
"I'm glad I remembered where I hid something better" [smiling]
"Think Curly Wurly, think 5 for a pound, think result" [Multi-pack from Morrisons, £7.69/kilo]
...
27.8.11 William Wallace Wins
From next year, the University of Aberdeen's annual fees will rise to £9,000 for English, Welsh and Irish students. It's the first Scottish university to declare its hand, and as we all know, there's complete discrimination within the so-called "United Kingdom". Students from Scotland, of course, will not be paying tuition fees to the university. How can such a system be right?
But what's even more galling is that while the English, Welsh and Irish contingent struggles to find £9,000 per head per year (as Scottish students get pissed with the money saved) other EU students don't pay either! That's right - students from around Europe do not pay fees to the university! What a farce.
...
But what's even more galling is that while the English, Welsh and Irish contingent struggles to find £9,000 per head per year (as Scottish students get pissed with the money saved) other EU students don't pay either! That's right - students from around Europe do not pay fees to the university! What a farce.
...
27.8.11 Van Gogh
Scene
Living room, with son and daughter-in-law playing Call of Duty, Mrs MWSC reading, and TMWSC logged on to his laptop and playing You Tube music.
TMWSC: "Here's one for you" (to Son)
From the laptop comes "Crying" sung by Don McLean
SON: "No! Not that - turn it off!" (shaking head)
DIL: "I like this" (singing along)
At the chorus, DIL and TMWSC wail in time
SON: Turn it off! Why? Dad! (Vigorously shakes head)
DIL/TMWSC: "Cry, y, y, y-ing, over youuuu, cry, y, y, y-ing, over youuuu"
Before war breaks out (other than the conflict represented in Call of Duty) TMWSC stops the song, and switches it to another Don McLean classic - "Vincent"
DON: "Starry starry night, paint your palette blue and grey"
DIL: "Oh, I like this - who is it?"
TMWSC: "It's Vincent by Don McLean"
DON: "Look out on a summer's day"
DIL: "I don't think I know him"
DON: "With eyes that know the darkness in my soul"
TWWSC: "It's the same guy who just did Crying"
DIL: "Oh. I think it's really good.
DON: "Shadows on the hills, sketch the trees and the daffodils"
MRS MWSC: "Was it Van Gogh?"
DON: "Catch the breeze and the winter chills"
TMWSC: "Yep"
DIL: "But I thought it was the same guy who did Crying" (?)
DON: "In colours on the snowy linen land. Now I understand . . . ."
Howls of laughter drowned out Don, who was at that moment sympathising ["How you suffered for your sanity"] and looking back, the words were rather apt. I decided against cutting off a piece of ear, though.
...
Living room, with son and daughter-in-law playing Call of Duty, Mrs MWSC reading, and TMWSC logged on to his laptop and playing You Tube music.
TMWSC: "Here's one for you" (to Son)
From the laptop comes "Crying" sung by Don McLean
SON: "No! Not that - turn it off!" (shaking head)
DIL: "I like this" (singing along)
At the chorus, DIL and TMWSC wail in time
SON: Turn it off! Why? Dad! (Vigorously shakes head)
DIL/TMWSC: "Cry, y, y, y-ing, over youuuu, cry, y, y, y-ing, over youuuu"
Before war breaks out (other than the conflict represented in Call of Duty) TMWSC stops the song, and switches it to another Don McLean classic - "Vincent"
DON: "Starry starry night, paint your palette blue and grey"
DIL: "Oh, I like this - who is it?"
TMWSC: "It's Vincent by Don McLean"
DON: "Look out on a summer's day"
DIL: "I don't think I know him"
DON: "With eyes that know the darkness in my soul"
TWWSC: "It's the same guy who just did Crying"
DIL: "Oh. I think it's really good.
DON: "Shadows on the hills, sketch the trees and the daffodils"
MRS MWSC: "Was it Van Gogh?"
DON: "Catch the breeze and the winter chills"
TMWSC: "Yep"
DIL: "But I thought it was the same guy who did Crying" (?)
DON: "In colours on the snowy linen land. Now I understand . . . ."
Howls of laughter drowned out Don, who was at that moment sympathising ["How you suffered for your sanity"] and looking back, the words were rather apt. I decided against cutting off a piece of ear, though.
...
27.8.11 Judge For Yourself
The judges of this country are, by and large, twats. The whole approach is one of ignorance when it comes to common sense, the wishes of the people and the spirit of fair play that should prevail. If I kick a work colleague in the bollocks, I'd rather expect to be sacked, and/or charged with assault. However, I'm quite sure that I'd escape the consequences through arguing that my employer had not first trained me how to walk properly, so that my leg didn't swing a bit too far and connect with my unfortunately positioned associate. Judges, Magistrates and pretty much anyone in a position of power is more likely than not to be devoid of common sense. They forget why they have their roles, and seek to hide behind 'the law' or 'the rules' or 'the system' rather than perform in a way that helps. Insitutions, too, fail completely to do what they were set up to do.
This week, a judge has criticised the Home Office, and indicated that an asylum seeker may be in line for substantial compensation for being falsely imprisoned. He said that immigration chiefs had acted wrongly. Twat! The asylum seeker has committed 26 crimes over the last six years, and was locked up because he was a 'risk to the community'. Apparently the chap, . . . . .wait for it because this is good, . . . . . frustrated Home Office attempts to deport him by refusing to cooperate.
So, this asylum seeker refused to cooperate with the Home Office (not much of a surprise, really) and this meant he avoided deportation. What a load of useless cunts at the H.O. there are, if one Algerian drug taker and thief can so easily 'frustrate' a massive government department and hang around. He will no doubt be given £100,000 as a 'sorry' for the inconvenience caused.
The UK is fucked.
...
This week, a judge has criticised the Home Office, and indicated that an asylum seeker may be in line for substantial compensation for being falsely imprisoned. He said that immigration chiefs had acted wrongly. Twat! The asylum seeker has committed 26 crimes over the last six years, and was locked up because he was a 'risk to the community'. Apparently the chap, . . . . .wait for it because this is good, . . . . . frustrated Home Office attempts to deport him by refusing to cooperate.
So, this asylum seeker refused to cooperate with the Home Office (not much of a surprise, really) and this meant he avoided deportation. What a load of useless cunts at the H.O. there are, if one Algerian drug taker and thief can so easily 'frustrate' a massive government department and hang around. He will no doubt be given £100,000 as a 'sorry' for the inconvenience caused.
The UK is fucked.
...
27.8.11 Technology
"Technology" is a word that is bandied about rather freely these days. It has taken over from the ubiquitous "System", which apparently applies to everything now. A pack of 36 plastic clothes pegs from the pound shop is actually a "clothes airing system" in the eyes of some cunt in marketing.
I was watching TV this week when an advert came on for deodorant. Apparently deodorants are gender specific now, and men only feel comfortable enough to look after themselves if the word "men" or the word "man" is used in the product's name. So, welcome to the new offer from Dove -
Dove Men+Care
"Combines 48-hour protection with our 1/4 moisturising technology"
First, what does the 'plus sign' indicate? Is it supposed to make us feel positive rather than negative? Is it a general '+' or has the company decided to add men to the concept of caring?
Second, I have already posted about the issues I have with advertisers extolling the virtues of a deodorant supposedly lasting more than 24 hours. I restate my case; that only a dirty cunt would avoid washing and rely on a deodorant for 48 hours (or 72 hours, as one such product claims to last).
Third, I dispute the use of the word "technology". After a night drinking, my blood probably contains 1/4 fucking alcohol, but that's not "technology" is it!
...
I was watching TV this week when an advert came on for deodorant. Apparently deodorants are gender specific now, and men only feel comfortable enough to look after themselves if the word "men" or the word "man" is used in the product's name. So, welcome to the new offer from Dove -
Dove Men+Care
"Combines 48-hour protection with our 1/4 moisturising technology"
First, what does the 'plus sign' indicate? Is it supposed to make us feel positive rather than negative? Is it a general '+' or has the company decided to add men to the concept of caring?
Second, I have already posted about the issues I have with advertisers extolling the virtues of a deodorant supposedly lasting more than 24 hours. I restate my case; that only a dirty cunt would avoid washing and rely on a deodorant for 48 hours (or 72 hours, as one such product claims to last).
Third, I dispute the use of the word "technology". After a night drinking, my blood probably contains 1/4 fucking alcohol, but that's not "technology" is it!
...
Friday 26 August 2011
26.8.11 Samuel Eto'o
How on earth can kicking a football ever deserve being paid £336,000 - per week! After tax!!
I have not put a question mark at the end of this, because I am not actually asking a question; I know the answer already. The lunacy that is prevalent in the world of football is destroying completely everything that was good, once upon a time. The stupidity of the rise in wages makes the industrial revolution look like a minor revision to working practices at a speed akin to a meandering slug. It is obscene that a player can earn in one day what many earn in a year. I use the word 'earn' in its loosest sense, because basically these are blokes who get paid to keep fit, and kick a ball about (if they're not sick, injured, suspended or dropped by the manager) twice a week, maybe. Madness.
...
I have not put a question mark at the end of this, because I am not actually asking a question; I know the answer already. The lunacy that is prevalent in the world of football is destroying completely everything that was good, once upon a time. The stupidity of the rise in wages makes the industrial revolution look like a minor revision to working practices at a speed akin to a meandering slug. It is obscene that a player can earn in one day what many earn in a year. I use the word 'earn' in its loosest sense, because basically these are blokes who get paid to keep fit, and kick a ball about (if they're not sick, injured, suspended or dropped by the manager) twice a week, maybe. Madness.
...
Thursday 25 August 2011
25.8.11 Film Censors
I own a reasonably large collection of DVDs. There's a bit of everything, so it's handy for catering for any occasion, age group, persuasion, genre or specific requirement. What's strange, though, is the information noted on the boxes regarding the nature of the content. Clearly we're all aware of the classifications, ie. 18, 15, PG, U etc. but I suspect you'll not be entirely aware of the words used to inform viewers of the content of a film. Here are some of the various 'warnings' detailed on the covers. What's amazing is that even Disney films, and middle-of-the-road films like Flashdance have alarming advice. Some are just funny!
The struggle is understanding what type of language is classified as 'mild' rather than 'strong' or even 'very strong'. What's 'strong' sex, as opposed to 'mild sex'?
After the word "Contains", there are various additions, on the films I have, as follows:
Strong language, bloody injury and disturbing images
Mild language and comic fight scenes
Mild comic violence and threat
Strong violence, moderate sex references and surgical detail
Moderate horror and action adventure violence
[Does that mean certain rioters recently suggested swashbuckling their fucking way to the loot?]
Strong sustained threat, humiliation and violence
Emotionally intense scenes
One scene of sexual violence and brief strong nudity
[What's strong nudity? You're fucking nude or you're not!]
Mild violence and innuendo
Strong bloody horror, violence and gore
One use of strong language and a moderate scene of injury
Strong real sex and strobing effect
[As opposed to 'stroking' effect]
Strong violence and extended scene of torture
Moderate comic sex references
Mild martial arts action
Strong language and moderate sexual assault
[What's moderate sexual assault? A flick to the cunt?]
Child murder theme, disturbing scenes and moderate violence
One use of strong language, moderate violence and mature theme
[What's a mature theme??]
Moderate and comic wrestling violence
Strong language, psychological horror and images of surgery
Moderate violence and fatalities
One instance of Mild Peril
Strong language and one gory image
Strong bloody violence and terrorisation
Very strong sexualised gore
[What's that when it's at home?]
Strong language, some very strong, and drug use
Sustained strong menace
Strong fetishistic sex and violence
Mild war violence
[I would have thought that war is reasonably violent]
These descriptions of film content are laughable!
...
The struggle is understanding what type of language is classified as 'mild' rather than 'strong' or even 'very strong'. What's 'strong' sex, as opposed to 'mild sex'?
After the word "Contains", there are various additions, on the films I have, as follows:
Strong language, bloody injury and disturbing images
Mild language and comic fight scenes
Mild comic violence and threat
Strong violence, moderate sex references and surgical detail
Moderate horror and action adventure violence
[Does that mean certain rioters recently suggested swashbuckling their fucking way to the loot?]
Strong sustained threat, humiliation and violence
Emotionally intense scenes
One scene of sexual violence and brief strong nudity
[What's strong nudity? You're fucking nude or you're not!]
Mild violence and innuendo
Strong bloody horror, violence and gore
One use of strong language and a moderate scene of injury
Strong real sex and strobing effect
[As opposed to 'stroking' effect]
Strong violence and extended scene of torture
Moderate comic sex references
Mild martial arts action
Strong language and moderate sexual assault
[What's moderate sexual assault? A flick to the cunt?]
Child murder theme, disturbing scenes and moderate violence
One use of strong language, moderate violence and mature theme
[What's a mature theme??]
Moderate and comic wrestling violence
Strong language, psychological horror and images of surgery
Moderate violence and fatalities
One instance of Mild Peril
Strong language and one gory image
Strong bloody violence and terrorisation
Very strong sexualised gore
[What's that when it's at home?]
Strong language, some very strong, and drug use
Sustained strong menace
Strong fetishistic sex and violence
Mild war violence
[I would have thought that war is reasonably violent]
These descriptions of film content are laughable!
...
25.8.11 Titanic Kate
How tiresome! Yes, of all the people who could have been loafing around on Richard Branson's island when disaster struck, it had to be Kate. Further, instead of having to do something impossible for acclaim, her task was to carry a frail 90-year-old a few yards to safety. Now she's the hero of the hour - should that be 'heroine' or have we all been forced to move on from being allowed to differentiate between the sexes these days?
"I will never forget Richard placing his arms around both my children as we were watching the flames, and saying, 'At the end of the day, what you realise is that all that matters is the people that you love. Everything else is just stuff, and none of that stuff matters'."
Yawn.
...
Left, Mrs Branson, with Kate Winslet on the right
"I will never forget Richard placing his arms around both my children as we were watching the flames, and saying, 'At the end of the day, what you realise is that all that matters is the people that you love. Everything else is just stuff, and none of that stuff matters'."
Yawn.
...
25.8.11 Jacqui Smith
She's as useless now as she ever was when in office! What a display of self-serving greed, getting work done on her house by convicts on day release. Having lost her seat in the House of Commons after being blasted over expenses that exceeded a hundred thousand pounds, and her husband's porn film cock up, she has learned nothing. "Shameless" would best describe her, if I am to avoid the C-word. Complaining that the papers are "having a go" at her is pathetic from someone who was supposed to be good enough for the job of Home Secretary. She never should have been given that job, and has displayed why so perfectly, through being a twat while in the job, and afterwards as well.
There seems no end to the stories that surface about politicians and their corrupt ways. In the UK, we have the nerve to criticise regimes around the world that are most definitely corrupt, yet we allow dodgy practices, favours, rule-bending, corruption and blind-eyes to a massive degree. Where's the penalty for such behaviour? What are the consequences? What deters others from following such a path? Fuck all, really!
The ex-Home Secretary has in effect bent rules and nudged people to do her a favour. Skirting along the edges of fraudulent behaviour is rather dire for someone recently charged with being the UK's Home Secretary (although sadly not charged with anything else).
...
There seems no end to the stories that surface about politicians and their corrupt ways. In the UK, we have the nerve to criticise regimes around the world that are most definitely corrupt, yet we allow dodgy practices, favours, rule-bending, corruption and blind-eyes to a massive degree. Where's the penalty for such behaviour? What are the consequences? What deters others from following such a path? Fuck all, really!
The ex-Home Secretary has in effect bent rules and nudged people to do her a favour. Skirting along the edges of fraudulent behaviour is rather dire for someone recently charged with being the UK's Home Secretary (although sadly not charged with anything else).
...
25.8.11 Cocozza
Well the show is up and running, and it kicked off with the guy with a surname that suggests a stammer. However, what's worrying is the attitude of this chap, who at 18 years old, seems rather proud of the fact that he's shagged almost a hundred females. Are we supposed to applaud this sort of thing, then? Mr CoCocky CoCozza actually displays what I'd consider to be traits of a CoCunt. Boasting that he's had this many women, having started at the age of 12, is hardly endearing, and not at all commendable. Any girl would be absolutely mad to have anything to do with Frankie, frankly. In fact, if a girl stood up on X-Factor and claimed at 18 to have slept with nearly 100 blokes, I suspect the backlash and criticism would be severe.
So, a cocky 'jack-the-lad' type who strains a bit to sing a mediocre version of something forgettable (I've forgotten what it was) to get through to the next round, on an overall mission to "get more girls" is hardly someone worthwhile. Shouldn't he be called a slag then?
...
So, a cocky 'jack-the-lad' type who strains a bit to sing a mediocre version of something forgettable (I've forgotten what it was) to get through to the next round, on an overall mission to "get more girls" is hardly someone worthwhile. Shouldn't he be called a slag then?
...
Sunday 21 August 2011
21.8.11 Scent of a Woman
I just noticed that the film "Scent of a Woman" starring Al Pacino starts at 10.15pm on ITV1. Surely it should be on Channel No.5 ?
..
..
21.8.11 Sunday TV
The weekly guide reveals a schedule for today that's a limp offering, as usual. Perusing the listings, I have come across a few points to share.
BBC1 12.05pm Cash in the Attic
Raising money for a state-of-the-art pram (R)
Wonderful entertainment, I'm sure, for those who have recently undergone a lobotomy. I cannot believe that someone at the BBC thinks it's worth 45 minutes of our time to see some twats selling shit found in their attic/bedrooms/drawers/under the stairs, just to buy a fucking pram! Dire - repeated, even!
BBC1 3.15pm Escape to the Country
City-dwellers search for a country retreat in Somerset (R)
The clue is in the title, so it's no real surprise that it is city-dwellers who are moving to the country!
BBC1 4.15pm The Great British Weather
Highlights of the meteorology series.
So, we are now reduced to going a bit further than always talking about the weather, and a bit further than having a series of programmes devoted to the weather. Now, it's necessary to repeat it via a "highlights" programme! Incredible.
BBC1 5.15pm Lifeline
Olly Murs makes an appeal on behalf of Brainwave.
This should read: "BBC1 5.15pm Olly Murs has a brainwave and appeals to the BBC to throw him a lifeline".
BBC1 5.25pm Songs of Praise
Sally Magnusson asks what the future holds for Fife and introduces hymns from Dunfermline Abbey.
I can understand the hymns bit, considering the programme's called Songs of Praise, but as for the future of Fife, I am stumped.
BBC1 8.00pm Countryfile
The lengthy blurb about the programme includes the wonderful line: "Clare Balding searches for the greater horseshoe bat." Hopefully she finds the bat and is not exhausted from her presentation of Olympic Countdown at 1.00pm on BBC2 which includes beach Volleyball - from Horse Guards Parade!?!?
BBC2 10.25pm Match of the Day 2
Bolton Wanderers v Manchester City. Colin Murray presents highlights of today's only Premier League match at the Reebok Stadium.
I really would be astounded if there was a second Premier League match on the same day at the same venue!
ITV1 1.40pm You've Been Framed!
A boy falls through floorboards (R)
That's entertainment for you!
Channel 5 4.40pm The Karate Kid Part III
Adventure sequel, starring Ralph Macchio.
Why do I need to be told this is a 'sequel'?
Channel 5 7.55pm 10,000 BC
Fantasy, starring Steven Strait.
There's me thinking this was a documentary with real footage!
Channel 5 10.00pm Celebrity Big Brother
The ups and downs of life in the BB house as friendships and alliances are made, battle lines are drawn and arguments erupt over the slightest little things.
So, in other words, petty goings-on in a house, with "celebrities" making "contributions" that in no way pass for anything resembling entertainment.
...
BBC1 12.05pm Cash in the Attic
Raising money for a state-of-the-art pram (R)
Wonderful entertainment, I'm sure, for those who have recently undergone a lobotomy. I cannot believe that someone at the BBC thinks it's worth 45 minutes of our time to see some twats selling shit found in their attic/bedrooms/drawers/under the stairs, just to buy a fucking pram! Dire - repeated, even!
BBC1 3.15pm Escape to the Country
City-dwellers search for a country retreat in Somerset (R)
The clue is in the title, so it's no real surprise that it is city-dwellers who are moving to the country!
BBC1 4.15pm The Great British Weather
Highlights of the meteorology series.
So, we are now reduced to going a bit further than always talking about the weather, and a bit further than having a series of programmes devoted to the weather. Now, it's necessary to repeat it via a "highlights" programme! Incredible.
BBC1 5.15pm Lifeline
Olly Murs makes an appeal on behalf of Brainwave.
This should read: "BBC1 5.15pm Olly Murs has a brainwave and appeals to the BBC to throw him a lifeline".
BBC1 5.25pm Songs of Praise
Sally Magnusson asks what the future holds for Fife and introduces hymns from Dunfermline Abbey.
I can understand the hymns bit, considering the programme's called Songs of Praise, but as for the future of Fife, I am stumped.
BBC1 8.00pm Countryfile
The lengthy blurb about the programme includes the wonderful line: "Clare Balding searches for the greater horseshoe bat." Hopefully she finds the bat and is not exhausted from her presentation of Olympic Countdown at 1.00pm on BBC2 which includes beach Volleyball - from Horse Guards Parade!?!?
BBC2 10.25pm Match of the Day 2
Bolton Wanderers v Manchester City. Colin Murray presents highlights of today's only Premier League match at the Reebok Stadium.
I really would be astounded if there was a second Premier League match on the same day at the same venue!
ITV1 1.40pm You've Been Framed!
A boy falls through floorboards (R)
That's entertainment for you!
Channel 5 4.40pm The Karate Kid Part III
Adventure sequel, starring Ralph Macchio.
Why do I need to be told this is a 'sequel'?
Channel 5 7.55pm 10,000 BC
Fantasy, starring Steven Strait.
There's me thinking this was a documentary with real footage!
Channel 5 10.00pm Celebrity Big Brother
The ups and downs of life in the BB house as friendships and alliances are made, battle lines are drawn and arguments erupt over the slightest little things.
So, in other words, petty goings-on in a house, with "celebrities" making "contributions" that in no way pass for anything resembling entertainment.
...
Saturday 20 August 2011
20.8.11 United States of Europe
How utterly ridiculous is the position in which the UK finds itself. In Europe, but not in the Euro-zone. An island, but with leaking borders and inadequate control. A signatory to European treaties and thus committed to compliance with all sorts of rules and agendas, yet somehow trying to claim sovereignty and resistance to a United States of Europe. A permanent member of the Security Council, but nowhere to be found when France and Germany decide on European economic policy and tactics. The home of the most important language in the world, but useless as a voice in a world that sees the UK as having a dwindling influence. A country keen on taxing the hell out of its inhabitants, while giving away many millions in pointless ventures and schemes - only to be saddled with further bills in the billions because Labour fucked the UK to within an inch of its metaphoric life.
The UK is poised to be picked on forever. There will be a never-ending swarm of people desperate to enter the country, both as legal migrants, as asylum seekers and as illegal migrants. The 'open border' for an ever-expanding Europe means hundreds of thousands will arrive in the UK expecting something. They will keep coming, and will stretch the UK's resources until they break. We will struggle to provide housing, health care, schooling, translation facilities, employment, law and order, food and welfare. There will be insufficient prison space and ghettos across the country. Resentments will be left to build/fester, and for a significant proportion of the country's population, politics having any meaning will be a rarity. The indigenous population will resent the ongoing decline in just about everything measurable. Breaking the cycle will prove impossible, as the obligations of European membership will serve to prevent any steps towards self preservation.
On the continent, European "partners" will manage to make progress slowly but surely, with Germany and France monopolising the rule-making. Finances will be steered so that the Euro-zone will become quite simply a Federal entity. Under what will end up being a United States of Europe, the variations will be beaten out of the system, just as a club can break bone. Europe will be forced to submit to a fate where most components adopt anonymity; for the greater good, and necessary success of the system, all countries will submit and forego claims for individual freedoms and variations. So, "partners" will indeed be the right phrase, as the interdependency will be total.
By not being in the Euro, what lies ahead for the UK. Escape from Federalism? Yes, but a change is required. Just as the sensible Scandinavian's have set up their own positions in the world, the UK needs a similar approach. For the UK, survival will necessarily require a departure from Europe. We would be better off to sit just to one side, almost as part of Scandinavia! The current level of entanglement is a disaster. Economically, it's a farce. Constitutionally, it's impossibly stupid. Politically, it is doomed. The answer is simple.
It is time that the UK exited Europe.
...
The UK is poised to be picked on forever. There will be a never-ending swarm of people desperate to enter the country, both as legal migrants, as asylum seekers and as illegal migrants. The 'open border' for an ever-expanding Europe means hundreds of thousands will arrive in the UK expecting something. They will keep coming, and will stretch the UK's resources until they break. We will struggle to provide housing, health care, schooling, translation facilities, employment, law and order, food and welfare. There will be insufficient prison space and ghettos across the country. Resentments will be left to build/fester, and for a significant proportion of the country's population, politics having any meaning will be a rarity. The indigenous population will resent the ongoing decline in just about everything measurable. Breaking the cycle will prove impossible, as the obligations of European membership will serve to prevent any steps towards self preservation.
On the continent, European "partners" will manage to make progress slowly but surely, with Germany and France monopolising the rule-making. Finances will be steered so that the Euro-zone will become quite simply a Federal entity. Under what will end up being a United States of Europe, the variations will be beaten out of the system, just as a club can break bone. Europe will be forced to submit to a fate where most components adopt anonymity; for the greater good, and necessary success of the system, all countries will submit and forego claims for individual freedoms and variations. So, "partners" will indeed be the right phrase, as the interdependency will be total.
By not being in the Euro, what lies ahead for the UK. Escape from Federalism? Yes, but a change is required. Just as the sensible Scandinavian's have set up their own positions in the world, the UK needs a similar approach. For the UK, survival will necessarily require a departure from Europe. We would be better off to sit just to one side, almost as part of Scandinavia! The current level of entanglement is a disaster. Economically, it's a farce. Constitutionally, it's impossibly stupid. Politically, it is doomed. The answer is simple.
It is time that the UK exited Europe.
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20.8.11 Moors Murderer
Apparently Ian Brady was 'won' £8,000 of taxpayers money, so he can fight his legal battle to be able to starve himself to death! What is it with this country? We spend £2.1billion per year funding the legal aid system, and the government is trying desperately to reduce that bill by excluding certain cases from the qualification criteria. Then, there's a golden opportunity presented to save the taxpayer a fortune by allowing a murderer to have his wish. But no, instead of saving about £50,000 per year on keeping Brady a prisoner, we refuse to let him have his wish to die. Then, he manages to get legal aid of £8,000 to try and win a case that will save the taxpayer so much more per year. This is all screwed up. Let him die.
...
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20.8.11 Mary, Mungo & Midge
Harriet Harman
Ken Livingstone
David Miliband
All three are pointless, useless and annoying. I would much rather be entertained by Mary, Mungo & Midge than suffer the views of these three nobs.
By the way, the various cuts in spending at local government level, and the 'austerity measures' in general, are of course an issue for some more than others. However, there is as yet no scientifically proven link between the recent cuts and the human action/desperate need to steal a TV or a toaster. So, until there is evidence that those involved in recent looting and riots had no choice in the matter, the waste-of-space political figures should stop trying to score points and stop excusing illegal activities.
...
Ken Livingstone
David Miliband
All three are pointless, useless and annoying. I would much rather be entertained by Mary, Mungo & Midge than suffer the views of these three nobs.
By the way, the various cuts in spending at local government level, and the 'austerity measures' in general, are of course an issue for some more than others. However, there is as yet no scientifically proven link between the recent cuts and the human action/desperate need to steal a TV or a toaster. So, until there is evidence that those involved in recent looting and riots had no choice in the matter, the waste-of-space political figures should stop trying to score points and stop excusing illegal activities.
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20.8.11 Madame Tussauds
Free speech is a vitally important concept, and in general, I am against anything that endorses the "nanny state" approach. Institutions and companies have an obligation to be as open-minded as possible in most areas. However, the recent comments and approach adopted by Madame Tussauds with one of its exhibits does seem to display (no pun intended) a lack of awareness and common sense.
A wax statue of Adolf Hitler is on display in such a position that it allows tourists access to it. In the paper today is a picture of two people standing next to the figure, giving a 'Heil Hitler' salute. I think it's a step too far, as unsurprisingly there are high visitor numbers and every chance that offence will be caused. Let's face it, if yobs in the street give such salutes to the police in certain circumstances, they would be done for either anti-social behaviour or incitement or disturbance of the peace (a low-level equivalent of some of the things Hitler was guilty of!) and their actions would not be defended by anyone. However, inside a visitor attraction, apparently it's all okay, according to the management at Madame Tussauds:
"We proactively encourage our visitors to interact with the waxworks should they so choose."
I suggest that a misjudgement has been made here. A simple repositioning of the figure would remove the chance of tourists posing for pictures while giving the 'Heil Hitler' salute. I do not go as far as those claiming the figure has no place in the exhibition - that is too much censorship of course. Recognition of people past and present is one thing; inviting unnecessary grief is silly, when an attraction in London is bound to mean an international mix of cultures and histories for those paying the entrance fee.
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A wax statue of Adolf Hitler is on display in such a position that it allows tourists access to it. In the paper today is a picture of two people standing next to the figure, giving a 'Heil Hitler' salute. I think it's a step too far, as unsurprisingly there are high visitor numbers and every chance that offence will be caused. Let's face it, if yobs in the street give such salutes to the police in certain circumstances, they would be done for either anti-social behaviour or incitement or disturbance of the peace (a low-level equivalent of some of the things Hitler was guilty of!) and their actions would not be defended by anyone. However, inside a visitor attraction, apparently it's all okay, according to the management at Madame Tussauds:
"We proactively encourage our visitors to interact with the waxworks should they so choose."
I suggest that a misjudgement has been made here. A simple repositioning of the figure would remove the chance of tourists posing for pictures while giving the 'Heil Hitler' salute. I do not go as far as those claiming the figure has no place in the exhibition - that is too much censorship of course. Recognition of people past and present is one thing; inviting unnecessary grief is silly, when an attraction in London is bound to mean an international mix of cultures and histories for those paying the entrance fee.
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Thursday 18 August 2011
18.8.11 Chief Cuntstable
Apparently many of the rioters have "tragic" lives, according to a Chief Constable. He has added:
"We need to show some compassion and be pragmatic about how we deal with these people."
Twat. Having a life which is allegedly (and subjectively) "tragic" is in no way an excuse for rioting and looting. Every single person in the riots knew full well that it was illegal to incite, commit acts of violence or vandalism, and to loot. How the fuck, then, does the top policeman in a constabulary come out with such a fuck-wit comment about those who have destroyed law and order on the streets that his officers were supposed to be protecting? Soft-centred, useless creature who surely demonstrates his inability to carry out his job in line with the expectations of the public.
On a tangential note, it seems that there's an outcry from some lefties and useless fuckers, to bemoan the plight of some whose sentences seem a bit harsh. I say quite simply: if you loot and/or riot, you are in no position to whinge. To those who protest on behalf of the guilty, get a fuckin' life that's got a dollop of something worthwhile in it, and leave the crooks to look after themselves. Finally, it's not the sentences for recently caught vandals, looters and rioters that are harsh - it's all the other sentences that are soft. So, a looter gets 18 months. Why does a shoplifter not get the same, or something approaching that? THAT is the real problem; we are too soft for 50 weeks of the year, and now are accused of over-reacting for the "riot fortnight". Bollocks.
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"We need to show some compassion and be pragmatic about how we deal with these people."
Twat. Having a life which is allegedly (and subjectively) "tragic" is in no way an excuse for rioting and looting. Every single person in the riots knew full well that it was illegal to incite, commit acts of violence or vandalism, and to loot. How the fuck, then, does the top policeman in a constabulary come out with such a fuck-wit comment about those who have destroyed law and order on the streets that his officers were supposed to be protecting? Soft-centred, useless creature who surely demonstrates his inability to carry out his job in line with the expectations of the public.
On a tangential note, it seems that there's an outcry from some lefties and useless fuckers, to bemoan the plight of some whose sentences seem a bit harsh. I say quite simply: if you loot and/or riot, you are in no position to whinge. To those who protest on behalf of the guilty, get a fuckin' life that's got a dollop of something worthwhile in it, and leave the crooks to look after themselves. Finally, it's not the sentences for recently caught vandals, looters and rioters that are harsh - it's all the other sentences that are soft. So, a looter gets 18 months. Why does a shoplifter not get the same, or something approaching that? THAT is the real problem; we are too soft for 50 weeks of the year, and now are accused of over-reacting for the "riot fortnight". Bollocks.
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18.8.11 Squanderer
How unbelievable; how stupid; how appalling. The winner of £9.7million on the lottery in 2002 is now broke, and living on benefits.
. . . . . .
I have started a new paragraph, hoping that I left you enough time for the information to sink in. He has spent nearly ten million pounds! Recently he attempted to take his own life. So, now that he has disposed of the money, blowing it on parties, cars, drugs and prostitutes, it is the tax payers of the UK who are helping him out through his benefits.
Disgusting. What a useless individual.
...
. . . . . .
I have started a new paragraph, hoping that I left you enough time for the information to sink in. He has spent nearly ten million pounds! Recently he attempted to take his own life. So, now that he has disposed of the money, blowing it on parties, cars, drugs and prostitutes, it is the tax payers of the UK who are helping him out through his benefits.
Disgusting. What a useless individual.
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Wednesday 17 August 2011
17.8.11 Soya, Coco, Ritzy & Tarot
What the hell has the world come to when a dysfunctional family has names to match! The boy is named after a pack of cards, and the three girls were following a 'foodstuffs' pattern until Ritzy messed things up. What would another girl bring, by way of a name? Maize, Corn-on-the-Cob, Falafel? Let me tell you a bit more about this collection of kids and the 'family'.
The mother is now past child-bearing opportunities, at 48 (unless some twat of a doctor, the local health authority and the Human Rights legislation can all combine to allow her a set of Quads on us). But meet her 15-year-old daughter, Soya, who is a great substitute [pun intended] and pleased as punch to be pregnant. The mother, 'jobless' Janet (you didn't think for a minute she'd be working did you?) is delighted with the news because the council will now have to give her a bigger house. Useless cunt.
What with Jake (Soya's boyfriend who's a responsible 17) staying over and one of her sister's babies in the building as well, there are 7 oxygen drainers in the council house. Jobless Janet has come out with some wonderful comments:
"Once the new baby comes the council will have to find us a place with four or five bedrooms."
"I'm sure she'll make a wonderful mum and will teach her children discipline like I have."
"When she was 12 or 13, she went to an under 18s disco and told me about a contest they had to see who could kiss the most boys. I didn't see the harm in it. After all, it was only kissing."
"I know people might think I'm laying down the law after the horse has bolted but Soya won't be sharing a bed with Jake under my roof until she's turned 16 in January."
I have no idea which of the above statements is the most outrageous. JJ seems well able to demonstrate complete contradictions in her actions, thoughts and moral code. In essence, she's fucked up, her kids are fucked up, and the next generation is fucked before it's blown out a fuckin' candle. Still, luckily the expense of all this doesn't fall on these halfwits; no, it's the good old tax payer that feeds them, houses them, and fuels the lunacy that means there are hundreds, thousands even, of families just as messed up as this one.
R.I.P. the UK
...
The mother is now past child-bearing opportunities, at 48 (unless some twat of a doctor, the local health authority and the Human Rights legislation can all combine to allow her a set of Quads on us). But meet her 15-year-old daughter, Soya, who is a great substitute [pun intended] and pleased as punch to be pregnant. The mother, 'jobless' Janet (you didn't think for a minute she'd be working did you?) is delighted with the news because the council will now have to give her a bigger house. Useless cunt.
What with Jake (Soya's boyfriend who's a responsible 17) staying over and one of her sister's babies in the building as well, there are 7 oxygen drainers in the council house. Jobless Janet has come out with some wonderful comments:
"Once the new baby comes the council will have to find us a place with four or five bedrooms."
"I'm sure she'll make a wonderful mum and will teach her children discipline like I have."
"When she was 12 or 13, she went to an under 18s disco and told me about a contest they had to see who could kiss the most boys. I didn't see the harm in it. After all, it was only kissing."
"I know people might think I'm laying down the law after the horse has bolted but Soya won't be sharing a bed with Jake under my roof until she's turned 16 in January."
I have no idea which of the above statements is the most outrageous. JJ seems well able to demonstrate complete contradictions in her actions, thoughts and moral code. In essence, she's fucked up, her kids are fucked up, and the next generation is fucked before it's blown out a fuckin' candle. Still, luckily the expense of all this doesn't fall on these halfwits; no, it's the good old tax payer that feeds them, houses them, and fuels the lunacy that means there are hundreds, thousands even, of families just as messed up as this one.
R.I.P. the UK
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Tuesday 16 August 2011
16.8.11 Message to Cameron
Britain is not 'broken' - it's completely fucked. Please stop repeating the mantra about fixing things, and waffling on about how we need to get tough. Fuckin' sort it, why don't you!
I am quite sure that under TMWSC, this country would be a better place. It's not about race, it's not about earnings, it's not about the exchange rate or any of the banking shit. It's actually very simple: make the system right, and fair.
Cunts sponging off the state thinking that the world (or the council) owes them a living (or a house) is so blatantly wrong. Shoot fuckers who riot and loot. Make scroungers work for their 'benefits'. Get rid of the twats who use the Human Rights legislation to fuck the system and squeeze ludicrous amounts of money out of the state. Stop fannying around, and get fuckin' tough, and stop promising shit you won't deliver!
Let's get some control, and proper guidance in what is a complete shambles. Labour is a waste of space, the Liberals don't count at all, so what's stopping you from sorting things out properly? Don't be a wanker - just get it sorted.
...
I am quite sure that under TMWSC, this country would be a better place. It's not about race, it's not about earnings, it's not about the exchange rate or any of the banking shit. It's actually very simple: make the system right, and fair.
Cunts sponging off the state thinking that the world (or the council) owes them a living (or a house) is so blatantly wrong. Shoot fuckers who riot and loot. Make scroungers work for their 'benefits'. Get rid of the twats who use the Human Rights legislation to fuck the system and squeeze ludicrous amounts of money out of the state. Stop fannying around, and get fuckin' tough, and stop promising shit you won't deliver!
Let's get some control, and proper guidance in what is a complete shambles. Labour is a waste of space, the Liberals don't count at all, so what's stopping you from sorting things out properly? Don't be a wanker - just get it sorted.
...
16.8.11 July Quotes of the Month
1st Place - "If you get good Scottish water, it tastes of twigs and leaves." (Lee)
2nd Place - "There will be clear skies, certainly down the central spine of the country." (ITV Weather)
3rd Place - "There will be frequent showers, some of them on the perky side." (BBC Weather)
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2nd Place - "There will be clear skies, certainly down the central spine of the country." (ITV Weather)
3rd Place - "There will be frequent showers, some of them on the perky side." (BBC Weather)
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16.8.11 London Riot Quotes
Unbelievable! Are you ready for this one?
The brother of a teenager who allegedly looted a mobile phone shop while on bail over a gang murder insisted yesterday: "He's a good boy."
Next, the dozy mother who shouted out in court.
A fifteen-year-old boy admitted looting clothes store Zee & Co in Bethnal Green, three times in a few hours. The store lost stock worth £673,000! His mum insisted he had not been at the riots - but was given a dressing down by a judge. The mother interrupted the case at court, to insist: "He was in bed, he was in bed." The judge replied: "Clearly he wasn't because he has pleaded guilty to two offences." Stupid fucking mother!
There will no doubt be many more mind-numbing examples of life at a pathetic level. I will be sure to relay them, if they're worth the typing.
...
The brother of a teenager who allegedly looted a mobile phone shop while on bail over a gang murder insisted yesterday: "He's a good boy."
Next, the dozy mother who shouted out in court.
A fifteen-year-old boy admitted looting clothes store Zee & Co in Bethnal Green, three times in a few hours. The store lost stock worth £673,000! His mum insisted he had not been at the riots - but was given a dressing down by a judge. The mother interrupted the case at court, to insist: "He was in bed, he was in bed." The judge replied: "Clearly he wasn't because he has pleaded guilty to two offences." Stupid fucking mother!
There will no doubt be many more mind-numbing examples of life at a pathetic level. I will be sure to relay them, if they're worth the typing.
...
16.8.11 Drunken Disaster
It would seem the 'expert opinion' of Dawn Marsden is that she should be dead. This is not a wish, or an aspiration on their part. No, the 'experts' came to this conclusion based on her amazing intake of alcohol. Her consumption of 28 pints of lager every day must be some sort of record, surely? Needless to say, when she appeared in court she was wrecked - to the point of having to ask reporters what sentence she'd just been given. The answer, most stupidly, inappropriately and pointlessly was a six-month conditional discharge.
The habitual thief, from Hartlepool, is a mother (although her two-year-old daughter was taken into foster care because of the boozing, unsurprisingly) and she is, surprise, surprise, unemployed. Let's face it, there can't be too many jobs out there where it's okay to consume 84 units per 24 hours! That's the recommended safe amount for a woman for a month!
Her latest court appearance resulted from her stealing ten packs of bacon from the Co-op. Now, far be it from me to condone any theft, but I'm pretty sure the Co-op itself could have been in the dock, as the price that the Co-op charges for most items could accurately be described as "daylight robbery". The funniest line in this saga, though, was her solicitor's comments to the magistrates:
"You may have noticed my client has a drink problem. She has a long-standing appetite for alcohol."
No shit, Sherlock! An appetite for alcohol? How frightfully debilitating. However, debilitating is hardly the right word, in light of the comments made by her addiction counsellor:
"She should be dead. The reason she isn't is that she has trained her body by drinking every day. She is the equivalent of an Olympic athlete when it comes to drinking."
Some fucking counsellor; he's comparing her to an athlete - and probably petitioning for drinking to be included as a sport in 2012. "She has trained her body" suggests he's impressed with her dedication - stupid arse.
So Britain's drunkest woman has had her child taken away, has a string of convictions for stealing to fund her ludicrous intake of alcohol, spends her life sozzled, and gets let off with a conditional discharge; what was the condition? That she doesn't bother with a nightcap? Apparently, though, she has confirmed that next month she's "going on a detox". I think a complete blood transfusion, and liver transplant might be the only answer.
...
The habitual thief, from Hartlepool, is a mother (although her two-year-old daughter was taken into foster care because of the boozing, unsurprisingly) and she is, surprise, surprise, unemployed. Let's face it, there can't be too many jobs out there where it's okay to consume 84 units per 24 hours! That's the recommended safe amount for a woman for a month!
Her latest court appearance resulted from her stealing ten packs of bacon from the Co-op. Now, far be it from me to condone any theft, but I'm pretty sure the Co-op itself could have been in the dock, as the price that the Co-op charges for most items could accurately be described as "daylight robbery". The funniest line in this saga, though, was her solicitor's comments to the magistrates:
"You may have noticed my client has a drink problem. She has a long-standing appetite for alcohol."
No shit, Sherlock! An appetite for alcohol? How frightfully debilitating. However, debilitating is hardly the right word, in light of the comments made by her addiction counsellor:
"She should be dead. The reason she isn't is that she has trained her body by drinking every day. She is the equivalent of an Olympic athlete when it comes to drinking."
Some fucking counsellor; he's comparing her to an athlete - and probably petitioning for drinking to be included as a sport in 2012. "She has trained her body" suggests he's impressed with her dedication - stupid arse.
So Britain's drunkest woman has had her child taken away, has a string of convictions for stealing to fund her ludicrous intake of alcohol, spends her life sozzled, and gets let off with a conditional discharge; what was the condition? That she doesn't bother with a nightcap? Apparently, though, she has confirmed that next month she's "going on a detox". I think a complete blood transfusion, and liver transplant might be the only answer.
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Sunday 14 August 2011
14.8.11 Riot Parents
This week, a mother shopped her daughter to the police because while watching the riots on TV, the daughter appeared, to the mum's horror. Fair play to the mother, who was quite rightly disgusted and appalled at the actions of her daughter. This is an example of a parent doing the right thing.
Contrast this with the reactions of other parents. An 11-year-old girl joined thugs in stoning shop windows. She had travelled 16 miles from her home to join in with the mayhem in Nottingham. Magistrates gave her a nine-month referral order. So, the sentence was "behave yourself for 9 months". Outside the court she pulled her hood tight to hide her face, while her father hurled abuse at photographers. I rather suspect that the father is a bigger twat and waste of space than his delinquent daughter.
Over in Manchester, a boy of 12, who'd looted a bottle of wine from Sainsbury's, was in a Youth Court, admitting "I did the wrong thing". So, after some idiocy, he at least recognised the error of his ways. However, outside the court his mum screamed at photographers, "Watch your fucking face!" as she ran off. The boy got his nine-month referral order, while his responsible and articulate mother proved herself to be a useless, horrible shit.
It seems to me that these kids are woefully short of guidance from parents, and are likely to progress towards committing other crimes in future years unless they recognise the errors of their ways, and make an effort to become useful members of society. That will be hard when their parents set such low standards, which the whole family then fails to meet. The parents, of course, are probably lost causes; they need some sort of nine-month order themselves, whereby they get a sense of control, responsibility and discipline instilled, and take a step forward in being of some use to society. That way, they are worth the oxygen they use.
...
Contrast this with the reactions of other parents. An 11-year-old girl joined thugs in stoning shop windows. She had travelled 16 miles from her home to join in with the mayhem in Nottingham. Magistrates gave her a nine-month referral order. So, the sentence was "behave yourself for 9 months". Outside the court she pulled her hood tight to hide her face, while her father hurled abuse at photographers. I rather suspect that the father is a bigger twat and waste of space than his delinquent daughter.
Over in Manchester, a boy of 12, who'd looted a bottle of wine from Sainsbury's, was in a Youth Court, admitting "I did the wrong thing". So, after some idiocy, he at least recognised the error of his ways. However, outside the court his mum screamed at photographers, "Watch your fucking face!" as she ran off. The boy got his nine-month referral order, while his responsible and articulate mother proved herself to be a useless, horrible shit.
It seems to me that these kids are woefully short of guidance from parents, and are likely to progress towards committing other crimes in future years unless they recognise the errors of their ways, and make an effort to become useful members of society. That will be hard when their parents set such low standards, which the whole family then fails to meet. The parents, of course, are probably lost causes; they need some sort of nine-month order themselves, whereby they get a sense of control, responsibility and discipline instilled, and take a step forward in being of some use to society. That way, they are worth the oxygen they use.
...
Saturday 13 August 2011
13.8.11 Rita
Rita was stationed at the first of the two 'kiosk' tills, the other being devoid of human presence [actually, so was the first, if I'm being unkind]. I was in the queue holding a newspaper, waiting for attention at this till, while the only other till in operation was a general one, which had no one waiting to be served. As I wanted a lottery ticket, I had no choice but to queue.
Rita was attending slowly to an elderly woman who was even slower - slower at everything. I silently groaned at the pointlessness of the Co-op approach to efficiency, and watched the operator at the conveyor to my left doing nothing. She then piped up:
"Come round to this till if you don't want Paypoint or Lottery."
It was said on autopilot with a monotone, quite loudly, while she stared straight ahead. With her sitting sideways on, that meant she was literally looking away from everyone and announcing to the fresh air in front of her, her willingness to do something to reduce the queue at the kiosk. No one moved an inch. I thought at the time that she'd have been more helpful if she'd come round to the kiosk to the spare till, and worked from that one!
I waited, three back from the 70-year-old snail, and noted that two people had joined the queue behind me.
"Come round to this till if you don't want Paypoint or Lottery."
I had not gone back in time. No, the sitting (sideways on) worker had decided to confirm that she suffered from Tourette's Syndrome with another outburst. No one moved (except the snail at the front of the queue, who curled a few fingers around two carrier bags). Tourette's Woman then turned to look at the queue, and asked loudly, "Do you all want Paypoint or Lottery?" I considered my options for responding:
a) A simple "Yes, I am queuing for a lottery ticket, thank you"
b) Complete ignorance on my part, maintaining forward vision
c) An offensive but honest "If I'd any fucking choice in the matter, I'd clearly have put my newspaper on your belt and paid for it after your first fucking outburst"
d) A kind rejection of "Oh, thanks for enquiring, which is so fortunate as I missed the content of your 95 decibel outbursts a few seconds ago; I do in fact need a lottery ticket for tonight."
e) An incredulous "Yes, you thick cunt, or I'd have left the queue already!"
f) A determined non-reaction, save the most subtle nod, along the lines of a Roger Moore eyebrow movement.
g) Answering her question with a question - "Yes, so maybe you could get off your arse and come to the kiosk to serve, rather than asking twattish questions."
I opted for "f" as my response, and made no eye contact with her. Instead, I shuffled forward 18 inches, as the snail oozed away. The person in front of me was a young lady, who had half a dozen items in a basket, and as the last was being scanned by Rita, asked for 10 Superking cigarettes. The young woman had cash in her hand, and this was a welcome sight as the transaction would be completed soon.
"How old are you?" asked Rita.
"Twenty-six" said the twenty-six-year-old woman, who looked not a day under 23 and not a day over 28.
"Have you got ID?" Rita said, with a stern tone.
"No" said the woman, looking baffled.
Rita completed the transaction, and I took the young woman's place to be served next. Meanwhile, the 26-year-old escaped, clutching her contraband. Why on earth Rita was pestering a woman who was simply buying 10 fags when so clearly way, way over 18 was beyond me; and it was pointless, because the sale went ahead anyway. The woman had no ID and Rita had no fucking idea! This is the very same Rita who was on the till last night, as an 11-year-old girl put 8 cans of Carlsberg on the counter and was not challenged at all. Admittedly her dad was behind her in the queue, and added a few bottles, before paying for the drinks. Even so, the girl packed the stuff, and considering the kerfuffle at Morrisons [see my recent Grandma's Gin post], you'd have thought Rita might have felt obliged to say something on that occasion.
I wasn't asked for ID during my purchase of "Two lucky dips, please" [For tonight? Of course they're for tonight you twat, it's Saturday, and I have no expectation that you'd consider these to be needed for the night of the Full Moon in May 2013 (Saturday 25th, as everyone knows) but at least she didn't ask if I wanted to "Plus 5" them - hard when there were just three pound coins placed on the counter to cover 2 lucky dips and a newspaper]
"Come round to this till if you don't want Paypoint or Lottery"
I left the shop.
...
Rita was attending slowly to an elderly woman who was even slower - slower at everything. I silently groaned at the pointlessness of the Co-op approach to efficiency, and watched the operator at the conveyor to my left doing nothing. She then piped up:
"Come round to this till if you don't want Paypoint or Lottery."
It was said on autopilot with a monotone, quite loudly, while she stared straight ahead. With her sitting sideways on, that meant she was literally looking away from everyone and announcing to the fresh air in front of her, her willingness to do something to reduce the queue at the kiosk. No one moved an inch. I thought at the time that she'd have been more helpful if she'd come round to the kiosk to the spare till, and worked from that one!
I waited, three back from the 70-year-old snail, and noted that two people had joined the queue behind me.
"Come round to this till if you don't want Paypoint or Lottery."
I had not gone back in time. No, the sitting (sideways on) worker had decided to confirm that she suffered from Tourette's Syndrome with another outburst. No one moved (except the snail at the front of the queue, who curled a few fingers around two carrier bags). Tourette's Woman then turned to look at the queue, and asked loudly, "Do you all want Paypoint or Lottery?" I considered my options for responding:
a) A simple "Yes, I am queuing for a lottery ticket, thank you"
b) Complete ignorance on my part, maintaining forward vision
c) An offensive but honest "If I'd any fucking choice in the matter, I'd clearly have put my newspaper on your belt and paid for it after your first fucking outburst"
d) A kind rejection of "Oh, thanks for enquiring, which is so fortunate as I missed the content of your 95 decibel outbursts a few seconds ago; I do in fact need a lottery ticket for tonight."
e) An incredulous "Yes, you thick cunt, or I'd have left the queue already!"
f) A determined non-reaction, save the most subtle nod, along the lines of a Roger Moore eyebrow movement.
g) Answering her question with a question - "Yes, so maybe you could get off your arse and come to the kiosk to serve, rather than asking twattish questions."
I opted for "f" as my response, and made no eye contact with her. Instead, I shuffled forward 18 inches, as the snail oozed away. The person in front of me was a young lady, who had half a dozen items in a basket, and as the last was being scanned by Rita, asked for 10 Superking cigarettes. The young woman had cash in her hand, and this was a welcome sight as the transaction would be completed soon.
"How old are you?" asked Rita.
"Twenty-six" said the twenty-six-year-old woman, who looked not a day under 23 and not a day over 28.
"Have you got ID?" Rita said, with a stern tone.
"No" said the woman, looking baffled.
Rita completed the transaction, and I took the young woman's place to be served next. Meanwhile, the 26-year-old escaped, clutching her contraband. Why on earth Rita was pestering a woman who was simply buying 10 fags when so clearly way, way over 18 was beyond me; and it was pointless, because the sale went ahead anyway. The woman had no ID and Rita had no fucking idea! This is the very same Rita who was on the till last night, as an 11-year-old girl put 8 cans of Carlsberg on the counter and was not challenged at all. Admittedly her dad was behind her in the queue, and added a few bottles, before paying for the drinks. Even so, the girl packed the stuff, and considering the kerfuffle at Morrisons [see my recent Grandma's Gin post], you'd have thought Rita might have felt obliged to say something on that occasion.
I wasn't asked for ID during my purchase of "Two lucky dips, please" [For tonight? Of course they're for tonight you twat, it's Saturday, and I have no expectation that you'd consider these to be needed for the night of the Full Moon in May 2013 (Saturday 25th, as everyone knows) but at least she didn't ask if I wanted to "Plus 5" them - hard when there were just three pound coins placed on the counter to cover 2 lucky dips and a newspaper]
"Come round to this till if you don't want Paypoint or Lottery"
I left the shop.
...
13.8.11 Price Watch
Own-brand Blackcurrant High Juice
Asda £1.25
Sainsbury's £1.39
Co-operative £2.35
So, the Co-op is only 88% more expensive than Asda.
...
Asda £1.25
Sainsbury's £1.39
Co-operative £2.35
So, the Co-op is only 88% more expensive than Asda.
...
Friday 12 August 2011
12.8.11 Junk Mail
For some considerable time, I have adopted a "resend" approach. This means that uninvited correspondence does not make its way to my bin, but goes back out into the big wide world for a postman to return the favour to the sender of shit.
The recent arrival of a begging letter from Friends of the Earth led to a swift turnaround on my part, and as you'll see from the above image, I was less than impressed with the marketing people who decided to make a statement that riled me. How dare they! I was able to muster some sarcasm and wit with my annotation, before the offending article found itself back in a postbox.
This week, I was handed my post one day by the postman. I signed for some train tickets, after which he handed me a couple of letters. One of them was in fact pure junk mail. I am quite sure you have seen (and received, even) a replica from Sun Life.
Michael Parkinson is not someone whose presence on an envelope would make me buy insurance. It is also a joke of an approach to ask the recipient if he/she is old aged! Michael can fuck off.
I am also getting to the end of my tether with Virgin Media. On a fortnightly basis, I get an envelope that is simply addressed to "The Occupier".
I yesterday took the liberty of helping out at 'the Palace' by suggesting the service, through a mail re-direction. You'll see from the photo above that I am keen to let the Queen consider the merits of Virgin Media, as I am devoid of any cuntin' interest.
My final comment on junk mail is in the form of a suggestion. Perhaps you might like to use the continual supply of prepaid envelopes arriving via junk mail, to return (at random) all mail to the sending parties, using the 'free' envelopes. Only by sending the communal junk back through the system to the senders (at their expense) will there ever be a change of tactics that could lead to the senders stopping the nuisance practice.
...
The recent arrival of a begging letter from Friends of the Earth led to a swift turnaround on my part, and as you'll see from the above image, I was less than impressed with the marketing people who decided to make a statement that riled me. How dare they! I was able to muster some sarcasm and wit with my annotation, before the offending article found itself back in a postbox.
This week, I was handed my post one day by the postman. I signed for some train tickets, after which he handed me a couple of letters. One of them was in fact pure junk mail. I am quite sure you have seen (and received, even) a replica from Sun Life.
Michael Parkinson is not someone whose presence on an envelope would make me buy insurance. It is also a joke of an approach to ask the recipient if he/she is old aged! Michael can fuck off.
I am also getting to the end of my tether with Virgin Media. On a fortnightly basis, I get an envelope that is simply addressed to "The Occupier".
I yesterday took the liberty of helping out at 'the Palace' by suggesting the service, through a mail re-direction. You'll see from the photo above that I am keen to let the Queen consider the merits of Virgin Media, as I am devoid of any cuntin' interest.
My final comment on junk mail is in the form of a suggestion. Perhaps you might like to use the continual supply of prepaid envelopes arriving via junk mail, to return (at random) all mail to the sending parties, using the 'free' envelopes. Only by sending the communal junk back through the system to the senders (at their expense) will there ever be a change of tactics that could lead to the senders stopping the nuisance practice.
...
12.8.11 Rubbish Bins
"An Englishman's home is his castle" is a well used phrase of which we are all aware. "The council does fuck all to warrant being paid so much council tax" is a sentiment that is well acknowledged even if the phrase itself is perhaps less well known. The one thing it should do without fail, and is expected to do by every resident, is collect the fucking rubbish.
Now, most of us have had to stomach the decline in service created by the fortnightly collections of normal rubbish. Any interspersed collections of a few cuttings, banana leaves, cardboard or baked bean tins hardly makes up for the useless approach. It means we all have decomposing food in our bins for up to 14 days. Now it seems that a proportion of residents in some areas are suffering further, through their council's refusal (no pun intended) to collect at all. Instead, residents old and young are expected to take bags of rubbish to the tip (not necessarily very local) or leave the bags at designated places for foxes to browse before a collection the next morning. Worse than this affront, the fact that there's to be absolutely no reduction in the council tax bill!
This is a slippery slope. Just as the majority of universities are now charging the highest level of fees, more and more councils will adopt the "get what we can" approach, or more accurately, "get out of what we can" approach. Soon, we'll be seeing many more people who are upset at having to lug bags around. Collection points will become messy, and other members of the public will be responsible for the mysterious additions to the piles of rubbish that are dotted around the UK. No more need for fly tipping, as there will be specific spots for the offloading of household trash, and even fridges.
The excuse for this unacceptable approach is any one of the following:
the world economy, the credit crunch, bankers, the coalition, Brussels, the cost of fuel.
It seems a favourite tactic is to suggest that it is either stop the refuse collections in rural areas, or kill local children who have any special needs. Yes, the choices are apparently that stark, and presented so that there's only ever going to be one outcome. Let's be clear. There is no council in the country that has to stop collecting rubbish. No, there are simply some that are opting to hit the defenceless, and not reduce the council tax bill. Meanwhile, there are dozens of useless fuckers loafing around at council offices drawing a high salary and pension rights for doing 50% of very little, and turning up for three quarters of the year; for the rest of the year, they are "sick/stressed". It is of course not an option to kick a couple of these into touch, to save money!
Just a quick note on Spain and Portugal, where the authorities manage to empty bins daily, from communal bins. They are emptied and washed out each morning, and recycling is at a high level. On top of all this, the council tax is typically 10-20% of the UK rate.
Politicians talk shit, are ineffective and self-serving. Local councillors are no better, and are locally based so they're more able to see everything that's wrong in their communities and do nothing about it. Each week, some fucker rolls the dice to decide where to erect a sign, paint a mini-roundabout, or which library to threaten with closure. This is all done after 11am, because when they turn up for work at 9.25 to 'start the day', they first each take their phone off the hook, and chew on a doughnut while shopping online at ASDA.
It would not be right to end this post without reminding you, reader, that the UK is fucked.
...
Now, most of us have had to stomach the decline in service created by the fortnightly collections of normal rubbish. Any interspersed collections of a few cuttings, banana leaves, cardboard or baked bean tins hardly makes up for the useless approach. It means we all have decomposing food in our bins for up to 14 days. Now it seems that a proportion of residents in some areas are suffering further, through their council's refusal (no pun intended) to collect at all. Instead, residents old and young are expected to take bags of rubbish to the tip (not necessarily very local) or leave the bags at designated places for foxes to browse before a collection the next morning. Worse than this affront, the fact that there's to be absolutely no reduction in the council tax bill!
This is a slippery slope. Just as the majority of universities are now charging the highest level of fees, more and more councils will adopt the "get what we can" approach, or more accurately, "get out of what we can" approach. Soon, we'll be seeing many more people who are upset at having to lug bags around. Collection points will become messy, and other members of the public will be responsible for the mysterious additions to the piles of rubbish that are dotted around the UK. No more need for fly tipping, as there will be specific spots for the offloading of household trash, and even fridges.
The excuse for this unacceptable approach is any one of the following:
the world economy, the credit crunch, bankers, the coalition, Brussels, the cost of fuel.
It seems a favourite tactic is to suggest that it is either stop the refuse collections in rural areas, or kill local children who have any special needs. Yes, the choices are apparently that stark, and presented so that there's only ever going to be one outcome. Let's be clear. There is no council in the country that has to stop collecting rubbish. No, there are simply some that are opting to hit the defenceless, and not reduce the council tax bill. Meanwhile, there are dozens of useless fuckers loafing around at council offices drawing a high salary and pension rights for doing 50% of very little, and turning up for three quarters of the year; for the rest of the year, they are "sick/stressed". It is of course not an option to kick a couple of these into touch, to save money!
Just a quick note on Spain and Portugal, where the authorities manage to empty bins daily, from communal bins. They are emptied and washed out each morning, and recycling is at a high level. On top of all this, the council tax is typically 10-20% of the UK rate.
Politicians talk shit, are ineffective and self-serving. Local councillors are no better, and are locally based so they're more able to see everything that's wrong in their communities and do nothing about it. Each week, some fucker rolls the dice to decide where to erect a sign, paint a mini-roundabout, or which library to threaten with closure. This is all done after 11am, because when they turn up for work at 9.25 to 'start the day', they first each take their phone off the hook, and chew on a doughnut while shopping online at ASDA.
It would not be right to end this post without reminding you, reader, that the UK is fucked.
...
Thursday 11 August 2011
11.8.11 "Troubles"
I heard someone on the radio today referring to the riots as "troubles". What is it with that fucking word? It seems there's a need to tone down anything that's on the scale of Riot to War and re-classify it as a bit of 'trouble' I cannot see Frank Spencer! The real trouble of course, travesty actually, is that we also tone down our response as a nation to the issues.
Zero Tolerance is the only sensible approach.
...
Zero Tolerance is the only sensible approach.
...
11.8.11 Taste the Difference
At lunch time today I bought a sandwich at Sainsbury's.
Ham Hock & Extra Mature Cheddar Cheese, on Multiseed Farmhouse Batch Bread
£3 for a sandwich is not cheap, but from the description, you will probably agree that it does look fairly good. But - where in the fuckin' description does it say "smeared in cuntin' chutney"?
Exactly! Only when one looks at the tiny print on the bottom of the expensive packaging, after purchasing it and after starting to eat, does one realise there's a dollop of Ale & Onion Chutney contaminating the sandwich. Diabolical.
As I'm on the subject of food, I should also note the individuality of the Pork Farms pie that I bought from the same shop. It was not unique of course, but it was certainly individual. How do I know this? It said so on the wrapper. PORK FARMS Individual Pork Pie. Now, I only wanted the one pie, and picked up a pie that was on its own, and not in a multipack. After such effort to obtain a pork pie, I did not really need the patronising confirmation offered by the wrapper that stated how I'd come to acquire an individual pork pie. I did look at the others on the shelf, just to see if the pies that clustered in groups were labelled "One of a Set" or something similar. Nope - only the elite are individuals and all the others (the riff raff) are given no special descriptor.
...
Ham Hock & Extra Mature Cheddar Cheese, on Multiseed Farmhouse Batch Bread
£3 for a sandwich is not cheap, but from the description, you will probably agree that it does look fairly good. But - where in the fuckin' description does it say "smeared in cuntin' chutney"?
Exactly! Only when one looks at the tiny print on the bottom of the expensive packaging, after purchasing it and after starting to eat, does one realise there's a dollop of Ale & Onion Chutney contaminating the sandwich. Diabolical.
As I'm on the subject of food, I should also note the individuality of the Pork Farms pie that I bought from the same shop. It was not unique of course, but it was certainly individual. How do I know this? It said so on the wrapper. PORK FARMS Individual Pork Pie. Now, I only wanted the one pie, and picked up a pie that was on its own, and not in a multipack. After such effort to obtain a pork pie, I did not really need the patronising confirmation offered by the wrapper that stated how I'd come to acquire an individual pork pie. I did look at the others on the shelf, just to see if the pies that clustered in groups were labelled "One of a Set" or something similar. Nope - only the elite are individuals and all the others (the riff raff) are given no special descriptor.
...
Wednesday 10 August 2011
10.8.11 Computer Game Riots
Do you get the feeling that an awful lot of the twats/scum/cunts who are rioting are those who are in any other month of the year predisposed to violence, thieving, vandalism, mugging, fighting? So, there's a readiness to take advantage of any situation where they can be disruptive, commit crimes, and be mindless. These are all, in fact, the requirements and qualities associated with playing many of the computer games in circulation now. These shoot 'em up games are now being trumped by the opportunity for real life participation. It's now possible to act out fantasies and cause destruction and mayhem for real. There is no respect or fear of authority. I'd like to see the cunts struggle to find some health or respawn after they've been shot by a copper or an army sniper. Let's complete the realism, and ENFORCE some instant control and justice.
...
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10.8.11 Train Travel
Today I travelled by train. I rather wish I'd not, after some discomfort, and I will reconsider in future. Three trains took me to Livingston, but I needed two to get back, after being dropped off in Edinburgh. So, a fairly long day that should have (in theory) been relaxing, and should have allowed me to do some work. However, next time I think I will drive. Even though the effort of just over 400 miles in a car might seem excessive, I believe (for reasons I will explore below) there's justification in one person travelling by car rather than train.
The advantages of sitting in your own motor are numerous, and they are:
There's no need for a special "Quiet Zone". The train windows this morning were adorned with this label, which was not surprising because I'd pre-booked a seat and it happened to be in the Quiet Coach. When I took my position, I was pleasantly surprised to find a lot of legroom in the 'airline' seat, and considered that the journey was set to be good and relaxing. I turned my phone to silent and started to read the paper. I was more than happy to forego doing any work, other than to nip out of the carriage to make a couple of calls. However, I was soon challenged; a woman got on at Newcastle with her three kids. That in itself was not cause for concern, but the fact that they sat in the Quiet Zone and were anything but quiet was most definitely out of order. The annoying little shits (one in particular) were talking so loudly that despite their seats being at the other end of the carriage, I could hear every fucking question, observation and emission. I felt sympathy for those sitting much nearer. Why on earth does East Coast Trains not ban noisy kids from the Quiet Coach? Why does a mum take 3 kids on board a train and sit them in a Quiet Coach unless the shits are mute? Grrrrrrrrr. Of course, in my car I can set the noise level to whatever I want. There is no tribe of noisy fuckers planted in the vehicle to annoy me.
When I am in my car, I don't have to join in any games of musical chairs or watch others shuffling about between numbered seats. In my car, I am in seat number one - in fact, I am in the proverbial Driving Seat. This morning, at the non-noisy kid end of the quiet carriage, ( ie. next to me!) there was a mild mannered dispute regarding the occupancy of two seats that were apparently "Pre-booked", according to the chap who announced it three times, and belittled a little woman sitting behind me in his chair. Daddy Bear secured for his wife the empty (pre-booked) seat next to me, and Mrs Meekness sat without a word. This was after the trenchcoat-wearing tall woman got up and moved after Daddy Bear highlighted her presence as a non-conformance. So, I endured the shuffling, while a boring exchange took place between Little Woman and Daddy Bear, who actually decided he'd stand for the Newcastle to Edinburgh leg. I think once he was acknowledged as 'in the right', he was happy to be chivalrous. Now, if I were in my car, no one would have been in the seat next to me.
On the way back, I was tortured by the painful one-sided conversation offered to me by the bloke behind, who was too loud on his mobile phone. The window seemed to reflect his rambling shit towards my ears, and I learned everything I never wanted to know during his conversations with his Gran and a girl he knows in Hull. Granny wanted to know the inside of a duck's arse, and he relayed all details about his few days in Edinburgh. Costs of everything, quality of the food, details of his schedule, and all about his new job. It was oh so fucking excruciating. Then, the female in Hull was his target. Johnny is apparently a nutter who has mistreated her, but has slagged her off to all his friends, and he's well out of order. This was not so much 'The Only Way Is Essex', but 'I Feel I've Been To Hull and Back'. The mobile user was a dick, and his delivery of the blurb was as far from entertainment as Cannon & Ball in Panto. The weirdest line was, "For some reason I imagine that you've got a kitten". She hasn't got one, never has had one, and doesn't want one. I suspected he wanted to see her pussy. He was arriving in Hull at around 7pm, and was going to pop round to see her new flat. Twat.
Upon arrival, in my car, I could have left my belongings on board without the threat of them being taken away and blown up by the police. I could have exited my car without fear for my life; it's unlikely that my foot could possibly disappear down a fucking great gap between the door sill and the pavement. If I were driving my car home, I'd not have been sprayed with Diet Coke as there would have been no one next to me opening a 500ml bottle. Nor would I have had to smell Cheese and Onion crisps, or listen to a Grab Bag's worth of them being consumed at 300mph by the gangly 19-year-old.
No, in my car I would have had full control of the environment. I could have opened a window (unlike on the train) and I could have avoided shit input from other travellers. The seat would have been more comfortable than that on the last leg of my train journey, which involved me sitting on a seat with less padding than a squashed Fig Roll.
The madness is that usually, cars make financial sense when two or more are travelling, and for a single person, the train is usually cheaper. However, I would have used ten gallons of petrol, so £60 worth. But my train fare was £72 and I had to get a lift and a taxi (£5) at the other end. So all in all I really should have travelled by car.
...
The advantages of sitting in your own motor are numerous, and they are:
There's no need for a special "Quiet Zone". The train windows this morning were adorned with this label, which was not surprising because I'd pre-booked a seat and it happened to be in the Quiet Coach. When I took my position, I was pleasantly surprised to find a lot of legroom in the 'airline' seat, and considered that the journey was set to be good and relaxing. I turned my phone to silent and started to read the paper. I was more than happy to forego doing any work, other than to nip out of the carriage to make a couple of calls. However, I was soon challenged; a woman got on at Newcastle with her three kids. That in itself was not cause for concern, but the fact that they sat in the Quiet Zone and were anything but quiet was most definitely out of order. The annoying little shits (one in particular) were talking so loudly that despite their seats being at the other end of the carriage, I could hear every fucking question, observation and emission. I felt sympathy for those sitting much nearer. Why on earth does East Coast Trains not ban noisy kids from the Quiet Coach? Why does a mum take 3 kids on board a train and sit them in a Quiet Coach unless the shits are mute? Grrrrrrrrr. Of course, in my car I can set the noise level to whatever I want. There is no tribe of noisy fuckers planted in the vehicle to annoy me.
When I am in my car, I don't have to join in any games of musical chairs or watch others shuffling about between numbered seats. In my car, I am in seat number one - in fact, I am in the proverbial Driving Seat. This morning, at the non-noisy kid end of the quiet carriage, ( ie. next to me!) there was a mild mannered dispute regarding the occupancy of two seats that were apparently "Pre-booked", according to the chap who announced it three times, and belittled a little woman sitting behind me in his chair. Daddy Bear secured for his wife the empty (pre-booked) seat next to me, and Mrs Meekness sat without a word. This was after the trenchcoat-wearing tall woman got up and moved after Daddy Bear highlighted her presence as a non-conformance. So, I endured the shuffling, while a boring exchange took place between Little Woman and Daddy Bear, who actually decided he'd stand for the Newcastle to Edinburgh leg. I think once he was acknowledged as 'in the right', he was happy to be chivalrous. Now, if I were in my car, no one would have been in the seat next to me.
On the way back, I was tortured by the painful one-sided conversation offered to me by the bloke behind, who was too loud on his mobile phone. The window seemed to reflect his rambling shit towards my ears, and I learned everything I never wanted to know during his conversations with his Gran and a girl he knows in Hull. Granny wanted to know the inside of a duck's arse, and he relayed all details about his few days in Edinburgh. Costs of everything, quality of the food, details of his schedule, and all about his new job. It was oh so fucking excruciating. Then, the female in Hull was his target. Johnny is apparently a nutter who has mistreated her, but has slagged her off to all his friends, and he's well out of order. This was not so much 'The Only Way Is Essex', but 'I Feel I've Been To Hull and Back'. The mobile user was a dick, and his delivery of the blurb was as far from entertainment as Cannon & Ball in Panto. The weirdest line was, "For some reason I imagine that you've got a kitten". She hasn't got one, never has had one, and doesn't want one. I suspected he wanted to see her pussy. He was arriving in Hull at around 7pm, and was going to pop round to see her new flat. Twat.
Upon arrival, in my car, I could have left my belongings on board without the threat of them being taken away and blown up by the police. I could have exited my car without fear for my life; it's unlikely that my foot could possibly disappear down a fucking great gap between the door sill and the pavement. If I were driving my car home, I'd not have been sprayed with Diet Coke as there would have been no one next to me opening a 500ml bottle. Nor would I have had to smell Cheese and Onion crisps, or listen to a Grab Bag's worth of them being consumed at 300mph by the gangly 19-year-old.
No, in my car I would have had full control of the environment. I could have opened a window (unlike on the train) and I could have avoided shit input from other travellers. The seat would have been more comfortable than that on the last leg of my train journey, which involved me sitting on a seat with less padding than a squashed Fig Roll.
The madness is that usually, cars make financial sense when two or more are travelling, and for a single person, the train is usually cheaper. However, I would have used ten gallons of petrol, so £60 worth. But my train fare was £72 and I had to get a lift and a taxi (£5) at the other end. So all in all I really should have travelled by car.
...
Tuesday 9 August 2011
9.8.11 Irony
Today I followed a lorry for a couple of miles. Actually, it was more specifically a 'tanker'. I know this because there were some letters on the back of the circular tank that said "Vacuum Tank Hire". The vehicle registration was J958 DGH. Why is this post headed "Irony" you ask? Well, the sign on the back of the vehicle said Non Hazardous. However, whilst the contents may well have been inoffensive, the lorry itself was the most disgusting, smoke-belching, fucked-up, knackered, slow, diseased, polluting, illegal lump of metal I have ever followed.
...
...
9.8.11 Throw Away the Key
Think of someone you love. Now imagine that they are driving along the Motorway, minding their own business, and driving carefully. Now imagine them in a crash - a sudden stop at the equivalent of 140mph to zero in a nano-second. That could so easily have happened.
Deborah Hunt, aged 43, decides to drive for 23 miles, the wrong way down the fast lane of the M5, at 2.5 times the drink driving limit. What stopped her? Not a head on crash with the one you love, or anyone . . . .no, she ran out of petrol! Oh, just for the record, she was uninsured as well!
Deborah Hunt - reckless, selfish, vile. I hope the sentence you get at the end of the month is appropriate, but somehow I suspect that the soft twats who will decide your fate will probably, after a slurp of tea and slice of Swiss Roll, sit at the bench and give you 6 months suspended.
...
Deborah Hunt, aged 43, decides to drive for 23 miles, the wrong way down the fast lane of the M5, at 2.5 times the drink driving limit. What stopped her? Not a head on crash with the one you love, or anyone . . . .no, she ran out of petrol! Oh, just for the record, she was uninsured as well!
Deborah Hunt - reckless, selfish, vile. I hope the sentence you get at the end of the month is appropriate, but somehow I suspect that the soft twats who will decide your fate will probably, after a slurp of tea and slice of Swiss Roll, sit at the bench and give you 6 months suspended.
...
9.8.11 Have Gun, Will Get Shot
Just an application of common sense - if you hold or carry a gun, you're more likely to get shot. If you wave it about or point it at someone, you're likely to get shot. Whether the gun is real or a replica is immaterial. Whether you're shot by another gun-toting twat or a police marksman, you're still shot. So, unfortunately I have no sympathy for any criminal, would-be gangster or poser who thinks it's cool to carry a firearm. Whatever the circumstances surrounding the shooting of Mr Duggan that triggered the unrest in Tottenham, and whether or not there turns out to be an issue over police actions, it is quite safe to say that the shooting would not have happened if Mr Duggan was not armed. If it's illegal to wander around with a gun, why do it?
...
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9.8.11 Riots
It is really quite simple. Engage in rioting, arson, looting, intimidation, violence and risk being shot.
There is no place in the UK for cunts who want to wreck everything, create massive damage and suffering, and stick two fingers up at society with a smug smirk. In the world of TMWSC, the answer would be simple. Police, Army, water, rubber bullets, and zero tolerance. More police on the streets is of some use, but such a promise from politicians is not worth a lot if those extra police officers stand in a line with shields, and watch as yobs torch cars and buildings. Get the marksmen out and shoot the cunts. A bullet in the thigh might just slow a thug down! Unfortunately, the Human Rights legislation and a general scared-as-fuck-to-sort-it attitude mean that the damage will be many many millions of pounds while we are all supposed to be interested in why it all happened and debate deprivation and poverty.
On the radio today, useless arseholes were trying to explain/justify/excuse the behaviour of thugs and looters. Sorry, but whatever social difficulties may exist, it's intolerable to see criminals running wild. Social deprivation does not means it's acceptible to riot.
So, as I said, let's stop fucking about. Zero tolerance is the right course of action. Action is needed. Shoot the cunts. Period.
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There is no place in the UK for cunts who want to wreck everything, create massive damage and suffering, and stick two fingers up at society with a smug smirk. In the world of TMWSC, the answer would be simple. Police, Army, water, rubber bullets, and zero tolerance. More police on the streets is of some use, but such a promise from politicians is not worth a lot if those extra police officers stand in a line with shields, and watch as yobs torch cars and buildings. Get the marksmen out and shoot the cunts. A bullet in the thigh might just slow a thug down! Unfortunately, the Human Rights legislation and a general scared-as-fuck-to-sort-it attitude mean that the damage will be many many millions of pounds while we are all supposed to be interested in why it all happened and debate deprivation and poverty.
On the radio today, useless arseholes were trying to explain/justify/excuse the behaviour of thugs and looters. Sorry, but whatever social difficulties may exist, it's intolerable to see criminals running wild. Social deprivation does not means it's acceptible to riot.
So, as I said, let's stop fucking about. Zero tolerance is the right course of action. Action is needed. Shoot the cunts. Period.
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Monday 8 August 2011
8.8.11 Sip & Polish
We all know the world's gone mad. Further evidence of the lunacy in retail cropped up last night, when I noticed an unusual offer whilst sitting in a pub. An A4 sized piece of card had been printed and folded so it stood up in a triangle shape on a table. On each of the three sides was an offer that I could certainly refuse.
Apparently it now makes perfect sense to entice people to drink Malibu with offers of free nail polish.
Buy 2 Malibu drinks and get a FREE nail polish at Nail Inc. Stores
So, apparently Malibu is only to be marketed to women and cross-dressers, who will quite obviously be swayed (not through alcohol consumption but by clever marketing) towards switching to Malibu for nail polish. Whatever next? Buy a triple Vodka for a pair of tights? Creme de Menthe for a free leg wax? There are clearly no boundaries or any logic applied to retail anymore. Cynical steps are in, and whatever it takes to increase sales is the order of the day. I hear the latest offer in some of the world's trouble spots is "Buy Two Molotov Cocktails, and get a FREE bazooka".
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Apparently it now makes perfect sense to entice people to drink Malibu with offers of free nail polish.
Buy 2 Malibu drinks and get a FREE nail polish at Nail Inc. Stores
So, apparently Malibu is only to be marketed to women and cross-dressers, who will quite obviously be swayed (not through alcohol consumption but by clever marketing) towards switching to Malibu for nail polish. Whatever next? Buy a triple Vodka for a pair of tights? Creme de Menthe for a free leg wax? There are clearly no boundaries or any logic applied to retail anymore. Cynical steps are in, and whatever it takes to increase sales is the order of the day. I hear the latest offer in some of the world's trouble spots is "Buy Two Molotov Cocktails, and get a FREE bazooka".
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Friday 5 August 2011
5.8.11 Bit of a Scrape
Following on from Grandma's Gin, further evidence of retail stupidity has come to light. Today, DIL (that's Daughter-in-Law) of TMWSC - who was 'Granddaughter' in the previous post - experienced a further dose of lunacy at the hands of a checkout operator. This time, the offending establishment was Wilkinson, where DIL attempted to buy a few household items as there is to be a bit of a 'spruce' up of the premises where she works. So, a quick stop at Wilko was in order, for some cleaning cloths, detergent, a broom, a wallpaper scraper, a bucket, and a couple of other odds and sods. At the checkout, at the hands of a 19-year-old female, DIL was 'challenged' over her purchase. Yes, you're ahead of me here and have guessed exactly what the problem was.
It is a well known fact that no one under the age of eighteen in the UK is allowed to take off wallpaper. At any age, one is entitled to hang the stuff (with paste of course, not glue - heaven forbid!) and create an improved environment. But taking the stuff off is apparently a banned activity. Why? Because you have to be 18+ to operate a wallpaper scraper.
DIL was surprised to be asked for ID, and it seemed madness that the young person on the till was inspecting the ID of someone who was three years her senior, because amongst the collection of items was a scraper. Luckily, DIL had not bought tooth picks, or she'd have quite obviously stabbed them in the eyes of the checkout operator, because they too are offensive weapons and you must be licensed to buy them. So, DIL left the shop to clean and scrape, having learned that the British Army might want to consider swapping bayonets for scrapers as a cost-cutting exercise. By the way, those with guns and bayonets are 16 and over, but to play a computer game with guns rather than use real ones, you have to be 18.
Roger, Wilko & Out
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It is a well known fact that no one under the age of eighteen in the UK is allowed to take off wallpaper. At any age, one is entitled to hang the stuff (with paste of course, not glue - heaven forbid!) and create an improved environment. But taking the stuff off is apparently a banned activity. Why? Because you have to be 18+ to operate a wallpaper scraper.
DIL was surprised to be asked for ID, and it seemed madness that the young person on the till was inspecting the ID of someone who was three years her senior, because amongst the collection of items was a scraper. Luckily, DIL had not bought tooth picks, or she'd have quite obviously stabbed them in the eyes of the checkout operator, because they too are offensive weapons and you must be licensed to buy them. So, DIL left the shop to clean and scrape, having learned that the British Army might want to consider swapping bayonets for scrapers as a cost-cutting exercise. By the way, those with guns and bayonets are 16 and over, but to play a computer game with guns rather than use real ones, you have to be 18.
Roger, Wilko & Out
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Thursday 4 August 2011
4.8.11 Grandma's Gin
Grandma's Gin is neither a card game, nor a tourist attraction. It is not the name of a racehorse or a sailing boat. It is simply a reference to the gin that Grandma purchased at Morrisons on Monday. Grandma's gin was taken from the shelf and added to other items (including tonic) that formed the basis of a small shopping trip. Grandma is quite old, and was accompanied by granddaughter. At the checkout, Grandma stationed herself at the conveyor end, and did not pass the till as she was paying. Granddaughter went to the end of the checkout, and prepared a few carrier bags. I learned that she "doubled up" (no, not with laughter - the bags!) in anticipation of the known bottles, although anyone who's followed my blog will know that of all the supermarkets, Morrisons does have the best carrier bags, and the "double up" was probably unnecessary. Anyway, back to the checkout, where Granddaughter was waiting, bags at the ready, having declined the pathetically offered help, via the "do you need any help with the packing" bollocks.
"I'm sorry, but I can't let you pack the gin," said the checkout operator to Granddaughter.
"Why not?" she replied.
"Because you don't look over 21" came the tiresome drone from the jobsworth.
"I'll be 23 in two months," said the incredulous Granddaughter.
"Well, you don't look 21"
"Er, . . . that's cos I'm not, I'm, 22 and in two months I'll be 23" said Granddaughter, confused as to how the dozy cunt got a job involving numbers and money, and people.
"Well, it's more than my job's worth to let you pack it; it's the law."
"I'm not paying for it, I'm just putting it in a bag" was the very reasonable comment back.
"You could be a secret shopper doing an inspection, and I could lose my job, so it's just not worth it."
"I'm just helping my Grandma."
"I'm sorry, but your Grandma will have to pack it."
At this point, TMWSC would have been tempted, in the Granddaughter's shoes, to suggest to the checkout operator that on second thoughts, the offer to help with the packaging would indeed be taken up, and that unless the operator packed all the shopping, Gin plus all the other non-offensive, non-tricky items, all would be dumped. Or, TMWSC might have been tempted to let the operator ring up all the items and then abandon the shopping, and a no doubt irate (but still dozy) checkout operator. Instead, there was no escalation of Gin-gate, and Grandma stepped in - possibly motivated by a G&T in the not too distant future.
"My Grandma could just give it to me once we're outside the shop if it really was me who wanted it."
The checkout operator had a clear conscience, and confirmed, "As long as I do my job properly, it's not down to me what happens after I've served you and you've finished shopping."
The security guard considered pepper spraying Grandma as she left through the main door, as she stepped on a line between the tiles, and that's obviously an offence. Meanwhile, the wheels of commerce continued to turn, as the checkout operator abused a young father who wanted some Oats but apparently was not dressed as a fuckin' Quaker.
In conversation on Tuesday evening, I learned of someone's experience of being declined service, when attempting to buy ice cream and spoons. Unfortunately, the till operator could see no truth in the link between two seventeen-year-olds each holding a tub of ice cream, and between them a shared pack of cheap spoons. Apparently, the belief on the other side of the counter was that rather than eat ice cream with the spoons, the two polite and sensible looking chaps were about to heat up heroin and inject. So, they could drive to the shop in a car, and if they chose to, get married and/or have sex legally, or join the British Armed Forces; but buying a spoon was half way to being a terrorist, it seemed. It was never established what the spoon-buying age requirement was. Maybe if they'd been 21 with passports, the assistant would have nodded at the purchase and pending drug session, perhaps with two syringes supplied as well if there was a BOGOF offer on.
One of the 'pound' shops in town is known to refuse to sell aerosols to those who aren't 16. No deodorant then for those who cannot prove they're 16+, and we all know that 15-year-olds can't/don't smell, ever. I recall also an incident when the local corner shop refused to sell to son of TMWSC a hand-rolling machine. Apparently he needed ID to prove he was 18 to buy the cunting plastic and metal gadget for 90p. Twats. That's like refusing to sell someone who can't prove he's 18 a bottle of tonic because it's bound to be used in association with gin!
So, all in all, it's hard work shopping these days. Still, Grandma got her gin, Morrisons proved itself over zealous through the conduct of its checkout operators, the security guard proved there's nothing much to do so he looks for trouble wherever he can find it, and teenagers in Redcar probably smell. Finally, buy cones and not tubs of ice cream, unless you're eating it at home and can get a spoon from the kitchen drawer.
...
"I'm sorry, but I can't let you pack the gin," said the checkout operator to Granddaughter.
"Why not?" she replied.
"Because you don't look over 21" came the tiresome drone from the jobsworth.
"I'll be 23 in two months," said the incredulous Granddaughter.
"Well, you don't look 21"
"Er, . . . that's cos I'm not, I'm, 22 and in two months I'll be 23" said Granddaughter, confused as to how the dozy cunt got a job involving numbers and money, and people.
"Well, it's more than my job's worth to let you pack it; it's the law."
"I'm not paying for it, I'm just putting it in a bag" was the very reasonable comment back.
"You could be a secret shopper doing an inspection, and I could lose my job, so it's just not worth it."
"I'm just helping my Grandma."
"I'm sorry, but your Grandma will have to pack it."
At this point, TMWSC would have been tempted, in the Granddaughter's shoes, to suggest to the checkout operator that on second thoughts, the offer to help with the packaging would indeed be taken up, and that unless the operator packed all the shopping, Gin plus all the other non-offensive, non-tricky items, all would be dumped. Or, TMWSC might have been tempted to let the operator ring up all the items and then abandon the shopping, and a no doubt irate (but still dozy) checkout operator. Instead, there was no escalation of Gin-gate, and Grandma stepped in - possibly motivated by a G&T in the not too distant future.
"My Grandma could just give it to me once we're outside the shop if it really was me who wanted it."
The checkout operator had a clear conscience, and confirmed, "As long as I do my job properly, it's not down to me what happens after I've served you and you've finished shopping."
The security guard considered pepper spraying Grandma as she left through the main door, as she stepped on a line between the tiles, and that's obviously an offence. Meanwhile, the wheels of commerce continued to turn, as the checkout operator abused a young father who wanted some Oats but apparently was not dressed as a fuckin' Quaker.
In conversation on Tuesday evening, I learned of someone's experience of being declined service, when attempting to buy ice cream and spoons. Unfortunately, the till operator could see no truth in the link between two seventeen-year-olds each holding a tub of ice cream, and between them a shared pack of cheap spoons. Apparently, the belief on the other side of the counter was that rather than eat ice cream with the spoons, the two polite and sensible looking chaps were about to heat up heroin and inject. So, they could drive to the shop in a car, and if they chose to, get married and/or have sex legally, or join the British Armed Forces; but buying a spoon was half way to being a terrorist, it seemed. It was never established what the spoon-buying age requirement was. Maybe if they'd been 21 with passports, the assistant would have nodded at the purchase and pending drug session, perhaps with two syringes supplied as well if there was a BOGOF offer on.
One of the 'pound' shops in town is known to refuse to sell aerosols to those who aren't 16. No deodorant then for those who cannot prove they're 16+, and we all know that 15-year-olds can't/don't smell, ever. I recall also an incident when the local corner shop refused to sell to son of TMWSC a hand-rolling machine. Apparently he needed ID to prove he was 18 to buy the cunting plastic and metal gadget for 90p. Twats. That's like refusing to sell someone who can't prove he's 18 a bottle of tonic because it's bound to be used in association with gin!
So, all in all, it's hard work shopping these days. Still, Grandma got her gin, Morrisons proved itself over zealous through the conduct of its checkout operators, the security guard proved there's nothing much to do so he looks for trouble wherever he can find it, and teenagers in Redcar probably smell. Finally, buy cones and not tubs of ice cream, unless you're eating it at home and can get a spoon from the kitchen drawer.
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