Sunday afternoon, in the living room. Irony or coincidence?
TMWSC is on You Tube, listening to "Masters of War" by Bob Dylan, one of the classics.
Junior is on the Xbox and flat-screen TV with fiancee, playing "Call of Duty".
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Monday 19 September 2011
Sunday 18 September 2011
18.9.11 Oral Health
An advert in a pointless supplement magazine from yesterday's paper brought my attention to a weird but official event - Oral Health Month, Sept 2011. However, the 'event' turns out to be mainly of relevance to one entity - Colgate, the advertiser taking up a full page.
A quick look on Google helped reveal a strange abundance of related special months, as I came across listings for:
Children's Dental Health Month - February 2011 (US)
Oral Health Month - June 2011 (which was Colgate again, although the site is in English and Spanish, so probably relates to a non-UK 'event')
National Smile Month (from the British Dental Health Foundation) which confusingly ran from 15th May to 15th June 2011, and so whilst is ran for the equivalent time frame of one month, it was in fact an event over two half-months.
National Dental Hygiene Month - October 2011
National Oral Health Month - April 2011 (Canada)
National Pet Dental Health Month - February 2011 (US)
A natural progression was for me to check on other 'Special Days/Months' and the following represents a selection of officially recognised 'events', although the selection from Wikipedia is probably biased towards American days etc.
January - Alzheimer Awareness Month [isn't that an oxymoron?]
11th January - Global Human Trafficking Awareness Day
6th February - International Day of Zero Tolerance to Female Genital Mutilation
9th February - Formal Announcement Day
15th February - Mistake Day
March - Supply Management Month
10th - 16th March - Brain Awareness Week
3rd March - Pi Day
6th March - World Glaucoma Day [I don't see it myself]
April - Irritable Bowel Syndrome Awareness Month
15th April - Day of Silence [Students take a day-long vow of silence to symbolically represent the silencing of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender students and their supporters]
15th April - Day of Dialogue ['Encouraging honest and respectful conversation among students about God's design for sexuality']
6th May - International No Diet Day
12th May - Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome National Awareness Day [If they're not too tired to take part]
June - National Basketball & Hip-Hop Culture Month
2nd June - International World's Whore Day
July - Hot Dog Month
22nd July - Pi Approximation Day
1st - 7th August - World Breastfeeding Week
30th August - International Sex Bomb Day
September - National Library Card Sign-up Month
12th September - World Rubber Day
13th November - Kindness Day UK
22nd November - Day of Road Traffic Victims
22nd November - Day of Singers & Musicians
...
A quick look on Google helped reveal a strange abundance of related special months, as I came across listings for:
Children's Dental Health Month - February 2011 (US)
Oral Health Month - June 2011 (which was Colgate again, although the site is in English and Spanish, so probably relates to a non-UK 'event')
National Smile Month (from the British Dental Health Foundation) which confusingly ran from 15th May to 15th June 2011, and so whilst is ran for the equivalent time frame of one month, it was in fact an event over two half-months.
National Dental Hygiene Month - October 2011
National Oral Health Month - April 2011 (Canada)
National Pet Dental Health Month - February 2011 (US)
A natural progression was for me to check on other 'Special Days/Months' and the following represents a selection of officially recognised 'events', although the selection from Wikipedia is probably biased towards American days etc.
January - Alzheimer Awareness Month [isn't that an oxymoron?]
11th January - Global Human Trafficking Awareness Day
6th February - International Day of Zero Tolerance to Female Genital Mutilation
9th February - Formal Announcement Day
15th February - Mistake Day
March - Supply Management Month
10th - 16th March - Brain Awareness Week
3rd March - Pi Day
6th March - World Glaucoma Day [I don't see it myself]
April - Irritable Bowel Syndrome Awareness Month
15th April - Day of Silence [Students take a day-long vow of silence to symbolically represent the silencing of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender students and their supporters]
15th April - Day of Dialogue ['Encouraging honest and respectful conversation among students about God's design for sexuality']
6th May - International No Diet Day
12th May - Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome National Awareness Day [If they're not too tired to take part]
June - National Basketball & Hip-Hop Culture Month
2nd June - International World's Whore Day
July - Hot Dog Month
22nd July - Pi Approximation Day
1st - 7th August - World Breastfeeding Week
30th August - International Sex Bomb Day
September - National Library Card Sign-up Month
12th September - World Rubber Day
13th November - Kindness Day UK
22nd November - Day of Road Traffic Victims
22nd November - Day of Singers & Musicians
...
18.9.11 The C-Word
While undertaking a bit of research, I came across the Merriam-Webster site that gives dictionary definitions of words, and decided to look up my favourite one.
Cunt - noun: offensive + obscene 1: a woman's sexual organs
2 British
Used as an offensive way to refer to a stupid or annoying person. Cunt is an extremely offensive word in all of its uses and should be avoided.
2 US
Interestingly, it shows a slightly more restricted use for Americans: Used as an offensive way to refer to a woman.
[Note - the plural is "Cunts", should you have been in any doubt.]
On this site, just below the small sections on origin, and the next word in the dictionary (Cuntline) is an amusing request for input, as follows:
What made you want to look up cunt? Please tell us where you read or heard it (including the quote, if possible).
I thought about entering something, to expand the database, but in the end decided against it as I'd be typing for a week. There are so many varied uses made of the word by me, and of all the derivatives as well. It was pleasing to note the clarification from one dictionary, that endorses some of my uses of the word. The Macquarie Dictionary of Australian English says that when it is used with a positive qualifier (good, funny, clever etc.) it conveys a positive sense of the object or person referred to [ie. 'He's a funny cunt' is a positive remark].
I am conscious that I make have piqued your interest through the aforementioned Cuntline and so I'd like to clarify its meaning:
1: The spiral groove between the strands of a rope
2: The space between the bilges of two casks stowed side by side
There, that's a quick update on some cunt-related matters for today. I hope this has been to some small degree enlightening, but if not, tough.
...
Cunt - noun: offensive + obscene 1: a woman's sexual organs
2 British
Used as an offensive way to refer to a stupid or annoying person. Cunt is an extremely offensive word in all of its uses and should be avoided.
2 US
Interestingly, it shows a slightly more restricted use for Americans: Used as an offensive way to refer to a woman.
[Note - the plural is "Cunts", should you have been in any doubt.]
On this site, just below the small sections on origin, and the next word in the dictionary (Cuntline) is an amusing request for input, as follows:
What made you want to look up cunt? Please tell us where you read or heard it (including the quote, if possible).
I thought about entering something, to expand the database, but in the end decided against it as I'd be typing for a week. There are so many varied uses made of the word by me, and of all the derivatives as well. It was pleasing to note the clarification from one dictionary, that endorses some of my uses of the word. The Macquarie Dictionary of Australian English says that when it is used with a positive qualifier (good, funny, clever etc.) it conveys a positive sense of the object or person referred to [ie. 'He's a funny cunt' is a positive remark].
I am conscious that I make have piqued your interest through the aforementioned Cuntline and so I'd like to clarify its meaning:
1: The spiral groove between the strands of a rope
2: The space between the bilges of two casks stowed side by side
There, that's a quick update on some cunt-related matters for today. I hope this has been to some small degree enlightening, but if not, tough.
...
Saturday 17 September 2011
17.9.11 X-Factor Insider
It's amazing how enlightening it is to hear the considered views of insiders. Newspaper stories often include extra details gleaned from 'friends', 'sources' and 'insiders'. The latest comments in this vein relate to Tulisa Contostavlos getting annoyed with some of her groups in the latter stages of X-Factor, and dumping one of them. Apparently as bands shared a house in Greece, some of the members 'got together' for some "romping" - the strange but often used term that sounds rather 1950's. Another quaint phrase (interpretation) was used in the report - "Two members of one band copped off with wannabes from two other bands, while two members of a mixed sex group got it on."
An insider said: "The groups are always a bit more wild than the solo singers because there is more of them and they are from both sexes." [What an illiterate (there is more of them) twat, and I really needed to be told that there are more people in groups than solo singers! It's also nice to know that in groups, there can be people from both sexes rather than solo performers who seem to be restricted to being just one sex!]
The insider went on: "And when you bring them to a sun-kissed party island, hormones can get too much and young people get together." [No shit, Sherlock!]
What would we do without insiders, eh?
...
An insider said: "The groups are always a bit more wild than the solo singers because there is more of them and they are from both sexes." [What an illiterate (there is more of them) twat, and I really needed to be told that there are more people in groups than solo singers! It's also nice to know that in groups, there can be people from both sexes rather than solo performers who seem to be restricted to being just one sex!]
The insider went on: "And when you bring them to a sun-kissed party island, hormones can get too much and young people get together." [No shit, Sherlock!]
What would we do without insiders, eh?
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17.9.11 Amish Triangle
This is not a reference to a bearded version of the 'Bermuda Triangle' but a note on the stupidity of the courts in Kentucky. The County Judge imprisoned eight Amish men for failing to pay fines imposed after they failed to display bright orange triangles on the back of their horse-drawn buggies. Shame on the legal twats for being so pathetic. Their beliefs are well known, and it seems ludicrous not to appreciate them. As a total aside, does a turban-wearing Hindu get charged for not wearing a hard hat at work?
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17.9.11 Unanswered Questions (No.73)
How is it that poor quality two-ply toilet tissue can separate and be torn off 'out of sync', but be impossible to reset so that the ends are in line again?
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17.9.11 Ronnie Wood
Today's Daily Mail contains a double page spread.
She helped him sober up. Now he's set her up in a flat with £3,000 a month pocket money, but ...
Is Ronnie's Brazilian firecracker taking him for a ride?
Personally, I rather think that bears do shit in the wood [pun intended] but as for the question posed by the headline in this article - I don't give a fuck. What made the editor think that a piece created by two minds [Alison Boshoff and Ben Todd] was going to be worthy of my time on a Saturday is beyond me. Crappy gossip and speculation on matters of no significance, let alone interest, are hardly components for investigative journalism. Ana Araujo is apparently "Girlfriend of Ronnie Wood", so it says underneath the photo. The one page of text spread over two pages (shared with adverts for B&Q and Animal Aid) has not been read at all by TMWSC.
...
She helped him sober up. Now he's set her up in a flat with £3,000 a month pocket money, but ...
Is Ronnie's Brazilian firecracker taking him for a ride?
Personally, I rather think that bears do shit in the wood [pun intended] but as for the question posed by the headline in this article - I don't give a fuck. What made the editor think that a piece created by two minds [Alison Boshoff and Ben Todd] was going to be worthy of my time on a Saturday is beyond me. Crappy gossip and speculation on matters of no significance, let alone interest, are hardly components for investigative journalism. Ana Araujo is apparently "Girlfriend of Ronnie Wood", so it says underneath the photo. The one page of text spread over two pages (shared with adverts for B&Q and Animal Aid) has not been read at all by TMWSC.
...
Friday 16 September 2011
16.9.11 Frankie & Benny's
What an experience that was! Wednesday evening at a Frankie & Benny's restaurant. I would advise all potential customers of such an establishment to be sure to arrive after 8.00pm. I say this after having endured a testing time, arriving at 7.00pm for a mixed grill. The ambience was fucking atrocious, as the place was awash with squealing kids, and ineffective parents. Bouncing on seats, waving balloons and being really loud were a few kids parked in the corner next to what I thought was a walrus until a double take revealed the form to be that of an 18-stone woman - the mother. The din created by the kids was overlaid by Reet-Cuntin-Petite adding to the commercial tinnitus. Right behind me was another racket, with a squealing kid being rewarded for his play-acting with "sweeties", would you believe!
I would have been more comfortable sitting cross-legged on the platform of a London underground station. I will not be eating there again, period.
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I would have been more comfortable sitting cross-legged on the platform of a London underground station. I will not be eating there again, period.
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16.9.11 Unanswered Questions (No.162)
Who told the top people at the Halifax that every advert has to feature fucking awful singing?
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16.9.11 Urinals Take the Piss
The location was Annandale Water Services, on the A74(M). I saw, in the men's toilets on the wall above the urinals, the following notice:
Please do not put litter into the urinals as it causes blockage and flooding
What I thought peculiar was the author's need to explain to us dumb fucks what the end result would be. I have never really considered putting anything into a urinal other than urine, but clearly there must be some delinquents who take one look at a urinal and think it's a white Brabantia kitchen bin, gasping to be filled with litter. I left the vicinity without being tempted to provoke a blockage or flooding or both by stuffing a burger box into the porcelain trough, and considered why Kirsty thought it necessary to put her name at the bottom of the homemade but neatly typed notice.
Back on the motorway, overhead I read the gantry sign that declared:
Fuller Cars, Less Queues
I of course thought the person setting up this digital sign was a thick cunt, because apart from the advice being fucking obvious, I was unimpressed with the grammar. Fewer Queues or Shorter Queues would both have worked, or Less Traffic would have been acceptable.
Fuller Shit, That's Me would have been a more amusing sign.
Later on, in Asda, I was perplexed by the newly designated channels within the self-checkout area. It used to be the case that the self service option was for customers with hand baskets. That takes the guesswork out of it because a basket is a fucking basket. A cunt with a trolley is clearly in the wrong place. However, it now seems that there's room for variation. Some pay points were marked Just a Few Items, while others had next to them a sign saying About 20 Items or Less.
So, what's a few? Who will police the customers to advise on the crossover point between the tills. 'Few' is not an exact term. Just a few, or quite a few? Apparently 'a few' means more than two, but less than several. By definition, therefore, a customer with two items (a couple of items) could not use the 'Just a Few Items' pay point because he or she would have one item too few, or expressed differently, be one item short. Instead, he or she would have to queue for the other pay point which clearly allows less shopping than that which is made up of 20 items or fewer. Meanwhile, people in that queue might be scanning 30 items, because what does the tolerance extend to on 'About 20' Items? The 'Less' should be 'Fewer'. At what point would fewer than 20 constitute 'Just a Few', I wonder? I suspect the person with 9 items will be perplexed and confused, wishing to God someone would help decide which queue should be joined, and wishing for the old system of 'Hand Baskets Only' or the mis-named '9 Items or Less' checkout (although that was manned/womanned, and not self service). On a tangential note, I used to wonder why 'Hand Baskets' were mentioned, as I have never seen any other type of basket in use at a supermarket. Chicken-in-the-basket is reserved for 1970's restaurants, and people don't these days tend to have on their person a wicker basket - though if so, it would still probably qualify as a 'hand' model, and not a communal skip. It's not as if pallbearers will be shopping together and turn up with a massive and long basket balanced on their shoulders and full of shopping! So, 'Hand' was never necessary.
It's all a slippery slope, because very soon there will be the option of scanning a trolley-load of shopping. This system would mean no need for checkout operators, just the same number of twats required to stand and watch you do their job for them, and then, when you buy a DVD or razor blades or a knife, or a paint scraper or rolling pin, or toothpick, they can step over and enter a code into the machine to authorise your purchase of an offensive weapon or subversive material.
Madness.
...
Please do not put litter into the urinals as it causes blockage and flooding
What I thought peculiar was the author's need to explain to us dumb fucks what the end result would be. I have never really considered putting anything into a urinal other than urine, but clearly there must be some delinquents who take one look at a urinal and think it's a white Brabantia kitchen bin, gasping to be filled with litter. I left the vicinity without being tempted to provoke a blockage or flooding or both by stuffing a burger box into the porcelain trough, and considered why Kirsty thought it necessary to put her name at the bottom of the homemade but neatly typed notice.
Back on the motorway, overhead I read the gantry sign that declared:
Fuller Cars, Less Queues
I of course thought the person setting up this digital sign was a thick cunt, because apart from the advice being fucking obvious, I was unimpressed with the grammar. Fewer Queues or Shorter Queues would both have worked, or Less Traffic would have been acceptable.
Fuller Shit, That's Me would have been a more amusing sign.
Later on, in Asda, I was perplexed by the newly designated channels within the self-checkout area. It used to be the case that the self service option was for customers with hand baskets. That takes the guesswork out of it because a basket is a fucking basket. A cunt with a trolley is clearly in the wrong place. However, it now seems that there's room for variation. Some pay points were marked Just a Few Items, while others had next to them a sign saying About 20 Items or Less.
So, what's a few? Who will police the customers to advise on the crossover point between the tills. 'Few' is not an exact term. Just a few, or quite a few? Apparently 'a few' means more than two, but less than several. By definition, therefore, a customer with two items (a couple of items) could not use the 'Just a Few Items' pay point because he or she would have one item too few, or expressed differently, be one item short. Instead, he or she would have to queue for the other pay point which clearly allows less shopping than that which is made up of 20 items or fewer. Meanwhile, people in that queue might be scanning 30 items, because what does the tolerance extend to on 'About 20' Items? The 'Less' should be 'Fewer'. At what point would fewer than 20 constitute 'Just a Few', I wonder? I suspect the person with 9 items will be perplexed and confused, wishing to God someone would help decide which queue should be joined, and wishing for the old system of 'Hand Baskets Only' or the mis-named '9 Items or Less' checkout (although that was manned/womanned, and not self service). On a tangential note, I used to wonder why 'Hand Baskets' were mentioned, as I have never seen any other type of basket in use at a supermarket. Chicken-in-the-basket is reserved for 1970's restaurants, and people don't these days tend to have on their person a wicker basket - though if so, it would still probably qualify as a 'hand' model, and not a communal skip. It's not as if pallbearers will be shopping together and turn up with a massive and long basket balanced on their shoulders and full of shopping! So, 'Hand' was never necessary.
It's all a slippery slope, because very soon there will be the option of scanning a trolley-load of shopping. This system would mean no need for checkout operators, just the same number of twats required to stand and watch you do their job for them, and then, when you buy a DVD or razor blades or a knife, or a paint scraper or rolling pin, or toothpick, they can step over and enter a code into the machine to authorise your purchase of an offensive weapon or subversive material.
Madness.
...
Thursday 15 September 2011
15.9.11 Megan Fox
Living in a parallel universe must be odd - it certainly warps your perspective. I say this in light of a recent comment by Megan Fox, who apparently wants to be a mum but can't afford it.
"I've always wanted kids. Once I feel safe with money, I'll have them."
This is the woman who got more than £3million for her appearance in the film Jennifer's Body. If she can't afford kids, then what fucking chance does the rest of the population have? Next time she has something pointless to say, I hope she doesn't bother us with it.
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"I've always wanted kids. Once I feel safe with money, I'll have them."
This is the woman who got more than £3million for her appearance in the film Jennifer's Body. If she can't afford kids, then what fucking chance does the rest of the population have? Next time she has something pointless to say, I hope she doesn't bother us with it.
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15.9.11 Wonga
The advert was truly mind blowing! The bare-faced cheek of the company was astounding. Wonga.com should be avoided at all costs, or considerable costs will be the penalty. The offer of some money was accompanied by a note recording the "representative rate" of 4214% APR
Is that a record? I think the site might apply to me for renaming, as I'd be prepared to allow use of the 'C' word, and let them better portray the site as: CuntinCash.Com
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Is that a record? I think the site might apply to me for renaming, as I'd be prepared to allow use of the 'C' word, and let them better portray the site as: CuntinCash.Com
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15.9.11 Trump & Wind
How ironic that Donald Trump is now moaning about wind turbines spoiling the view in an area of outstanding natural beauty. Here's a man who managed to get a golf and country club complex (and how we all know what a desperate shortage there is of golf courses in the UK) past the planners, so that the beautiful coastline in Aberdeenshire is now being messed up. The planners are set to give permission for wind turbines to be erected less than a mile away, and Trump has got the hump. Double standards, or what! He is arguing that they would spoil the view. Twat.
Was I the only one gobsmacked by the uselessness of wind turbines? I had not realised that there can in fact be too much wind, meaning the things had to be switched off. In the gales last weekend and early this week, the excess wind would have meant too much electricity being produced and an 'imbalance' that would have caused problems. So, the operators had to switch off some of the turbines - but be compensated for not being able to generate electricity and in turn revenue! Fucking daft.
...
Was I the only one gobsmacked by the uselessness of wind turbines? I had not realised that there can in fact be too much wind, meaning the things had to be switched off. In the gales last weekend and early this week, the excess wind would have meant too much electricity being produced and an 'imbalance' that would have caused problems. So, the operators had to switch off some of the turbines - but be compensated for not being able to generate electricity and in turn revenue! Fucking daft.
...
Tuesday 13 September 2011
13.9.11 Rihanna
The world does not revolve around Rihanna, although you'd actually think so, according to the Sun newspaper. How do I know this? Because a single day has not passed in the last ten, where she does not feature in some pathetic story about nothing, or a photo of her has not appeared. I suspect there's some sort of contract in place, or else a weird obligation on the part of the editor to help the PR 'machine' that pushes upon us relentlessly the Rihanna news - even when there is no 'news'.
Not quite in the same league, but equally irritating, is the Jessie Wallace saga; don't give a shit, quite frankly.
If these two can command page space by doing nothing, then perhaps I should have been featured after climbing a roof yesterday. That's right, I was referred to as 'Spidercunt' by TMWSC Junior, after he went to the local shop and on the way back spotted me on our roof, precariously positioned on a slope, adjusting a plastic sheet that's in place to cover a section that's giving rise to a small leak.
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Not quite in the same league, but equally irritating, is the Jessie Wallace saga; don't give a shit, quite frankly.
If these two can command page space by doing nothing, then perhaps I should have been featured after climbing a roof yesterday. That's right, I was referred to as 'Spidercunt' by TMWSC Junior, after he went to the local shop and on the way back spotted me on our roof, precariously positioned on a slope, adjusting a plastic sheet that's in place to cover a section that's giving rise to a small leak.
...
Sunday 11 September 2011
11.9.11 Freak Show
There's little to be said, really, as the picture paints a thousand words.
It appears to be the case that, amazingly, Beatrice looks more normal than her mum!
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It appears to be the case that, amazingly, Beatrice looks more normal than her mum!
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11.9.11 Social Workers
There must be many social workers who do a good job. I have no secret knowledge for coming to this conclusion, only faith in mathematics, which suggests there must be some good ones to balance all the uselessness that prevails in news reports. Perhaps unfairly, we mostly get to hear about social workers when something's gone horribly wrong, there's gross negligence, or there a reason to criticise. Even with a generous disposition, though, there's lunacy within the realms of Social Services because in the last week, we learned of one case where perfectly good parents were denied the opportunity of fostering a child.
The foster parents were not exactly untrained in the role, being that they have four children of their own already. But they have been deemed unsuitable by social workers who have followed council rules. I am not going to get into departmental delineation, 'chicken v egg' discussions on who was forced to adopt which approach. Council, local authority, government, social services, whatever; common sense, fairness and decency should prevail. The rule? You cannot have smoked in the past 12 months.
So, the proposed foster parents have not killed any children, abused them, been found guilty of burglary, fraud or driving without due care and attention. Their own four children are not thought to be in such danger that they need to be forcibly removed and put into 'care'. No, the father has smoked two cigars in the last 18 months. That's right, you heard correctly!
After 10 months of working towards the new arrival, including changes to the family home to accommodate a fifth child, Mr & Mrs Baker were turned down by the CIC. Taking celebratory puffs on two cigars is clearly a crime and harmful from so many perspectives! This would be hilarious if it were not so fucking stupid and have such sad repercussions. By the way, if you're at your brother's wedding in South Africa, and at a works party in London, a puff on a cigar is completely irrelevant to the subsequent consideration on whether a child can safely join four others in a household that's looking to provide a proper home for a foster child. The parents are non-smokers, and celebratory puffs every year do not change that classification.
Essex County Council hides behind a rule. What next? Someone will decide that if you've even once ever driven over the speed limit, you're a danger to children and do not deserve to foster one in case he or she moves at more than 30mph in a built-up area! 33mph doesn't make one a rally driver.
[ CIC = Cunts In Charge ]
...
The foster parents were not exactly untrained in the role, being that they have four children of their own already. But they have been deemed unsuitable by social workers who have followed council rules. I am not going to get into departmental delineation, 'chicken v egg' discussions on who was forced to adopt which approach. Council, local authority, government, social services, whatever; common sense, fairness and decency should prevail. The rule? You cannot have smoked in the past 12 months.
So, the proposed foster parents have not killed any children, abused them, been found guilty of burglary, fraud or driving without due care and attention. Their own four children are not thought to be in such danger that they need to be forcibly removed and put into 'care'. No, the father has smoked two cigars in the last 18 months. That's right, you heard correctly!
After 10 months of working towards the new arrival, including changes to the family home to accommodate a fifth child, Mr & Mrs Baker were turned down by the CIC. Taking celebratory puffs on two cigars is clearly a crime and harmful from so many perspectives! This would be hilarious if it were not so fucking stupid and have such sad repercussions. By the way, if you're at your brother's wedding in South Africa, and at a works party in London, a puff on a cigar is completely irrelevant to the subsequent consideration on whether a child can safely join four others in a household that's looking to provide a proper home for a foster child. The parents are non-smokers, and celebratory puffs every year do not change that classification.
Essex County Council hides behind a rule. What next? Someone will decide that if you've even once ever driven over the speed limit, you're a danger to children and do not deserve to foster one in case he or she moves at more than 30mph in a built-up area! 33mph doesn't make one a rally driver.
[ CIC = Cunts In Charge ]
...
Saturday 10 September 2011
10.9.11 Anagram
TEACHING and CHEATING
Not the most challenging anagram, a bit like the so called tests that now pass for exams (sorry for the pun) and especially if teachers are actually intervening at the marking stage, to fiddle results. Intervention before the exams might actually be more appropriate, so that children gain some decent input and have a chance of passing on their own merits.
Apparently some teachers have admitted falsifying pupils' marks to meet targets set for them by heads. This manipulation makes schools look better, and avoids teachers getting bollockings. Heads, senior staff and local councils are all desperate to see targets met, and percentages have to be doctored as necessary. Research has proved this practice exists, and one of the schools admitting such actions was judged as "Outstanding" by Ofsted. How misleading is that! Parents are conned into thinking a school is "Outstanding", they send their child there for an outstanding education, and teachers make sure that if the kids do not display that level of achievement then the marks are fiddled anyway. Disgraceful. I am as a result less surprised to read today a report that education in Albania is ahead of that in the UK (or Non-United Kingdom, to be accurate).
Nothing is believable anymore. Everything is on a downward path.
...
Not the most challenging anagram, a bit like the so called tests that now pass for exams (sorry for the pun) and especially if teachers are actually intervening at the marking stage, to fiddle results. Intervention before the exams might actually be more appropriate, so that children gain some decent input and have a chance of passing on their own merits.
Apparently some teachers have admitted falsifying pupils' marks to meet targets set for them by heads. This manipulation makes schools look better, and avoids teachers getting bollockings. Heads, senior staff and local councils are all desperate to see targets met, and percentages have to be doctored as necessary. Research has proved this practice exists, and one of the schools admitting such actions was judged as "Outstanding" by Ofsted. How misleading is that! Parents are conned into thinking a school is "Outstanding", they send their child there for an outstanding education, and teachers make sure that if the kids do not display that level of achievement then the marks are fiddled anyway. Disgraceful. I am as a result less surprised to read today a report that education in Albania is ahead of that in the UK (or Non-United Kingdom, to be accurate).
Nothing is believable anymore. Everything is on a downward path.
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10.9.11 A Matter of Interpretation
In the UK (or should that for accuracy really now be prefixed, so that we refer to it as the NUK for Non-United Kingdom) it is the case that immigration has stretched things to the limit on the language front. But there are two aspects which seem to receive completely different attention and which highlight the inconsistency with which anything is handled in this country.
The legal system is awash with interpreters, who are called upon on a rolling/permanent basis, to assist with interviews, questioning, trials and all manner of disputes, for the many different nationalities involved. It is essential, it seems, to cater for speakers of hundreds of languages and dialects, and the expense for all of this is borne by the state. So, irrespective of whether the UK is the mug of Europe and has no control over its resources after welcoming to this island anyone who can move or be pushed in a wheelchair, even a discussion costs us. If for example there's a dispute over benefits or housing, and an interpreter is needed, the good old tax payer ends up paying.
Conversely, if I am in hospital, there's a very high chance that the nurse attending to me is unable to speak English. He or she will be overseeing my health and administering treatment, yet cannot always converse with colleagues, let alone me! Hopefully I'd be given the right drugs, and in the right quantities - without being killed by 100 milligrammes instead of 100 microgrammes of whatever has been prescribed. I am only a citizen and taxpayer, and of course am not entitled to any form of interpreter to help me in my ordeal.
This is another example of an often repeated scenario. The cunts who run the EU legislate so that it is illegal to insist within the EU that staff can speak the language of the country they are to be employed in. As a result the useless UK meekly goes along with it, and we're left with an unsatisfactory situation; meanwhile, certain other countries (always including France) completely ignore those rules and insist that their workers can in fact speak the lingo. So why does the NUK not do the same? Mugs of Europe
...
The legal system is awash with interpreters, who are called upon on a rolling/permanent basis, to assist with interviews, questioning, trials and all manner of disputes, for the many different nationalities involved. It is essential, it seems, to cater for speakers of hundreds of languages and dialects, and the expense for all of this is borne by the state. So, irrespective of whether the UK is the mug of Europe and has no control over its resources after welcoming to this island anyone who can move or be pushed in a wheelchair, even a discussion costs us. If for example there's a dispute over benefits or housing, and an interpreter is needed, the good old tax payer ends up paying.
Conversely, if I am in hospital, there's a very high chance that the nurse attending to me is unable to speak English. He or she will be overseeing my health and administering treatment, yet cannot always converse with colleagues, let alone me! Hopefully I'd be given the right drugs, and in the right quantities - without being killed by 100 milligrammes instead of 100 microgrammes of whatever has been prescribed. I am only a citizen and taxpayer, and of course am not entitled to any form of interpreter to help me in my ordeal.
This is another example of an often repeated scenario. The cunts who run the EU legislate so that it is illegal to insist within the EU that staff can speak the language of the country they are to be employed in. As a result the useless UK meekly goes along with it, and we're left with an unsatisfactory situation; meanwhile, certain other countries (always including France) completely ignore those rules and insist that their workers can in fact speak the lingo. So why does the NUK not do the same? Mugs of Europe
...
10.9.11 David Scholey
Every now and then, someone features in the news and you find yourself thinking, "What a ****!" The person this week is Mr Scholey, who is quite simply a horrible example of a human being, and thinks nothing of deplorable acts. For sport, he kills wild animals. He pays lots of money to be able to hunt and shoot lions and many other beasts - because he can.
Vile.
...
Vile.
...
10.9.11 Dilemmas, Decisions & Conundrums
Of all the things that have caused angst in recent weeks, there's one that most certainly has not featured in my life as any sort of DDorC, whatever the advertisers on TV may suggest. I can categorically confirm that I have not agonised over which Ambi Pur plug-in cuntin' air freshener to select!
...
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10.9.11 Sun Life
There comes a time in life when certain ' TV personalities' are past their usefulness, but retain the power to be handy for a single purpose.
I was reading today's TV guide, and at the back of the Buzz magazine I saw the advert for Sun Life, and some sort of offer of death cover, mixed with a small savings plan and an offer that provides applicants with options regarding a shitty free gift. The whole page was devoted to this advert, and endorsement was provided by Annette Crosbie. She is one such person in the aforementioned category, and the Sun Life Marketing Department is clearly hoping that anyone who watched One Foot in the Grave will rush to complete the application form.
I muttered to myself (and Mrs MWSC in the background) that these whole page adverts are a waste of space, and that if it isn't Annette Crosbie, it's fucking Michael Parkinson who's at it. Low and behold, at the back of the Weekend supplement in the Daily Mail, Michael is featuring in an almost identical full page advert, looking old and ready to die. Belonging to the same category of people with a single remaining purpose, Annette and Michael are in effect interchangeable, adding minor variation to the enticements of life assurance. Appealing to the older readers, they are paid to endorse/tout plans that should really be provided by a company called 'Sun Death'.
...
I was reading today's TV guide, and at the back of the Buzz magazine I saw the advert for Sun Life, and some sort of offer of death cover, mixed with a small savings plan and an offer that provides applicants with options regarding a shitty free gift. The whole page was devoted to this advert, and endorsement was provided by Annette Crosbie. She is one such person in the aforementioned category, and the Sun Life Marketing Department is clearly hoping that anyone who watched One Foot in the Grave will rush to complete the application form.
I muttered to myself (and Mrs MWSC in the background) that these whole page adverts are a waste of space, and that if it isn't Annette Crosbie, it's fucking Michael Parkinson who's at it. Low and behold, at the back of the Weekend supplement in the Daily Mail, Michael is featuring in an almost identical full page advert, looking old and ready to die. Belonging to the same category of people with a single remaining purpose, Annette and Michael are in effect interchangeable, adding minor variation to the enticements of life assurance. Appealing to the older readers, they are paid to endorse/tout plans that should really be provided by a company called 'Sun Death'.
...
10.9.11 Ant or Dec
But will it be Ant . . . .or Dec? Sorry, make that Red . . . or Black? I watched it tonight, all of it, for the first time. What a load of shit. The cliches, the mind-numbing brain-dead passages of shit that pad out this programme ought to be replaced by a blank screen. I quickly became completely sick of the 'Red or Black' question, and the painful descriptions of what was about to happen and what the consequences might be. Ant & Dec served up the most basic 'game' in the world.
At one stage, the participants had to pick a boy or a girl (via a doll), to match the sex of a new-born baby. That's clearly a simple 50:50 choice, but to give it a Red/Black angle, they stuck red and black dummies in the dolls' mouths; pathetic. Then we had sheep being rounded up, some dyed bright red (poor things) and some dyed brown (?) which apparently counted as black.
We suffered the standard rubbish - responses to the question "What would you do with a million pounds?" and the very similar but much more stupid question, "What would the money mean to you?". The programme should perhaps be retitled "People going on about how they'd spend the money if they win".
Anyway, a nice chap from Doncaster ["I've worked all my life, since I was 17" - so not all your life then!] won a million pounds. There was the obligatory competition, of course, with the most pathetic question possible:
"Rouge" is the French word for which colour? A) Red B) Black
After enduring the programme, and the adverts for Jackpot Joy (with more red and black) I was worn out with 50:50 options and colours. Then I had to suffer Julie Etchingham on News at Ten, as she sat there wearing (you're ahead of me, I can tell) a black jacket over a red blouse. After the news, it was rugby - the opening game of the world cup, between Tonga in Red, and the All Fucking Blacks.
I will not be watching the next (last?) Red or Black fiasco, as my brain would shrivel at 1,000 times it's normal speed of degeneration for the duration of the programme. I will of course miss those ecstatic contestants who, after a single round, whoop for joy at being left in the final 500 (approx) with a chance of progressing if they get another 8 successive 50:50 chances in their favour, so that they can get a further go at the £1M or ZERO prize. If I had their blind stupidity, I'd be running round the fucking house now, screaming that I'm in with a chance on the Reader's Digest Prize Draw! Either that, or beating my wife up, then spending two and a half years in prison, all so that I qualify for entry myself on a future programme.
...
At one stage, the participants had to pick a boy or a girl (via a doll), to match the sex of a new-born baby. That's clearly a simple 50:50 choice, but to give it a Red/Black angle, they stuck red and black dummies in the dolls' mouths; pathetic. Then we had sheep being rounded up, some dyed bright red (poor things) and some dyed brown (?) which apparently counted as black.
We suffered the standard rubbish - responses to the question "What would you do with a million pounds?" and the very similar but much more stupid question, "What would the money mean to you?". The programme should perhaps be retitled "People going on about how they'd spend the money if they win".
Anyway, a nice chap from Doncaster ["I've worked all my life, since I was 17" - so not all your life then!] won a million pounds. There was the obligatory competition, of course, with the most pathetic question possible:
"Rouge" is the French word for which colour? A) Red B) Black
After enduring the programme, and the adverts for Jackpot Joy (with more red and black) I was worn out with 50:50 options and colours. Then I had to suffer Julie Etchingham on News at Ten, as she sat there wearing (you're ahead of me, I can tell) a black jacket over a red blouse. After the news, it was rugby - the opening game of the world cup, between Tonga in Red, and the All Fucking Blacks.
I will not be watching the next (last?) Red or Black fiasco, as my brain would shrivel at 1,000 times it's normal speed of degeneration for the duration of the programme. I will of course miss those ecstatic contestants who, after a single round, whoop for joy at being left in the final 500 (approx) with a chance of progressing if they get another 8 successive 50:50 chances in their favour, so that they can get a further go at the £1M or ZERO prize. If I had their blind stupidity, I'd be running round the fucking house now, screaming that I'm in with a chance on the Reader's Digest Prize Draw! Either that, or beating my wife up, then spending two and a half years in prison, all so that I qualify for entry myself on a future programme.
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Friday 9 September 2011
9.9.11 Red or Black
Red-faced (can't say black-faced as that would be un-PC) executives and producers let Nathan Hageman on to the TV show, even though they knew he had done time for assault. So, they were fucking idiots for not thinking ahead that there was a chance of a kerfuffle should he win. It turns out though that they mistakenly assumed his victim had been a man, when in fact he got 5 years (and served two and a half) for a savage assault on a woman.
A "source" from Red or Black said "We are kicking ourselves. We spoke to him about his crime, but it never came up that it was a woman".
Oh, so it's would have been okay then if he'd kicked shit out of a MAN then!?
The CIC are thick, useless, sexist and totally unqualified to be working on a show that rewards people with £1M if they are lucky enough to be left at the end on a series of 50:50 chances of success. The absolute disgrace is that the assumption of his attack being on a male meant he was allowed to participate, with producers thinking that was okay. Mr Hageman might well be a totally undesirable individual who deserves a battering himself, but I suggest that the people who organise these things for ITV should change vocation - perhaps moving into politics, where uselessness, oversights, fuck-ups and idiotic cuntishness all prevail.
NB: CIC, as regular readers will know, means Cunts In Charge
...
A "source" from Red or Black said "We are kicking ourselves. We spoke to him about his crime, but it never came up that it was a woman".
Oh, so it's would have been okay then if he'd kicked shit out of a MAN then!?
The CIC are thick, useless, sexist and totally unqualified to be working on a show that rewards people with £1M if they are lucky enough to be left at the end on a series of 50:50 chances of success. The absolute disgrace is that the assumption of his attack being on a male meant he was allowed to participate, with producers thinking that was okay. Mr Hageman might well be a totally undesirable individual who deserves a battering himself, but I suggest that the people who organise these things for ITV should change vocation - perhaps moving into politics, where uselessness, oversights, fuck-ups and idiotic cuntishness all prevail.
NB: CIC, as regular readers will know, means Cunts In Charge
...
Tuesday 6 September 2011
6.9.11 England v Wales
Wembley Result: England Shit - Wales 0
What a waste of space the England team is. I struggle to understand how the players lumber about, and seem able never to do more than the bare minimum. Except for the last ten minutes of the first half, England did little to make any headway at all. The goal after 35 minutes was good, but at half time, the players obviously decided they'd done enough. In the second half, Wales dominated the play and controlled the game. That's right, the tiny nation that finds most of its players from lower divisions of English football managed to show the overpaid England players how to put a bit of effort in and do themselves proud. But for a howling miss from Earnshaw, it would have been 1 - 1, which would have actually been a fairer result.
Afterwards, we had to listen to the Muppet (Capello) jabbering away in shit English, doling out shit information about shit performance that proved England players are either shit or don't give a shit. How on earth we got into a position of paying the Muppet £6million per year I do not know, when not only is his management crap, his after-match interview is as much use as a cunt in a cock fight. He has lost the plot completely, but we may as well hear something about what goes on in his head than have to forego the opportunity because of his inability to express himself. There's no shame in having an interpreter, rather than rambling and babbling like a fuckin' berk.
Just to confirm, then: England Shit - Wales 0
...
What a waste of space the England team is. I struggle to understand how the players lumber about, and seem able never to do more than the bare minimum. Except for the last ten minutes of the first half, England did little to make any headway at all. The goal after 35 minutes was good, but at half time, the players obviously decided they'd done enough. In the second half, Wales dominated the play and controlled the game. That's right, the tiny nation that finds most of its players from lower divisions of English football managed to show the overpaid England players how to put a bit of effort in and do themselves proud. But for a howling miss from Earnshaw, it would have been 1 - 1, which would have actually been a fairer result.
Afterwards, we had to listen to the Muppet (Capello) jabbering away in shit English, doling out shit information about shit performance that proved England players are either shit or don't give a shit. How on earth we got into a position of paying the Muppet £6million per year I do not know, when not only is his management crap, his after-match interview is as much use as a cunt in a cock fight. He has lost the plot completely, but we may as well hear something about what goes on in his head than have to forego the opportunity because of his inability to express himself. There's no shame in having an interpreter, rather than rambling and babbling like a fuckin' berk.
Just to confirm, then: England Shit - Wales 0
...
Monday 5 September 2011
5.9.11 International Conference
The following feature was recently unearthed in TMWSC's records, and relates to a reporter's experience of an International Travel & Freight Conference at the end of 1998. It is quite apparent that the style of reporting has made much of word play opportunities, and puns are everywhere. In fact, it's sometimes hard to follow all of the intended word games; some are blatant but others are rather subtle. Anyway, here's the text, relaying details of the organisation's annual gathering, which featured in an industry journal of the day.
The conference was attended by over 250 delegates from around the world, and the diversity of the attendees and their backgrounds was amazing. Many had risen to great heights within their own countries, and I will attempt to provide the fullest report of events.
The delegate from Cyprus was an Irishman by the name of Nick O'Sear and his curious accent gave his stream of jokes a unique quality. Two guests who hit it off at once were the "Monty's", Video from Uruguay and Carlo from Monaco. Two women joined them to make a foursome during the latter part of the evening; Anne Dorra and Liz Bonne both got the "Full Monty" is you ask me.
The award for the best service was the highlight of the evening. Barry Island took the stage holding a manilla envelope and announced the results in reverse order. Third was Zambia, and Lou Sarka collected his awrd with his dopey looking girlfriend, Ann Twerp. Second place went to Iceland, and the splendid trophy was received by Ray Kavick and his fiancee Sue Donym (not her real name). A hush crept over the auditorium as Barry announced the overall winner. "First place goes to Turkey, and here to collect the cup is Stan Bull."
A short presentation on insurance and the risks from terrorism was given by a man from Zurich. Basil said that Switzerland was the leading player in the insurance market and the Swiss role was now on the table for all to sea. Nick Aragua's wife, Libby, caused a ripple by heckling at this point, saying the Swiss were only good at making chocolate. Basil accused her of muddling the issue and pointed the finger of fudge at Stan Bull for inviting them. There was genuine Turkish delight when Stan responded by taking a bow. Basil changed tictacs by offering Libby an Aero (plain) and said he always had the advantage of knowing the secret of the black flight box. After 8 years in the insurance business he declared it wasn't a picnic, and said he knew exactly which buttons to press on this topic.
The food was truly international and the Americans went for the Indian dishes in a big way. Mary Land wanted Balti more than most; Minnie Sota was close behind her along with Carol Liner. Harry Zona was feeling a bit dry and had a glass of white wine with Mrs Sippy from Georgia. Unfortunately he tried it on with a couple of ladies but did not get far. He couldn't understand why O'Ming (the Chinese Interpreter) did not want a drink, and then got annoyed when the Frenchman, Beau Jolais, told him to leave Frau Milch alone. The Paris agent, Mrs Veaux, caught the Frenchman's eye and they recognised each other at once. Beau Jolais knew Veaux from college and reminiscing made him and Yves Veaux stick together like glue all night. Glen Livet had too much to drink and was soon singing with Ness and Dorma from Rome. Not to be outdone, Carrie Oki and Philip Eanes joined in, but Abbey Sinya said she was too old and could only sing a poor song.
Bella Ruse from Minsk was feeling a bit chilly, so Heidi Hi (the ex-Blue Coat now working on the Cote D'Azur) offered her a Red Stripe. Al Bania and his wife, Govina, started a debate on passport control in Europe. The wars in their part of the world had caused too many splits and they thought the UN should keep in check republics' claims for full recognition. Al said the new UN arrangements after the war saw convention go to the wall. He proceeded to get tanked up and annoyed his wife; however, having the foresight to travel separately, he had hired a car from Hertz so Govina could go alone if she wanted to. Panic broke out temporarily when Jack Arta joined the debate. Mal Vinas from the Falklands shouted "Hi Jack," and Bella Grano hit the deck just as Donna Kebab was serving Johan his burger.
The international executive, Bill Board, advertised the fact that flight attendants had to be slim and rudely noted that Ann Baggage had been too bulky to be let on the plane. The way bill handled this didn't go down too well with Aaron Autiks, her American boyfriend. Lou Pole had found Ann a job at the Cairo flight desk of Blocked Airlines where she and Arty Choke both worked on computer terminals with Cath O'Dray. Local customs dictated that there was much paperwork to deal with, but the supervisor, Pru Former, eased things most of the time. C.Ferry expressed concern about Duty Free sales. He produced a list, and ticks and crosses against various product lines showed a ruthless streamlining, especially on the perfumes. Miss Du Vet (single) looked at the list and complained angrily. Eventually, after agreeing not to cross Channel, Ferry won her over.
The ownership of various islands caused a further flashpoint and the dispute soon got out of hand. Calvin Ipso from South America (Calypso to his friends) was discussing the Maldives with Ben Gaul over tea and cake. Cal cut a slice while announcing that he enjoyed visiting the Ballearics. After tea more islands were mentioned, and Leon Solent upset the man from Le Havre, almost provoking a fight. After taking his jersey off, Norman de Coast challenged Leon to a duel. The Romanian delegate instantly started to take bets on the outcome and Dan Air said he'd bet a tenner if the odds were in favour of Norman. After 2 to 1 was offered, many people went for it, though some had to think about it carefully first - especially the man from Moldova. Frank Furter told the Romanian to give his book a rest as he found gambling unacceptable. This feeling was heightened after his recent visits to Christmas Island, the Ascension Islands and Easter Island. The anti-christian activity left Frank incensed and murmurs of agreement circulated. Fortunately Frank's compatriot, Herr Traffik, controlled the situation well.
The event was deemed a success by members of the Board and there are plans to stage a similar event next year. I managed to speak to a number of Board members, including Una Seff (who does much work for charity) and the philosophy professor, Y. B. Koz. Both were positive about the future and had enjoyed the event.
...
The conference was attended by over 250 delegates from around the world, and the diversity of the attendees and their backgrounds was amazing. Many had risen to great heights within their own countries, and I will attempt to provide the fullest report of events.
The delegate from Cyprus was an Irishman by the name of Nick O'Sear and his curious accent gave his stream of jokes a unique quality. Two guests who hit it off at once were the "Monty's", Video from Uruguay and Carlo from Monaco. Two women joined them to make a foursome during the latter part of the evening; Anne Dorra and Liz Bonne both got the "Full Monty" is you ask me.
The award for the best service was the highlight of the evening. Barry Island took the stage holding a manilla envelope and announced the results in reverse order. Third was Zambia, and Lou Sarka collected his awrd with his dopey looking girlfriend, Ann Twerp. Second place went to Iceland, and the splendid trophy was received by Ray Kavick and his fiancee Sue Donym (not her real name). A hush crept over the auditorium as Barry announced the overall winner. "First place goes to Turkey, and here to collect the cup is Stan Bull."
A short presentation on insurance and the risks from terrorism was given by a man from Zurich. Basil said that Switzerland was the leading player in the insurance market and the Swiss role was now on the table for all to sea. Nick Aragua's wife, Libby, caused a ripple by heckling at this point, saying the Swiss were only good at making chocolate. Basil accused her of muddling the issue and pointed the finger of fudge at Stan Bull for inviting them. There was genuine Turkish delight when Stan responded by taking a bow. Basil changed tictacs by offering Libby an Aero (plain) and said he always had the advantage of knowing the secret of the black flight box. After 8 years in the insurance business he declared it wasn't a picnic, and said he knew exactly which buttons to press on this topic.
The food was truly international and the Americans went for the Indian dishes in a big way. Mary Land wanted Balti more than most; Minnie Sota was close behind her along with Carol Liner. Harry Zona was feeling a bit dry and had a glass of white wine with Mrs Sippy from Georgia. Unfortunately he tried it on with a couple of ladies but did not get far. He couldn't understand why O'Ming (the Chinese Interpreter) did not want a drink, and then got annoyed when the Frenchman, Beau Jolais, told him to leave Frau Milch alone. The Paris agent, Mrs Veaux, caught the Frenchman's eye and they recognised each other at once. Beau Jolais knew Veaux from college and reminiscing made him and Yves Veaux stick together like glue all night. Glen Livet had too much to drink and was soon singing with Ness and Dorma from Rome. Not to be outdone, Carrie Oki and Philip Eanes joined in, but Abbey Sinya said she was too old and could only sing a poor song.
Bella Ruse from Minsk was feeling a bit chilly, so Heidi Hi (the ex-Blue Coat now working on the Cote D'Azur) offered her a Red Stripe. Al Bania and his wife, Govina, started a debate on passport control in Europe. The wars in their part of the world had caused too many splits and they thought the UN should keep in check republics' claims for full recognition. Al said the new UN arrangements after the war saw convention go to the wall. He proceeded to get tanked up and annoyed his wife; however, having the foresight to travel separately, he had hired a car from Hertz so Govina could go alone if she wanted to. Panic broke out temporarily when Jack Arta joined the debate. Mal Vinas from the Falklands shouted "Hi Jack," and Bella Grano hit the deck just as Donna Kebab was serving Johan his burger.
The international executive, Bill Board, advertised the fact that flight attendants had to be slim and rudely noted that Ann Baggage had been too bulky to be let on the plane. The way bill handled this didn't go down too well with Aaron Autiks, her American boyfriend. Lou Pole had found Ann a job at the Cairo flight desk of Blocked Airlines where she and Arty Choke both worked on computer terminals with Cath O'Dray. Local customs dictated that there was much paperwork to deal with, but the supervisor, Pru Former, eased things most of the time. C.Ferry expressed concern about Duty Free sales. He produced a list, and ticks and crosses against various product lines showed a ruthless streamlining, especially on the perfumes. Miss Du Vet (single) looked at the list and complained angrily. Eventually, after agreeing not to cross Channel, Ferry won her over.
The ownership of various islands caused a further flashpoint and the dispute soon got out of hand. Calvin Ipso from South America (Calypso to his friends) was discussing the Maldives with Ben Gaul over tea and cake. Cal cut a slice while announcing that he enjoyed visiting the Ballearics. After tea more islands were mentioned, and Leon Solent upset the man from Le Havre, almost provoking a fight. After taking his jersey off, Norman de Coast challenged Leon to a duel. The Romanian delegate instantly started to take bets on the outcome and Dan Air said he'd bet a tenner if the odds were in favour of Norman. After 2 to 1 was offered, many people went for it, though some had to think about it carefully first - especially the man from Moldova. Frank Furter told the Romanian to give his book a rest as he found gambling unacceptable. This feeling was heightened after his recent visits to Christmas Island, the Ascension Islands and Easter Island. The anti-christian activity left Frank incensed and murmurs of agreement circulated. Fortunately Frank's compatriot, Herr Traffik, controlled the situation well.
The event was deemed a success by members of the Board and there are plans to stage a similar event next year. I managed to speak to a number of Board members, including Una Seff (who does much work for charity) and the philosophy professor, Y. B. Koz. Both were positive about the future and had enjoyed the event.
...
Sunday 4 September 2011
4.9.11 Hasselhoff
No, not the ex-BGT judge and all round rather dozy and generally pointless 'Hoff', as in the male one. I am talking about the other double-barrelled one. Pamela Bach-Hasselhoff, her of Big Brother "Fame" - ha! What a pointless individual. But that's not the thrust of this post. What's more concerning is the use of the name. It seems to me that after a divorce five years ago, use of the Hasselhoff name is strange if the bloke himself is not up to much in her opinion. Pamela Weissenbach is in effect 'trading on the Hasselhoff name' because without that element, no one interested in 'Big Brother' would have a clue about her. I think that a divorce should include the name as well; it wouldn't surprise me if 'Image Rights' actually featured in future divorce cases.
I have steadfastly refused to watch Big Brother, but one cannot help seeing the odd story in the newspapers about the pathetic goings on. Apparently, Pamela has said she wasn't stimulated enough in the house. She claimed that there was very little banter and no one quizzed her much about her life and her marriage to David Hasselhoff. It's because no one is fucking interested, luv - they don't cuntin' care! Get a life, and stop peddling shitty leftovers from a past relationship that was the only reason you got the gig in the first place.
NB: There are others whose use of names seems to suit quite nicely. Peaches rather likes being a Geldof, and Bianca Gascoigne trades nicely on her surname as well. I remember Julia Carling was happy to ditch the love-rat Will, but not his surname because it was rather handy to promote her own cause and career. Cheryl Tweedy became Cole, but did not revert to Tweedy when she split from Ashley (I think because Cole sounds better). Now that she's back with him, that's a moot point, although is it her attempt of clinging to some recognition and fame after her own efforts at doing anything useful have failed, I wonder. Sally Bercow will no doubt keep the surname that she's been trading on for a while now, once her divorce comes through. The split is inevitable, considering she's wayward / mad / awful / a liability - too much hassle, actually!
...
I have steadfastly refused to watch Big Brother, but one cannot help seeing the odd story in the newspapers about the pathetic goings on. Apparently, Pamela has said she wasn't stimulated enough in the house. She claimed that there was very little banter and no one quizzed her much about her life and her marriage to David Hasselhoff. It's because no one is fucking interested, luv - they don't cuntin' care! Get a life, and stop peddling shitty leftovers from a past relationship that was the only reason you got the gig in the first place.
NB: There are others whose use of names seems to suit quite nicely. Peaches rather likes being a Geldof, and Bianca Gascoigne trades nicely on her surname as well. I remember Julia Carling was happy to ditch the love-rat Will, but not his surname because it was rather handy to promote her own cause and career. Cheryl Tweedy became Cole, but did not revert to Tweedy when she split from Ashley (I think because Cole sounds better). Now that she's back with him, that's a moot point, although is it her attempt of clinging to some recognition and fame after her own efforts at doing anything useful have failed, I wonder. Sally Bercow will no doubt keep the surname that she's been trading on for a while now, once her divorce comes through. The split is inevitable, considering she's wayward / mad / awful / a liability - too much hassle, actually!
...
4.9.11 The Saturdays
I am not sure I know what's worse; The Saturdays being ambassadors for Dogs Trust, or the fact that Nintendo has bothered to create a game that involves looking after a dog. What was their agent thinking of when matching the group with dogs (?) and what was the manufacturer thinking when deciding it would be worthwhile to teach the 'dog owners of tomorrow' how to look after dogs via computer game? The only beneficiary seems to be Dogs Trust but I have already covered that organisation via a previous blog post.
Just wrong all round, really. Barking.
...
Just wrong all round, really. Barking.
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4.9.11 Guetta Life
There's an advert on TV (i-Player, but what's the difference) for the latest album by David Guetta featuring a song called "Where Them Girls At". I know that the grammar in song lyrics can sometimes be slightly questionable, but usually the extent of rebellion has been limited to double negatives (eg. I can't get no satisfaction). This effort, though - 'Where Them Girls At' - is an absolute disgrace, and that's not including the missing question mark!
On Facebook last week I saw an entry of: "I fort is was summit new lol." You carry on finking, luv.
Still, Radio 4 is hardly any better for permitting reports that include:
"We're not building nowhere near as many house as we need to."
"The river contains a lot of eel" [ The plural of eel is eels ]
"The bullets started firing" [ No, people fire guns; bullets do not fire ]
All I can say is "Who cunt done sayin' shit wiv nuffin propper, like"
...
On Facebook last week I saw an entry of: "I fort is was summit new lol." You carry on finking, luv.
Still, Radio 4 is hardly any better for permitting reports that include:
"We're not building nowhere near as many house as we need to."
"The river contains a lot of eel" [ The plural of eel is eels ]
"The bullets started firing" [ No, people fire guns; bullets do not fire ]
All I can say is "Who cunt done sayin' shit wiv nuffin propper, like"
...
4.9.11 Price Watch
I was amazed by the recent tactics at Morrisons. Supermarkets are a law unto themselves, and con the fuck out of us on a regular basis. No, I am not this time talking about the variations in pack size/weight, or the creative ways in which they display items, or don't even make certain products or brands available. I am this time logging a very simple issue - the unwarranted cuntin' price hike.
I thought that the Sainsbury's increase in the cost of its most basic toilet roll from 51p to 70p at my local store was bad enough, equating to an increase in a month of 37%. But no, what takes the biscuit (or in this case the pasta) is the Morrisons hike of the year! On Saturday 27th August, I purchased the own-brand pasta at 17p.
On Friday 2nd September, just six days later, it had risen to a new selling price of 41p. That's a shocking 141% rise in less than a week. What the fucking fuck?
...
I thought that the Sainsbury's increase in the cost of its most basic toilet roll from 51p to 70p at my local store was bad enough, equating to an increase in a month of 37%. But no, what takes the biscuit (or in this case the pasta) is the Morrisons hike of the year! On Saturday 27th August, I purchased the own-brand pasta at 17p.
On Friday 2nd September, just six days later, it had risen to a new selling price of 41p. That's a shocking 141% rise in less than a week. What the fucking fuck?
...
Saturday 3 September 2011
3.9.11 X-Factor Week 3
Well, another 60 minutes (less time for the adverts, trailers, padding, intros etc - so 41 minutes then) of hopefuls wailing for the judges. Not a fantastically notable instalment, but here are a few comments on the show:
...
- Louis raises the stakes early on with his decision of "I'm a million percent YES"
- Louis later settles for avoiding numbers with "An absolute absolute massive NO"
- "You're absolutely fantastic" 'said Thomas'. The first bit was Gary Barlow, the second bit was me (real time, sat next to Mrs MWSC, impersonating the narrator of Thomas the Tank Engine).
- The 'Michael Jackson' from last year was crap, and accused the judges of being judgemental (!) whilst continuing to whinge and displaying an attitude that was certainly capitalising on the 'mental' part.
- Luke Lucas was very good, but I had Mrs MWSC in stitches with my uncalled for comment. The camera showed his family back stage, and the mother who had a fantastically large set of gnashers. The cause of the stitches was my "She could outbite a camel". Not PC, but honest.
...
3.9.11 Cherie Blair QC
What does QC stand for? No, I am not referring to the 'Sherry' (forced to be renamed as 'British Fortified Wine' because of EU legislation) that was popular in the 70s and goes by these initials, but the other 'Cherie', the much more nauseating one - who's never been popular since the 70s. I certainly know what the 'C' stands for.
It seems she's been reprimanded (again) for being fucking useless and completely out of touch with reality. I appreciate that this is not news, because anyone who's been alive for the last twenty years will have had ample opportunity to deduce that the Ex-PM's wife is a self-serving appendage. In fact, the Blairs seem to be doing quite well for themselves, having shafted the country, and then led it to the doors of the abattoir [for Gordon Brown to knock and be let in]. So, we are left in the mess that will cripple the UK for ever, but the Blairs do all right. Cherie's latest fuck-up relates to the chap who was caught with cocaine worth £145,000 but was let off with a suspended sentence. It's been reported that three Appeal Court judges expressed astonishment at what was described as a startling, deficient and unduly lenient sentence. They fortunately did the right thing, and sentenced the bloke to three-and-a-half years in jail - still below the typical 5-9 years for 'conspiracy to supply a class A drug'. How on earth the QC decided upon a 12-month suspended sentence is beyond anyone.
It's all very well to 'reassess the case and re-sentence the guilty man', but what about the fuck-up by Cherie? Where's the penalty for this mess? Is she to be sacked? She's already had one correction applied to her work as a judge, when last year a man before her was convicted of breaking the jaw of a chap who was in a bank queue, but the twat let him off because he was supposedly "religious"!!!!
CB the QC is an RC [Right or Real, take your pick]
...
It seems she's been reprimanded (again) for being fucking useless and completely out of touch with reality. I appreciate that this is not news, because anyone who's been alive for the last twenty years will have had ample opportunity to deduce that the Ex-PM's wife is a self-serving appendage. In fact, the Blairs seem to be doing quite well for themselves, having shafted the country, and then led it to the doors of the abattoir [for Gordon Brown to knock and be let in]. So, we are left in the mess that will cripple the UK for ever, but the Blairs do all right. Cherie's latest fuck-up relates to the chap who was caught with cocaine worth £145,000 but was let off with a suspended sentence. It's been reported that three Appeal Court judges expressed astonishment at what was described as a startling, deficient and unduly lenient sentence. They fortunately did the right thing, and sentenced the bloke to three-and-a-half years in jail - still below the typical 5-9 years for 'conspiracy to supply a class A drug'. How on earth the QC decided upon a 12-month suspended sentence is beyond anyone.
It's all very well to 'reassess the case and re-sentence the guilty man', but what about the fuck-up by Cherie? Where's the penalty for this mess? Is she to be sacked? She's already had one correction applied to her work as a judge, when last year a man before her was convicted of breaking the jaw of a chap who was in a bank queue, but the twat let him off because he was supposedly "religious"!!!!
CB the QC is an RC [Right or Real, take your pick]
...
Friday 2 September 2011
2.9.11 Soap TV
Why are we inundated with programmes that insist we're 'entertained' by anything and everything done by soap stars? Celebrity this, All Star that, and Soap Version the other. There's no end to the supply of soap actors, ex-soap people and 'peripheral' soap stars who seem intent on filling my TV screen. So many people desperate for more TV exposure, competing in various challenges that are commonly shit.
I struggle to endure 'Fiz' at the best of times, during an episode of Coronation Street. There are scores of other people of less renown who are wheeled in by programme makers, who somehow think we'll be dying to watch if it includes a cow from Emmerdale, or a cunt from Hollyoaks! I certainly don't want to put up with actors (if that's what they are) cooking, or on a quiz show, or Who Wants To Be A Pain-in-the-arse. They sing, chat, cook, eat, attempt obstacle courses, jump out of planes, open envelopes, play games, just about anything really. Usually 'for charity'. Yawn.
...
I struggle to endure 'Fiz' at the best of times, during an episode of Coronation Street. There are scores of other people of less renown who are wheeled in by programme makers, who somehow think we'll be dying to watch if it includes a cow from Emmerdale, or a cunt from Hollyoaks! I certainly don't want to put up with actors (if that's what they are) cooking, or on a quiz show, or Who Wants To Be A Pain-in-the-arse. They sing, chat, cook, eat, attempt obstacle courses, jump out of planes, open envelopes, play games, just about anything really. Usually 'for charity'. Yawn.
...
2.9.11 Un-Cooperative
Which queue to join is a question many of us ask ourselves on a regular basis. I had to make such a choice today, at the Co-op. The extent of my intended expenditure was just 30 pence, for a newspaper. In the 'old days', it was possible to nip in for such an item, and pay at the 'kiosk', without a significant wait. These days, there's no such option. The main reason is that the tills that used to serve such a purpose are now no different from normal tills, in that customers with full baskets can join the queue. Further, the range of services at that till now includes lottery tickets, scratchcards, Paypoint (for TV Licences, mobile phone top-ups, utility bill payments) plus cigarettes and spirits behind the till operator. The kiosk has two tills, but a greater potential for diverse requests from shoppers. The ordinary till is less flexible, but attracts old biddies with a trolley full of overpriced items - and these shoppers are slow or disorganised or both.
My choice was between one functioning till at the kiosk with a queue of three people (including one with a basket of goods being presented by an elderly man) versus an ordinary checkout with the 'tail-end' of one shopper's transaction about to be followed by an old lady with loads of stuff in a small trolley.
NB: This real-life conundrum would be of much greater relevance for GCSE Maths, rather than the more standard 'men digging a trench' question, or a more likely standard of question these days, 'What's one plus two? Tip - the answer rhymes with 'Tree' - unless you're Irish, in which case that's actually the answer.'
I discarded the third option, which was dumping thirty pence on the counter and walking off, and the hoo-hah that would have ensued. I joined the kiosk queue, having weighed up the merits of each and concluded that the speed of progress was likely to be marginally better on that channel. Meanwhile, I was able to delight in the complete fucking madness at the Co-op.
Only two people were serving customers. A supervisor was to my right, all of a sudden, laden with goods plastered with orange barcode stickers (reduced items) and putting them into a small trolley next to the kiosk. This was no doubt an attempt to entice loiterers to pick up a last minute 'bargain', or buy items for something like their proper price, after the Co-op's attempt at extortion had failed. My own suggestion would have been to put more fucking operators on the tills each week, and fewer items would have to be discounted just before their 'best before' date arrived. The time it takes to buy stuff contributes to it not leaving the shelves quickly enough. The main factor of course is that the shop is useless and the staff generally incompetent. While all sorts of stuff was tipped into the trolley to my right, ahead of me stood Rita, donning a pink T-shirt over her Co-op top. She stood in front of a small trestle table, which had odds and sods spread upon it - each with a raffle ticket taped in place. I mused that more stuff was likely to leave the building with a sticker on it than without. Rita was raising money for charity - which one I have no idea - and was asking anyone within range if he or she wanted 5 tickets for a pound. All I wanted was to see her shut the fuck up, take off the T-shirt and get behind the other till in the kiosk. A couple of other uniformed Co-op workers appeared, but one was buying a salad for herself and joined the queue behind the lady with the trolley, and the other chap just looked shifty and disappeared.
I got to the till, had a quick exchange with M (the only useful and likeable member of staff) and paid for my paper. I did highlight the lunacy of staff being available to sell raffle tickets, while she (M) was stuck on the till serving a permanent queue. A nod and agreement later, I was asked by Rita if I wanted to buy some raffle tickets. I was thus presented with choice for the second time today, and had to consider what to do:
...
My choice was between one functioning till at the kiosk with a queue of three people (including one with a basket of goods being presented by an elderly man) versus an ordinary checkout with the 'tail-end' of one shopper's transaction about to be followed by an old lady with loads of stuff in a small trolley.
NB: This real-life conundrum would be of much greater relevance for GCSE Maths, rather than the more standard 'men digging a trench' question, or a more likely standard of question these days, 'What's one plus two? Tip - the answer rhymes with 'Tree' - unless you're Irish, in which case that's actually the answer.'
I discarded the third option, which was dumping thirty pence on the counter and walking off, and the hoo-hah that would have ensued. I joined the kiosk queue, having weighed up the merits of each and concluded that the speed of progress was likely to be marginally better on that channel. Meanwhile, I was able to delight in the complete fucking madness at the Co-op.
Only two people were serving customers. A supervisor was to my right, all of a sudden, laden with goods plastered with orange barcode stickers (reduced items) and putting them into a small trolley next to the kiosk. This was no doubt an attempt to entice loiterers to pick up a last minute 'bargain', or buy items for something like their proper price, after the Co-op's attempt at extortion had failed. My own suggestion would have been to put more fucking operators on the tills each week, and fewer items would have to be discounted just before their 'best before' date arrived. The time it takes to buy stuff contributes to it not leaving the shelves quickly enough. The main factor of course is that the shop is useless and the staff generally incompetent. While all sorts of stuff was tipped into the trolley to my right, ahead of me stood Rita, donning a pink T-shirt over her Co-op top. She stood in front of a small trestle table, which had odds and sods spread upon it - each with a raffle ticket taped in place. I mused that more stuff was likely to leave the building with a sticker on it than without. Rita was raising money for charity - which one I have no idea - and was asking anyone within range if he or she wanted 5 tickets for a pound. All I wanted was to see her shut the fuck up, take off the T-shirt and get behind the other till in the kiosk. A couple of other uniformed Co-op workers appeared, but one was buying a salad for herself and joined the queue behind the lady with the trolley, and the other chap just looked shifty and disappeared.
I got to the till, had a quick exchange with M (the only useful and likeable member of staff) and paid for my paper. I did highlight the lunacy of staff being available to sell raffle tickets, while she (M) was stuck on the till serving a permanent queue. A nod and agreement later, I was asked by Rita if I wanted to buy some raffle tickets. I was thus presented with choice for the second time today, and had to consider what to do:
- Say 'Yes' and spend a pound to win fuck all of any use from the trestle table of oddments
- Say 'No' and walk on by
- Say 'Yes' but get my own back by asking the little itch to make it a "plus five" which would have perplexed her and been impossible to offer
- Say nothing, give a disdainful look with a very subtle shake of the head, and walk on by
- Say 'Fuck off you stupid little cunt, I would have been out of here five minutes ago if you stopped pissing about and annoying customers with a crappy offer of raffle tickets for in-store shit that is of no interest. So why don't you stop blocking the exit, take off that T-shirt and do some fucking work because this shop is a complete joke.'
...
Thursday 1 September 2011
1.9.11 August Quotes of the Month
1st Place - "Do you know what, even though I was in Cuba, the Tooth Fairy still found me" [Tia - aged 6, pleased with her pound coin]
2nd Place - "You used to get it from the chemist's after going to the doctor's" [Jess, referring to, of all things, Matey, which was of course a general purchase and not 'on prescription']
3rd Place - "It was like the top of a wine bottle" [Faye, to confirm the nature of a bathroom mat after it was suggested it was made of cork rather than vinyl]
4th Place - "She clearly doesn't throw up anymore" [Faye, referring to an acquaintance who was once very fat but at the last sighting was very skinny]
...
2nd Place - "You used to get it from the chemist's after going to the doctor's" [Jess, referring to, of all things, Matey, which was of course a general purchase and not 'on prescription']
3rd Place - "It was like the top of a wine bottle" [Faye, to confirm the nature of a bathroom mat after it was suggested it was made of cork rather than vinyl]
4th Place - "She clearly doesn't throw up anymore" [Faye, referring to an acquaintance who was once very fat but at the last sighting was very skinny]
...
1.9.11 Hospital 2
Day two of two, at the local hospital was a source of further bafflement and observations. Generally, people were helpful and I should go on record to commend the staff. Except the guy that asked if he could help me, when I arrived at the Acute Assessment Unit. He was of course 'teasing', as he proceeded to give no help whatsoever. Instead, after I mentioned we (TMWSC Junior was with me) were there to see Mrs MWSC, he said to wait, and he'd check things out. After almost half an hour, and the greatest exertion of tolerance mixed with patience (sorry for the pun) that TMWSC has ever exercised, it was enough. I entered the ward and loitered by the station. No trains came along, but there were many nurses hanging around. I adopted a certain stance/look and waited. It took a full minute before one of the twelve or so people noticed me and decided she might be able to help. These were not her exact words, and I was thankful for that because having been asked "Can I help you?" once already by a geezer whose mission did not actually include helping, I'd have been somewhat dubious of that line. "Is someone seeing to you?" was the more targeted question. My "No" led to her attending to my query as to the whereabouts of Mrs MWSC [not of course the name entered in the hospital records]. Ward 32. After receiving vague directions, Junior and I set off.
After finding the ward with marginally less success than would have been achieved by a rat searching for cheese in a model of the hospital, we entered it some five minutes later. Mrs MWSC was lying on her bed in the bay at the very end, the other side of four women who occupied the central (in the fucking way) area, having a chat as though they were in a Tesco aisle. I held my hands apart in a 'Moses' manner, and there was a parting as a pair moved back on each side. Mrs MWSC was dressed, ready to leave, but had first to complete one more test. We waited.
Two of the four shuffled off, so we were then left to listen to the verbal exchange of fat patient number one with gossip number two. I actually think Joyce from yesterday was preferable to these two! The fat one was the worst. In the interests of brevity (and sanity) I will save you, reader, from the rubbish this woman spouted. One thing I won't forget, though, was her recounting of an experience with a charity shop. She saw a child's toy in the shop marked at £10, and went to the assistant, offering to buy it for £7. It came as no surprise to me to hear her say her offer was not accepted. She, however, was affronted, and left the shop empty handed - probably as empty handed as if she'd offered £7,000 to a garage for a Mini costing £10,000. It turns out that a few days later, she saw the same toy in the window, marked down to £7 in a 'sale'. She marched into the shop and took issue with the assistant. She recounted her efforts to secure the item for £7 a few days earlier, and being told that it couldn't be discounted. She wanted to know why it was now on sale for £7. I was in fact quite curious to learn where this was going. The assistant apparently confirmed that it was not selling at the higher price so after a review, it had been re-priced at a more appropriate level.
Now, at this stage I was expecting Mrs Pain-in-the-arse to secure the item for the £7 and be on her way. But no, I heard her continue with the story and explain that she suggested that she should have been given the item for £7 in the first place, especially as "it's all profit, because you don't have to pay for anything you sell". It was apparently for this reason she'd haggled and thought it totally reasonable to expect a bit of flexibility. Then, the amazing development was revealed.
"So I said to her: 'You should have taken the £7 which was the right price; no idiot would have paid £10 anyway,' and she didn't have much to say about that. Anyway, I'd said my piece, and so I offered her £5 for it."
What the fuck? This woman seems to make a habit of haggling with charity shops, and challenging them on their approach, sales strategy and margins. Unfortunately (not that I am a fan of charity shops) they do actually have some expenses, but when one goes into a charity shop, the idea is that there's some minor fucking intent to support the charity in question; not haggle like a cunt to knock two quid off a Fisher-Price toy! The absolute cheek of her, trying to beat them down again. If I were the assistant, my response would have been:
"Fuck off to Mothercare, you stupid old bat, and buy a new one for £25"
She'd exhausted herself with all this yapping, and hinted to her audience of one that she needed a snooze - thank God. A few minutes later, we moved to the 'Day Room' and then Mrs MWSC had the final test sorted before we were ready to leave. On the notice board, I noticed [that shows it works then!] a sign that confused me.
How does one "Deliver same-sex accommodation"? It was one of those useless, pointless, self-congratulatory signs that simply wastes money and takes up space unnecessarily. Then, I was about to proceed when a further issue cropped up when I noticed a notice just below it:
What exactly is a "Discharge Clinic" then? It sounds rather disgusting to me! Also, the notice says (by default) you can go home/escape on a Monday, Wednesday or Thursday. Odd.
...
After finding the ward with marginally less success than would have been achieved by a rat searching for cheese in a model of the hospital, we entered it some five minutes later. Mrs MWSC was lying on her bed in the bay at the very end, the other side of four women who occupied the central (in the fucking way) area, having a chat as though they were in a Tesco aisle. I held my hands apart in a 'Moses' manner, and there was a parting as a pair moved back on each side. Mrs MWSC was dressed, ready to leave, but had first to complete one more test. We waited.
Two of the four shuffled off, so we were then left to listen to the verbal exchange of fat patient number one with gossip number two. I actually think Joyce from yesterday was preferable to these two! The fat one was the worst. In the interests of brevity (and sanity) I will save you, reader, from the rubbish this woman spouted. One thing I won't forget, though, was her recounting of an experience with a charity shop. She saw a child's toy in the shop marked at £10, and went to the assistant, offering to buy it for £7. It came as no surprise to me to hear her say her offer was not accepted. She, however, was affronted, and left the shop empty handed - probably as empty handed as if she'd offered £7,000 to a garage for a Mini costing £10,000. It turns out that a few days later, she saw the same toy in the window, marked down to £7 in a 'sale'. She marched into the shop and took issue with the assistant. She recounted her efforts to secure the item for £7 a few days earlier, and being told that it couldn't be discounted. She wanted to know why it was now on sale for £7. I was in fact quite curious to learn where this was going. The assistant apparently confirmed that it was not selling at the higher price so after a review, it had been re-priced at a more appropriate level.
Now, at this stage I was expecting Mrs Pain-in-the-arse to secure the item for the £7 and be on her way. But no, I heard her continue with the story and explain that she suggested that she should have been given the item for £7 in the first place, especially as "it's all profit, because you don't have to pay for anything you sell". It was apparently for this reason she'd haggled and thought it totally reasonable to expect a bit of flexibility. Then, the amazing development was revealed.
"So I said to her: 'You should have taken the £7 which was the right price; no idiot would have paid £10 anyway,' and she didn't have much to say about that. Anyway, I'd said my piece, and so I offered her £5 for it."
What the fuck? This woman seems to make a habit of haggling with charity shops, and challenging them on their approach, sales strategy and margins. Unfortunately (not that I am a fan of charity shops) they do actually have some expenses, but when one goes into a charity shop, the idea is that there's some minor fucking intent to support the charity in question; not haggle like a cunt to knock two quid off a Fisher-Price toy! The absolute cheek of her, trying to beat them down again. If I were the assistant, my response would have been:
"Fuck off to Mothercare, you stupid old bat, and buy a new one for £25"
She'd exhausted herself with all this yapping, and hinted to her audience of one that she needed a snooze - thank God. A few minutes later, we moved to the 'Day Room' and then Mrs MWSC had the final test sorted before we were ready to leave. On the notice board, I noticed [that shows it works then!] a sign that confused me.
How does one "Deliver same-sex accommodation"? It was one of those useless, pointless, self-congratulatory signs that simply wastes money and takes up space unnecessarily. Then, I was about to proceed when a further issue cropped up when I noticed a notice just below it:
What exactly is a "Discharge Clinic" then? It sounds rather disgusting to me! Also, the notice says (by default) you can go home/escape on a Monday, Wednesday or Thursday. Odd.
...
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