Apparently there's an outcry because the shortlist for the BBC Sports Personality of the Year does not include any women. Instead, ten men make up the nominees after due process under the selection system that's been in place for the last five years.
Branding the BBC as a disgrace for failing to shortlist any women is a pathetic stance. Gabby Logan claims the BBC is moving backwards. Needing to promote role models is a laudable aim, but NOT by ensuring manipulation of a shortlist for a gong. Clare Balding moaned about the limited coverage of women's sport.
There is a single process to judge the SPotT. There is one winner, and two runners up. Colour/race/sex make no difference. It's about being a personality in the world of sport, as judged by those who are allowed to express an opinion and/or vote to produce a shortlist. If it turns out that this year there are no women going through to the final stage, then so be it. If there was a single woman, there would be whinges about tokenism. Are the moaners saying there should be 5 women and 5 men? Pathetic. Women generally want equality, but clearly some actually don't, and would prefer to continue with forced representation rather than merit and 'personality' being the drivers for inclusion. Should we have Male SPotY and Female SPotY ? If so, then obviously there would be even representation by sex. If there is just the one general competition, then it cannot be manipulated to force even numbers of men and women being judges at each round.
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Wednesday 30 November 2011
30.11.11 Tram Bitch
I am sure you'll know the subject of this comment - the cunt who was filmed on a tram going from Croydon to Wimbledon. Over 2.5 millions views on YouTube so far. This supposed "human being" displayed the most atrocious behaviour I have ever seen on public transport, and she's lucky she wasn't topped. The torrent of racial abuse, bigoted behaviour, foul language and offensive views was non-stop and criminal. Actually, criminal was exactly what is was - she has been arrested, and remanded in custody for her own protection. Death threats she has received have unfortunately remained threats.
She racially abused passengers while her own son aged four was sat on her lap. What hope has he got? The woman, Emma West, has (unbelievably) a husband - why on earth anyone wants to be with her I do not know. However, it would now seem that the pair of them deserve each other, and are clearly jointly deranged. Yesterday her husband, Richard, apparently denied she was racist! Quite amazing, and of course disputed by 2.5 million witnesses to her cuntin' rant.
...
She racially abused passengers while her own son aged four was sat on her lap. What hope has he got? The woman, Emma West, has (unbelievably) a husband - why on earth anyone wants to be with her I do not know. However, it would now seem that the pair of them deserve each other, and are clearly jointly deranged. Yesterday her husband, Richard, apparently denied she was racist! Quite amazing, and of course disputed by 2.5 million witnesses to her cuntin' rant.
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Tuesday 29 November 2011
29.11.11 Strike
What a mess. I remember thinking of the Greeks that they were mad, striking and rebelling when the country was on its metaphorical knees. Here we are, some way down the line, in no better a position. In fact, despite not being in the Euro, we are perhaps entitled to think we ought to be better off, but thanks to the last government's atrocious fucking performance and sign-up to measures that now force our hand on bail-outs, we are actually worse off. Labour left the cupboard bare, and Labour MPs and supporters now seem to feel entitled to moan about the coalition's performance. True, it's not been good, but it's rather hypocritical of the "Reds" to suit themselves with selective memory.
What's now a complete disaster is the action to strike. Britain has lost a leg, and is on crutches. The worst thing to do in such a situation is set fire to the crutches! Union leaders revel in the chance to stir up shit and cause mayhem. Their collective moment of glory has come after a vote in which only a quarter of potential voters participated, and the end result is a forced and pointless general strike.
The country is in a precarious position. The private sector has had to adjust already, but public sector workers don't believe they should have to contribute. That may be a sweeping generalisation of the situation, but crippling the country for a day, forcing millions to lose money and robbing the government of money as well is hardly a way to improve things. I have just started my fifth year in my job, and have had just one pay increase of 2.5% in all that time; there'll be nothing for at least a year more as well. Sorry, but public sector workers are not immune from having to adjust.
The strike is madness.
...
What's now a complete disaster is the action to strike. Britain has lost a leg, and is on crutches. The worst thing to do in such a situation is set fire to the crutches! Union leaders revel in the chance to stir up shit and cause mayhem. Their collective moment of glory has come after a vote in which only a quarter of potential voters participated, and the end result is a forced and pointless general strike.
The country is in a precarious position. The private sector has had to adjust already, but public sector workers don't believe they should have to contribute. That may be a sweeping generalisation of the situation, but crippling the country for a day, forcing millions to lose money and robbing the government of money as well is hardly a way to improve things. I have just started my fifth year in my job, and have had just one pay increase of 2.5% in all that time; there'll be nothing for at least a year more as well. Sorry, but public sector workers are not immune from having to adjust.
The strike is madness.
...
29.11.11 Radio 4
Radio 4 offered some strange input today, during my car drive. The randomness of the following is simply representative of the stuff relayed over the airwaves.
I listened to a report that confirmed government help for "disadvantaged families". What the fuck is a disadvantaged family? These days, every pissing family is disadvantaged! Of course, I know what the meaning behind this is - it's families which have a member who claims some sort of benefit, or a family with a substantial tax credit. I am sure there are various other qualifying factors, but the end result is that, as ever, any normal family is by default told to "fuck off" while those with a reason to feel hard done by will benefit in some way. It gets to the stage where any normal family is itself disadvantaged because the cuntin' government is so much in favour of the disadvantaged that it discriminates past the point of common sense, decency or fairness!
The news included a report on claims made by Ginger White regarding an affair with presidential candidate Herman Cain. I am sorry, but anyone with such a silly name does not warrant listening to. Ginger White? Puts me in mind of a tabby cat. Also, anyone with a colour for a surname ought to be careful about a nickname. If you like the first name "Red", don't pick it if your surname is Green. 'Scarlet Brown' would be another faux pas. Olive Gray could be another. Anyway, you get the message.
A silly woman insisted on bemoaning the state of the country and the government's policies, citing input from the Office of Budget Responsibility. She said, "The Office of Budget Responsibility are the arbiter . . . . ." I lost interest in what the twat was saying after she completely failed on grammatical grounds to relay information properly. The OBR is !!! Even after an appalling error, she made it even worse with horrendous inconsistency by not saying 'arbiters', after making the singular body a plural entity. Half-wit.
On a complete tangent, but puzzling enough for me to mention, does anyone know why on the westbound M62 on the hard shoulder just before junction 27, there is a sign in the area cordoned off for workmen, giving a site speed limit of 11mph ??? That's right, eleven miles per hour. What a strange pitch for a speed limit.
...
I listened to a report that confirmed government help for "disadvantaged families". What the fuck is a disadvantaged family? These days, every pissing family is disadvantaged! Of course, I know what the meaning behind this is - it's families which have a member who claims some sort of benefit, or a family with a substantial tax credit. I am sure there are various other qualifying factors, but the end result is that, as ever, any normal family is by default told to "fuck off" while those with a reason to feel hard done by will benefit in some way. It gets to the stage where any normal family is itself disadvantaged because the cuntin' government is so much in favour of the disadvantaged that it discriminates past the point of common sense, decency or fairness!
The news included a report on claims made by Ginger White regarding an affair with presidential candidate Herman Cain. I am sorry, but anyone with such a silly name does not warrant listening to. Ginger White? Puts me in mind of a tabby cat. Also, anyone with a colour for a surname ought to be careful about a nickname. If you like the first name "Red", don't pick it if your surname is Green. 'Scarlet Brown' would be another faux pas. Olive Gray could be another. Anyway, you get the message.
A silly woman insisted on bemoaning the state of the country and the government's policies, citing input from the Office of Budget Responsibility. She said, "The Office of Budget Responsibility are the arbiter . . . . ." I lost interest in what the twat was saying after she completely failed on grammatical grounds to relay information properly. The OBR is !!! Even after an appalling error, she made it even worse with horrendous inconsistency by not saying 'arbiters', after making the singular body a plural entity. Half-wit.
On a complete tangent, but puzzling enough for me to mention, does anyone know why on the westbound M62 on the hard shoulder just before junction 27, there is a sign in the area cordoned off for workmen, giving a site speed limit of 11mph ??? That's right, eleven miles per hour. What a strange pitch for a speed limit.
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Monday 28 November 2011
28.11.11 Spearmint Rhino
I must confess (no, no, not that!) to being unimpressed on 11th November, when reading a story about Spearmint Rhino. However, upon reflection, I have adjusted my thinking. As with most things about the UK economy, supermarkets are at the heart of the issue.
What made me smile a couple of weeks back was the business section in the Sun, and a piece on job creation. It was reported that SR plans to help hard-up Britain - by hiring dozens of "English Roses". Apparently it wants to do its bit to prevent a double dip recession by creating 60 jobs across the country.
Now, far be it from me to put a negative spin on things, but sixty jobs? Sixty? Is that somehow going to make any fucking difference to the UK economy? As for helping the economy, frittering away stupid sums to watch lap dancers might be fun, but it will lead to a shortfall somewhere else along the line; something has got to give in one's housekeeping, if Spearmint Rhino's new dancers take money.
Now let's consider another type of announcement, one with meatier numbers. Rather than pick on a specific announcement, let's for a moment accept the generic "XXX supermarket has announced that 1500 jobs will be created through the opening of three new stores in XXX". Such a statement is not uncommon, and the expectation is that we'll all feel a bit better - good news, for a change! Actually, NO.
Yes, at face value, 1500 new jobs sounds good. But hang on - how are we managing without those 1500 people gainfully employed and working to serve us? We are managing because there are enough supermarkets already, and if we need something, we go to one of them and buy shit. Sometimes we are mildly put out by having to shop at a place that's an 'independent' retailer. Spooky, eh? But wherever we do shop, we shop. So, back to the 1500 people gainfully employed (1300 of them probably part-time, by the way). They are in fact depriving someone else of a job, or helping another business to hit bad times and close. The thing is, there are no new jobs in the world of supermarkets. There are enough shops to serve us food. If we have more of them, then the existing ones will be visited by fewer people, or other shops will be killed off (and jobs lost). The only way the growth can be warranted is through immigration, and population growth at a ludicrous level.
So, if a supermarket wants to announce that it has truly created jobs, then it would require substantiation by a survey of the local area to establish that a surge in the number of shoppers, arising from immigration, has caused a demand. If this is not true, then other jobs are being lost during the onward march of the big four supermarkets. I suspect an 80/20 split, with immigration driving the 20% not the 80%.
Back to Spearmint, then, and the 60 new jobs planned. At least we can say that they are unlikely to be depriving other dancers of a livelihood. They may be dubious roles in life, but it's not as if we are all "shopping elsewhere" at the moment, and SR will be needlessly spreading itself - hmmmmm, hold that thought. The American boss, Mr John Specht, even invited ministers to see his growth plans. Also, the article noted that one banker had spent £28,000 on dances the week before. Well there you have it, a perfect comparison. Supermarkets nick an existing shopper and redirect the spending. Meanwhile, instead of a lap dancer taking money from the earnings of another lap dancer, and the punter spending the same amount regardless, we have new trade of an opportunistic nature, with a banker being fleeced - for a change. In effect, one cunt is taking money from another cunt, so to speak.
Cracking!
...
What made me smile a couple of weeks back was the business section in the Sun, and a piece on job creation. It was reported that SR plans to help hard-up Britain - by hiring dozens of "English Roses". Apparently it wants to do its bit to prevent a double dip recession by creating 60 jobs across the country.
Now, far be it from me to put a negative spin on things, but sixty jobs? Sixty? Is that somehow going to make any fucking difference to the UK economy? As for helping the economy, frittering away stupid sums to watch lap dancers might be fun, but it will lead to a shortfall somewhere else along the line; something has got to give in one's housekeeping, if Spearmint Rhino's new dancers take money.
Now let's consider another type of announcement, one with meatier numbers. Rather than pick on a specific announcement, let's for a moment accept the generic "XXX supermarket has announced that 1500 jobs will be created through the opening of three new stores in XXX". Such a statement is not uncommon, and the expectation is that we'll all feel a bit better - good news, for a change! Actually, NO.
Yes, at face value, 1500 new jobs sounds good. But hang on - how are we managing without those 1500 people gainfully employed and working to serve us? We are managing because there are enough supermarkets already, and if we need something, we go to one of them and buy shit. Sometimes we are mildly put out by having to shop at a place that's an 'independent' retailer. Spooky, eh? But wherever we do shop, we shop. So, back to the 1500 people gainfully employed (1300 of them probably part-time, by the way). They are in fact depriving someone else of a job, or helping another business to hit bad times and close. The thing is, there are no new jobs in the world of supermarkets. There are enough shops to serve us food. If we have more of them, then the existing ones will be visited by fewer people, or other shops will be killed off (and jobs lost). The only way the growth can be warranted is through immigration, and population growth at a ludicrous level.
So, if a supermarket wants to announce that it has truly created jobs, then it would require substantiation by a survey of the local area to establish that a surge in the number of shoppers, arising from immigration, has caused a demand. If this is not true, then other jobs are being lost during the onward march of the big four supermarkets. I suspect an 80/20 split, with immigration driving the 20% not the 80%.
Back to Spearmint, then, and the 60 new jobs planned. At least we can say that they are unlikely to be depriving other dancers of a livelihood. They may be dubious roles in life, but it's not as if we are all "shopping elsewhere" at the moment, and SR will be needlessly spreading itself - hmmmmm, hold that thought. The American boss, Mr John Specht, even invited ministers to see his growth plans. Also, the article noted that one banker had spent £28,000 on dances the week before. Well there you have it, a perfect comparison. Supermarkets nick an existing shopper and redirect the spending. Meanwhile, instead of a lap dancer taking money from the earnings of another lap dancer, and the punter spending the same amount regardless, we have new trade of an opportunistic nature, with a banker being fleeced - for a change. In effect, one cunt is taking money from another cunt, so to speak.
Cracking!
...
Sunday 27 November 2011
27.11.11 Marisota
Is Marisota on some sort of mission, or what? I am confused as to why there has to be such a point made regarding clothes that cater for the 'larger woman'. Surely it's completely inappropriate discrimination?
Sizes available are from 12 to 32. So, let's be very clear on this. If you're larger than 32, you're a fat cunt and do not qualify to be clothed by Marisota. However, the 'larger' women in the population are allowed to order. These larger women can wear clothes in sizes:
12, 14, 16, 18, 20, 22, 24, 26, 28, 30 and 32. Eleven sizes in total. What I cannot work out is why sizes 10 and 8 (and possibly 6) are not included. I would say that 95% of the population would be in the range 8-32. However, Marisota is by default suggesting that those who are 12-32 are worthy, while if you're a size 10 you're too small. Is the company really saying that size 12 belongs with the 'larger sizes' group? Size 12 is totally normal - it is certainly NOT large. The whole approach is contradictory.
In yesterday's paper, there is an article that shows Britain is collectively overweight. A Director at the International Obesity Forum said that the British led the field in obesity in Europe. It's a shame that it is only this discipline in which we lead the field; unfortunately it's not an Olympic event.
So, we cater for obesity rather well, especially if some companies like Marisota offer 12-32 sizes, but deprive those two or three smaller sizes of any option. It's not as if there's extra cost. Let's face it, some heffer who is a size 30 will require rather more material for her dress than the size 10 person - probably about double.
So, consumers, it is okay to be fat, obese, overweight - Marisota will cater for you. If you're normal, at the 12/14 end, you'll be tolerated. If you're 8/10, you're a skinny anorexic and Marisota does not want to encourage such bodily abuse - go and eat a packet of doughnuts and get with it!
Finally, shoes. Marisota offers them in sizes 4-9. Again, this is barmy. There are so, so many people who are a size 3, but they do not qualify. It means that if you're a fatty, you must be proportionally fat. If you divide your weight in kilos by the square of your height in metres, then your body mass index (BMI) needs to be below 30 if you're to avoid the 'obese' tag. 25-19.5 is simply 'overweight'. Now, I suspect that it is humanly possible to be a bit fatter than ideal, but for the feet not to turn into barges of fat stuck on the end of legs. It is possible, if you're five foot tall, to be overweight or obese, and yet have size three feet. The logic of size 3 not being available is underlined by considering one thing. Fatness does not actually increase the length of a foot, it might make them chubbier. So really, shoes should come in all sizes, but with different width fittings.
If you're size 12, you're in with the "Plus Sizes". If you're size 10, you're too thin. I don't think this advertising slogan would get them fat, though.
...
Sizes available are from 12 to 32. So, let's be very clear on this. If you're larger than 32, you're a fat cunt and do not qualify to be clothed by Marisota. However, the 'larger' women in the population are allowed to order. These larger women can wear clothes in sizes:
12, 14, 16, 18, 20, 22, 24, 26, 28, 30 and 32. Eleven sizes in total. What I cannot work out is why sizes 10 and 8 (and possibly 6) are not included. I would say that 95% of the population would be in the range 8-32. However, Marisota is by default suggesting that those who are 12-32 are worthy, while if you're a size 10 you're too small. Is the company really saying that size 12 belongs with the 'larger sizes' group? Size 12 is totally normal - it is certainly NOT large. The whole approach is contradictory.
In yesterday's paper, there is an article that shows Britain is collectively overweight. A Director at the International Obesity Forum said that the British led the field in obesity in Europe. It's a shame that it is only this discipline in which we lead the field; unfortunately it's not an Olympic event.
So, we cater for obesity rather well, especially if some companies like Marisota offer 12-32 sizes, but deprive those two or three smaller sizes of any option. It's not as if there's extra cost. Let's face it, some heffer who is a size 30 will require rather more material for her dress than the size 10 person - probably about double.
So, consumers, it is okay to be fat, obese, overweight - Marisota will cater for you. If you're normal, at the 12/14 end, you'll be tolerated. If you're 8/10, you're a skinny anorexic and Marisota does not want to encourage such bodily abuse - go and eat a packet of doughnuts and get with it!
Finally, shoes. Marisota offers them in sizes 4-9. Again, this is barmy. There are so, so many people who are a size 3, but they do not qualify. It means that if you're a fatty, you must be proportionally fat. If you divide your weight in kilos by the square of your height in metres, then your body mass index (BMI) needs to be below 30 if you're to avoid the 'obese' tag. 25-19.5 is simply 'overweight'. Now, I suspect that it is humanly possible to be a bit fatter than ideal, but for the feet not to turn into barges of fat stuck on the end of legs. It is possible, if you're five foot tall, to be overweight or obese, and yet have size three feet. The logic of size 3 not being available is underlined by considering one thing. Fatness does not actually increase the length of a foot, it might make them chubbier. So really, shoes should come in all sizes, but with different width fittings.
If you're size 12, you're in with the "Plus Sizes". If you're size 10, you're too thin. I don't think this advertising slogan would get them fat, though.
...
Saturday 26 November 2011
26.11.11 Community Cunt
An 11-year-old girl from Barnsley has been told she cannot visit her sister's grave, as she is banned from entering the cemetery in her school uniform. A community police officer has threatened her with detention - apparently it gives the school a 'bad reputation'. Cunt.
...
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26.11.11 X-Factor Wk8 Part B
Ding-Ding, round 2
Pick-n-Mix
Well! That was rather good. What a contrast to the first song. They all had a go/contribution, and need to go through.
Janet Devil-In-The-Detail
Sorry, love, but a few weeks ago this might have worked. Now, after confirming to us all that you're so limited, I find I am rather tired of your voice, and it was a bit strained as you forced through the words with the obligatory little noise at the end of each line. You remembered the words this time. Agreed, TTT, regarding "the second one was not much better".
MishMash B-
Not so much 'Killing Me Softly', as 'Scratching Me Roughly'. Get that fingernail cut! It was okay; as her name suggests, B-Minus. Any song, though, that has a few 'lah lah lahs' is a bit limp. I can't say I was entertained by this performance. TC - "I would say this is the best week you've ever had". What? Get it right, Tulisa. It was average.
Mark Us
Fair play for doing a simple performance and just singing. However, he only just managed to hang in there early on. Towards the end it worked out okay. Still, a boring song and I found myself waiting for it to be over. The Elf - "You nailed it, you made it your own, you can sing, you can dance. Its a talent show, you've got talent. I want you to make it all the way to the final." Blimey, Elf, what about a few more cliches? How about "The lad played well, it's a competition of two halves" or maybe "Oranges and Lemons, said the Bells of St Clements" because that's no more useless than everything else you say.
Amyl Nitrate
KR - Why do you keep calling her Amillia, instead of Amelia ??? The first bit of the song was mildly worrying, but then it got going and became average. Elf asks everybody in the "North of England" to vote. What the fuck is this shit about trying to summon support on a regional basis? The North of England could in fact be anywhere up from Birmingham. So what are people in Manchester to do, if they're asked to support Misha, or those in Liverpool who have been rallied to support Marcus?
Janet to go? Yes, please.
TTT = Thomas the Tank / Gary
TC = Top Cat / Tulisa Contostavlos
Elf = Louis Walsh
KR = Kelly Rowland
...
Pick-n-Mix
Well! That was rather good. What a contrast to the first song. They all had a go/contribution, and need to go through.
Janet Devil-In-The-Detail
Sorry, love, but a few weeks ago this might have worked. Now, after confirming to us all that you're so limited, I find I am rather tired of your voice, and it was a bit strained as you forced through the words with the obligatory little noise at the end of each line. You remembered the words this time. Agreed, TTT, regarding "the second one was not much better".
MishMash B-
Not so much 'Killing Me Softly', as 'Scratching Me Roughly'. Get that fingernail cut! It was okay; as her name suggests, B-Minus. Any song, though, that has a few 'lah lah lahs' is a bit limp. I can't say I was entertained by this performance. TC - "I would say this is the best week you've ever had". What? Get it right, Tulisa. It was average.
Mark Us
Fair play for doing a simple performance and just singing. However, he only just managed to hang in there early on. Towards the end it worked out okay. Still, a boring song and I found myself waiting for it to be over. The Elf - "You nailed it, you made it your own, you can sing, you can dance. Its a talent show, you've got talent. I want you to make it all the way to the final." Blimey, Elf, what about a few more cliches? How about "The lad played well, it's a competition of two halves" or maybe "Oranges and Lemons, said the Bells of St Clements" because that's no more useless than everything else you say.
Amyl Nitrate
KR - Why do you keep calling her Amillia, instead of Amelia ??? The first bit of the song was mildly worrying, but then it got going and became average. Elf asks everybody in the "North of England" to vote. What the fuck is this shit about trying to summon support on a regional basis? The North of England could in fact be anywhere up from Birmingham. So what are people in Manchester to do, if they're asked to support Misha, or those in Liverpool who have been rallied to support Marcus?
Janet to go? Yes, please.
TTT = Thomas the Tank / Gary
TC = Top Cat / Tulisa Contostavlos
Elf = Louis Walsh
KR = Kelly Rowland
...
26.11.11 X-Factor Wk8 Part A
Absolute fucking twat! Who? Dermot, of course. I told him last week to stop "dancing" / wiggling.
Little Mix
What a let down after last week's excellent performance. This was quite simply 'desperate'. TC, what are you playing at, letting them churn out this crap. Not Diana Ross but Dire Ross. KR, you annoy me.
Janet Javlin
Oh dear, oh fuckin' dear! Visually awful; vocally highly questionable. Knowing her lines - shit. Go and sing a slow song that's depressing, because that's all you're capable of. So, so bad. KR - what a useless mentor, picking this song for her. KR saying "there's always the second song" is not exactly helpful. TTT - "It was a mess" was an accurate comment.
Misha B
What the fuck is she wearing? Singing too high, sounds desperate. Shit. I suspect a cat being strangled and forced down a sink's waste disposal unit would be rather more pleasant on the ears. TTT, shut up and get back to door duty - there's a scuffle going on outside. I do not want to keep hearing that people are "having so much fun" - I'm not having fun, listening to this twaddle!
Marcus
He can sing and he is good at doing "this sort of thing" - but the trouble is that I don't like this sort of thing! What's with the "Here we go" lines? Mediocre for entertainment, but considering the others are not up to much, then I suppose I ought to be more complementary. KR - get a fucking life; somewhere else, preferably. Oh dear; he "had fun"; yawn.
Amelia Lily
Excellent !!! Put the others to shame.
Oh dear - I've just realised that we now have to hear the five of them all over again. Groan . . . . .
TTT = Thomas the Tank / Gary
TC = Top Cat / Tulisa Contostavlos
Elf = Louis Walsh
KR = Kelly Rowland
...
Little Mix
What a let down after last week's excellent performance. This was quite simply 'desperate'. TC, what are you playing at, letting them churn out this crap. Not Diana Ross but Dire Ross. KR, you annoy me.
Janet Javlin
Oh dear, oh fuckin' dear! Visually awful; vocally highly questionable. Knowing her lines - shit. Go and sing a slow song that's depressing, because that's all you're capable of. So, so bad. KR - what a useless mentor, picking this song for her. KR saying "there's always the second song" is not exactly helpful. TTT - "It was a mess" was an accurate comment.
Misha B
What the fuck is she wearing? Singing too high, sounds desperate. Shit. I suspect a cat being strangled and forced down a sink's waste disposal unit would be rather more pleasant on the ears. TTT, shut up and get back to door duty - there's a scuffle going on outside. I do not want to keep hearing that people are "having so much fun" - I'm not having fun, listening to this twaddle!
Marcus
He can sing and he is good at doing "this sort of thing" - but the trouble is that I don't like this sort of thing! What's with the "Here we go" lines? Mediocre for entertainment, but considering the others are not up to much, then I suppose I ought to be more complementary. KR - get a fucking life; somewhere else, preferably. Oh dear; he "had fun"; yawn.
Amelia Lily
Excellent !!! Put the others to shame.
Oh dear - I've just realised that we now have to hear the five of them all over again. Groan . . . . .
TTT = Thomas the Tank / Gary
TC = Top Cat / Tulisa Contostavlos
Elf = Louis Walsh
KR = Kelly Rowland
...
26.11.11 T.M.Lewin Shirt
There can be no doubt that it is a good shirt; well-made, strong, and made from good quality material. There are lots of things that confirm its superior worth.
I kid you not, I have ironed this cunt to within an inch of its life. Actually, I lie, because it will probably outlast me, it is so fucking strong and well-made. This shirt would put a marquee to shame, let alone a boiler suit, which would have infinitely less durability. The thing is indestructible. Quite simply, it is an unbelievable shirt - but it will not relinquish its creases. I have ironed it on various settings, sprayed water and I have attempted adjusting steam output in every possible way. The fucking thing will NOT respond as any normal shirt.
Today, I tried taking it from the washing machine and allowing it a cursory level of warmth from a radiator before attacking it with an iron. I rather thought that because the cunt was so damp as it stretched across the ironing board, I'd have a faint fucking chance of drying it with the iron so that the creases became history. I devoted this evening a full half hour of effort to make progress. At the end of my work, I put the shirt on the hanger and realised that creases, subtle crumples that seem now to have become part of the shirt's DNA, were staring at me, smug as hell among the checks.
How on earth does anyone manage to get a TM Lewin shirt wearable? Whatever "Non-Iron" means in terms of shirt composition, I want some of it, and so on any future purchase will ensure this description applies. Please do the same yourself, to remain happy and not de-pressed - haha! As for this shirt, I give up.
...
- 2-piece collar with 12 components
- Non-fused collar linings for added comfort
- Checks fully matched across front and back yoke
- Lock-stitched buttons that won't fall off
- Long differential tail
- Sleeves cut on the straight grain to avoid twisting
- Two-fold cotton fabric
I kid you not, I have ironed this cunt to within an inch of its life. Actually, I lie, because it will probably outlast me, it is so fucking strong and well-made. This shirt would put a marquee to shame, let alone a boiler suit, which would have infinitely less durability. The thing is indestructible. Quite simply, it is an unbelievable shirt - but it will not relinquish its creases. I have ironed it on various settings, sprayed water and I have attempted adjusting steam output in every possible way. The fucking thing will NOT respond as any normal shirt.
Today, I tried taking it from the washing machine and allowing it a cursory level of warmth from a radiator before attacking it with an iron. I rather thought that because the cunt was so damp as it stretched across the ironing board, I'd have a faint fucking chance of drying it with the iron so that the creases became history. I devoted this evening a full half hour of effort to make progress. At the end of my work, I put the shirt on the hanger and realised that creases, subtle crumples that seem now to have become part of the shirt's DNA, were staring at me, smug as hell among the checks.
How on earth does anyone manage to get a TM Lewin shirt wearable? Whatever "Non-Iron" means in terms of shirt composition, I want some of it, and so on any future purchase will ensure this description applies. Please do the same yourself, to remain happy and not de-pressed - haha! As for this shirt, I give up.
...
Thursday 24 November 2011
24.11.11 Makes Your Blood Boil
I have discovered a way to revive the construction industry, and in some small way aid the recovery of UK business. More specifically, it would see an increase in the need for concrete.
In today's paper, there is a story of the 16-year-old burglar who was, as part of the process for 'handling him', told to write to the person he burgled, to apologise. The year of rehabilitation measures imposed by magistrates included the need for such an approach in writing. The cunt in question was put into the Intensive Supervision and Surveillance Programme - supposedly the "most rigorous, non-custodial intervention available for young offenders". More on that later. For the moment, here is the illiterate cunt's letter, complete with all the mistakes and utter proof of cuntishness.
Dear Victim
I dont no why Iam writing a letter to you! I have been forced to write this letter by ISSp. To be honest I'm not bothered or Sorry about the fact that I burgled your house. Basicly it was your fault anyways. I'm going to run you through the dumb mistakes you made. firstly you didnt draw your curtains which most people now to do before they go to sleep. Secondly your dumb you live in Stainburns a high risk burglary area and your thick enough to leave your downstairs kitchen window open. I wouldnt do that in a million years. But anyways I dont feel sorry for you and Im not going to show any sympath or remores.
yours sincerly
from *blanked out*
What a complete cunt, eh! So, if this is the end result of what the UK considers a reasonable approach for delinquents, and that the ISSP is the "most rigorous, non-custodial intervention available for young offenders", then we are fucked up in more ways that I thought we could be! The most rigorous non-custodial intervention from TMWSC is a lot more straightforward that the ISSP - a lot more.
Cunts like this idiot have no place amongst the living. They should quite simply be shot, set in concrete and dropped out at sea. That's it - that's my solution. In adopting a zero tolerance approach, we could reduce population growth, get rid of the thieves, murderers, rapists, thugs, reduce the prison population, save a fortune in benefits and/or prison costs. Court costs would be reduced. The deterrent factor would be fucking amazing. There would be retribution for victims, and a sense that the cunts of the world paid properly for being cunts. The concrete needed would mean extra work for the construction and building industry, and gainful employment.
Quite simply, if people want to break the law and endanger lives, cause suffering and generally be non-contributors, then they should not be allowed to join in. If someone wants to break into a shop and steal something, they should be shot, set in concrete and dropped into the sea - period. It would solve a lot of problems, an awful lot. Any lefties who want to preach tolerance, forgiveness, liberal views, 2nd, 3rd, 4th . . . . . . 27th chances, human rights, religious shit or Quakerism, FUCK OFF. We are so, so soft on cunts. Soft on crime, soft on the causes of crime, soft on criminals, lenient to the point of patting the cunts on the back, and scared of doing anything that would solve things. Pickpocket caught with a wallet in his hand? Don't call just the police, call the cement mixer!
Call me a fascist if you like, but the fact that people expect to get away with things leads them to offend. The fact that even if they are caught, they will be let off or 'told off' rather than face any severe penalty means they are not deterred. It is OFFENSIVE to me that we let people off so readily. Steal a car, concrete grave. Stab someone, concrete grave. Mug someone, concrete grave. It also really wouldn't matter where offenders come from. Yes, there is massive immigration in the UK, and a percentage of any intake will of course be criminals. But with my policy, there would be no pissing about, or human rights, or deportation issues. The policy would rather make people consider a bit more carefully whether to flock to the UK because the country is so fucking 'wet' and limp-wristed. So, equal treatment for all; true equality.
The shit who wrote the letter is a waste of space. It makes my blood boil that he thinks and acts the way he does. It makes my blood boil that the 'system' has no chance of changing him, or coming up with anything that will be of any use at all. We will, of course, continue to kid ourselves that it is uncivilised to do anything other than encourage, bribe, educate or imprison offenders with varying degrees of appropriateness or consistency, all to pointless effect. It is, in fact, uncivilised to allow the cunts a place in so-called civilisation.
...
In today's paper, there is a story of the 16-year-old burglar who was, as part of the process for 'handling him', told to write to the person he burgled, to apologise. The year of rehabilitation measures imposed by magistrates included the need for such an approach in writing. The cunt in question was put into the Intensive Supervision and Surveillance Programme - supposedly the "most rigorous, non-custodial intervention available for young offenders". More on that later. For the moment, here is the illiterate cunt's letter, complete with all the mistakes and utter proof of cuntishness.
Dear Victim
I dont no why Iam writing a letter to you! I have been forced to write this letter by ISSp. To be honest I'm not bothered or Sorry about the fact that I burgled your house. Basicly it was your fault anyways. I'm going to run you through the dumb mistakes you made. firstly you didnt draw your curtains which most people now to do before they go to sleep. Secondly your dumb you live in Stainburns a high risk burglary area and your thick enough to leave your downstairs kitchen window open. I wouldnt do that in a million years. But anyways I dont feel sorry for you and Im not going to show any sympath or remores.
yours sincerly
from *blanked out*
What a complete cunt, eh! So, if this is the end result of what the UK considers a reasonable approach for delinquents, and that the ISSP is the "most rigorous, non-custodial intervention available for young offenders", then we are fucked up in more ways that I thought we could be! The most rigorous non-custodial intervention from TMWSC is a lot more straightforward that the ISSP - a lot more.
Cunts like this idiot have no place amongst the living. They should quite simply be shot, set in concrete and dropped out at sea. That's it - that's my solution. In adopting a zero tolerance approach, we could reduce population growth, get rid of the thieves, murderers, rapists, thugs, reduce the prison population, save a fortune in benefits and/or prison costs. Court costs would be reduced. The deterrent factor would be fucking amazing. There would be retribution for victims, and a sense that the cunts of the world paid properly for being cunts. The concrete needed would mean extra work for the construction and building industry, and gainful employment.
Quite simply, if people want to break the law and endanger lives, cause suffering and generally be non-contributors, then they should not be allowed to join in. If someone wants to break into a shop and steal something, they should be shot, set in concrete and dropped into the sea - period. It would solve a lot of problems, an awful lot. Any lefties who want to preach tolerance, forgiveness, liberal views, 2nd, 3rd, 4th . . . . . . 27th chances, human rights, religious shit or Quakerism, FUCK OFF. We are so, so soft on cunts. Soft on crime, soft on the causes of crime, soft on criminals, lenient to the point of patting the cunts on the back, and scared of doing anything that would solve things. Pickpocket caught with a wallet in his hand? Don't call just the police, call the cement mixer!
Call me a fascist if you like, but the fact that people expect to get away with things leads them to offend. The fact that even if they are caught, they will be let off or 'told off' rather than face any severe penalty means they are not deterred. It is OFFENSIVE to me that we let people off so readily. Steal a car, concrete grave. Stab someone, concrete grave. Mug someone, concrete grave. It also really wouldn't matter where offenders come from. Yes, there is massive immigration in the UK, and a percentage of any intake will of course be criminals. But with my policy, there would be no pissing about, or human rights, or deportation issues. The policy would rather make people consider a bit more carefully whether to flock to the UK because the country is so fucking 'wet' and limp-wristed. So, equal treatment for all; true equality.
The shit who wrote the letter is a waste of space. It makes my blood boil that he thinks and acts the way he does. It makes my blood boil that the 'system' has no chance of changing him, or coming up with anything that will be of any use at all. We will, of course, continue to kid ourselves that it is uncivilised to do anything other than encourage, bribe, educate or imprison offenders with varying degrees of appropriateness or consistency, all to pointless effect. It is, in fact, uncivilised to allow the cunts a place in so-called civilisation.
...
24.11.11 Estate Agent
What a nerve these people have! With the house for sale, and only one viewing so far, the agent just called to see if I wanted to reduce the price. This was always going to be the next step, after an initial period at what was the correct selling price. What with the economic downturn, and the pointlessness of things dragging on an unnecessarily long time, I agreed that the sale price can be dropped - by the not insignificant sum of £25,000. So, the agent was fairly pleased, and why wouldn't she be! The sale commission is about well over £5,000 and I had just made her job inordinately easier.
Part two of her approach involved announcing that for premium homes [sucking up a bit there], an 'audio tour' was something that has 'reduced the click through rate by 33%'. Whatever the fuck that means, I do not know. When you have had a single viewing, shit like that is not quite relevant, especially when it is a preamble to another sales pitch. Apparently the normal cost of the audio tour is £395, but 'at the moment' it is down to £85.00 and it could improve things for attracting interest. I rather thought that a £25,000 price reduction was of marginally more interest. With this in mind I suggested the following.
"If I have done my bit by contributing a £25,000 reduction in the price, which could help me get a sale and help you more easily earn five and a half grand commission, why don't you try to speed along earning that money for yourself by contributing the £85 it costs to have the 'audio tour'? If it's really good, it would be a worthwhile step on your part, surely?"
Silence. Followed by a half chuckle and sidestep-mumble that suggested (without the exact words being expressed) - "fair comment, you are totally correct, and if I truly believed the audio tour was great, I'd pay for it myself. But because I am the agent, I am actually going to do (and spend) fuck all on you, and wait to see if any cunt shows interest at the lower house price you've just confirmed; I am buggered if there'll be any speculation to accumulate at this end! I then got an acknowledgement, when I pressed on with a query as to whether in the circumstances I could be blamed for saying anything else, that I had in effect called the bluff suitably well, and I knew she'd be moving on to other people, to tout the "service" and the amazing offer that was once £395 but is now such a paltry sum (£85) - it's low enough for sellers to pay, but still far, far too much for the agent to pay, despite the thousands to be earned in fees.
Illogical, but sadly all true and a display of the mercenary nature of the estate agency business.
...
Part two of her approach involved announcing that for premium homes [sucking up a bit there], an 'audio tour' was something that has 'reduced the click through rate by 33%'. Whatever the fuck that means, I do not know. When you have had a single viewing, shit like that is not quite relevant, especially when it is a preamble to another sales pitch. Apparently the normal cost of the audio tour is £395, but 'at the moment' it is down to £85.00 and it could improve things for attracting interest. I rather thought that a £25,000 price reduction was of marginally more interest. With this in mind I suggested the following.
"If I have done my bit by contributing a £25,000 reduction in the price, which could help me get a sale and help you more easily earn five and a half grand commission, why don't you try to speed along earning that money for yourself by contributing the £85 it costs to have the 'audio tour'? If it's really good, it would be a worthwhile step on your part, surely?"
Silence. Followed by a half chuckle and sidestep-mumble that suggested (without the exact words being expressed) - "fair comment, you are totally correct, and if I truly believed the audio tour was great, I'd pay for it myself. But because I am the agent, I am actually going to do (and spend) fuck all on you, and wait to see if any cunt shows interest at the lower house price you've just confirmed; I am buggered if there'll be any speculation to accumulate at this end! I then got an acknowledgement, when I pressed on with a query as to whether in the circumstances I could be blamed for saying anything else, that I had in effect called the bluff suitably well, and I knew she'd be moving on to other people, to tout the "service" and the amazing offer that was once £395 but is now such a paltry sum (£85) - it's low enough for sellers to pay, but still far, far too much for the agent to pay, despite the thousands to be earned in fees.
Illogical, but sadly all true and a display of the mercenary nature of the estate agency business.
...
Monday 21 November 2011
21.11.11 Yakubu Corner
The fiasco on Saturday shows how pathetic things have become in the world of football. On a number of levels, the episode of the corner kick taken by Blackburn in the game against Wigan was a low point in the Premier League.
1 Yakubu placed the ball (for a change, in the quadrant rather outside it, which is where most players these days think they can put the ball) and decided not to take the kick but leave it for someone else. He did not touch the ball - not that 'touching it' would have had any fucking relevance.
2 Pedersen went over to the ball and passed it to himself. He played it three times, sending it towards the goal mouth for Hoilett to score. Pedersen quite simply cheated. If this is how low players will now stoop to get one over on the opposition, then the whole fucking division deserves to drown in its own gripes, moans, stresses and anger. Where is the integrity? Where has honour gone?
3 Yakubu grinned as he wriggled and squirmed when asked if he'd touched the ball in an interview after the match. Without being forthright, he admitted that he did not touch the ball. Where the fuck was his embarrassment at being party to a con, and contributing to a flawed result?
4 The referee had his back to the ball and the corner of the pitch, so was unaware of what had occurred. Apparently 'officials claimed they thought Yakubu had touched the ball'. What cunting crap! No fucker had a clue - that's the truth. Four match officials (there's a ban of course on TV evidence) but none was able to ensure proper play. To retrospectively attest to Yakubu having touched the ball is clutching at straws.
5 Further to point 4, and of rather more relevance and significance for officials, is the fact that touching the ball does not in any event make the ball playable. For a ball to come into play, it must travel "its own circumference". So, Yakubu would have had to tap the ball such that it travelled about 30 inches before it could be played. This proves desperation on the part of officials, and that they are in turn trying to con the public with an excuse - based on ignoring rules! Appalling input from the fucking bods in black.
6 Where is the fine for the smug Yakubu and Pedersen, who snigger after the goal when celebrating their good fortune.
Flawed refereeing, cheating by players, flawed 'justification' from officials after the event, proof upon analysis that there is no integrity left. Overpaid cheats and thugs now constitute 60% of all players.
...
1 Yakubu placed the ball (for a change, in the quadrant rather outside it, which is where most players these days think they can put the ball) and decided not to take the kick but leave it for someone else. He did not touch the ball - not that 'touching it' would have had any fucking relevance.
2 Pedersen went over to the ball and passed it to himself. He played it three times, sending it towards the goal mouth for Hoilett to score. Pedersen quite simply cheated. If this is how low players will now stoop to get one over on the opposition, then the whole fucking division deserves to drown in its own gripes, moans, stresses and anger. Where is the integrity? Where has honour gone?
3 Yakubu grinned as he wriggled and squirmed when asked if he'd touched the ball in an interview after the match. Without being forthright, he admitted that he did not touch the ball. Where the fuck was his embarrassment at being party to a con, and contributing to a flawed result?
4 The referee had his back to the ball and the corner of the pitch, so was unaware of what had occurred. Apparently 'officials claimed they thought Yakubu had touched the ball'. What cunting crap! No fucker had a clue - that's the truth. Four match officials (there's a ban of course on TV evidence) but none was able to ensure proper play. To retrospectively attest to Yakubu having touched the ball is clutching at straws.
5 Further to point 4, and of rather more relevance and significance for officials, is the fact that touching the ball does not in any event make the ball playable. For a ball to come into play, it must travel "its own circumference". So, Yakubu would have had to tap the ball such that it travelled about 30 inches before it could be played. This proves desperation on the part of officials, and that they are in turn trying to con the public with an excuse - based on ignoring rules! Appalling input from the fucking bods in black.
6 Where is the fine for the smug Yakubu and Pedersen, who snigger after the goal when celebrating their good fortune.
Flawed refereeing, cheating by players, flawed 'justification' from officials after the event, proof upon analysis that there is no integrity left. Overpaid cheats and thugs now constitute 60% of all players.
...
21.11.11 Emiliana Silvestri
What a pillock she is. She's written a book called "101 Ways To Keep A Man", and at a published price of £5.99 that's about £7.00 too much. Two of them (the 101 ways) highlighted in the newspaper last week made me laugh.
Learn To Cook - Fucking marvellous advice! Why on earth should women have to learn to cook to try and keep a man. In the modern world, everyone should cook and telling women to learn is limp.
Make Yourself More Interesting - "Find a hobby other than shopping and TV shows." Since fucking when has shopping been a hobby? How is watching a TV show a hobby? Twat.
...
Learn To Cook - Fucking marvellous advice! Why on earth should women have to learn to cook to try and keep a man. In the modern world, everyone should cook and telling women to learn is limp.
Make Yourself More Interesting - "Find a hobby other than shopping and TV shows." Since fucking when has shopping been a hobby? How is watching a TV show a hobby? Twat.
...
21.11.11 Granny Wars
83-year-old Dorothy, was said to have overheard 89-year-old Noreen "muttering under her breath" in the dining room. The manager of the care home told the inquest: "I saw a heated argument between the two ladies and I heard Dorothy say, 'I'll floor you if you speak to me like that again'. I then saw Dorothy hit her in the centre of the chest with a clenched fist and Noreen immediately fell backwards." Noreen, who was only 4ft 9in and weighed less than 7st, was lifted up off her feet by the punch. She sadly died later in hospital.
Unbelievably Dorothy was not charged! Apparently she "did not have the capacity to form a criminal intent" and so was let off. What a weird story and outcome! I am so lost for words, I cannot even bring myself to swear.
...
Unbelievably Dorothy was not charged! Apparently she "did not have the capacity to form a criminal intent" and so was let off. What a weird story and outcome! I am so lost for words, I cannot even bring myself to swear.
...
Sunday 20 November 2011
20.11.11 X-Factor Wk7 Sunday
As a slight aside to tonight's effort, why oh why is Harry Styles from One Direction having anything to do with Caroline Flack? Forget the fact that that he's 17 and she's 32 (although if Dermotitis was shagging a 17-year-old contestant, there'd be a right fuss about it . . .) and concentrate on the other flaw in the coupling - he is in the limelight and could have anyone he wanted; she is pointless, and hardly worth a first look let alone a second. ?? Any ideas?
Come on everybody, pinch your nose wail a bit, and sound like Rebecca, who thought it was a bit like 'coming home' . . . surprise, surprise.
Elf - you complete tit . . . "Little Risk" indeed.
Rihanna did herself a favour and didn't wear an awful leotard for once. She stuck to singing a below average song and taking the applause for being Rihanna. I say 'singing' in the sense of MIMING !!!!! Criminal. Still, I suppose if she is going to clump around on stage like a cart horse in a red dress, then it's hard to sing as well.
Craig & Amelia !
Deadlock . . . . ooooooohhh. Craig, hold that lip . . . . . .
. . .
. . .
Janet - you were a bit lucky this week, and maybe Misha as well. 5 left now.
TTT = Thomas the Tank / Gary
TC = Top Cat / Tulisa Contostavlos
Elf = Louis Walsh
KR = Kelly Rowland
...
Come on everybody, pinch your nose wail a bit, and sound like Rebecca, who thought it was a bit like 'coming home' . . . surprise, surprise.
Elf - you complete tit . . . "Little Risk" indeed.
Rihanna did herself a favour and didn't wear an awful leotard for once. She stuck to singing a below average song and taking the applause for being Rihanna. I say 'singing' in the sense of MIMING !!!!! Criminal. Still, I suppose if she is going to clump around on stage like a cart horse in a red dress, then it's hard to sing as well.
Craig & Amelia !
Deadlock . . . . ooooooohhh. Craig, hold that lip . . . . . .
. . .
. . .
Janet - you were a bit lucky this week, and maybe Misha as well. 5 left now.
TTT = Thomas the Tank / Gary
TC = Top Cat / Tulisa Contostavlos
Elf = Louis Walsh
KR = Kelly Rowland
...
20.11.11 Match of the Day Phrases
I am so fucking fed up with the stupid bandwagons that that people jump on, with regard to phrases [see how I got my cliche in first!]
There was a time when a team could lose (or win) four matches "in a row". However, the in phrase on MOTD is now "on the bounce". What the fuck?
Footballers used to play the "one-two". Nowadays, you'll hear the phrase "He played a little give and go".
There are the painful uses of the following:
The last third [as if football pitches are divided into three?]
He had his pocket picked [meaning he was tackled by an opponent]
Strength in depth [fucking Alan Hansen's favourite dollop of verbal shit]
Now we have the ubiquitous "Stonewall penalty". What a complete load of bollocks. Cuntin' crap!
As for Alan Hansen, why oh why is my TV licence fee contributing to his £40,000 per week salary? All he does is sit on a fucking sofa, mumbling that it was a stonewall penalty, and that although there was strength in depth, there was little to talk about in the last third. I would rather have the money donated to charity than have to suffer the smug comments from the action man with a plastic face. Go and advertise Morrisons, and push a trolley, why don't you!
Shearer, stop breathing - please!
...
There was a time when a team could lose (or win) four matches "in a row". However, the in phrase on MOTD is now "on the bounce". What the fuck?
Footballers used to play the "one-two". Nowadays, you'll hear the phrase "He played a little give and go".
There are the painful uses of the following:
The last third [as if football pitches are divided into three?]
He had his pocket picked [meaning he was tackled by an opponent]
Strength in depth [fucking Alan Hansen's favourite dollop of verbal shit]
Now we have the ubiquitous "Stonewall penalty". What a complete load of bollocks. Cuntin' crap!
As for Alan Hansen, why oh why is my TV licence fee contributing to his £40,000 per week salary? All he does is sit on a fucking sofa, mumbling that it was a stonewall penalty, and that although there was strength in depth, there was little to talk about in the last third. I would rather have the money donated to charity than have to suffer the smug comments from the action man with a plastic face. Go and advertise Morrisons, and push a trolley, why don't you!
Shearer, stop breathing - please!
...
Saturday 19 November 2011
19.11.11 X-Factor Wk7
Dermot, I've told you before, STOP fucking 'dancing'. You look like a twat, and it's nauseating.
Craig
"Licence To Kill" - Sorry, Craig, but whilst you can sing, it was actually a 'Licence To Bore'. I would like to see something that is interesting. TTT - it's not a singing competition, you hypocrite, as you picked Frankie CoCuntZa !!!
Janet
It was okay. 'Okay' is all that it was, and she is still not doing what she is best suited to do. Why am I so bored of that voice now? What, another break? That's adverts after Craig, and now adverts after Janet.
Amelia Lily
Oh, so it's not only an opportoonity for Amelia, it's an opportoonity for KR too! Thanks, KR, for that wonderful sound bite. As for Amelia's singing, is it always at 'shout' level? There's also a 'desperate' tone, for some reason. How about singing, instead of testing the microphone's ability to transmit 95-125 decibels? I think she's quite a nice girl, although I suspect that in a scrum, she could make good ground with those legs. TC, you are right, the song was shit. I believe she'll stay because there's a weird belief that she was 'wronged' and so deserves a chance now. [NB: I suspect a sponsorship deal soon, with L'Oreal, to promote pinkness]. ANOTHER fucking advert!
Advert for HMV
What a voiceover cunt, saying "haytch" instead of "aitch", the latter being the proper fucking letter of the alphabet!
Misha
Sob, Sob, Sob, Sob. Is this the Sob-Factor? If I wanted this shit, I'd get a voluntary job with the Samaritans! Still, the singing was accurate, and good, even if the majority of it was at the crescendo end of the song. Is that a marquee you're wearing? Elf and TC, fuck off with the "People from Manchester" shit, reference the voting. As for TTT saying "Get back to who you was", I am speechless.
Little Mix
Excellent!
Advert
Jimmy Choo fragrance? What's that about, then? Sweaty feet?
Marcus
In the intro footage, TTT said "It's still gonna be Marcus, doing what Marcus does best" and I instantly thought 'hairdressing'!!! Sorry, Marcus, you are talented, but that song was cuntin' crap! "The little man from Liverpool," said Elf - the little man from Ireland. Calm down everyone. It was good.
TTT = Thomas the Tank / Gary
TC = Top Cat / Tulisa Contostavlos
Elf = Louis Walsh
KR = Kelly Rowland
...
Craig
"Licence To Kill" - Sorry, Craig, but whilst you can sing, it was actually a 'Licence To Bore'. I would like to see something that is interesting. TTT - it's not a singing competition, you hypocrite, as you picked Frankie CoCuntZa !!!
Janet
It was okay. 'Okay' is all that it was, and she is still not doing what she is best suited to do. Why am I so bored of that voice now? What, another break? That's adverts after Craig, and now adverts after Janet.
Amelia Lily
Oh, so it's not only an opportoonity for Amelia, it's an opportoonity for KR too! Thanks, KR, for that wonderful sound bite. As for Amelia's singing, is it always at 'shout' level? There's also a 'desperate' tone, for some reason. How about singing, instead of testing the microphone's ability to transmit 95-125 decibels? I think she's quite a nice girl, although I suspect that in a scrum, she could make good ground with those legs. TC, you are right, the song was shit. I believe she'll stay because there's a weird belief that she was 'wronged' and so deserves a chance now. [NB: I suspect a sponsorship deal soon, with L'Oreal, to promote pinkness]. ANOTHER fucking advert!
Advert for HMV
What a voiceover cunt, saying "haytch" instead of "aitch", the latter being the proper fucking letter of the alphabet!
Misha
Sob, Sob, Sob, Sob. Is this the Sob-Factor? If I wanted this shit, I'd get a voluntary job with the Samaritans! Still, the singing was accurate, and good, even if the majority of it was at the crescendo end of the song. Is that a marquee you're wearing? Elf and TC, fuck off with the "People from Manchester" shit, reference the voting. As for TTT saying "Get back to who you was", I am speechless.
Little Mix
Excellent!
Advert
Jimmy Choo fragrance? What's that about, then? Sweaty feet?
Marcus
In the intro footage, TTT said "It's still gonna be Marcus, doing what Marcus does best" and I instantly thought 'hairdressing'!!! Sorry, Marcus, you are talented, but that song was cuntin' crap! "The little man from Liverpool," said Elf - the little man from Ireland. Calm down everyone. It was good.
TTT = Thomas the Tank / Gary
TC = Top Cat / Tulisa Contostavlos
Elf = Louis Walsh
KR = Kelly Rowland
...
19.11.11 Cliff Richard
What an absolute insult. I don't really have anything against Cliff, but come on, it's a bit sad forcing regurgitated stuff to unsuspecting members of the public.
The rubbish that the Daily Mail has decided we may want, and includes with the paper in an affront. Leaflets, mail order shit (all manner of labour saving devices, shoes for old people and elasticated trousers) and now a CD full of Cliff's "Hits". Congratulations, Daily Mail, you have pissed me off.
Enough! Bring back the CDs of old black and white war movies; and remove from my head the torture of 'Mistletoe & Wine' which is now fucking up my brain.
...
The rubbish that the Daily Mail has decided we may want, and includes with the paper in an affront. Leaflets, mail order shit (all manner of labour saving devices, shoes for old people and elasticated trousers) and now a CD full of Cliff's "Hits". Congratulations, Daily Mail, you have pissed me off.
Enough! Bring back the CDs of old black and white war movies; and remove from my head the torture of 'Mistletoe & Wine' which is now fucking up my brain.
...
19.11.11 Kleenex
I cannot work out if it is Kleenex at fault for ripping off the consumer, or Tesco [probably more likely]. While putting my shopping on to the conveyor belt today, I was surprised to see an extensive amount of space allocated to Kleenex tissues, above the rack containing those other last minute essentials (over-priced chocolate bars). I am used to ignoring a Cadbury's Flake at 68p (when I could most likely have bought a four-pack in aisle 13 for £1.20. However, the tissue experience was a first.
This was the first time I'd seen the individual packs of tissues available at the checkout - for a staggering 55p each. Purely by chance, I for the first time this year (in the UK) had put in with my shopping a multipack of these tissues. Whilst they were not branded as 'Kleenex', they were individual small packets of tissue. My multipack cost me just £1.19 - for 18 of the individual packets! That works out at 6.61 pence each.
However, that's not the end of it; the Kleenex packs contain nine sheets, whereas the cheaper ones contain 10 sheets. So, that's even worse value, and the real price of the cheap ones is actually lower (for 9 tissues pro-rata) at 5.95p. Below the '55p' price at the checkout was the helpful £6.12 per 100 sheets. The summary after my calculations is as follows.
Kleenex Tissues
55p for nine = 6.11 pence per tissue or £6.12 per 100 sheets
Other Tissues
6.61p for ten = 0.661 pence per tissue or £0.66 per 100 sheets
The Kleenex tissues work out at NINE AND A QUARTER TIMES THE PRICE.
Tesco - 'Every Little Helps'
...
This was the first time I'd seen the individual packs of tissues available at the checkout - for a staggering 55p each. Purely by chance, I for the first time this year (in the UK) had put in with my shopping a multipack of these tissues. Whilst they were not branded as 'Kleenex', they were individual small packets of tissue. My multipack cost me just £1.19 - for 18 of the individual packets! That works out at 6.61 pence each.
However, that's not the end of it; the Kleenex packs contain nine sheets, whereas the cheaper ones contain 10 sheets. So, that's even worse value, and the real price of the cheap ones is actually lower (for 9 tissues pro-rata) at 5.95p. Below the '55p' price at the checkout was the helpful £6.12 per 100 sheets. The summary after my calculations is as follows.
Kleenex Tissues
55p for nine = 6.11 pence per tissue or £6.12 per 100 sheets
Other Tissues
6.61p for ten = 0.661 pence per tissue or £0.66 per 100 sheets
The Kleenex tissues work out at NINE AND A QUARTER TIMES THE PRICE.
Tesco - 'Every Little Helps'
...
Thursday 17 November 2011
Sunday 13 November 2011
13.11.11 IACGMOOH
The most entertainment comes from Ant & Dec, constantly amusing.
Mark Wright is officially thick. Quotes include:
"She was even scareder than me"
"There's all that dead meat in there"
Crissy should be sent home immediately. The very first thing she had to do was jump from a helicopter, and she couldn't do it. Now, it's not as if she wouldn't have been aware that each year this is quite a likely task. Being harnessed to an expert makes it a bit easier, but no. Instead, we had to endure the saga of her fucking teeth being taken out and put into storage. If she is paid many thousands of pounds to participate, then participating is rather obligatory! So she can't jump, she can't swim (as she admitted when facing a dunking in the first trial) and can't chew an apple. That's a real 'can do' approach, don't you think?
Fatima will no doubt win. She is a commando, and looks like Rambo. At the other end of the scale, we have Freddie Starr who sauntered into the camp without jumping from a helicopter or paddling in a canoe. I suspect that 'on health grounds' he will be allowed to miss some of the tasks - we'll see.
...
Mark Wright is officially thick. Quotes include:
"She was even scareder than me"
"There's all that dead meat in there"
Crissy should be sent home immediately. The very first thing she had to do was jump from a helicopter, and she couldn't do it. Now, it's not as if she wouldn't have been aware that each year this is quite a likely task. Being harnessed to an expert makes it a bit easier, but no. Instead, we had to endure the saga of her fucking teeth being taken out and put into storage. If she is paid many thousands of pounds to participate, then participating is rather obligatory! So she can't jump, she can't swim (as she admitted when facing a dunking in the first trial) and can't chew an apple. That's a real 'can do' approach, don't you think?
Fatima will no doubt win. She is a commando, and looks like Rambo. At the other end of the scale, we have Freddie Starr who sauntered into the camp without jumping from a helicopter or paddling in a canoe. I suspect that 'on health grounds' he will be allowed to miss some of the tasks - we'll see.
...
13.11.11 Eighty-Eight Granules
88 Granules. This is the amount of sugar that falls to the floor or worktop when you break the seal on a new bag of sugar. It seems compulsory for makers of sugar to annoy us in such a way. They purposely fail to make the fucking stuff stay inside the strong, thick paper packet.
Who made this rule?
...
Who made this rule?
...
13.11.11 X-Factor Wk6 Sunday
TMWSC - "They'll say it's like being back home"
Mrs Junior - "Yeah, they all say that"
Dermot - "What's it like to be back on this stage?"
One Direction - "Singing on this stage is like being back home"
Amelia's hair is still the colour of the dressing gown my Great Gran used to wear. Misha has ditched the swimming pool liner she was wearing yesterday. Marcus's hair is awful - not good for a hairdresser. Janet has topped up by eating more Cheesy Wotsits.
Lady Gaga - top dollar and very interesting; you have to take your hat off to her - or your head!
Go to London, listen to Rihanna at the O2, go backstage to meet her, fly to Barbados for a holiday to see 'where it all started', and have £10,000 to spend. Competition: Like you're the only girl in the xxxxx. £1.03 from a landline. Every week, for three months, plugged to the hilt by 'Mr Voiceover' so the entries mount up. Nah, I think I'll get a scratchcard for a quid. Better odds, and Rihanna-less.
Craig through - good
Janet through - lucky glum female
Marcus through - okay
Amelia through - good
Little Mix through - good
Kitty & Misha in the sing off (predicted as Kitty plus Misha or Janet)
Kitty sings a boring song, sings it well, but is boring.
Misha sings a better song but wails and is clearly singing while in pain.
KR (wearing a Quality Street wrapper) saves her own act, as does the Elf. The other two send home Kitty - no surprise really.
The Elf is on his own now . . . . . . ahhhhhhhhh.
...
Mrs Junior - "Yeah, they all say that"
Dermot - "What's it like to be back on this stage?"
One Direction - "Singing on this stage is like being back home"
Amelia's hair is still the colour of the dressing gown my Great Gran used to wear. Misha has ditched the swimming pool liner she was wearing yesterday. Marcus's hair is awful - not good for a hairdresser. Janet has topped up by eating more Cheesy Wotsits.
Lady Gaga - top dollar and very interesting; you have to take your hat off to her - or your head!
Go to London, listen to Rihanna at the O2, go backstage to meet her, fly to Barbados for a holiday to see 'where it all started', and have £10,000 to spend. Competition: Like you're the only girl in the xxxxx. £1.03 from a landline. Every week, for three months, plugged to the hilt by 'Mr Voiceover' so the entries mount up. Nah, I think I'll get a scratchcard for a quid. Better odds, and Rihanna-less.
Craig through - good
Janet through - lucky glum female
Marcus through - okay
Amelia through - good
Little Mix through - good
Kitty & Misha in the sing off (predicted as Kitty plus Misha or Janet)
Kitty sings a boring song, sings it well, but is boring.
Misha sings a better song but wails and is clearly singing while in pain.
KR (wearing a Quality Street wrapper) saves her own act, as does the Elf. The other two send home Kitty - no surprise really.
The Elf is on his own now . . . . . . ahhhhhhhhh.
...
Saturday 12 November 2011
12.11.11 X-Factor Wk6
Frankie
What a week. What a pillock. Who? Frankie, of course. Today's Sun has a front page devoted to his alleged request for a threesome, and a photo of the two females who were the subject of his attentions - Becca and Katherine. What a pair of pointless individuals, selling their story of one night with Cocozza.
The most amazing comment from any of the three tarts (I include Frankie) was from Becca. She and Frankie were bonking in a small bedroom, and were being constantly interrupted by his mates. Her story included the following:
"At one point his mate came in and gave him a condom. I was impressed he used condoms. I thought I'd have to tell him to."
What a fucking useless twat she is! Being impressed by the fact that he uses condoms! He fucks anything that's got an opening, dearie, so lucky for you that he does. They deserve each other.
The other notable comment this week was by Frankie himself, who has snorted enough coke to make him lose the plot completely. Frankie outlined two ambitions he hoped he could realise after his spell on X-Factor. He wants to go on Celebrity Big Brother - and have sex in the House; and he fancies himself as a TV presenter.
"I'd like to be like George Lamb - he's cool. I don't know I'd get very far in music. I know I'm not a great singer. There are loads of genuine rock stars and I'm not one of them. Yeah, I ruined my chances on X-Factor. But I hope I'll get a career out of it somehow. I don't want to be back on the dole."
First, I should be saying "Wake up, you can't be on Celebrity Big Brother because you are NOT a celebrity. However, I need to be careful, because he is probably countable as a celebrity in the eyes of the youth of today; sad, sad, sad. As for the ambition of having sex in the house, talk about setting yourself a pointless, low level, idiotic target like that! Finally, after admitting he's a shit singer, he says he hopes to get a career out of all this, somehow. Fucking marvellous. Be a cunt, have no talent, drink, take drugs, shag anything that's not dead, screw up big time and demonstrate complete uselessness - and then want a career as a TV presenter. That just proves what a low-level job TV presenting is perceived to be (and is so, in many cases, judging by the idiots that creep on to the box with annoying regularity - especially those who are illiterate/thick).
Kitty
Vocals were dodgy, I'm afraid. Sorry, but I reckon that was her weakest performance.
Craig
Excellent performance. Haircut's awful, and so's the jacket, but being able to sing trumps those faux pas.
Little Mix
There were some dodgy vocals, especially at the beginning. Still, I like them, so judges, stop bickering. KR, get back on your horse and practise your dressage routine; TTT, you're the twat who picked Frankie, so you have no right to criticise!!!
John Lewis Advert
Excellent; yet another classic (even though nothing can match the one set to Billy Joel's "She's More Than a Woman To Me").
Janet
Sorry love, but it's hard work slowing down my whole life to try and keep in time with your singing. Much too slow, and a bit boring. Calm down Elf. Actually, if I want to hear an Irish lilt, I'll put on The Cranberries. TTT has also mentioned 'boring', quite rightly. KR - Janet may well have worked hard this week - the competition is not about working hard though!
Marcus
He knows what he's doing and can sing / perform. No doubt about his ability. However, TC was correct, because it was a bit like picking up where last week ended.
Misha
Manchester is behind her, apparently. I thought it was a singing competition rather than a tribal one, based on the support of people from the town where you live. As for the singing, then, I found her voice grating and had to turn the volume down; I thought it was poor, actually. Elf, why should people in Manchester 'lift the phone'. TC, stop the fucking "stripped back" cliche. KR, fuck off with the Manchester shit, will you! (and stop that awful emphasised drawl). Does Janet automatically get the Irish vote? Does Craig get the gay vote? Does Kitty get the tranny vote? Misha, TTT thinks your dedicated because you are always looking at YouTube or listening to music - to me that seems applicable to half the 12-to-25-year-olds in the country!
Amelia Lily
Her arrival on stage was greeted like a second coming! She was always going to win the four-way battle for another go, and 48% of the votes went to her. Basically, she's avoided four weeks of work, and can join in now with a reasonable level of support. I can't say I liked the song or even her noisy rendition of it. Still, I reckon that after so much voting for her in the last 48hrs by people who can be bothered about such things, she will get votes from those same people. KR - 'Welcome freakin back?' Stupid Twat! Get back on your horse, I've told you once already.
Summary: Kitty in danger, I think, plus Janet?. Misha will be saved by Mancunians, no doubt.
TTT = Thomas the Tank / Gary
TC = Top Cat / Tulisa Contostavlos
Elf = Louis Walsh
KR = Kelly Rowland
...
What a week. What a pillock. Who? Frankie, of course. Today's Sun has a front page devoted to his alleged request for a threesome, and a photo of the two females who were the subject of his attentions - Becca and Katherine. What a pair of pointless individuals, selling their story of one night with Cocozza.
The most amazing comment from any of the three tarts (I include Frankie) was from Becca. She and Frankie were bonking in a small bedroom, and were being constantly interrupted by his mates. Her story included the following:
"At one point his mate came in and gave him a condom. I was impressed he used condoms. I thought I'd have to tell him to."
What a fucking useless twat she is! Being impressed by the fact that he uses condoms! He fucks anything that's got an opening, dearie, so lucky for you that he does. They deserve each other.
The other notable comment this week was by Frankie himself, who has snorted enough coke to make him lose the plot completely. Frankie outlined two ambitions he hoped he could realise after his spell on X-Factor. He wants to go on Celebrity Big Brother - and have sex in the House; and he fancies himself as a TV presenter.
"I'd like to be like George Lamb - he's cool. I don't know I'd get very far in music. I know I'm not a great singer. There are loads of genuine rock stars and I'm not one of them. Yeah, I ruined my chances on X-Factor. But I hope I'll get a career out of it somehow. I don't want to be back on the dole."
First, I should be saying "Wake up, you can't be on Celebrity Big Brother because you are NOT a celebrity. However, I need to be careful, because he is probably countable as a celebrity in the eyes of the youth of today; sad, sad, sad. As for the ambition of having sex in the house, talk about setting yourself a pointless, low level, idiotic target like that! Finally, after admitting he's a shit singer, he says he hopes to get a career out of all this, somehow. Fucking marvellous. Be a cunt, have no talent, drink, take drugs, shag anything that's not dead, screw up big time and demonstrate complete uselessness - and then want a career as a TV presenter. That just proves what a low-level job TV presenting is perceived to be (and is so, in many cases, judging by the idiots that creep on to the box with annoying regularity - especially those who are illiterate/thick).
Kitty
Vocals were dodgy, I'm afraid. Sorry, but I reckon that was her weakest performance.
Craig
Excellent performance. Haircut's awful, and so's the jacket, but being able to sing trumps those faux pas.
Little Mix
There were some dodgy vocals, especially at the beginning. Still, I like them, so judges, stop bickering. KR, get back on your horse and practise your dressage routine; TTT, you're the twat who picked Frankie, so you have no right to criticise!!!
John Lewis Advert
Excellent; yet another classic (even though nothing can match the one set to Billy Joel's "She's More Than a Woman To Me").
Janet
Sorry love, but it's hard work slowing down my whole life to try and keep in time with your singing. Much too slow, and a bit boring. Calm down Elf. Actually, if I want to hear an Irish lilt, I'll put on The Cranberries. TTT has also mentioned 'boring', quite rightly. KR - Janet may well have worked hard this week - the competition is not about working hard though!
Marcus
He knows what he's doing and can sing / perform. No doubt about his ability. However, TC was correct, because it was a bit like picking up where last week ended.
Misha
Manchester is behind her, apparently. I thought it was a singing competition rather than a tribal one, based on the support of people from the town where you live. As for the singing, then, I found her voice grating and had to turn the volume down; I thought it was poor, actually. Elf, why should people in Manchester 'lift the phone'. TC, stop the fucking "stripped back" cliche. KR, fuck off with the Manchester shit, will you! (and stop that awful emphasised drawl). Does Janet automatically get the Irish vote? Does Craig get the gay vote? Does Kitty get the tranny vote? Misha, TTT thinks your dedicated because you are always looking at YouTube or listening to music - to me that seems applicable to half the 12-to-25-year-olds in the country!
Amelia Lily
Her arrival on stage was greeted like a second coming! She was always going to win the four-way battle for another go, and 48% of the votes went to her. Basically, she's avoided four weeks of work, and can join in now with a reasonable level of support. I can't say I liked the song or even her noisy rendition of it. Still, I reckon that after so much voting for her in the last 48hrs by people who can be bothered about such things, she will get votes from those same people. KR - 'Welcome freakin back?' Stupid Twat! Get back on your horse, I've told you once already.
Summary: Kitty in danger, I think, plus Janet?. Misha will be saved by Mancunians, no doubt.
TTT = Thomas the Tank / Gary
TC = Top Cat / Tulisa Contostavlos
Elf = Louis Walsh
KR = Kelly Rowland
...
12.11.11 Dyson
It's official - the Dyson is a cunt. I have given up today in expecting the heavy lump of plastic to do anything other than go backwards and forwards, working as an overpriced upright monstrosity. The fucking stupid design got me to the point of wanting to hurl it from the bedroom window. I just wanted to use the hose part, but it point blank refused to comply. The over-hyped shit lump of plastic refused to play ball (even though it had one) and I was glad to have Henry in reserve. Henry is a simple soul, professing to do no more than suck up dirt without a fucking hurricane or cyclone or torpedo action. It worked.
Henry 1, Dyson 0
[Charles - please redesign your gismo]
...
Henry 1, Dyson 0
[Charles - please redesign your gismo]
...
Friday 11 November 2011
11.11.11 England Football
Fabio Capello
He is quite simply a useless cunt. Overpaid phenomenally, and devoid of talent, integrity, honour and perspective, he now gets his excuses in before England fails to do well in the European Championships. Apparently the England team is not a force to be reckoned with (I'd rather guessed that, you twat) and the fact that he has announced this while being paid £6M per year for that not to be the case is amazing. So, we have been told by Fabio that his players are not up to much. Pot, kettle.
He earns £685 per hour, every hour, every day, day and night. His most productive hours are when he is asleep! The Football Association are bigger twats for paying him this!
John Terry
Hmmmmm. Yet again, the thug with dubious links to wrongdoing (tours of the club for alleged bungs, affairs etc etc) is accused of racist taunts and yet will captain the England side against Sweden. Innocent until proven guilty, we're told. Undesirable individual until proved to be a whole lot worse!
As an aside, but football related -
Mike Ashley
Idiot, and the human equivalent of a rich steamroller. No appreciation of history, and a real talent for causing offence needlessly.
...
He is quite simply a useless cunt. Overpaid phenomenally, and devoid of talent, integrity, honour and perspective, he now gets his excuses in before England fails to do well in the European Championships. Apparently the England team is not a force to be reckoned with (I'd rather guessed that, you twat) and the fact that he has announced this while being paid £6M per year for that not to be the case is amazing. So, we have been told by Fabio that his players are not up to much. Pot, kettle.
He earns £685 per hour, every hour, every day, day and night. His most productive hours are when he is asleep! The Football Association are bigger twats for paying him this!
John Terry
Hmmmmm. Yet again, the thug with dubious links to wrongdoing (tours of the club for alleged bungs, affairs etc etc) is accused of racist taunts and yet will captain the England side against Sweden. Innocent until proven guilty, we're told. Undesirable individual until proved to be a whole lot worse!
As an aside, but football related -
Mike Ashley
Idiot, and the human equivalent of a rich steamroller. No appreciation of history, and a real talent for causing offence needlessly.
...
11.11.11 Remembrance Preparations
I am quite ready to acknowledge the need to prepare for ceremonies which will properly recognise the sacrifices made by those who have died defending the country. I am not impressed, though, with the local landscape contractor employed by the town hall.
I appreciate the need to make the tiny flower bed look nice, because no doubt on Sunday there will be people who will not be able to stomach leaves masking the earth and tiny flowers. However, it is not on for the 'landscapers' to use a blower on the leaves, and rather than collect them up, move them on to the road.
So, through laziness, the two workers blew thousands of leaves into the road, without a single thought as to the mess, and they clearly thought it was totally acceptable to flood the road. I was not quick enough to capture the full picture, but a fair number hadn't blown down the road before I took a snap or two.
Every leaf in the photos was previously not on the road. So, maybe Brown Landscapes & Service should adopt better practices (?)
...
I appreciate the need to make the tiny flower bed look nice, because no doubt on Sunday there will be people who will not be able to stomach leaves masking the earth and tiny flowers. However, it is not on for the 'landscapers' to use a blower on the leaves, and rather than collect them up, move them on to the road.
So, through laziness, the two workers blew thousands of leaves into the road, without a single thought as to the mess, and they clearly thought it was totally acceptable to flood the road. I was not quick enough to capture the full picture, but a fair number hadn't blown down the road before I took a snap or two.
Every leaf in the photos was previously not on the road. So, maybe Brown Landscapes & Service should adopt better practices (?)
...
11.11.11 Last Wednesday
A strange day, spent travelling to Scotland, and then back down, on to Liverpool. Not many 'highlights' - in fact, none. A few things to note, though.
Radio
I listened to the radio en route, and was appalled at the quality of the transmissions available. On Real Radio I was told by a chap who was quite clearly from Newcastle that "I used to like that Mr Motivator, him", and wondered what the purpose of the last word was in that statement, and how on earth it complied with anything grammatical.
Over on Smooth Radio I heard Simon Bates getting in a paddy about a report about how many women have supposedly sabotaged a fellow party-goer's dress, when that person has turned up in the same outfit. He said it was one-in-five, but confirmed the percentage as 18%. So, he has misled the audience, and shown mathematical ineptitude. "One in five" (to help thick people understand) is of course 20%, but it would have been better to say "One in six", as that's 16.67%, and so closer to the actual figure of 18%.
A news bulletin on another station had a report which included the line: "A group of children has devised their own way of doing things." I was pleased that a group has, and was about to be impressed with the reporter when the singular group suddenly adopted powers of plurality, making for a deviation from an appropriate "its own way" to a flawed "their own way". Inconsistent shit, as ever.
Radio 4 was no better, with the news including an item on Christmas spending. "Brits spend more on Christmas than anywhere else in Europe." What complete fucking twaddle. This suggests that Christmas is somewhere in Europe!
I saw a road sign that said, quite simply: Don't Speed
I didn't see a sign, later on in the day when I passed a bank, saying Don't Rob the Bank
Nor did I see any instruction that said Trim Your Nails
This last comment has relevance simply because I was astounded to see, when I parked my car in the Asda car park, a man in the vehicle next to mine, sitting holding a pair of scissors (not clippers, but full size scissors) trimming his nails whilst sat in the driver's seat. Curious.
Inside Asda, there was a tannoy announcement that included the comment about a final conclusion, and I wondered what a conclusion was that came somewhere before the end . . . . . .
At night, I read the paper and saw in the Sun a piece under the heading of SunEmployment. The headline was "I'm earning while class are learning". Well, you twat - you're not learning much are you! The classes are learning, or the class is learning.
Then there was the annoying Melanie Sykes on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. We'd all be better off without her stupid input. Utter nausea.
That was Wednesday.
...
Radio
I listened to the radio en route, and was appalled at the quality of the transmissions available. On Real Radio I was told by a chap who was quite clearly from Newcastle that "I used to like that Mr Motivator, him", and wondered what the purpose of the last word was in that statement, and how on earth it complied with anything grammatical.
Over on Smooth Radio I heard Simon Bates getting in a paddy about a report about how many women have supposedly sabotaged a fellow party-goer's dress, when that person has turned up in the same outfit. He said it was one-in-five, but confirmed the percentage as 18%. So, he has misled the audience, and shown mathematical ineptitude. "One in five" (to help thick people understand) is of course 20%, but it would have been better to say "One in six", as that's 16.67%, and so closer to the actual figure of 18%.
A news bulletin on another station had a report which included the line: "A group of children has devised their own way of doing things." I was pleased that a group has, and was about to be impressed with the reporter when the singular group suddenly adopted powers of plurality, making for a deviation from an appropriate "its own way" to a flawed "their own way". Inconsistent shit, as ever.
Radio 4 was no better, with the news including an item on Christmas spending. "Brits spend more on Christmas than anywhere else in Europe." What complete fucking twaddle. This suggests that Christmas is somewhere in Europe!
I saw a road sign that said, quite simply: Don't Speed
I didn't see a sign, later on in the day when I passed a bank, saying Don't Rob the Bank
Nor did I see any instruction that said Trim Your Nails
This last comment has relevance simply because I was astounded to see, when I parked my car in the Asda car park, a man in the vehicle next to mine, sitting holding a pair of scissors (not clippers, but full size scissors) trimming his nails whilst sat in the driver's seat. Curious.
Inside Asda, there was a tannoy announcement that included the comment about a final conclusion, and I wondered what a conclusion was that came somewhere before the end . . . . . .
At night, I read the paper and saw in the Sun a piece under the heading of SunEmployment. The headline was "I'm earning while class are learning". Well, you twat - you're not learning much are you! The classes are learning, or the class is learning.
Then there was the annoying Melanie Sykes on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. We'd all be better off without her stupid input. Utter nausea.
That was Wednesday.
...
11.11.11 I'm A Celebrity
Oh shit . . . . here we go again. I predict a pathetic "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here". I am toying with the idea of avoiding all possible contact with the programme, which is another formulaic, contrived, shit piece of television, touted to fuck for ages in the press and in trailers, and quite frankly it is boring. I believe television has got to breaking point with the crap served up to viewers. I demand something new. I am tired of the laziness that has become ingrained in both ITV and the BBC. Channel 5's attempt to make Big Brother work was an embarrassment, and an affront to anything that could be classed as entertainment.
IACGMOOH [which could be redefined as OMG, IAC, OH - Oh My God, I'm A Cunt, Oh Hell!] is quite simply the next thing in line for 2011, after Dancing on Ice, Celebrity Shit, Red or Black, X-Factor, and Strictly Cum Cuntin. It's almost like a circuit akin to the Tennis matches around the world. Dancing on Ice, X-Factor, Strictly Come Dancing and IACGMOOH are the 'Grand Slam' events.
It's all hype and shit (H&S). I have read some of the crap written in advance, to try and work up some interest in the programme. Let's look at the participants, who will be paid stupid money to spend some time doing silly things and eating a gerbil's cunt.
Sinitta: Famous for her 80s hit "So Macho". What a joke. Wheeling in Sinitta as a 'celebrity' is pathetic. She's a free-loader who'll do just about anything for money, and she has no talent at all. Did Cowell get her the gig, or are the imaginations of TV execs rather limited these days?
Fatima Whitbread: You're having a cuntin' laugh! Celebrity! My fucking arse! Not heard of her for decades, and apparently she counts as a 'celebrity' for once throwing a pointy thing. Utter cuntin' shit!
Freddie Starr: Aged 68 and no doubt at a loose end, he is clearly capitalising on a reputation acquired many years ago. Let's dredge up any old timer who was funny once - what about the "Monster From the Black Lagoon" - he was amusing.
Antony Cotton: Sorry, Sean (or is it Shaun?) from Corrie - I see you five times a week on the soap; there's no reason for me to endure even more of you. You've done the singing soapstar shit. I suppose 'Fizz' and 'Michelle' have had recent goes on other crappy programmes and you think that entitles you to grace our screens a bit more. No - I don't want to see you in the jungle; get sewing instead.
Jessica Jane Clement: Why use one name (like Sinitta) when three will do! 'Presenter' is she? That's the most dubious profession I know of, and generically a cop-out worth shit. She's 26, pretty, and is expected to attract bored male viewers. Fuck off, ITV.
Stefanie Powers: Oh dear - are we really that desperate to see an old star of series past? She is in theory a celebrity, perhaps, but I've seen more of my dead Granny than Stefanie Powers in the last twenty years, so how desperate is it that she and ITV have colluded to drag her to Australia.
Dougie Poynter: Is it compulsory to offer members of McFly a chance to participate in these shows. Harry Judd is on Strictly Cum Cuntin', and here we have the bassist of a lightweight (Flyweight?) band being included as a 'celebrity'. The world's gone bonkers ref the 'celebrity' tag.
Crissy Rock: Her off Benidorm. Oh, right. Riveting. Yawn.
Willie Carson: I refuse to bother commenting on this weeble.
Lorraine Chase: 'Famous' for little more than uttering "Luton Airport" on a 1970s advert, this woman is not a celebrity, despite her inclusion in some rubbish that goes on in Emmerdale.
Mark Wright: Something to do with TOWIE. The barrel has been scraped.
Pat Sharp is in the wings, waiting should anyone drop out - they're all fucking drop-outs!!!!
The word 'Celebrity' is the most meaningless tag now. There was a lottery 'press the red button that does fuck all' moment a few weeks ago, when a woman was encouraged on to the show to do the deed, after mentioning something about a funding project, and an event one evening in the preceding weeks. Asked if she'd met any 'celebrities', she said, "Yes, Amir Khan." No, dearie, he is not a celebrity; he is a boxer. I rather think that these days, you're a celebrity if people generally know who you are. I know of a guy called Father Christmas, I know of some chap called Satan. Are they celebrities? Sports people are not celebrities. There are nearly 100 football teams in the main divisions, each squad having 25 players, so does that mean 2500 celebrities? Fuck, no!
This apology for entertainment, this tired, uninspiring formula for wasting many hours, is better referred to as:
I'm a Cunt, Get Me Out of Here! - [ and pay me loads, plus get me advertising income and sponsorship on the back of my attendance in a little piece of Australia ]
H&S - need I say more . . . ?
...
IACGMOOH [which could be redefined as OMG, IAC, OH - Oh My God, I'm A Cunt, Oh Hell!] is quite simply the next thing in line for 2011, after Dancing on Ice, Celebrity Shit, Red or Black, X-Factor, and Strictly Cum Cuntin. It's almost like a circuit akin to the Tennis matches around the world. Dancing on Ice, X-Factor, Strictly Come Dancing and IACGMOOH are the 'Grand Slam' events.
It's all hype and shit (H&S). I have read some of the crap written in advance, to try and work up some interest in the programme. Let's look at the participants, who will be paid stupid money to spend some time doing silly things and eating a gerbil's cunt.
Sinitta: Famous for her 80s hit "So Macho". What a joke. Wheeling in Sinitta as a 'celebrity' is pathetic. She's a free-loader who'll do just about anything for money, and she has no talent at all. Did Cowell get her the gig, or are the imaginations of TV execs rather limited these days?
Fatima Whitbread: You're having a cuntin' laugh! Celebrity! My fucking arse! Not heard of her for decades, and apparently she counts as a 'celebrity' for once throwing a pointy thing. Utter cuntin' shit!
Freddie Starr: Aged 68 and no doubt at a loose end, he is clearly capitalising on a reputation acquired many years ago. Let's dredge up any old timer who was funny once - what about the "Monster From the Black Lagoon" - he was amusing.
Antony Cotton: Sorry, Sean (or is it Shaun?) from Corrie - I see you five times a week on the soap; there's no reason for me to endure even more of you. You've done the singing soapstar shit. I suppose 'Fizz' and 'Michelle' have had recent goes on other crappy programmes and you think that entitles you to grace our screens a bit more. No - I don't want to see you in the jungle; get sewing instead.
Jessica Jane Clement: Why use one name (like Sinitta) when three will do! 'Presenter' is she? That's the most dubious profession I know of, and generically a cop-out worth shit. She's 26, pretty, and is expected to attract bored male viewers. Fuck off, ITV.
Stefanie Powers: Oh dear - are we really that desperate to see an old star of series past? She is in theory a celebrity, perhaps, but I've seen more of my dead Granny than Stefanie Powers in the last twenty years, so how desperate is it that she and ITV have colluded to drag her to Australia.
Dougie Poynter: Is it compulsory to offer members of McFly a chance to participate in these shows. Harry Judd is on Strictly Cum Cuntin', and here we have the bassist of a lightweight (Flyweight?) band being included as a 'celebrity'. The world's gone bonkers ref the 'celebrity' tag.
Crissy Rock: Her off Benidorm. Oh, right. Riveting. Yawn.
Willie Carson: I refuse to bother commenting on this weeble.
Lorraine Chase: 'Famous' for little more than uttering "Luton Airport" on a 1970s advert, this woman is not a celebrity, despite her inclusion in some rubbish that goes on in Emmerdale.
Mark Wright: Something to do with TOWIE. The barrel has been scraped.
Pat Sharp is in the wings, waiting should anyone drop out - they're all fucking drop-outs!!!!
The word 'Celebrity' is the most meaningless tag now. There was a lottery 'press the red button that does fuck all' moment a few weeks ago, when a woman was encouraged on to the show to do the deed, after mentioning something about a funding project, and an event one evening in the preceding weeks. Asked if she'd met any 'celebrities', she said, "Yes, Amir Khan." No, dearie, he is not a celebrity; he is a boxer. I rather think that these days, you're a celebrity if people generally know who you are. I know of a guy called Father Christmas, I know of some chap called Satan. Are they celebrities? Sports people are not celebrities. There are nearly 100 football teams in the main divisions, each squad having 25 players, so does that mean 2500 celebrities? Fuck, no!
This apology for entertainment, this tired, uninspiring formula for wasting many hours, is better referred to as:
I'm a Cunt, Get Me Out of Here! - [ and pay me loads, plus get me advertising income and sponsorship on the back of my attendance in a little piece of Australia ]
H&S - need I say more . . . ?
...
Tuesday 8 November 2011
8.11.11 Strictly Come Dancing
Apparently 427 people complained to the BBC last week about Robbie Savage's crotch grabbing and hip thrusting in the programme ten days ago. That's rather more than the number of complaints logged against him in his career for savaging opponents on the football field week in, week out. How ironic.
Much more offensive than Robbie's dance floor antics, and in fact more offensive than his woeful tackling on the pitch, was the awful noise on last Saturday's edition - Bruce Forsyth singing. Why oh why does the BBC pay him a fortune without ensuring there's a clause banning the fucker from supposedly singing? His contributions in all respects are pitiful - he should be stuck in a field with retired donkeys.
To top it all, I saw at the weekend an advert for an album of his favourite songs - sung by himself! £9.97 at Asda. Any very old idiots who might want to waste their money should think twice, as the bargain bin will have them all at a pound after Christmas. The idea that someone endorsed the release of this verbal equivalent of a scarecrow is preposterous - yet clearly some twat did.
...
Much more offensive than Robbie's dance floor antics, and in fact more offensive than his woeful tackling on the pitch, was the awful noise on last Saturday's edition - Bruce Forsyth singing. Why oh why does the BBC pay him a fortune without ensuring there's a clause banning the fucker from supposedly singing? His contributions in all respects are pitiful - he should be stuck in a field with retired donkeys.
To top it all, I saw at the weekend an advert for an album of his favourite songs - sung by himself! £9.97 at Asda. Any very old idiots who might want to waste their money should think twice, as the bargain bin will have them all at a pound after Christmas. The idea that someone endorsed the release of this verbal equivalent of a scarecrow is preposterous - yet clearly some twat did.
...
Monday 7 November 2011
7.11.11 Toast
Yesterday it was finally time to ditch the two slices of rather-well-done toast. They have, for a couple of months now, been residing in a kitchen cupboard, still mounted on the card that was once set inside a box picture frame. Since the frame mysteriously fell from the wall and broke, the innards have had no real home.
I suppose there is a slim chance you are wondering why two pieces of burnt bread ever came to be mounted in a frame and on the wall in the kitchen. I will explain. By the way, the comment in pencil below the left hand slice (just like an artist's comment might be made) reads, quite simply - "Fucking Toast".
A couple of years ago, I was in need of something to eat, and was desperately searching for some food to have that would be ready quickly. A loaf of bread had diminished in size to become '2 slices of bread' in the plastic bag, and it was these two remaining slices that were to be my food intake. They were, as you'd expect, not in the prime of their life, but were most suitable for a bit of browning in the toaster. I had expressed to those around (Mrs MWSC, Junior MWSC and Mrs Junior, fiancee of Junior) my frustrations at not being able to decide on what to eat, and the disbelief that there were just two remaining slices. I am positive that it was at this stage I announced, "But we're not a bread eating family!" - a line that is regularly quoted at me now. Regardless of that being the case (and being mocked by the other three for my announcement) I at least had two slices, just about enough, and I turned the toaster on.
The shitty fucking toaster from Argos was made by Cookworks, but it was not long before there was absolute proof that the brand should be renamed CuntNeverWorks. Without going into the details, the toast got burnt. I was fucking livid. The bread had not browned enough, so had to go back in, but on the second session, the element decided to burn brighter and hotter than a flame thrower hitting potassium. The toast, when I pressed the button, flew out and landed on the floor, dead. I was incensed, and was overcome with a need to kick the cuntin' slices around the room. Unbeknown to me, Mrs MWSC, Junior and Mrs Junior were all in the next room, hiding and sniggering like school kids, as I impersonated Stanley Matthews.
I kicked the toast round the kitchen, swearing like a cunt non-stop, oblivious to the sniggers of the troops hiding in the corner of the room next door. I released venomous words about there being only two fucking slices left in the first place, when we were 'not a bread eating family' and abandoned my football match when the two slices disappeared underneath the kitchen units, to merge with dust and any other remnants kicked into touch. I left the pitch/kitchen, fuming.
It was with some surprise that a few weeks later, amongst other items presented on 25th December, a package addressed to me contained a picture frame, within which were the two slices. The three of them had, when the coast was clear, crept out and recovered the two slices. They were dusted off, and covered with cling film, and later mounted to form some sort of morbid modern art. Anyway, I was amused as hell to hear the whole story which I'd long forgotten.
It's all history now, but I could not discard the two slices without logging their time on earth somewhere, and this blog site seems to me to be the best place for the obituary.
...
I suppose there is a slim chance you are wondering why two pieces of burnt bread ever came to be mounted in a frame and on the wall in the kitchen. I will explain. By the way, the comment in pencil below the left hand slice (just like an artist's comment might be made) reads, quite simply - "Fucking Toast".
A couple of years ago, I was in need of something to eat, and was desperately searching for some food to have that would be ready quickly. A loaf of bread had diminished in size to become '2 slices of bread' in the plastic bag, and it was these two remaining slices that were to be my food intake. They were, as you'd expect, not in the prime of their life, but were most suitable for a bit of browning in the toaster. I had expressed to those around (Mrs MWSC, Junior MWSC and Mrs Junior, fiancee of Junior) my frustrations at not being able to decide on what to eat, and the disbelief that there were just two remaining slices. I am positive that it was at this stage I announced, "But we're not a bread eating family!" - a line that is regularly quoted at me now. Regardless of that being the case (and being mocked by the other three for my announcement) I at least had two slices, just about enough, and I turned the toaster on.
The shitty fucking toaster from Argos was made by Cookworks, but it was not long before there was absolute proof that the brand should be renamed CuntNeverWorks. Without going into the details, the toast got burnt. I was fucking livid. The bread had not browned enough, so had to go back in, but on the second session, the element decided to burn brighter and hotter than a flame thrower hitting potassium. The toast, when I pressed the button, flew out and landed on the floor, dead. I was incensed, and was overcome with a need to kick the cuntin' slices around the room. Unbeknown to me, Mrs MWSC, Junior and Mrs Junior were all in the next room, hiding and sniggering like school kids, as I impersonated Stanley Matthews.
I kicked the toast round the kitchen, swearing like a cunt non-stop, oblivious to the sniggers of the troops hiding in the corner of the room next door. I released venomous words about there being only two fucking slices left in the first place, when we were 'not a bread eating family' and abandoned my football match when the two slices disappeared underneath the kitchen units, to merge with dust and any other remnants kicked into touch. I left the pitch/kitchen, fuming.
It was with some surprise that a few weeks later, amongst other items presented on 25th December, a package addressed to me contained a picture frame, within which were the two slices. The three of them had, when the coast was clear, crept out and recovered the two slices. They were dusted off, and covered with cling film, and later mounted to form some sort of morbid modern art. Anyway, I was amused as hell to hear the whole story which I'd long forgotten.
It's all history now, but I could not discard the two slices without logging their time on earth somewhere, and this blog site seems to me to be the best place for the obituary.
...
Sunday 6 November 2011
6.11.11 Exchanges (No.2)
Scene One
Post Office. TMWSC is buying stamps. Mrs MWSC is away for a while. Mrs W (the elderly owner of the Post Office) is service, and chatting as usual.
Mrs W: "Are you all right?"
TMWSC: "Yes, thank you, Mrs W"
Mrs W: "I hear you're now a bachelor, gay"
TMWSC: "Well, that's rather a quaint way of putting it, Mrs W, and not quite what I'd have said, but I know what you mean. Yes, I'm on my own for a while."
Scene Two
Doorway of the house, as TMWSC opens the door and is about to take delivery of a parcel from a chap in a high visibility vest.
TMWSC: "Ah, that'll be for Jess" [Reaching to take the parcel being offered]
Delivery Man: "What's your initial, Mr MWSC" [Proper name given]
TMWSC: "N. How do you know my name?" [With a puzzled look]
Delivery Man: "Because you live here!"
That told me!
Scene Three
Checkout at Morrisons, having just entered credit card details to pay for the shopping.
Till Operator: "Are you collecting the £40 Shop receipts?" [Expecting a 'Yes' from me]
TMWSC: "No, thanks" [Stopping the till operator in her tracks, as she prepared to hand over some sort of information on collecting receipts]
Till Operator: "No?" [After a slight pause while she tried to comprehend my lack of interest]
TMWSC: "No"
Till Operator: "You save the receipts if you spend over £40, and get £25 off. [She was clearly perplexed] Don't you come in every week?"
TMWSC: "No"
I left with my shopping, as a bewildered till operator made no further comment. I suspected no one had turned her down before.
...
Post Office. TMWSC is buying stamps. Mrs MWSC is away for a while. Mrs W (the elderly owner of the Post Office) is service, and chatting as usual.
Mrs W: "Are you all right?"
TMWSC: "Yes, thank you, Mrs W"
Mrs W: "I hear you're now a bachelor, gay"
TMWSC: "Well, that's rather a quaint way of putting it, Mrs W, and not quite what I'd have said, but I know what you mean. Yes, I'm on my own for a while."
Scene Two
Doorway of the house, as TMWSC opens the door and is about to take delivery of a parcel from a chap in a high visibility vest.
TMWSC: "Ah, that'll be for Jess" [Reaching to take the parcel being offered]
Delivery Man: "What's your initial, Mr MWSC" [Proper name given]
TMWSC: "N. How do you know my name?" [With a puzzled look]
Delivery Man: "Because you live here!"
That told me!
Scene Three
Checkout at Morrisons, having just entered credit card details to pay for the shopping.
Till Operator: "Are you collecting the £40 Shop receipts?" [Expecting a 'Yes' from me]
TMWSC: "No, thanks" [Stopping the till operator in her tracks, as she prepared to hand over some sort of information on collecting receipts]
Till Operator: "No?" [After a slight pause while she tried to comprehend my lack of interest]
TMWSC: "No"
Till Operator: "You save the receipts if you spend over £40, and get £25 off. [She was clearly perplexed] Don't you come in every week?"
TMWSC: "No"
I left with my shopping, as a bewildered till operator made no further comment. I suspected no one had turned her down before.
...
6.11.11 X-Factor Wk5 Sunday
Fucking Frankie CoCuntinCozza staying is a complete joke.
The 'Rusk' was a shock, but they are drips and vocally weak - plus boring.
Kitty is clearly a better prospect than Johnny, nice as he is. Kitty, wear some trousers, please.
...
The 'Rusk' was a shock, but they are drips and vocally weak - plus boring.
Kitty is clearly a better prospect than Johnny, nice as he is. Kitty, wear some trousers, please.
...
6.11.11 Malaga Madness
I blame Ryanair and the management of Malaga Airport in equal measures, for the madness that prevails at the departure gates. Airport designs are generally hopeless, because they invariably fail completely in coping with the high numbers of passengers queuing. In the simplest terms, planes will typically carry 150 - 200 people per plane, so there could be 200 people queuing at Gate C33 - not an example but a fact, as I was one of those in the queue last week.
Six metres or so back from the Gate, the queue was forced to turn, and the 'L' shape then extended some considerable distance along the central walkway. I was stationed at the bend, and observed mayhem. The first level of difficulty was created by the Priority Boarding queue, which ran parallel. In the old days, Priority Boarders and Speedy Boarders would be in a minority, thus making the £5-£10 per head a worthwhile consideration for anyone wanting to waste money. However, these days there are too many people trying to be elitist. So was the case as I saw the Priority Boarding queue lengthen, and exceed the six or seven metres of space available. The queue could not turn in the same direction as the main queue, as at the rear of the walkway there was a one-metre passing section, taped off, so that passengers trying to get to the far end of the terminal could pass by Gate C33. The growing army of Priority Boarders had other ideas.
Yes, the rabble that gathered comprised all varieties of traveller, and there was an abundance of pushchairs. Their queue stretched back to a point where it ought to turn, and create its own 'L' shape, probably in the opposite direction to the main queue. However, the actions of those at the back end were not akin to a lead goose in a gaggle of geese. So, no one took a lead in arranging the queue appropriately. The end result was that it reached the back wall (in the one-metre passing section) and then turned to match the main queue, which had in fact turned without fucking up the passing section. No one could get past now, without asking someone in the queue to make way. I saw people clambering along the back edge, past pushchairs and baggage in the area where passing should have been a formality. I saw others walk to the middle of the queue and wait for an opening to emerge. It was getting silly.
Gate 32 was not in use, other than as a desk at which 'helpers' wearing yellow tops could gather, and where a small row of seats came in handy for some of those waiting for the flight from C33. Among those waiting was a woman with four small children - too much baggage, I'd say! The yellow-tops were employed to ferry the disabled around, and generally this meant pushing wheelchairs, and either persuading, ordering, or nudging people out of the way, so that their special assistance package could be deposited more quickly to wait for ages like everyone else. I saw eight of the yellow-tops, and they seemed to be chatting for ages. It would have been more appropriate for them to try organising the queue, more so as a new development was complicating things.
There was a delay. According to the screen, half an hour extra would be spent waiting to get on board the plane that was yet to land. We were now in an 'overlap' zone. The queue from Gate C35 had followed the exact same design, and so the forced 'L' shape meant that the tail end of that queue had by now reached back to meet the Priority Boarders waiting at my Gate. In effect, one queue was in real danger of being infiltrated/cluttered by people queuing through the line at 90 degrees. People trying to get past the blockade (who did not negotiate pushchairs and passengers along the back wall) would expect space to be made in the Priority Boarding line, but be flummoxed by finding themselves behind someone pointing the same way, but not moving. By default, these newcomers were joining the C35 queue for a few seconds, before realising, and forcing past.
Common sense didn't prevail, but a spoonful seemed to land somewhere around the middle of the Priority queue, as those continuing to join decided to snake back towards the back wall, matching the line for a metre or two, and then it completely went back on itself, up towards C35, making a 180 degree bend. If you are following all of this, I applaud you. It was still madness for people trying to get past, who had no need to join either queue. As I stood watching, and enduring the singing of the woman next to me, I realised there were a few people making unnecessary journeys. These were no doubt the sort of people who'd go fucking window shopping in severe snowy weather, after the Met Office predicted worse was to come, and the public was advised to stay at home. I clocked one woman make two pointless journeys back and forth, negotiating queues.
Brian Hill was annoying. I didn't know him, and still don't, but I saw the boarding card he was holding, showing his name. Perhaps if he'd held on to something more than a piece of paper, I might not have had cause to notice him. Basically, he fell over, and dragged his wife down with him. Despite the proximity of other travellers, there was no 'domino effect', as luckily, he was only one place forward from the bend in the 'L' of the queue. The singer and her husband formed the turning point, and I was next in line. I suspected Brian had tried to sit on his baggage and misjudged things; it was quite warm, and tiring. The singer was fanning herself with her passport, while squatting down (?) and initially I'd thought it was a pre-emptive strike by her so that she undertook a controlled fall rather than be hit and knocked over by Brian's wife.
Brian recovered, and chucked for the next few minutes. I didn't. I perhaps ought to explain about the singer, or the 'cunt in front' as I referred to her in my head (not out loud, for obvious reasons). She was for some strange reason dressed in white. White cotton trousers, white top, and an unfortunate nose. Her chest protruded in line with her nose, the latter having no support, but the former quite clearly underpinned by carbon fibre. It was at this point that she took a few paces towards a screen to check flight details, and then returned (with dubious efforts of musical accompaniment, akin to a drunk nun's warbling) and decided to share a joke with her husband, and a 'jostle' of some sort. The ritual involved her giving a half-hearted kick. She was not as good as the Karate Kid, and clearly got carried away what with the white attire. She very slightly lost her balance (probably as a result of the boobs and nose, and the laws of 'moments' which I recall featuring in A-Level Physics lessons) which resulted in her stepping backwards and on to my foot. Twat. I heard her apology but managed to remain as impassive as a statue.
Soon, the Priority Boarders started shuffling forwards and then the riff-raff was allowed to join in as well. Natural order was being restored to the area, as queues disappeared, and walkways became unblocked. The progress was temporary, though, as the passengers were doing little more than populating the ramp down towards the tunnel for boarding. Soon we would all come to a halt. As I got to the gate, with boarding card and passport ready, I was massively amused to see the singer's bag attracting the attention of the Ryanair employee in charge. The reason? It was too fucking big. Now, to my mind, using a bag that is larger than the designated 55x40x20cm is asking for trouble. With such specific limitations, and the threat of fines, you'd think people would be a bit more careful. Her husband did the honours and picked up her bag to put it into the metal frame standing to one side. I reckon that the frame is actually a bit larger than the dimensions, but the tolerance was not as sufficient as that required for the singer's husband to slide the bag into the available space. The problem was the thickness. The trolley bag was certainly more than 25cm, hence the reason for the check on it being requested by the Ryanair woman who was rather sweet, and not at all officious. I watched as the bag was forced between the tubular metal edges, and it was like the proverbial square peg in a round hole. Oh, how he forced it, pushing and pushing; I could hear plastic cracking. Somehow he managed to get the bag into the frame, which now acted as might a boa constrictor squeezing the fuck out of its victim. It was truly wedged and the Ryanair woman contributed with "Perfect". I almost burst out laughing - 'perfect' indeed. Getting the bag out again was an endeavour and a half, with two people standing on the frame as the bag was extracted with more internal damage, no doubt.
I had come to a halt and had watched this going on a few feet behind me. The singer was immediately in front of me, looking back at her struggling husband. He rejoined her, pleased to have avoided any penalty, and we all waited because the ramp downwards was gridlocked. I was thus the last person through, standing four feet past the gate, while the rest of the queue waited in the main walkway. I was able to keep watch on the goings on, and one thing that happened was baffling.
I man walked up to the front of the queue, carrying a bag. He walked up to the Ryanair baggage-measuring frame, and tried to put the bag in it. His determination did not match that of the singer's wife, and so when the bag would not go in, he did not force the fuck out of it. He had a mate with him, and together they established there was no way this bag was going in. What did they do? They turned around, walked five paces over to an Easyjet frame, and tried it in that one! Who the fuck were they flying with? Were they going to decide what plane to catch on the basis of which one would take the bag? Unbe-fucking-lievable.
Progress eventually came, and we all moved down the ramp and into the tunnel towards the aircraft door. I was able to clock a celebrity amongst us; one of the passengers was none other than Hulk Hogan. He seemed a bit shorter than I expected. Then I realised that the person in leopard print was actually a woman with Hulk Hogan's head. Just as I was about to step on to the plane, I noticed a significant dent in the bag being carried by the singer, with a sense of satisfaction.
On the plane I was lucky enough to see and commandeer a spare seat right next to the emergency exit, with leg room enough for Peter Crouch on stilts. The drawback, as I later discovered, was that the Irishwoman in the middle seat (ie. next to me) was forever sticking her little finger in her ear, and then wiggling it about at 37mph. The flight back was actually uneventful; nothing out of the ordinary. The pilot told us where we'd be going (I was relieved I'd got on the right fucking plane and we were heading to the East Midlands, especially after all that ticket checking and queuing) and he then invited us all to sit back, relax and enjoy the flight. I considered that I was not (nor was anyone else) on the edge of my seat, so sitting back was a pointless suggestion, and the relaxation part was compromised when five minutes later the tannoy blared again with news that the servers of food and drink would be serving food and drink.
After I got off the bus taking me back to the car park, and was walking over to row 'E', I was sure I spotted Hulk Hogan in the gloom . . . . .or was it a leopard with a big chin?
...
Six metres or so back from the Gate, the queue was forced to turn, and the 'L' shape then extended some considerable distance along the central walkway. I was stationed at the bend, and observed mayhem. The first level of difficulty was created by the Priority Boarding queue, which ran parallel. In the old days, Priority Boarders and Speedy Boarders would be in a minority, thus making the £5-£10 per head a worthwhile consideration for anyone wanting to waste money. However, these days there are too many people trying to be elitist. So was the case as I saw the Priority Boarding queue lengthen, and exceed the six or seven metres of space available. The queue could not turn in the same direction as the main queue, as at the rear of the walkway there was a one-metre passing section, taped off, so that passengers trying to get to the far end of the terminal could pass by Gate C33. The growing army of Priority Boarders had other ideas.
Yes, the rabble that gathered comprised all varieties of traveller, and there was an abundance of pushchairs. Their queue stretched back to a point where it ought to turn, and create its own 'L' shape, probably in the opposite direction to the main queue. However, the actions of those at the back end were not akin to a lead goose in a gaggle of geese. So, no one took a lead in arranging the queue appropriately. The end result was that it reached the back wall (in the one-metre passing section) and then turned to match the main queue, which had in fact turned without fucking up the passing section. No one could get past now, without asking someone in the queue to make way. I saw people clambering along the back edge, past pushchairs and baggage in the area where passing should have been a formality. I saw others walk to the middle of the queue and wait for an opening to emerge. It was getting silly.
Gate 32 was not in use, other than as a desk at which 'helpers' wearing yellow tops could gather, and where a small row of seats came in handy for some of those waiting for the flight from C33. Among those waiting was a woman with four small children - too much baggage, I'd say! The yellow-tops were employed to ferry the disabled around, and generally this meant pushing wheelchairs, and either persuading, ordering, or nudging people out of the way, so that their special assistance package could be deposited more quickly to wait for ages like everyone else. I saw eight of the yellow-tops, and they seemed to be chatting for ages. It would have been more appropriate for them to try organising the queue, more so as a new development was complicating things.
There was a delay. According to the screen, half an hour extra would be spent waiting to get on board the plane that was yet to land. We were now in an 'overlap' zone. The queue from Gate C35 had followed the exact same design, and so the forced 'L' shape meant that the tail end of that queue had by now reached back to meet the Priority Boarders waiting at my Gate. In effect, one queue was in real danger of being infiltrated/cluttered by people queuing through the line at 90 degrees. People trying to get past the blockade (who did not negotiate pushchairs and passengers along the back wall) would expect space to be made in the Priority Boarding line, but be flummoxed by finding themselves behind someone pointing the same way, but not moving. By default, these newcomers were joining the C35 queue for a few seconds, before realising, and forcing past.
Common sense didn't prevail, but a spoonful seemed to land somewhere around the middle of the Priority queue, as those continuing to join decided to snake back towards the back wall, matching the line for a metre or two, and then it completely went back on itself, up towards C35, making a 180 degree bend. If you are following all of this, I applaud you. It was still madness for people trying to get past, who had no need to join either queue. As I stood watching, and enduring the singing of the woman next to me, I realised there were a few people making unnecessary journeys. These were no doubt the sort of people who'd go fucking window shopping in severe snowy weather, after the Met Office predicted worse was to come, and the public was advised to stay at home. I clocked one woman make two pointless journeys back and forth, negotiating queues.
Brian Hill was annoying. I didn't know him, and still don't, but I saw the boarding card he was holding, showing his name. Perhaps if he'd held on to something more than a piece of paper, I might not have had cause to notice him. Basically, he fell over, and dragged his wife down with him. Despite the proximity of other travellers, there was no 'domino effect', as luckily, he was only one place forward from the bend in the 'L' of the queue. The singer and her husband formed the turning point, and I was next in line. I suspected Brian had tried to sit on his baggage and misjudged things; it was quite warm, and tiring. The singer was fanning herself with her passport, while squatting down (?) and initially I'd thought it was a pre-emptive strike by her so that she undertook a controlled fall rather than be hit and knocked over by Brian's wife.
Brian recovered, and chucked for the next few minutes. I didn't. I perhaps ought to explain about the singer, or the 'cunt in front' as I referred to her in my head (not out loud, for obvious reasons). She was for some strange reason dressed in white. White cotton trousers, white top, and an unfortunate nose. Her chest protruded in line with her nose, the latter having no support, but the former quite clearly underpinned by carbon fibre. It was at this point that she took a few paces towards a screen to check flight details, and then returned (with dubious efforts of musical accompaniment, akin to a drunk nun's warbling) and decided to share a joke with her husband, and a 'jostle' of some sort. The ritual involved her giving a half-hearted kick. She was not as good as the Karate Kid, and clearly got carried away what with the white attire. She very slightly lost her balance (probably as a result of the boobs and nose, and the laws of 'moments' which I recall featuring in A-Level Physics lessons) which resulted in her stepping backwards and on to my foot. Twat. I heard her apology but managed to remain as impassive as a statue.
Soon, the Priority Boarders started shuffling forwards and then the riff-raff was allowed to join in as well. Natural order was being restored to the area, as queues disappeared, and walkways became unblocked. The progress was temporary, though, as the passengers were doing little more than populating the ramp down towards the tunnel for boarding. Soon we would all come to a halt. As I got to the gate, with boarding card and passport ready, I was massively amused to see the singer's bag attracting the attention of the Ryanair employee in charge. The reason? It was too fucking big. Now, to my mind, using a bag that is larger than the designated 55x40x20cm is asking for trouble. With such specific limitations, and the threat of fines, you'd think people would be a bit more careful. Her husband did the honours and picked up her bag to put it into the metal frame standing to one side. I reckon that the frame is actually a bit larger than the dimensions, but the tolerance was not as sufficient as that required for the singer's husband to slide the bag into the available space. The problem was the thickness. The trolley bag was certainly more than 25cm, hence the reason for the check on it being requested by the Ryanair woman who was rather sweet, and not at all officious. I watched as the bag was forced between the tubular metal edges, and it was like the proverbial square peg in a round hole. Oh, how he forced it, pushing and pushing; I could hear plastic cracking. Somehow he managed to get the bag into the frame, which now acted as might a boa constrictor squeezing the fuck out of its victim. It was truly wedged and the Ryanair woman contributed with "Perfect". I almost burst out laughing - 'perfect' indeed. Getting the bag out again was an endeavour and a half, with two people standing on the frame as the bag was extracted with more internal damage, no doubt.
I had come to a halt and had watched this going on a few feet behind me. The singer was immediately in front of me, looking back at her struggling husband. He rejoined her, pleased to have avoided any penalty, and we all waited because the ramp downwards was gridlocked. I was thus the last person through, standing four feet past the gate, while the rest of the queue waited in the main walkway. I was able to keep watch on the goings on, and one thing that happened was baffling.
I man walked up to the front of the queue, carrying a bag. He walked up to the Ryanair baggage-measuring frame, and tried to put the bag in it. His determination did not match that of the singer's wife, and so when the bag would not go in, he did not force the fuck out of it. He had a mate with him, and together they established there was no way this bag was going in. What did they do? They turned around, walked five paces over to an Easyjet frame, and tried it in that one! Who the fuck were they flying with? Were they going to decide what plane to catch on the basis of which one would take the bag? Unbe-fucking-lievable.
Progress eventually came, and we all moved down the ramp and into the tunnel towards the aircraft door. I was able to clock a celebrity amongst us; one of the passengers was none other than Hulk Hogan. He seemed a bit shorter than I expected. Then I realised that the person in leopard print was actually a woman with Hulk Hogan's head. Just as I was about to step on to the plane, I noticed a significant dent in the bag being carried by the singer, with a sense of satisfaction.
On the plane I was lucky enough to see and commandeer a spare seat right next to the emergency exit, with leg room enough for Peter Crouch on stilts. The drawback, as I later discovered, was that the Irishwoman in the middle seat (ie. next to me) was forever sticking her little finger in her ear, and then wiggling it about at 37mph. The flight back was actually uneventful; nothing out of the ordinary. The pilot told us where we'd be going (I was relieved I'd got on the right fucking plane and we were heading to the East Midlands, especially after all that ticket checking and queuing) and he then invited us all to sit back, relax and enjoy the flight. I considered that I was not (nor was anyone else) on the edge of my seat, so sitting back was a pointless suggestion, and the relaxation part was compromised when five minutes later the tannoy blared again with news that the servers of food and drink would be serving food and drink.
After I got off the bus taking me back to the car park, and was walking over to row 'E', I was sure I spotted Hulk Hogan in the gloom . . . . .or was it a leopard with a big chin?
...
Saturday 5 November 2011
5.11.11 X-Factor Wk5
What a contrived 'high five' between KR and TC. Oh, and Dermot . . . . . don't try dancing again - and do you have to wear size 14 brown shoes with a black suit?
KR - Please can you stop the drawl, and shit dialogue; I am almost wishing your bad throat returns.
Johnny
Oh dear, oh dear. Not good; nice chap, but not good. Also, hearing the "Guilty Pleasure" admission yet again is nauseating - shut up please, KR, because at this rate, you're doing no better than the awful Alexandra 'Berk'. Johnny, unless there are strange forces in play, I suspect you'll be going back to the £94 per week invalidity benefit.
Janet
As the weeks go by, I am less and less certain that I can listen to her, because everything she does will come out the same, and tonight she didn't do well. It was okay, but nothing more. Elf, shut the fuck up with the "Kelly . . . . she put it down!" input. I started typing these comments half way through the song, before the judges spoke, and TC & TTT got it right, while the other two got it wrong. She is definitely good at some songs, but not at others; choose wisely. [Annoying mention of "Comfort Zone"]
Craig
What a naf disco shit song. Still, he can sing, so really he couldn't go wrong on a week where there will be a few singers being tested. He should be fine. The Elf came out with - "You remind me of a young Gary Barlow when he was singing and dancing." [Boring mention again of "Comfort Zone"]
The 'Rusk'
Appealing to squealing girls, they should perhaps adopt my name-change. Drippy rubbish, as far as I'm concerned. Vocals are dodgy, and they are too cliche. Some of those arm movements were Neanderthal. TTT said Charlie is the lead singer; I agree that they'd do a bit better without trying to have an even spread of input between the four. They do not stand out at all. No way would I buy an album of theirs. In fact, if I was given one free of charge, I would not waste 35 minutes of my life playing it.
Marcus
Excellent !!!!!
Matalan
The 60 second advert in the break was more entertaining than anything so far on X-Factor. They nailed it.
Kitty
Very Good. KR, shut up (skiver) and she does make you want to watch.
Frankie
Fuckin' fuck off. I can fart a better tune than you can sing! You are everything that's wrong with society/celebrity/fame/lack of talent/easy money/spin/attitude/twattishness. Oh, as I now finish typing, there are boos from the audience. Well done Elf, you're now saying what needs to be said. KR - fuck off telling Louis what he can and cannot think. "The only thing that's lacking in your performance is the voice," said KR, "To make it in the business you have to be able to sing." Thanks for that, Kelly, because without that guidance we'd all be fucked, eh? "Back in your cage, Louis," said Thomas. TTT went on to moan about the booing, saying it shouldn't be allowed. Of course booing should be allowed if the act is shit. Booooooooo!
Misha
The pronunciation was awful; was she singing in English? Hmmmm . . . . I must watch Sister Act again. She'll probably be okay. NB: What's happened to KR's voice? It grates like fuck on my ears, with its shrieky whine.
Little Mix
A few dodgy vocals/harmonies. Nevertheless, they're more interesting than most acts, and I am quite sure they are getting better as the weeks go by. Good.
Frankie & Johnny to go?
TTT = Thomas the Tank / Gary
TC = Top Cat / Tulisa Contostavlos
Elf = Louis Walsh
KR = Kelly Rowland
...
KR - Please can you stop the drawl, and shit dialogue; I am almost wishing your bad throat returns.
Johnny
Oh dear, oh dear. Not good; nice chap, but not good. Also, hearing the "Guilty Pleasure" admission yet again is nauseating - shut up please, KR, because at this rate, you're doing no better than the awful Alexandra 'Berk'. Johnny, unless there are strange forces in play, I suspect you'll be going back to the £94 per week invalidity benefit.
Janet
As the weeks go by, I am less and less certain that I can listen to her, because everything she does will come out the same, and tonight she didn't do well. It was okay, but nothing more. Elf, shut the fuck up with the "Kelly . . . . she put it down!" input. I started typing these comments half way through the song, before the judges spoke, and TC & TTT got it right, while the other two got it wrong. She is definitely good at some songs, but not at others; choose wisely. [Annoying mention of "Comfort Zone"]
Craig
What a naf disco shit song. Still, he can sing, so really he couldn't go wrong on a week where there will be a few singers being tested. He should be fine. The Elf came out with - "You remind me of a young Gary Barlow when he was singing and dancing." [Boring mention again of "Comfort Zone"]
The 'Rusk'
Appealing to squealing girls, they should perhaps adopt my name-change. Drippy rubbish, as far as I'm concerned. Vocals are dodgy, and they are too cliche. Some of those arm movements were Neanderthal. TTT said Charlie is the lead singer; I agree that they'd do a bit better without trying to have an even spread of input between the four. They do not stand out at all. No way would I buy an album of theirs. In fact, if I was given one free of charge, I would not waste 35 minutes of my life playing it.
Marcus
Excellent !!!!!
Matalan
The 60 second advert in the break was more entertaining than anything so far on X-Factor. They nailed it.
Kitty
Very Good. KR, shut up (skiver) and she does make you want to watch.
Frankie
Fuckin' fuck off. I can fart a better tune than you can sing! You are everything that's wrong with society/celebrity/fame/lack of talent/easy money/spin/attitude/twattishness. Oh, as I now finish typing, there are boos from the audience. Well done Elf, you're now saying what needs to be said. KR - fuck off telling Louis what he can and cannot think. "The only thing that's lacking in your performance is the voice," said KR, "To make it in the business you have to be able to sing." Thanks for that, Kelly, because without that guidance we'd all be fucked, eh? "Back in your cage, Louis," said Thomas. TTT went on to moan about the booing, saying it shouldn't be allowed. Of course booing should be allowed if the act is shit. Booooooooo!
Misha
The pronunciation was awful; was she singing in English? Hmmmm . . . . I must watch Sister Act again. She'll probably be okay. NB: What's happened to KR's voice? It grates like fuck on my ears, with its shrieky whine.
Little Mix
A few dodgy vocals/harmonies. Nevertheless, they're more interesting than most acts, and I am quite sure they are getting better as the weeks go by. Good.
Frankie & Johnny to go?
TTT = Thomas the Tank / Gary
TC = Top Cat / Tulisa Contostavlos
Elf = Louis Walsh
KR = Kelly Rowland
...
5.11.11 The Cu**
It's just a four-letter word beginning with 'C' yet it manages to cause so much offence. There is simply no need for it, according to many, but I support freedom of speech and freedom of expression, so cannot see what all the fuss is about; but I do reserve my right to be extremely critical.
Philip Schofield is completely superfluous, standing there stating the fucking obvious. Despite all the hi-tech stuff associated with the programme, he is still required to tell the contraption when to start. He also delights in 'reminding' contestants every few minutes of the options available if they need them - Simplify, and Trial Run. It's as mind-numbing as listening to Tarrant go on about Phone-a-Cunt, 50:50 and Ask the Arseholes.
That's right, the four-letter word that I refer to is the Cube. It's a programme that at its heart is quite a good idea, and can be entertaining (just like Total Wipeout) but is spoilt to buggery by being drawn out and made painful to watch. "What would £20,000 mean to you?" What's the fucking point of asking such a shit question, Schofield?
...
Philip Schofield is completely superfluous, standing there stating the fucking obvious. Despite all the hi-tech stuff associated with the programme, he is still required to tell the contraption when to start. He also delights in 'reminding' contestants every few minutes of the options available if they need them - Simplify, and Trial Run. It's as mind-numbing as listening to Tarrant go on about Phone-a-Cunt, 50:50 and Ask the Arseholes.
That's right, the four-letter word that I refer to is the Cube. It's a programme that at its heart is quite a good idea, and can be entertaining (just like Total Wipeout) but is spoilt to buggery by being drawn out and made painful to watch. "What would £20,000 mean to you?" What's the fucking point of asking such a shit question, Schofield?
...
Friday 4 November 2011
4.11.11 The Mars People
No, I am not talking about Martians. The people from Mars are nameless individuals (in marketing) who decided to invent some sort of weird surveillance facility within the organisation, on the lookout for things to do. How do I know this? It's because I've seen the advert, of course - and you might have too.
"It was slow going. Then the Mars People heard about it."
This, from the narrator/voice-over bloke, on the advert showing a local community building a changing room and club house, for the local football team. How fucking twee! Yes, all was not well, but then The Mars People stepped into the breach and moved things along nicely. Yeah, right - bollocks. They decided to make a TV advert, and so they threw a few quid at a tiny project, and used it as the theme for the advert. Have the Mars People heard about the road works in the High Street, or the lack of parking facilities for the Arc in Stockton? Do they carry binoculars? Can we alert them to society's needs?
What will the Mars People hear of next, I wonder, and what will nudge them into action again? Who knows. I'd be happier if they concentrated on correcting the recipe for the Mars Bar. The Mars People should sop sticking their noses into things that don't concern them, and actually produce a Mars Bar that's edible. The reduced fat (health option - ha!) version now produced is horrible, and at odds with the slogan "Less fat, same great taste" that accompanied the change after the nanny state, the EU fuckers and Mars all conspired to fuck up the product.
...
"It was slow going. Then the Mars People heard about it."
This, from the narrator/voice-over bloke, on the advert showing a local community building a changing room and club house, for the local football team. How fucking twee! Yes, all was not well, but then The Mars People stepped into the breach and moved things along nicely. Yeah, right - bollocks. They decided to make a TV advert, and so they threw a few quid at a tiny project, and used it as the theme for the advert. Have the Mars People heard about the road works in the High Street, or the lack of parking facilities for the Arc in Stockton? Do they carry binoculars? Can we alert them to society's needs?
What will the Mars People hear of next, I wonder, and what will nudge them into action again? Who knows. I'd be happier if they concentrated on correcting the recipe for the Mars Bar. The Mars People should sop sticking their noses into things that don't concern them, and actually produce a Mars Bar that's edible. The reduced fat (health option - ha!) version now produced is horrible, and at odds with the slogan "Less fat, same great taste" that accompanied the change after the nanny state, the EU fuckers and Mars all conspired to fuck up the product.
...
4.11.11 October Quotes of the Month
1st Place - "She looks like she's touting Petit Filous" [TMWSC, after watching Ellana walk off towards the town sporting pigtails]
2nd Place - "Yeah, but my grandma's creepy, though" [Lauren]
3rd Place - "No one remembers second place, I want to be in that final three" [Phil Vickery on Masterchef]
4th Place - "You can't have a sideways tooth!" [TMWSC to Mrs MWSC, whose back tooth is on the way out]
5th Place - "I don't like fat fish" [Maria Clarke, declining food for an unusual reason]
6th Place - "Mick Jagger moves like a crane fly folding a coat hanger" [TMWSC after hearing a crappy song entitled Moves Like Jagger]
7th Place - "Isn't it disappointing to stop noticing your plug-in" [Glade TV advert]
8th Place - "There's no reason to wear threadbare socks" [TMWSC to Jess]
...
2nd Place - "Yeah, but my grandma's creepy, though" [Lauren]
3rd Place - "No one remembers second place, I want to be in that final three" [Phil Vickery on Masterchef]
4th Place - "You can't have a sideways tooth!" [TMWSC to Mrs MWSC, whose back tooth is on the way out]
5th Place - "I don't like fat fish" [Maria Clarke, declining food for an unusual reason]
6th Place - "Mick Jagger moves like a crane fly folding a coat hanger" [TMWSC after hearing a crappy song entitled Moves Like Jagger]
7th Place - "Isn't it disappointing to stop noticing your plug-in" [Glade TV advert]
8th Place - "There's no reason to wear threadbare socks" [TMWSC to Jess]
...
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