25.7.20 A Place In The Sun - Pointless Prats

The usual formulaic approach was presented today, with two people looking for a place in Oliva in Spain.  Their budget was £80,000.  We plodded through the dissatisfaction shared during the viewings of four properties, at which point to bloke decides he is not going to get what he wants at that price, and suddenly the budget becomes £100,000.  So for the final property, the chances of getting them what they wanted were increased nicely.  Why on earth the budget was not £100k in the first place I don't know.  Anyway, it mattered not, because the fifth and final property was seemingly of great interest.  In fact, it was the only one which brought some smiles, and at the review chat afterwards, I learned that they were going to put in an offer.  This was a town house, less than five minutes walk from the central square, with three bedrooms, two living rooms, two decent bathrooms and a massive roof terrace with great views, including the town rooftops and the church.

This pair had taken advantage of the Channel 4 input, to try and help them find something to meet their brief, and after the budget adjustment, this was completely achieved.  So well done, A Place In The Sun.

Oh dear.  I had not warmed to the bloke at all, and should have known that it was all a fucking cunting waste of everyone's time.  I put this down to him, simply because she would be guided by whatever he said - this stood out a mile.  Anyway, having declined four properties, and agreeing to add £20k to the budget, the offer for this perfect match was............... £80,000.  This was the fucking budget they started with!  What was the cunting point of adding £20k and then taking the piss out of everyone - the property owners, Channel 4 and the viewers?

The owners rejected the offer and said the lowest they would accept is £87,000.  That is reasonable, I'd say.  However, it seems that the two perfectly good bathrooms were not to taste and would apparently need replacing, and there were some railings he wanted on the roof terrace (why, I don't fucking know) and there was a 'bit of decorating to do'.  I am telling you, there was fuck all needed and the property was fine all round.  So what response was there to the seller's suggested price?  A revised, FINAL offer of £82,000.  It was rejected, and I had willed the seller to reject these complete prats.

What bollocks!  Stay at fucking home, people, if you are on a time-wasting visit to Spain with no intention of buying if the perfect fit property is found, well within your cunting budget!

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13.5.20 Boris Isn't Winston

Not Winston

Yes, it has made its way
Here, and it's here to stay
The horrid ministrations are
Unwelcome and unkind
So, with a heavy heart
Tired, scared and pulled apart
I see the door that stands ajar
but not what sits behind.

Now, as we all review
Life, what are we to do?
The losses all around us are
So frightening and real
Stay, home and sit it out
Hold, tight as all about
Are wishing on a lucky star
Not sure of what to feel.

Cough, yes my throat is dry
Aches, some, I can't deny
And yes my chest is second best
With breathing not too great
Peace, stolen, given wings
Mind, it's on many things
I'm twisted and so much obsessed
My thinking isn't straight.

Or, is it on the mark?
Clear, in a world so dark?
Is holding on while so distressed
A pointless bitter sweet?
Warm, bodies turning cold
Lies, polished, kissed and told
A population unimpressed
With bluster and deceit.

We, see the UK fail
Lies, on a massive scale
A travesty, incompetence
And lives, so many lost
Why, are we so misled?
Spin, Tory blue not red
Delivered with indifference
To awful human cost.

Clap, for the NHS
Mad, Boris claims success
While giving no acknowledgements
That he is so to blame
Time, squandered at the start
Now, heartbreaks of the chart
Despite outrageous negligence
There is no Tory shame.

Gove, Sunak, Raab, Patel
News, briefings with a smell
Of Cummings and a dirty hand
And government conceit
Matt, Hancock shows his face
Proves, he's a waste of space
And no one seems to understand
the level of deceit.

Now, as the lock-down bites
Some, seem to think their rights
Allow them all to make a stand
And party in the street
Still, short of PPE
Staff, plead and all agree
That needless going out is banned
And yet they fear defeat.

Why, is the UK fucked?
So, many questions ducked
The testing's been an utter farce
Incompetence prevails
Now, as the virus spreads
World, leaders shake their heads
At Britain on its stupid arse
A coffin wanting nails.

Jobs, gone or on the line
Stress, levels won't decline
Who loses most? The working class
The people poorly paid
More deaths than wildest fears
Clear lies that no one hears
Integrity is so, so sparse
As Tory claims are made.

Still, Brexit rumbles on
Deal? Hope is almost gone
The UK's utter madness seems
Like suicide to me
Hell, bent on further harm
No, hint of any qualm
Without a care the PM schemes
To leave us all at sea.

Now, on the tenth of May
Proof, sense is thrown away
As Boris shares deluded dreams
Revealing all his flaws
Still, risks at every turn
Yet, with no true concern
He beckons grief and further screams
While science he ignores.

Yes, we are in a mess
No, Boris won't confess
To bringing Britain to its knees
Not leading from the front
Why, does he think he's great?
Please, someone, tell him straight
He isn't Winston Churchill, he's
A sneaky, lying cunt.


10th May 2020 ***

12.4.20 Online Groceries? No Chance!

Online food shopping is a real challenge.  Having never done this before, I was not too sure what to expect.  I started with Iceland, but this led to zero progress as the delivery options stated 'fully booked'.  Oh well, Asda, then?

Asda was a frustration and I seemed to have to shop first, which I did.  My 38 items for £91 sits in the basket (metaphorically of course) and there is zero opportunity to have a delivery or a click and collect time to get my hands on it in the next seven days.  Oh well.

I thought I'd have a look at Morrisons.  This turned out to be even more puzzling; I found the link for online shopping, but within a second of clicking found myself in some sort of holding zone.

Yes, that's correct, I would have to wait for almost 12,000 people to go first.  Now, I have heard of queues but this is madness indeed.  Whatever I was expecting (not much) I was unprepared for this last nudge in the goolies.

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4.4.20 A Changed World

Earlier this year, I was pleased to have had a visit from my niece one weekend - Friday afternoon to Sunday.  I dropped her off at the bus station on Sunday in time for the National Express vehicle to take her a couple of hundred miles.  This necessitate a short drive into town, and I of course walked her to the terminal to wave her off.  This little excursion for me raised some issues - not for her, but for me.

The location of the bus station meant a need to park, and so I made use of a Sainsbury's car park, and my niece had time to nip in and get a drink for the journey.  On the way home, soon after, I recalled a number of elements in my efforts to see her off, that made little sense, and highlighted the massive differences in the world, compared to when I was her age.

1. The need to park at all.  There is no drop off facility at all; in the old days, it was always possible to simply drop someone off, be that at a bus station, train station or even airport.  These days, even access to the road closest to the relevant place is restricted, and unless you are driving a taxi, there's a fine looming.
2. Sainsbury's was open.  When I was my niece's age, there was no such thing as a supermarket being open for business on a Sunday.
3. The car park was a pay and display.  Yes, the first fifteen minutes was free but then it was chargeable.  Having to pay for parking in a Sainsbury's is certainly a massive change from my twenties, when no such arrangement would have been considered.
4. Water.  We entered the shop and she picked up a bottle of water - Evian - and took it to the checkouts. It is so sad that water is even for sale; this was only just becoming a 'thing' in my day, and only Perrier was knocking around.
5. The cost.  It would have freaked me out back then to know that someone would pay £1 for a small bottle of water.
6. Favourite.  My niece declared that Evian is her "favourite" water.  How on earth did such a view ever need to come about?
7. Self service.  The checkout was actually a self-service scanning point.  Again, such a change, and I could never have imagined this when I was her age.
8. Card payment.  Perhaps rather more of a shock would have been that a card could be used to pay for a purchase of just £1.00 - and not even that!  The fact that it could be contactless!
9. Mobile.  Even more mind-blowing would have been the thought that nothing would be needed other than the wave of a hand holding a mobile phone, although when I was her age, mobile phones did not exist, let alone purport to be 'smart'.
10. Bags.  Not that one was really needed, but bags being chargeable was something I could not have imagined either.

So much is different now.  All those years ago, life was so much simpler.  Now it's all a bit mad, and the levels of progress (if that's what it's called) are really quite amazing.  How could I ever have foreseen: that I would have to find somewhere to park, that it would be pay and display, in a Sainsbury's that was open, that we'd need a bottle of water, that it might be classed as "favourite", that it would be a pound, that paying would be self service, that payment would be by a phone, and that a bag if needed would cost money.  Blimey.

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29.3.20 Lockdown Adverts

I am somewhat baffled by certain companies whose advertising policies seem to be relentlessly static amidst the Covid-19 situation.  I have just been touted a mortgage from Barclays, at a time when the housing market and people's finances are basically fucked beyond all recognition.  Further, the Government advice is that house sales and moves should be suspended.  'No one should complete' says the Government.  Sorry, Barclays, you just wasted your money and annoyed anyone hoping to move but affected by obvious restrictions.

Then Thornton's decided I might need to be convinced that giving someone one of their Easter Eggs might be the best approach at Easter.  What the cunting fuck?

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20.3.20 DPD Local Loony

I have for some time made occasional notes about drivers who are a real pest, or whose actions are bad enough for an award of "Cunt of the Day".  This morning, I was hassled by a DPD van, and the mission for the day for the driver was clearly to zoom past/around anyone not going fast enough.

ND68 UHS

Tailgating, hassling and lane hopping are not really doing much for the brand, Mr Driver.  Also, I think that on a dual carriageway, 90mph is not allowed.

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15.3.20 Noodle-Gate

Never did I think that small packets of noodles at 22p cunting pence each would be the cause of consternation.  But today, in my sixth decade on this planet, I have been put in my place by an Aldi checkout operator, for overstepping the mark.  Yes, I dared to purchase six packets of noodles, inviting a commercial transaction to the value of £1.32. 

The world is in financial and medical turmoil, and the consequences for the global system are dire at best.  But in my small corner of Yorkshire, the real issue is clearly the over-expectancy of yours truly in acquiring enough fucking noodles to support two meals rather than one!

There are three of us in the mix, for food preparation at Cunt Towers, the home of myself, Mrs MWSC, Junior and a dog who does not eat noodles.  This is not to ignore my other son and his partner, but they are 'self-sufficient' so I am not the "noodle whisperer" for them.

So back to my trip to Aldi, where I could not of course buy any loo roll.  I was not aiming to stock-pile, but a few roles would not have gone amiss, as I am down to the last pack.  The 100g packets of noodles were in plentiful supply, unlike pasta, that was nowhere to be seen.  I happened to pick up six packets of the stuff, and opted for 'chicken' flavour rather then mixing it up with, perhaps, beef.  The only differentiation is of course the small sachet of seasoning contained within the packets.

My mistake was perhaps to have opted for the chicken variety, as this blocked my 'defence' at the checkout, that the items were not the same.  It seems there was a policy in force that limited the bulk-buying bent of the cunting population, such that only 4 of any one item was permitted for purchase.  So when I found myself at the checkout, for my £28 worth of shite, I was vetted and limited by the woman in charge.  "I can only sell you four of these" was a limp fucking comment,. but one which was delivered with a certain sense of authority, glee and definitiveness that matched her forthright manner.  It is worth noting that multi-packs of noodles are not available.  So, these 22p items are sold individually, rather than in multi-packs.  How lucky for the buying public that loo rolls are available in packs of 9, 12, 16 and 24, with each counting as a single item.  So that means a single shopper could buy 96 cunting toilet rolls at typically 30p each, while I was fucked over for those extra two noodle packs at 22p each.  What a load of cunting shit!

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