I see that the European Court in Strasbourg has again fucked us over by ruling in favour not of common sense, or justice, or fairness or to defend victims but in favour of criminals. Yes, these days, the criminal is the winner and the victims suffer. It would seem that the UK is not allowed to kick out any criminals if they face ill treatment back home. "Ill treatment!" What a fuckin' joke. So we cannot deport a foreign killer just in case he is mistreated in his home country. I would suggest that killing someone demonstrates a bit more than mistreatment! This country is fucking nuts to go along with the Human Rights bollocks that is now misused to such a degree it makes a mockery of the legal system and any sense of justice.
A UK Border Agency spokesman said, "We are very disappointed with the European Court's decision". Dis-a-fuckin-pointed?! 'Cuntin fucked off' would probably be more appropriate. Why can't people explain their feelings more honestly and properly. There are thousands of people coming to the UK who are committing crimes and then we have to take responsibility for their care/incarceration/welfare, depending on the outcome of any court case. If they are not locked up, they will be able to hang around indefinitely, claiming benefits and housing.
In how many more categories can the UK feature as 'Biggest Mug'?
...
Thursday, 30 June 2011
30.6.11 If You Were My Wife
I sat yesterday, waiting for a training session to start, in the company of three people. The hour long wait was painful on account of the three and the conversation. The three contributors [I did not participate] were not equally weighted in terms of annoyance factor. No, the woman at the head of the table created 85% of the annoyance, with the two blokes grabbing 10% (the trainer, waiting for late arrivals) and 5% (nice chap who attracted most of the shit coming out of the mouth of superwoman).
Oh how she loved relaying details of her fantastic life, where she'd been, who she'd been there with and impressed. Joyful anecdotes about skiing exploits, trips to New York, Wedding shit, you know the score. I suffered in silence and decided that even the most mundane conversation at a hairdressers must be like an intellectual conversation in comparison. Then she came out with the killer line, and I instantly considered two perfect responses. I did however manage not to blurt either out, and instead made a note of them on my otherwise empty pad [NB - nothing else was noted on this pad during the rest of the day; worthwhile training, eh?]
"He really puts in the hours at work. If I was his wife, I don't think I'd be very happy."
Option 1 - If you were my wife, I'd put in the hours as well!
Option 2 - If you were my wife, I don't think I'd be very happy!
It was so tempting though.
...
Oh how she loved relaying details of her fantastic life, where she'd been, who she'd been there with and impressed. Joyful anecdotes about skiing exploits, trips to New York, Wedding shit, you know the score. I suffered in silence and decided that even the most mundane conversation at a hairdressers must be like an intellectual conversation in comparison. Then she came out with the killer line, and I instantly considered two perfect responses. I did however manage not to blurt either out, and instead made a note of them on my otherwise empty pad [NB - nothing else was noted on this pad during the rest of the day; worthwhile training, eh?]
"He really puts in the hours at work. If I was his wife, I don't think I'd be very happy."
Option 1 - If you were my wife, I'd put in the hours as well!
Option 2 - If you were my wife, I don't think I'd be very happy!
It was so tempting though.
...
30.6.11 Strikes
We all know Greece is fucked. Well and truly fucked. After years of ignoring serious flaws in its financial, political and social set-ups, it is now so clear how it has been poorly governed. The price is having to be paid by ordinary people (isn't that always the way). Unfortunately, though, the actions of ordinary people are doing little to stop problems continuing, and in fact they are getting worse. Civil unrest and nervousness by world markets about whether it will ever be able to repay money means crippling deals to 'assist'.
The UK will this year borrow more money than Greece. That's right - more money than Greece! This country, though, is not quite fucked . . . . yet. Despite Labour's diabolical handling of the economy and complete absence of sensible monetary policy during its reign, it still tries to blame the UK's woes on world issues, the credit crunch and the banks. Alas, whilst true that these things played a part, they are not the only/major issue because the truth is that Labour had used up all spare money so that the past prosperity was parked in a file called 'Folklore and Nostagia'. Having dispensed with all the leeway and positives, the UK was exposed massively to the world's economic issues. So, the coalition government was always on a loser.
The coalition is very far from perfect, and of course some of the spending cuts have been controversial - as have some of the plans to donate money to some charities and/or countries that do not need or even deserve money. Nevertheless, it is true to say that in financial terms, the government is trying to address the mess it inherited. The fact that the markets believe the government is properly dealing with matters is demonstrated by the UK not having to suffer in the ways that Greeks are suffering. Our ability to tackle debt, and the seriousness with which matters are being attended to mean that stability is maintained. The country does need stability, and times are hard.
So, what's the worst thing we can do? The single answer is "shoot ourselves in the foot". What are large numbers of people now doing? Shooting themselves, and the rest of us, in the foot! Civil unrest and strikes are the worst thing possible to demonstrate stability. Those striking are not happy, and spread their misery to the rest of the population. I am quite sure that the parents whose kids are not in school are off work and losing money unnecessarily. Their employers are also losing money. The government loses money in taxes. Less money to spend means the government is forced to tax at a higher level, and/or cut spending and the cycle starts! The world will look at the UK and start to doubt it has a grip on its own affairs, and suddenly our interest rates are on the up at national level - as are then all interest rates for all of us with loans, mortgages, etc.
Higher interest rates, more disruption, more defaulting, more strikes, more companies going bust, . . . . . sooner or later, it'll be better to be on a Greek island! So, whether the union bosses have any real basis for stirring things or not, and whether there is any legitimacy to some of the claims by those now striking, there's really no sympathy from TMWSC to those putting their personal situations ahead of everything, when the actions being taken will quite clearly be counter-productive - and will cost each and every person who pays taxes to the government even more. Even those on benefits will find that any future rises are at a lower level, and/or the qualification criteria are more stringent. So, every striker is costing me money, and risking the UK's standing. What's worse is that all claim to be hard-working and dedicated people who have been put in a difficult position by an uncaring government. Actually, it was the Labour Government which started it all (and which was probably supported by more of the unions than not) and whilst there will of course be very many hard working people frustrated and in a dilemma, there are many thousands of lazy fuckers who hide in the rabble, just as they hide in their jobs pretending to try hard, care or be efficient in their 'work'. The sloth that doesn't answer the phone, the sniffle that means a week off 'sick' (paid of course) and all manner of other examples of shit behaviour that I could mention mean that collectively, this country's workforce is far from entrepreneurial let alone accountable.
These days, it's nigh on impossible to sack a useless fucker. 90% of those striking are no doubt conscientious workers who want to do a good job for a fair wage. I am sorry that their circumstances mean they've decided striking is necessary, even though a flawed approach. It's the other 10% I am annoyed with. 5% are useless 'dead wood' carried by the good 90%, and need a kick or disciplinary action taken against them to buck up not fuck up. The other 5% should be sacked. The money wasted on the one-in-ten is enough to motivate the rest, reward effort and avoid cuts. But of course we either don't know who is in the 10%, or if we do, we cannot do anything about it. Why? A mixture of employment law, human rights shit, limp management, and finally . . . . because everyone would close ranks and go on strike!
What a fuck up.
...
The UK will this year borrow more money than Greece. That's right - more money than Greece! This country, though, is not quite fucked . . . . yet. Despite Labour's diabolical handling of the economy and complete absence of sensible monetary policy during its reign, it still tries to blame the UK's woes on world issues, the credit crunch and the banks. Alas, whilst true that these things played a part, they are not the only/major issue because the truth is that Labour had used up all spare money so that the past prosperity was parked in a file called 'Folklore and Nostagia'. Having dispensed with all the leeway and positives, the UK was exposed massively to the world's economic issues. So, the coalition government was always on a loser.
The coalition is very far from perfect, and of course some of the spending cuts have been controversial - as have some of the plans to donate money to some charities and/or countries that do not need or even deserve money. Nevertheless, it is true to say that in financial terms, the government is trying to address the mess it inherited. The fact that the markets believe the government is properly dealing with matters is demonstrated by the UK not having to suffer in the ways that Greeks are suffering. Our ability to tackle debt, and the seriousness with which matters are being attended to mean that stability is maintained. The country does need stability, and times are hard.
So, what's the worst thing we can do? The single answer is "shoot ourselves in the foot". What are large numbers of people now doing? Shooting themselves, and the rest of us, in the foot! Civil unrest and strikes are the worst thing possible to demonstrate stability. Those striking are not happy, and spread their misery to the rest of the population. I am quite sure that the parents whose kids are not in school are off work and losing money unnecessarily. Their employers are also losing money. The government loses money in taxes. Less money to spend means the government is forced to tax at a higher level, and/or cut spending and the cycle starts! The world will look at the UK and start to doubt it has a grip on its own affairs, and suddenly our interest rates are on the up at national level - as are then all interest rates for all of us with loans, mortgages, etc.
Higher interest rates, more disruption, more defaulting, more strikes, more companies going bust, . . . . . sooner or later, it'll be better to be on a Greek island! So, whether the union bosses have any real basis for stirring things or not, and whether there is any legitimacy to some of the claims by those now striking, there's really no sympathy from TMWSC to those putting their personal situations ahead of everything, when the actions being taken will quite clearly be counter-productive - and will cost each and every person who pays taxes to the government even more. Even those on benefits will find that any future rises are at a lower level, and/or the qualification criteria are more stringent. So, every striker is costing me money, and risking the UK's standing. What's worse is that all claim to be hard-working and dedicated people who have been put in a difficult position by an uncaring government. Actually, it was the Labour Government which started it all (and which was probably supported by more of the unions than not) and whilst there will of course be very many hard working people frustrated and in a dilemma, there are many thousands of lazy fuckers who hide in the rabble, just as they hide in their jobs pretending to try hard, care or be efficient in their 'work'. The sloth that doesn't answer the phone, the sniffle that means a week off 'sick' (paid of course) and all manner of other examples of shit behaviour that I could mention mean that collectively, this country's workforce is far from entrepreneurial let alone accountable.
These days, it's nigh on impossible to sack a useless fucker. 90% of those striking are no doubt conscientious workers who want to do a good job for a fair wage. I am sorry that their circumstances mean they've decided striking is necessary, even though a flawed approach. It's the other 10% I am annoyed with. 5% are useless 'dead wood' carried by the good 90%, and need a kick or disciplinary action taken against them to buck up not fuck up. The other 5% should be sacked. The money wasted on the one-in-ten is enough to motivate the rest, reward effort and avoid cuts. But of course we either don't know who is in the 10%, or if we do, we cannot do anything about it. Why? A mixture of employment law, human rights shit, limp management, and finally . . . . because everyone would close ranks and go on strike!
What a fuck up.
...
Monday, 27 June 2011
26.6.11 Sainsbury's Claim
I am interested to know how trading standards are interpreting the ludicrous claim from Sainsbury's that it's possible to feed a family of four, for a week, for £50. By my reckoning, that's £7.14 per day to feed a typical family. On an individual basis, it sounds even worse. I fail to see how £1.78 will sustain me for a day. A single sandwich costs that much. Breakfast, Lunch, Evening Meal? Sorry, but unless it's a 7-day diet of shit bolognese and value pasta at 17p for 500g, the claim is one that cannot be supported. In fact, I would say that to try and maintain a family in good health for that sum is stupid.
So, stop telling porky pies, JS, and start considering a revised advertising campaign that stacks up in the real world. Just because it might be possible to manage an odd day at £7.14 for a family, based on no one having three meals or eating anything that carries a brand name, it is not a sustainable approach to good living. I am quite sure that I could eat the orange and white packaging to make rations go that little bit further, and there would be equal nutrition in that.
...
So, stop telling porky pies, JS, and start considering a revised advertising campaign that stacks up in the real world. Just because it might be possible to manage an odd day at £7.14 for a family, based on no one having three meals or eating anything that carries a brand name, it is not a sustainable approach to good living. I am quite sure that I could eat the orange and white packaging to make rations go that little bit further, and there would be equal nutrition in that.
...
Sunday, 26 June 2011
26.6.11 Sunday
Most people have heard of Kew. Think of gardens, and automatically all becomes clear. However, not many people are aware that there's a similarly named place, located on the north east coastline of the UK. Actually, there is a difference - this place is spelt Queue. In accordance with the spelling, there is a propensity for visitors to queue for most things. In fact, it's not so much a propensity as a cuntin' necessity.
Today, a trip to Queue was in order, seeing as the weather was so good and it wasn't far away. The car park was likely to be full, and we were not disappointed in this regard. The frustration, though, was not the fact that the car park was full, but the painfully slow progress made to get round the tarmac and back out again, because the car in front wanted (seemingly) to inspect the paintwork on every vehicle left between white lines, such was the slow trawl in the vague hope that there was space, or someone about to leave. After escaping, we were able to find a space at the top of the hill. Mission accomplished.
The descent towards the pier and seafront was easy enough, and there was little need to boost the coffers of the local 'cliff railway' by paying a quid to travel (after queuing of course) the 150 yards or so down the steep embankment. The steps sufficed, and we clocked the Fish & Chips opportunity. So, despite the pain of standing for ages in direct sunlight, we commenced what was to be a wait of about 50 minutes to get food. It would have been foolish to wait until we were actually hungry before considering food, as the name of the game is queuing. Eventually, at the counter, there was a single woman serving. Now, I am no retail expert, but a permanent/rolling queue of about 40 people rather suggests that one fat cunt serving is not quite going to be enough!
After eating, it was time for a walk along the pier to burn off a few calories, and it was nice to have the chance to move freely rather than watch the back of some fucker's head from a distance of 24 inches. However, this was to change upon leaving the pier, and opting to have an ice cream. You're ahead of me. There were two sellers, and I chose the one with the substantial queue rather than the one with the forget-it-you're-having-a-laugh queue. My choice meant just fifteen people in front of me. Slow progress was made, and when I was nearly at the head of the queue (clocking the £1.80 for a single scoop of ice cream) I became irritated with a woman from somewhere where they breed unnecessary children. The ones in question who were part of this particular family were annoying in a "strangle-them-now" kind of way. It was the mother, though, who annoyed me most because not until she was at the fucking window did she start to enquire of her family what the precocious little shits might want! As soon as I realised the main walking tic was called 'Jacob', I rather gave up there being any point in breathing again, let alone eating ice cream.
The establishment at which I was queuing was named "The Little Big Shop" but it was certainly anything but that. No, it was "The Little, Pointlessly Fucking Cramped Shed with a Serving Window Like a Pissin' Milk Hatch". I think that putting this in sign format would have complied better with trade descriptions requirements, but of course it would demand either small writing, or a bigger sized shed to carry the sign (making it also counter-productive, although the idiots wouldn't know a counter if they walked into one bruising their midriffs). I could not understand how a shop would choose to hamper its interface with customers by having a single tiny opening on to the promenade. Still, I believe it is most likely one of the conditions in owning a retail establishment in Queue.
Alongside the queue for ice creams and lollies was an equally sized queue (though with a quite different movement pattern) for the cliff railway journey back to the top. Apart from the disabled, who get concessions, there's no great benefit in using this facility at £1 a go (kids at 50p) unless individuals are lazy.
We left Queue after an enjoyable 3 hours or so, much of it spent queuing of course. By the way, am having you on, as the town is not called Queue, but is actually Saltburn-By-The-Sea. "Queue-By-The-Sea" sounds rather better to me, and more amusing than the so-called 'amusements'.
...
Today, a trip to Queue was in order, seeing as the weather was so good and it wasn't far away. The car park was likely to be full, and we were not disappointed in this regard. The frustration, though, was not the fact that the car park was full, but the painfully slow progress made to get round the tarmac and back out again, because the car in front wanted (seemingly) to inspect the paintwork on every vehicle left between white lines, such was the slow trawl in the vague hope that there was space, or someone about to leave. After escaping, we were able to find a space at the top of the hill. Mission accomplished.
The descent towards the pier and seafront was easy enough, and there was little need to boost the coffers of the local 'cliff railway' by paying a quid to travel (after queuing of course) the 150 yards or so down the steep embankment. The steps sufficed, and we clocked the Fish & Chips opportunity. So, despite the pain of standing for ages in direct sunlight, we commenced what was to be a wait of about 50 minutes to get food. It would have been foolish to wait until we were actually hungry before considering food, as the name of the game is queuing. Eventually, at the counter, there was a single woman serving. Now, I am no retail expert, but a permanent/rolling queue of about 40 people rather suggests that one fat cunt serving is not quite going to be enough!
After eating, it was time for a walk along the pier to burn off a few calories, and it was nice to have the chance to move freely rather than watch the back of some fucker's head from a distance of 24 inches. However, this was to change upon leaving the pier, and opting to have an ice cream. You're ahead of me. There were two sellers, and I chose the one with the substantial queue rather than the one with the forget-it-you're-having-a-laugh queue. My choice meant just fifteen people in front of me. Slow progress was made, and when I was nearly at the head of the queue (clocking the £1.80 for a single scoop of ice cream) I became irritated with a woman from somewhere where they breed unnecessary children. The ones in question who were part of this particular family were annoying in a "strangle-them-now" kind of way. It was the mother, though, who annoyed me most because not until she was at the fucking window did she start to enquire of her family what the precocious little shits might want! As soon as I realised the main walking tic was called 'Jacob', I rather gave up there being any point in breathing again, let alone eating ice cream.
The establishment at which I was queuing was named "The Little Big Shop" but it was certainly anything but that. No, it was "The Little, Pointlessly Fucking Cramped Shed with a Serving Window Like a Pissin' Milk Hatch". I think that putting this in sign format would have complied better with trade descriptions requirements, but of course it would demand either small writing, or a bigger sized shed to carry the sign (making it also counter-productive, although the idiots wouldn't know a counter if they walked into one bruising their midriffs). I could not understand how a shop would choose to hamper its interface with customers by having a single tiny opening on to the promenade. Still, I believe it is most likely one of the conditions in owning a retail establishment in Queue.
Alongside the queue for ice creams and lollies was an equally sized queue (though with a quite different movement pattern) for the cliff railway journey back to the top. Apart from the disabled, who get concessions, there's no great benefit in using this facility at £1 a go (kids at 50p) unless individuals are lazy.
We left Queue after an enjoyable 3 hours or so, much of it spent queuing of course. By the way, am having you on, as the town is not called Queue, but is actually Saltburn-By-The-Sea. "Queue-By-The-Sea" sounds rather better to me, and more amusing than the so-called 'amusements'.
...
Friday, 24 June 2011
24.6.11 Ken Clarke
Are we not all tired and fed up with the rather useless Mr Clarke. He has shown himself to be inept and totally out of touch with the rest of the UK population. It is past the time for his leaving now, so perhaps he might think on, and tender his resignation. However, as it normal for any politician these days, when the writing is on the wall, blindness creeps in. He will, of course, bumble along, and claim all sorts of things to explain where he was coming from with his most recent fuck-up. Halving sentences for those who admit guilt is quite simply a pathetic stance on crime.
Even David Cameron's confirmation that 6 months should be the minimum sentence for knife crimes is in fact weak. What's wrong with a bit of proper sentencing for a change. I am so fucked off with the pathetic, wet, poncing approaches of so many useless cunts elected to do the bare minimum for the longest possible period, for the greatest personal benefit for the least accountability. I will vote for someone who promises to give decent sentences for people who get up to no good, and scary sentences for those whose reckless actions endanger life. Parole? Early release? Tagging? All shit that waters down any deterrent factor. If some cunt pulls a knife on me and wants my money, then he/she should be locked up for 5 years - period. I do not give a fuck about good previous character, supposed first offence, member of the community/church, or some fucked-up claim to have the right to family life under human rights laws. No, the cunt should go to prison, and stay there till his sentence is up. If we have to build more prisons, then we should build them. Surely we can afford that if we are spending (so far) £250 Million on bombing Libya, and giving hundreds of millions in aid to India, and immunising people at £800M.
Killing people, threatening to kill people, terrorising people, hurting people - all should be dealt with severely. Stealing? Lock 'em up. Leniency is wasted on 90% of offenders. I would like to be Home Secretary. I would instil some fuckin' deterrent into the mix. I would also expect prisoners to do rather a lot more than sit around watching TV. Chain gangs, work for the good of the country/community, litter clearing, painting fences, whatever. This country is a joke.
TMWSC for Home Secretary would be a good swap for KC, and I do not mean the guy who has the Sunshine Band behind him.
...
Even David Cameron's confirmation that 6 months should be the minimum sentence for knife crimes is in fact weak. What's wrong with a bit of proper sentencing for a change. I am so fucked off with the pathetic, wet, poncing approaches of so many useless cunts elected to do the bare minimum for the longest possible period, for the greatest personal benefit for the least accountability. I will vote for someone who promises to give decent sentences for people who get up to no good, and scary sentences for those whose reckless actions endanger life. Parole? Early release? Tagging? All shit that waters down any deterrent factor. If some cunt pulls a knife on me and wants my money, then he/she should be locked up for 5 years - period. I do not give a fuck about good previous character, supposed first offence, member of the community/church, or some fucked-up claim to have the right to family life under human rights laws. No, the cunt should go to prison, and stay there till his sentence is up. If we have to build more prisons, then we should build them. Surely we can afford that if we are spending (so far) £250 Million on bombing Libya, and giving hundreds of millions in aid to India, and immunising people at £800M.
Killing people, threatening to kill people, terrorising people, hurting people - all should be dealt with severely. Stealing? Lock 'em up. Leniency is wasted on 90% of offenders. I would like to be Home Secretary. I would instil some fuckin' deterrent into the mix. I would also expect prisoners to do rather a lot more than sit around watching TV. Chain gangs, work for the good of the country/community, litter clearing, painting fences, whatever. This country is a joke.
TMWSC for Home Secretary would be a good swap for KC, and I do not mean the guy who has the Sunshine Band behind him.
...
24.6.11 Wimbledon
Somehow we are already at Friday and I have yet to see a game of tennis! For some reason, this year I have not been inspired to tune in (yet) but perhaps will do so from tomorrow onwards. I needed to avoid the desperation associated with commentators' angst over the various British competitors, and try to watch the tennis without the groans of "Why don't we have more success at the top level in tennis?"
Obviously there's an exception, seeing as despite the rapid move for Scotland to claim independence (which it already has in may areas) Andy Murray is British. Of course, should he need to park at a hospital without charge, or get a prescription, it'll be his claim that he is in fact Scottish. I feel the subject of "media kettling" as I am apparently obliged to be interested in little else but whether he has progressed to the next round. Articles in the paper about Murray (or quite commonly "Muzza", which is a diabolical nickname) are accompanied by a picture that invariably shows him screaming, and generally trying to look as ugly as possible. I watch tennis to see good tennis, not to be obsessed and/or partisan. Whether a player is British, English, Scottish, Welsh, or Northern Irish, I could not give a monkeys.
I do not like the leading questions, which often are little more than prompts for complimentary comments, fed to past tennis stars. They are paid to be pundits and have to field questions that can only be answered by confirming British tennis has hope. Hmmmmmm.
They closed Henman Hill the other day, as it was raining and there could be a health and safety issue. What cuntin, bollocks! I suppose the many thousands of music fans at Glastonbury will object to the mud and rain, and threaten to sue if they slip over? No, they will live in Britain and deal with British weather. Apparently tennis fans have not the wherewithal to avoid slipping on wet grass, and breaking a leg or neck, in their race get get a strawberry with a squirt of cream at £9.50. None of this twaddle is as pointless as the name-change applied to Henman Hill. It is now apparently Murray Mount. What a fucking stupid notion! Have we changed Nelson's Column so that it's now referred to as Captain Pugwash's Prick just because he's a slightly better known sailor? Of course we haven't; and trying to use alliteration to force a cosy feel about a lump of earth is twattish. How about "Loser's Lump"? Actually, Twat's Tor is no worse than Murray's Mount. Something that does amuse me is the apparent cheer for "Come on Tim", shouted at each Murray match by some people in the crowd. That would of course annoy 'our Andy', and he will have to be given a few sweets by his mum (who is reported to carry a supply of his favourites). That's what management and coaching is all about, eh!
I have little idea of who's got through so far, and what's been happening. I suspect that in the Women's tournament, there have been a few tantrums, a few tears, a few frustrations and disappointments; excuses will have been given. There will have been some talk about injuries and focus, and trying to relax. Over in the Men's tournament, Serena Williams is still going strong, after disposing of Simona Halep.
...
Obviously there's an exception, seeing as despite the rapid move for Scotland to claim independence (which it already has in may areas) Andy Murray is British. Of course, should he need to park at a hospital without charge, or get a prescription, it'll be his claim that he is in fact Scottish. I feel the subject of "media kettling" as I am apparently obliged to be interested in little else but whether he has progressed to the next round. Articles in the paper about Murray (or quite commonly "Muzza", which is a diabolical nickname) are accompanied by a picture that invariably shows him screaming, and generally trying to look as ugly as possible. I watch tennis to see good tennis, not to be obsessed and/or partisan. Whether a player is British, English, Scottish, Welsh, or Northern Irish, I could not give a monkeys.
I do not like the leading questions, which often are little more than prompts for complimentary comments, fed to past tennis stars. They are paid to be pundits and have to field questions that can only be answered by confirming British tennis has hope. Hmmmmmm.
They closed Henman Hill the other day, as it was raining and there could be a health and safety issue. What cuntin, bollocks! I suppose the many thousands of music fans at Glastonbury will object to the mud and rain, and threaten to sue if they slip over? No, they will live in Britain and deal with British weather. Apparently tennis fans have not the wherewithal to avoid slipping on wet grass, and breaking a leg or neck, in their race get get a strawberry with a squirt of cream at £9.50. None of this twaddle is as pointless as the name-change applied to Henman Hill. It is now apparently Murray Mount. What a fucking stupid notion! Have we changed Nelson's Column so that it's now referred to as Captain Pugwash's Prick just because he's a slightly better known sailor? Of course we haven't; and trying to use alliteration to force a cosy feel about a lump of earth is twattish. How about "Loser's Lump"? Actually, Twat's Tor is no worse than Murray's Mount. Something that does amuse me is the apparent cheer for "Come on Tim", shouted at each Murray match by some people in the crowd. That would of course annoy 'our Andy', and he will have to be given a few sweets by his mum (who is reported to carry a supply of his favourites). That's what management and coaching is all about, eh!
I have little idea of who's got through so far, and what's been happening. I suspect that in the Women's tournament, there have been a few tantrums, a few tears, a few frustrations and disappointments; excuses will have been given. There will have been some talk about injuries and focus, and trying to relax. Over in the Men's tournament, Serena Williams is still going strong, after disposing of Simona Halep.
...
Thursday, 23 June 2011
23.6.11 Real Quotes
I found some old notes on bits of paper, while clearing out drawers yesterday, and thought I'd record the silly quotes on this blog. It is quite amazing how people say the silliest things, and have no idea of grammar.
Today, the purpose of the trips are very different
(BBC2 narrator)
Fabregas overcame a huge question mark
(Football commentator)
He's took a real risk here
(Snooker commentator)
Marinate the fish in the lemon juice so that all the acidic acid soaks into the fish
(Cooks Challenge)
It was cool, calm and personified
(Football commentator)
Whenever they've been asked a question mark
(Alan Shearer, Match of the Day)
France are the country who . . . . .
They ride in a variety of different velodrome
(Cycling commentator)
The final verdict is in
(Graham Norton)
There's quick lapery going on
(Martin Brundle)
There are a range of treatments that can help you
(TV Advert)
The best place for a wind farm is a windy site
(Countryfile)
I'm not denying that corruption doesn't exist
(Major General Gordon Messenger)
...
Today, the purpose of the trips are very different
(BBC2 narrator)
Fabregas overcame a huge question mark
(Football commentator)
He's took a real risk here
(Snooker commentator)
Marinate the fish in the lemon juice so that all the acidic acid soaks into the fish
(Cooks Challenge)
It was cool, calm and personified
(Football commentator)
Whenever they've been asked a question mark
(Alan Shearer, Match of the Day)
France are the country who . . . . .
They ride in a variety of different velodrome
(Cycling commentator)
The final verdict is in
(Graham Norton)
There's quick lapery going on
(Martin Brundle)
There are a range of treatments that can help you
(TV Advert)
The best place for a wind farm is a windy site
(Countryfile)
I'm not denying that corruption doesn't exist
(Major General Gordon Messenger)
...
Sunday, 19 June 2011
19.6.11 Charity Junk Mail
In yesterday's post, we received a letter from Friends of the Earth. This was an unsolicited letter, but clearly there is a record somewhere on a database, because it was properly addressed rather than one of those shitty things sent through to "The Occupier" by Virgin Media and British Telecom. Unfortunately the letter has been of no benefit to anyone, other than the Post Office. It remains unopened; in fact, it is about to be re-posted with "Return To Sender" on it.
The window envelope has, on its front side, a large message which says:
Recycling this won't help the environment
As you can imagine, I have reacted angrily. It is ready to re-post, and I have added to the end of this, the words -
Your sending it didn't either!
I think it is criminal that Friends of the Earth has chosen to send junk mail, and has the fuckin' nerve to put a message on the front of the envelope designed to make me feel bad. The fuckers are suggesting that if I recycle the envelope, I'll not be doing any good, and I am obliged to open it and no doubt consider some lame option to sponsor a Monkey Puzzle Tree whilst China and other fast-developing countries pour more pollutants into the world each year than we could ever do in 1000 years.
On the back of the junk mail is a weird claim:
Making life better for people by inspiring solutions to environmental problems.
I submit that spending people's money on junk mail (even if it was printed on recycled paper) is a waste of money, and whatever the claims about recycling being environmentally friendly, it is a self defeating approach if the very thing you are producing through recycling is in fact not needed - ie. junk mail. So, FOE is wasting time, money and recycling capacity by sending out junk mail to suggest to recipients that they'd better not simply recycle the letter because that would be doing fuck all to help the environment. Well, forgive me, but by sitting here minding my own business, I am in fact neutral. The junk mail is costing the planet something, and I am now forced to send it back in the hope that it might prevent future junk mail.
Registered charities are not always the sound entities they profess to be. Many registered charities try to raise money, but in fact operate like any commercial organisation by speculating, to accumulate. I am sure that the returns are supposed to justify actions. If by spending £50,000 on advertising, a charity raises £60,000, it will claim success and that good has come of it. But, I say that those giving the £60k to charity will be rather miffed to know that only a sixth of their contributions were actually useful, and even that will perhaps be reduced to cover other running costs. I saw a week or two ago that a fund raiser had been dismissed despite having raised enormous sums for a charity. His latest efforts (on his hands and knees in a snail costume) raised something like £28,000. But because the charity spent more (cannot remember if it was £35,000 or £50,000) in promoting the event, his massive efforts were pointless.
There are far too many charities in the UK. Those at the top earn a decent living out of the organisations they represent, while people at the lower end put in work mostly as volunteers. The many organisations waste enormous sums covering costs that could be reduced by mergers. In the commercial world, companies buy each other out, consolidate and look for 'synergies' to improve finances and ensure a sound footing for the future. Charities love to carry on regardless, and there will be hundreds of charities all doing similar things, desperate for cash. Madness, and all of this is actually at the expense of the supposed beneficiaries of the charitable efforts!
Finally, the bigger charities, which have the highest profiles and incomes, are awful at disclosing real information about how they operate - not least the fact that they keep enormous reserves of cash - money which ought to be used for the target of their ventures.
...
The window envelope has, on its front side, a large message which says:
Recycling this won't help the environment
As you can imagine, I have reacted angrily. It is ready to re-post, and I have added to the end of this, the words -
Your sending it didn't either!
I think it is criminal that Friends of the Earth has chosen to send junk mail, and has the fuckin' nerve to put a message on the front of the envelope designed to make me feel bad. The fuckers are suggesting that if I recycle the envelope, I'll not be doing any good, and I am obliged to open it and no doubt consider some lame option to sponsor a Monkey Puzzle Tree whilst China and other fast-developing countries pour more pollutants into the world each year than we could ever do in 1000 years.
On the back of the junk mail is a weird claim:
Making life better for people by inspiring solutions to environmental problems.
I submit that spending people's money on junk mail (even if it was printed on recycled paper) is a waste of money, and whatever the claims about recycling being environmentally friendly, it is a self defeating approach if the very thing you are producing through recycling is in fact not needed - ie. junk mail. So, FOE is wasting time, money and recycling capacity by sending out junk mail to suggest to recipients that they'd better not simply recycle the letter because that would be doing fuck all to help the environment. Well, forgive me, but by sitting here minding my own business, I am in fact neutral. The junk mail is costing the planet something, and I am now forced to send it back in the hope that it might prevent future junk mail.
Registered charities are not always the sound entities they profess to be. Many registered charities try to raise money, but in fact operate like any commercial organisation by speculating, to accumulate. I am sure that the returns are supposed to justify actions. If by spending £50,000 on advertising, a charity raises £60,000, it will claim success and that good has come of it. But, I say that those giving the £60k to charity will be rather miffed to know that only a sixth of their contributions were actually useful, and even that will perhaps be reduced to cover other running costs. I saw a week or two ago that a fund raiser had been dismissed despite having raised enormous sums for a charity. His latest efforts (on his hands and knees in a snail costume) raised something like £28,000. But because the charity spent more (cannot remember if it was £35,000 or £50,000) in promoting the event, his massive efforts were pointless.
There are far too many charities in the UK. Those at the top earn a decent living out of the organisations they represent, while people at the lower end put in work mostly as volunteers. The many organisations waste enormous sums covering costs that could be reduced by mergers. In the commercial world, companies buy each other out, consolidate and look for 'synergies' to improve finances and ensure a sound footing for the future. Charities love to carry on regardless, and there will be hundreds of charities all doing similar things, desperate for cash. Madness, and all of this is actually at the expense of the supposed beneficiaries of the charitable efforts!
Finally, the bigger charities, which have the highest profiles and incomes, are awful at disclosing real information about how they operate - not least the fact that they keep enormous reserves of cash - money which ought to be used for the target of their ventures.
...
19.6.11 Father's Day
Planning to do very little today started last night, when I decided to watch a film at midnight rather than go to sleep. As a result, I was lethargic this morning, and whilst I did in fact get up at 11.30am, I returned to bed to read/doze just five minutes later. So, at 1.00pm I finally decided to start the day.
Over my cup of tea, I perused the TV page, and wondered if I had missed anything good (which I considered highly unlikely) but more importantly, whether there was anything worth watching during the afternoon. How useless is terrestrial TV! The pathetic ITV schedule deserves a mention now, as I found the line-up a bit of a joke After a dose of CITV, programmes started at 8.25am.
8.25 May The Best House Win - Homeowners in north London rate one another's properties. (R) What absolute shit for entertainment that is! And how sad that the participants have not got anything better to do with their lives.
9.25 Dickinson's Real Deal - A grandfather clock is sold in Cheltenham. (R) How exciting for all concerned. The programme may have looked a bit more inviting if the word "clock" had not featured in the explanation of the hour-long waste of life.
10.25 60 Minute Makeover - Richard and the team are called to Liverpool to transform the home of a mother-to-be who spends a lot of her spare time working for a charity. (R) So, charity workers obviously qualify for a makeover and cannot of course have a decent looking abode as well as help in a soup kitchen. I have heard it said by some that it's Liverpool which needs the makeover . . . . .
11.30 This Morning: Sunday - Highlights of the week's programmes. Notice that there's no "R" in brackets after this programme? Technically the programme itself is not a repeat because it is not a rerun of something; no, it's simply a presentation of repeats to while away an hour of your life.
12.30 Dinner Date - Potential suitors woo Harriet from Manchester. (R) Is Harriet that fuckin' desperate? As for "suitors", we're not exactly in the nineteenth century, and I rather think they're after a bit more than a "woo". Fifty-five minutes devoted to Harriet (for the second time, you'll note).
This brought me to 1.25pm, and I could have turned on the TV to wave off Harriet and attend to ten minutes of news and weather. I chose not to do this, nor to prepare for the following programme:
1.35 Survival: Tales From The Wild - The story of a male chimp and the lessons it learns from its father - along with a few bad habits. Not a repeat, but a strange choice of programme, and perhaps selected for viewing in light of it being Father's Day (?) Is there a subtle suggestion that we are a nation of chimps/chumps teaching our offspring bad habits? Let's please leave Wayne Rooney out of this.
2.30 Inspector Morse - The detective looks into the apparent suicide of an Oxford Don - and discovers he has an unexpected and painful link to the man's widow. (R) How many more Dons are there left to be killed in Oxford? If I was called Don, I'd either change my name, or move to another location (which may be made easier through the efforts of the tits who ply us with 'Escape to the Country', or to 'A Place in the Sun'). This repeat is a mind numbing 2hrs long.
4.35 Midsomer Murders - A sex scandal resurfaces following the murder of a former detective, and Barnaby assesses the involvement of staff at a centre for reformed criminals. Last in series. (R) The last three words are clearly the most helpful and satisfying, although with each series re-re-repeated, there's no telling how many more Sunday's will be turned into the equivalent of sensory deprivation sessions. Are "reformed" criminals those who are created from mechanically retrieved body pieces, like reformed ham? Anyway, I decided that I would not be watching this, and that if I ever did turn on the TV while this programme was on, I would probably have the misfortune to clock someone called Don, and of course I'd instantly know he would be next on the list of people destined to die. I'd have no fuckin' sympathy because he should have picked somewhere further from Oxford!
By the time this shit ends, it'll be the news, and we are at 7.00pm for a dose of The Royal. I am not really into that, but at least it's not a repeat. So, 7pm before anything worth assessing (as Barnaby is good at doing, we're told) arrives on ITV. It all goes horribly wrong though, an hour later, when we're into the bollocks that is Pop Star to Opera Star, but I've already said all that needs saying about this rubbish on an earlier post.
Scanning the rest of the TV page highlighted some rather standard phrases associated with films and their stars. It is superfluous to mention some things, as the following example demonstrates:
Decision At Sundown - Western, starring Randolph Scott. Everything starring Randolph Scott is a western! So at 12.30 on BBC2 I can see Randolph way out west. If I look slightly to the east (to the Channel 5 column actually) I can see another film listed at 1.20.
Ten Wanted Men - Western, starring Randolph Scott. I have in fact noticed that Randolph prefers to show his face on a Sunday. Randolph is not the only star whose name is indelibly linked with a certain film or film genre. Straight after we've dealt with these ten men, there's another film listed.
Operation Crossbow - World War II adventure starring George Peppard. Is there any other sort of World War II film, or George Peppard film? Next, another film. Let me quote the description before giving the film name, and see if you can guess what it is.
Comedy sequel starring Steve Guttenberg. That's right, a film has already formed in your mind, but you're not quite sure whether it's number 2 or number 7. Well, there are of course so many Police Academy films. Today's offering is in fact number 4 (Citizens on Patrol) which is shit. On Saturday, there was a film described as "Comedy, starring Reg Varney", and so it could only have been On The Buses (which it was) or a sequel.
So there you have it, a viewing summary of a quirky, crappy, pointless Sunday. I would however like to note the potential interest at 4.55pm to those of the public who are both sports fanatics and bible fanatics. This odd pairing is catered for superbly by Songs of Praise, as Aled Jones takes a tour of London's Olympic Stadium, and introduces hymns and songs from Britain.
To end the day, there is a listing at 11.10pm for Andrew Marr's Megacities. I personally think that his efforts are of no value at all, and in fact do damage. Thus, it would be more accurate if the BBC were to drop an "r" from his surname. I am sure you can work out why. Here's a definition to help those of you who need help . . .
mar (mär)
...
Over my cup of tea, I perused the TV page, and wondered if I had missed anything good (which I considered highly unlikely) but more importantly, whether there was anything worth watching during the afternoon. How useless is terrestrial TV! The pathetic ITV schedule deserves a mention now, as I found the line-up a bit of a joke After a dose of CITV, programmes started at 8.25am.
8.25 May The Best House Win - Homeowners in north London rate one another's properties. (R) What absolute shit for entertainment that is! And how sad that the participants have not got anything better to do with their lives.
9.25 Dickinson's Real Deal - A grandfather clock is sold in Cheltenham. (R) How exciting for all concerned. The programme may have looked a bit more inviting if the word "clock" had not featured in the explanation of the hour-long waste of life.
10.25 60 Minute Makeover - Richard and the team are called to Liverpool to transform the home of a mother-to-be who spends a lot of her spare time working for a charity. (R) So, charity workers obviously qualify for a makeover and cannot of course have a decent looking abode as well as help in a soup kitchen. I have heard it said by some that it's Liverpool which needs the makeover . . . . .
11.30 This Morning: Sunday - Highlights of the week's programmes. Notice that there's no "R" in brackets after this programme? Technically the programme itself is not a repeat because it is not a rerun of something; no, it's simply a presentation of repeats to while away an hour of your life.
12.30 Dinner Date - Potential suitors woo Harriet from Manchester. (R) Is Harriet that fuckin' desperate? As for "suitors", we're not exactly in the nineteenth century, and I rather think they're after a bit more than a "woo". Fifty-five minutes devoted to Harriet (for the second time, you'll note).
This brought me to 1.25pm, and I could have turned on the TV to wave off Harriet and attend to ten minutes of news and weather. I chose not to do this, nor to prepare for the following programme:
1.35 Survival: Tales From The Wild - The story of a male chimp and the lessons it learns from its father - along with a few bad habits. Not a repeat, but a strange choice of programme, and perhaps selected for viewing in light of it being Father's Day (?) Is there a subtle suggestion that we are a nation of chimps/chumps teaching our offspring bad habits? Let's please leave Wayne Rooney out of this.
2.30 Inspector Morse - The detective looks into the apparent suicide of an Oxford Don - and discovers he has an unexpected and painful link to the man's widow. (R) How many more Dons are there left to be killed in Oxford? If I was called Don, I'd either change my name, or move to another location (which may be made easier through the efforts of the tits who ply us with 'Escape to the Country', or to 'A Place in the Sun'). This repeat is a mind numbing 2hrs long.
4.35 Midsomer Murders - A sex scandal resurfaces following the murder of a former detective, and Barnaby assesses the involvement of staff at a centre for reformed criminals. Last in series. (R) The last three words are clearly the most helpful and satisfying, although with each series re-re-repeated, there's no telling how many more Sunday's will be turned into the equivalent of sensory deprivation sessions. Are "reformed" criminals those who are created from mechanically retrieved body pieces, like reformed ham? Anyway, I decided that I would not be watching this, and that if I ever did turn on the TV while this programme was on, I would probably have the misfortune to clock someone called Don, and of course I'd instantly know he would be next on the list of people destined to die. I'd have no fuckin' sympathy because he should have picked somewhere further from Oxford!
By the time this shit ends, it'll be the news, and we are at 7.00pm for a dose of The Royal. I am not really into that, but at least it's not a repeat. So, 7pm before anything worth assessing (as Barnaby is good at doing, we're told) arrives on ITV. It all goes horribly wrong though, an hour later, when we're into the bollocks that is Pop Star to Opera Star, but I've already said all that needs saying about this rubbish on an earlier post.
Scanning the rest of the TV page highlighted some rather standard phrases associated with films and their stars. It is superfluous to mention some things, as the following example demonstrates:
Decision At Sundown - Western, starring Randolph Scott. Everything starring Randolph Scott is a western! So at 12.30 on BBC2 I can see Randolph way out west. If I look slightly to the east (to the Channel 5 column actually) I can see another film listed at 1.20.
Ten Wanted Men - Western, starring Randolph Scott. I have in fact noticed that Randolph prefers to show his face on a Sunday. Randolph is not the only star whose name is indelibly linked with a certain film or film genre. Straight after we've dealt with these ten men, there's another film listed.
Operation Crossbow - World War II adventure starring George Peppard. Is there any other sort of World War II film, or George Peppard film? Next, another film. Let me quote the description before giving the film name, and see if you can guess what it is.
Comedy sequel starring Steve Guttenberg. That's right, a film has already formed in your mind, but you're not quite sure whether it's number 2 or number 7. Well, there are of course so many Police Academy films. Today's offering is in fact number 4 (Citizens on Patrol) which is shit. On Saturday, there was a film described as "Comedy, starring Reg Varney", and so it could only have been On The Buses (which it was) or a sequel.
So there you have it, a viewing summary of a quirky, crappy, pointless Sunday. I would however like to note the potential interest at 4.55pm to those of the public who are both sports fanatics and bible fanatics. This odd pairing is catered for superbly by Songs of Praise, as Aled Jones takes a tour of London's Olympic Stadium, and introduces hymns and songs from Britain.
To end the day, there is a listing at 11.10pm for Andrew Marr's Megacities. I personally think that his efforts are of no value at all, and in fact do damage. Thus, it would be more accurate if the BBC were to drop an "r" from his surname. I am sure you can work out why. Here's a definition to help those of you who need help . . .
mar (mär)
tr.v. marred, mar·ring, mars
1. To inflict damage, especially disfiguring damage, on.
2. To impair the soundness, perfection, or integrity of; spoil.
...
Friday, 17 June 2011
17.6.11 Leaping Into Bed
The recent flurry of reporting on every aspect of the Ryan Giggs saga has included many amusing twists and a fair few phrases that conjure up strange visions. As ever, there have been some typical references to "romping" and "leaping". I have never quite understood exactly what a "romp" involves, when it comes to a liaison with a member of the opposite sex. It it a jocular wrestle? A bit of rough and tumble, perhaps? Maybe some energetic fumbling and joint exercise? As for "leaping", I think I must be missing out to a significant degree, because a lot of it seems to go on but not in my life - not since I did rather well at the long jump (and athletics in general) at school. "Leaping" seems to feature in two ways, in the modern world. The most common use is with reference to those engaging in illicit sex. The other is a seasonal use, where in the Christmas carol, eleven lords seem to be doing it - leaping, not having illicit sex.
Other inclusions over recent days have been constant references to how various men have "bedded" women. It is amazing that a woman can actually be bedded, as though she is a passive party in the act. The poor unsuspecting females who have been bedded just happened to be well up for a shag and intent on getting one (or very many). There's also been rather a lot of "frolicking". What does a frolic actually involve? Apparently frolicking is a very popular pastime, enjoyed by those who mostly try to do it in secret, but usually get found out.
The Giggs clan mmbers are all as bad as each other, bedding, shagging, frolicking, and leaping into beds. The only thing missing in the range of activities is swashbuckling.
...
Other inclusions over recent days have been constant references to how various men have "bedded" women. It is amazing that a woman can actually be bedded, as though she is a passive party in the act. The poor unsuspecting females who have been bedded just happened to be well up for a shag and intent on getting one (or very many). There's also been rather a lot of "frolicking". What does a frolic actually involve? Apparently frolicking is a very popular pastime, enjoyed by those who mostly try to do it in secret, but usually get found out.
The Giggs clan mmbers are all as bad as each other, bedding, shagging, frolicking, and leaping into beds. The only thing missing in the range of activities is swashbuckling.
...
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
15.6.11 Who Wants to be a Millionaire?
Q: Sarah Ferguson
a) Useless Cunt?
b) Scheming Cunt?
c) Stupid Cunt?
d) Mercenary Cunt?
e) Desperate Cunt?
f) Cunt
...
a) Useless Cunt?
b) Scheming Cunt?
c) Stupid Cunt?
d) Mercenary Cunt?
e) Desperate Cunt?
f) Cunt
...
Sunday, 12 June 2011
12.6.11 Bag For Life
I am not quite sure how a bag is supposed to last a lifetime; with so much uncertainty in the world, it seems adventurous to suggest that there won't within my lifetime be a regime change, or some catastrophic event that would jeopardise my bag. It could simply be that the retailer goes bust. I say all of this without having any form of written contract, but the impression I get from my better half is that for 10p, we have the right to expect our stronger-than-normal plastic bag to perform stoically and come to no harm, or be replaced free of charge. At face value, the concept may well seem reasonable, but there are (if one gives proper thought to the matter) a few concerns that seriously call into question the viability of the BFL. I would therefore like to expand, and show how the argument for use of BFLs does not hold water.
The first complication comes from supermarkets which occasionally provide BFLs without charge. [Please note that for the plural, I will adopt the 'BFLs' approach rather than get caught up in any arguments over whether it strictly ought to be Bags For Life, or Bag For Lifes or Bag For Lives or Bags For Lives] I was once in Asda (two years ago) when no free carriers were available so I was bombarded with BFLs. This is all very commendable if the retailers think they are injecting instant assistance in the fight to save the planet. Unfortunately, the ease with which I came by the bags meant that their worth to me was nil. As a consequence, the bags did not form part of daily life and seemed to just disappear in the following week. Only when a shopper makes a conscious decision to purchase a BFL will he/she be mindful of the cost and the reasoning behind the BFL crusade.
More concerning, though, was my recent horror (well okay, mild perturbedness) at the use of a BFL as a rubbish bag. A week ago, a Co-op BFL was used to transport a packed lunch of some note, and somehow the remnants of the picnic were returned to the BFL. So, chicken bones and other leftovers rendered the bag soiled, and so it became a rubbish bag. In this instance, the BFL had morphed into a BFTW [Bag For Two Weeks]. There were two things that ambled across my mind: 1) This is so much worse than using a free, poor quality supermarket bag to dispose of rubbish, and 2) What a waste of 10p. Both thoughts were valid when they were created. I have, however, since had cause to review the latter because there is more to the economics than an apparent waste of 10p.
On a normal shop [ ie. not a monster shop for everything, nor a quick stop for a few items] it would seem to me that the amount of stuff would typically be contained within 3 BFLs. The capacity of the BFL is greater than that of a free carrier bag because it is stronger, and slightly larger. In fact, to contain the equivalent purchases in free carrier bags, one would typically need 5 or even 6, and seeing as they are free and prone to collapse if loaded with more than two 4-litre containers of milk, we will adopt six as the number. So, the real world ratio is 2:1 for Free Bags to BFLs. For the purposes of this exercise, I will ignore the "doubling up" option that is suggested at the drop of a hat by any checkout operator when the purchaser is in the process of acquiring more than one of anything in a glass bottle. So, on to the maths, linked to the need for us all to dispose of waste, quite often immediately upon arriving home, seeing as the amount of unnecessary packaging is ludicrous these days.
On a normal shop, then, I would acquire six free carrier bags that would serve as rubbish containers. However, if I use my three BFLs, I get no rubbish containers, and so have to purchase and use bin liners. These are typically 5p each, for the cheap variety; I am not going to score easy points by involving rubble sacks or drawstring options etc. Whilst a 5p bin bag will not always avoid disintegration on contact with anything sharper than a ball of cotton wool, I will give some benefit of the doubt, on the basis that the bin bag would be able to satisfactorily contain the equivalent amount of rubbish as would be contained within three supermarket free carrier bags. So, to dispose of rubbish, and without six carrier bags obtained from a normal shopping trip, I would need to use two bin bags at a cost of 10p. This means that over and above any cost of the BFLs themselves, any normal shopping trip involving the BFLs rather than free supermarket bags costs me 10p - the equivalent of the cost of a BFL. What this means is that if I choose to dispose of a BFL for any reason at any time, then I can easily recoup the 10p by leaving the BFLs at home for my next shopping trip.
Of course, this means that my stock of BFLs is depleted by one, and on the next shop, I would need to purchase a replacement BFL at 10p. But there's a temptation not to bother, especially as each trip using BFLs costs me 10p (as already covered above) and to waste another 10p holds little attraction. Thus, on my next trip, I approach the supermarket holding no BFLs. I save 10p, and all is well. The trouble is, though, that the two BFLs will never get another outing; as a result, I use one for rubbish when an occasion arises where the normal quota of free bags is not sufficient to cope (eg. after a party, or to contain something extra sloppy). Any remorse over the discarding of a BFL is quickly discarded, as my next trip to the supermarket without any BFLs will of course save me 10p. This is repeated with the remaining BFL so that I am BFL-less.
So, three BFLs were thrown away, making the whole exercise a pointless one. If fact, to offset the waste of three BFLs, I can claim to have reduced my 'footprint' through the non-use of black bin bags. I am saving 10p per week by not buying black bags, I am avoiding the unnecessay purchase of BFLs at 10p each, and I am avoiding using BFLs to dispose of rubbish which is of course ten times worse than using a supermarket bag to dispose of rubbish. On a tangential note, I can find no data on the durability of the BFLs in circulation. I would suggest that at the stage they have been used ten time (on average) they will have developed fatigue, a tear, or some other defect, or will simply look so shabby that they need to be dispensed with - either through a swapout at the supermarket (and what do the supermarkets do with the used ones?) or by convertion to a rubbish bag. The argument for BFLs does not therefore hold water - Q.E.D.
...
The first complication comes from supermarkets which occasionally provide BFLs without charge. [Please note that for the plural, I will adopt the 'BFLs' approach rather than get caught up in any arguments over whether it strictly ought to be Bags For Life, or Bag For Lifes or Bag For Lives or Bags For Lives] I was once in Asda (two years ago) when no free carriers were available so I was bombarded with BFLs. This is all very commendable if the retailers think they are injecting instant assistance in the fight to save the planet. Unfortunately, the ease with which I came by the bags meant that their worth to me was nil. As a consequence, the bags did not form part of daily life and seemed to just disappear in the following week. Only when a shopper makes a conscious decision to purchase a BFL will he/she be mindful of the cost and the reasoning behind the BFL crusade.
More concerning, though, was my recent horror (well okay, mild perturbedness) at the use of a BFL as a rubbish bag. A week ago, a Co-op BFL was used to transport a packed lunch of some note, and somehow the remnants of the picnic were returned to the BFL. So, chicken bones and other leftovers rendered the bag soiled, and so it became a rubbish bag. In this instance, the BFL had morphed into a BFTW [Bag For Two Weeks]. There were two things that ambled across my mind: 1) This is so much worse than using a free, poor quality supermarket bag to dispose of rubbish, and 2) What a waste of 10p. Both thoughts were valid when they were created. I have, however, since had cause to review the latter because there is more to the economics than an apparent waste of 10p.
On a normal shop [ ie. not a monster shop for everything, nor a quick stop for a few items] it would seem to me that the amount of stuff would typically be contained within 3 BFLs. The capacity of the BFL is greater than that of a free carrier bag because it is stronger, and slightly larger. In fact, to contain the equivalent purchases in free carrier bags, one would typically need 5 or even 6, and seeing as they are free and prone to collapse if loaded with more than two 4-litre containers of milk, we will adopt six as the number. So, the real world ratio is 2:1 for Free Bags to BFLs. For the purposes of this exercise, I will ignore the "doubling up" option that is suggested at the drop of a hat by any checkout operator when the purchaser is in the process of acquiring more than one of anything in a glass bottle. So, on to the maths, linked to the need for us all to dispose of waste, quite often immediately upon arriving home, seeing as the amount of unnecessary packaging is ludicrous these days.
On a normal shop, then, I would acquire six free carrier bags that would serve as rubbish containers. However, if I use my three BFLs, I get no rubbish containers, and so have to purchase and use bin liners. These are typically 5p each, for the cheap variety; I am not going to score easy points by involving rubble sacks or drawstring options etc. Whilst a 5p bin bag will not always avoid disintegration on contact with anything sharper than a ball of cotton wool, I will give some benefit of the doubt, on the basis that the bin bag would be able to satisfactorily contain the equivalent amount of rubbish as would be contained within three supermarket free carrier bags. So, to dispose of rubbish, and without six carrier bags obtained from a normal shopping trip, I would need to use two bin bags at a cost of 10p. This means that over and above any cost of the BFLs themselves, any normal shopping trip involving the BFLs rather than free supermarket bags costs me 10p - the equivalent of the cost of a BFL. What this means is that if I choose to dispose of a BFL for any reason at any time, then I can easily recoup the 10p by leaving the BFLs at home for my next shopping trip.
Of course, this means that my stock of BFLs is depleted by one, and on the next shop, I would need to purchase a replacement BFL at 10p. But there's a temptation not to bother, especially as each trip using BFLs costs me 10p (as already covered above) and to waste another 10p holds little attraction. Thus, on my next trip, I approach the supermarket holding no BFLs. I save 10p, and all is well. The trouble is, though, that the two BFLs will never get another outing; as a result, I use one for rubbish when an occasion arises where the normal quota of free bags is not sufficient to cope (eg. after a party, or to contain something extra sloppy). Any remorse over the discarding of a BFL is quickly discarded, as my next trip to the supermarket without any BFLs will of course save me 10p. This is repeated with the remaining BFL so that I am BFL-less.
So, three BFLs were thrown away, making the whole exercise a pointless one. If fact, to offset the waste of three BFLs, I can claim to have reduced my 'footprint' through the non-use of black bin bags. I am saving 10p per week by not buying black bags, I am avoiding the unnecessay purchase of BFLs at 10p each, and I am avoiding using BFLs to dispose of rubbish which is of course ten times worse than using a supermarket bag to dispose of rubbish. On a tangential note, I can find no data on the durability of the BFLs in circulation. I would suggest that at the stage they have been used ten time (on average) they will have developed fatigue, a tear, or some other defect, or will simply look so shabby that they need to be dispensed with - either through a swapout at the supermarket (and what do the supermarkets do with the used ones?) or by convertion to a rubbish bag. The argument for BFLs does not therefore hold water - Q.E.D.
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Saturday, 11 June 2011
11.6.11 Stupid Replies
The world has gone mad, and has been 'scripted' by the CIC. It is now impossible to have an exchange or conversation with any fucker who might be serving you without their provision of a pissin' catchphrase. The "Have a nice day" wish from an airhead at the McDonald's hand-over-of-the shit-food window has been surpassed. I was 'ordered' by a glum-faced minimum wage worker three weeks ago to be pleased with my lot in life, through the instruction, "Enjoy your meal", but it was said in a tone which conveyed no goodwill at all.
I bought a lottery ticket today. I asked for "Two lucky dips for tonight, please", thinking this was succinct, accurate and easy to comprehend. But the inhabitant of the kiosk still insisted on further discourse, asking "Is that plus five". I refrained from the appropriate retort of "No, you fucking stupid cow, because if I'd wanted that, I'd have handed over more than two pissin quid and would have asked for the plus five shit!", and simply said 'No thanks' which I believe proves I am socially equipped to handle whatever life throws at me.
On Friday, in Leeds, I looked at the McDonald's menu board while the person at the till looked at me considering my options. I then made his day by providing him with my order. It was rather insulting that he considered I needed a pointless fuckin' prompt, because "Is that a large meal?" had no business being mentioned, as I'd have asked for a cuntin' large meal if I'd wanted one!
"Is that everything?" is a pointless comment when I have clearly got fuck all else to put on the miniature conveyor belt! The call centre employee at my bank was dumbfounded when I asked him if he knew any reason why one of my radiators seems not to get as hot as the others. Well, he did ask me, "Is there anything else I can help you with?" after we had concluded our business regarding the single thing I'd called for.
There's really no answer to all of this!
NB: CIC - Cunts In Charge
...
I bought a lottery ticket today. I asked for "Two lucky dips for tonight, please", thinking this was succinct, accurate and easy to comprehend. But the inhabitant of the kiosk still insisted on further discourse, asking "Is that plus five". I refrained from the appropriate retort of "No, you fucking stupid cow, because if I'd wanted that, I'd have handed over more than two pissin quid and would have asked for the plus five shit!", and simply said 'No thanks' which I believe proves I am socially equipped to handle whatever life throws at me.
On Friday, in Leeds, I looked at the McDonald's menu board while the person at the till looked at me considering my options. I then made his day by providing him with my order. It was rather insulting that he considered I needed a pointless fuckin' prompt, because "Is that a large meal?" had no business being mentioned, as I'd have asked for a cuntin' large meal if I'd wanted one!
"Is that everything?" is a pointless comment when I have clearly got fuck all else to put on the miniature conveyor belt! The call centre employee at my bank was dumbfounded when I asked him if he knew any reason why one of my radiators seems not to get as hot as the others. Well, he did ask me, "Is there anything else I can help you with?" after we had concluded our business regarding the single thing I'd called for.
There's really no answer to all of this!
NB: CIC - Cunts In Charge
...
Friday, 10 June 2011
10.6.11 Archbishop
What a complete twat! The Archbishop of Cunterbury has put his foot in it again, speaking completely out of turn and talking shit. From on high, in his world of privilege and plenty, this unelected nob has stuck his nose where it's not wanted. He moans from a position so left-wing that you'd rather expect him to dress as a hippy and share his palace with the down-and-outs. But no, that would of course be out of the question. He slams the government's plans to get people off benefits and into work, and said it was wrong to punish those who abuse the system. Stupid arse. You can tell he doesn't pay taxes or understand that abuse of the system is an abuse of those who are expected to pay!
This is all from a man who is overseeing a decline in his empire, and has the nerve to think that his opinion on matters other than religion is worth any more than a Double Lolly. Until such time as he deigns to get a proper job, pay some tax, and stop being precious and poncy, his interventions are unwelcome. To say that the government is undemocratic is rather rich, when he has not been elected. He should stick to reading his bible.
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This is all from a man who is overseeing a decline in his empire, and has the nerve to think that his opinion on matters other than religion is worth any more than a Double Lolly. Until such time as he deigns to get a proper job, pay some tax, and stop being precious and poncy, his interventions are unwelcome. To say that the government is undemocratic is rather rich, when he has not been elected. He should stick to reading his bible.
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10.6.11 Enigma (No.3)
I was on the M62 today. No, that's not the 'enigma'. What puzzled me was the sign writing on the white van that passed me at 80mph. The locksmith was apparently available on 23.5 hour call out. Why on earth would an emergency service need to reserve half an hour for being unresponsive?
...
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10.6.11 Copper Thief
Whilst it's supposedly not PC (forgive the pun) to laugh at someone else's misfortune, I could not help but be mildly amused by a story in the paper this week, and the nature of the report. Apparently thefts of cable to sell as scrap have soared in the UK due to surge in the value of copper.
Why is it that people who do stupid things warn others afterwards not to do stupid things?
Why is it that people who do drugs then warn others (when they've fucked their bodies and/or noses) not to do drugs?
A criminal who suffered horrific burns while breaking into an electricity sub-station has warned of the dangers of stealing copper cabling. Well how fucking enlightening! He has apparently said: "My message is, Don't do it, - people think it's easy but they don't realise how stupid they are being." Who is this mysterious they? He's the one who's been a twat, and caught 22,000 volts.
...
Why is it that people who do stupid things warn others afterwards not to do stupid things?
Why is it that people who do drugs then warn others (when they've fucked their bodies and/or noses) not to do drugs?
A criminal who suffered horrific burns while breaking into an electricity sub-station has warned of the dangers of stealing copper cabling. Well how fucking enlightening! He has apparently said: "My message is, Don't do it, - people think it's easy but they don't realise how stupid they are being." Who is this mysterious they? He's the one who's been a twat, and caught 22,000 volts.
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Wednesday, 8 June 2011
8.6.11 Potatoes
How confusing are the straplines on bags of potatoes! I have just been considering my options, and trying to choose between Piper Maris and British White Potatoes. The Pipers are apparently suitable for Roasting, Baking, Mashing and Chipping [the last of which I do not believe is a real word in the sense that it is meant]. The British ones are, as the general term seems to suggest, "Suitable for all types of cooking method". I pondered for a moment, trying to work out the difference between the two types and which one to opt for; I was struggling to think of what else one could do with a spud. Then to my left, I saw a bag of Red Rooster potatoes. They were apparently suitable for Roasting, Baking, Mashing and Steaming. Not 'Chipping' though. The steamers of the world would be pleased, of course, but the chip eaters would feel miffed with the Red Roosters.
This led me to conclude that the 'Multi Purpose' British potatoes were more versatile than the Piper Maris, because they were suitable for all types of cooking method, and that must surely include the newly added category of 'steaming'. I was about to pick them up, but my eye was caught by the cheapest supermarket 'value' spuds on offer, in a large bag. On the front, there was no clue to the versatility of the contents; 'Potatoes' was apparently enough information for any customer to have - except for a small note that said:
"Conventionally Grown - Reducing, Banning and Controlling Pesticide Use"
What the fuck does that mean? Which of the 3 completely different approaches was supposedly being endorsed by these potatoes. Were the contents coated in pesticide, but in a controlled way? Were they free of pesticide because the farmer had been banned from using it? Were they just tarnished with a smidge of pesticide because the growers were on a programme to reduce usage? As for 'Conventionally Grown', I was lost on what other options there are. Injected with steroids? Bathed in Baby Bio? Hand-reared by Tibetan monks? Digitally engineered? I steered clear of this product, wondering if in fact the contents were actually potatoes! I went to the till with the 'Multi Purpose' ones and a smaller bag of 'New Potatoes', which contained no clues on how they could be attended to, other than a note to say 'Delicious, hot or cold'. I had picked up four onions as well, and waited in line.
I left the shop to discover that I'd been overcharged by 11p for the onions, but a glance over my shoulder through the shop front window revealed a likely ordeal in getting attention. I decided to write off the 11p, and instead made my way back home, trying to decide whether "sauteed" potatoes deserved to have their own classification alongside baked, chipped, roasted, steamed and boiled. I was further diverted in my head by whether "Microwaving" could be classed as a way of cooking. The other methods required a hob or oven as a means to achieve the end result, but a microwave produces a microwaved potato. However, some people choose not to bake a potato in an oven to get a jacket potato, but instead use a microwave and that would render 'Microwaved' as a misleading term - I think. Anyway, all of this waffle leads me to Waffles; where do they come in? Suitable for 'Waffling'? For that matter, crisps are made from potatoes, and should be considered - so 'Crisping' could as easily be included as 'Chipping'.
All this made me rather hungry.
...
This led me to conclude that the 'Multi Purpose' British potatoes were more versatile than the Piper Maris, because they were suitable for all types of cooking method, and that must surely include the newly added category of 'steaming'. I was about to pick them up, but my eye was caught by the cheapest supermarket 'value' spuds on offer, in a large bag. On the front, there was no clue to the versatility of the contents; 'Potatoes' was apparently enough information for any customer to have - except for a small note that said:
"Conventionally Grown - Reducing, Banning and Controlling Pesticide Use"
What the fuck does that mean? Which of the 3 completely different approaches was supposedly being endorsed by these potatoes. Were the contents coated in pesticide, but in a controlled way? Were they free of pesticide because the farmer had been banned from using it? Were they just tarnished with a smidge of pesticide because the growers were on a programme to reduce usage? As for 'Conventionally Grown', I was lost on what other options there are. Injected with steroids? Bathed in Baby Bio? Hand-reared by Tibetan monks? Digitally engineered? I steered clear of this product, wondering if in fact the contents were actually potatoes! I went to the till with the 'Multi Purpose' ones and a smaller bag of 'New Potatoes', which contained no clues on how they could be attended to, other than a note to say 'Delicious, hot or cold'. I had picked up four onions as well, and waited in line.
I left the shop to discover that I'd been overcharged by 11p for the onions, but a glance over my shoulder through the shop front window revealed a likely ordeal in getting attention. I decided to write off the 11p, and instead made my way back home, trying to decide whether "sauteed" potatoes deserved to have their own classification alongside baked, chipped, roasted, steamed and boiled. I was further diverted in my head by whether "Microwaving" could be classed as a way of cooking. The other methods required a hob or oven as a means to achieve the end result, but a microwave produces a microwaved potato. However, some people choose not to bake a potato in an oven to get a jacket potato, but instead use a microwave and that would render 'Microwaved' as a misleading term - I think. Anyway, all of this waffle leads me to Waffles; where do they come in? Suitable for 'Waffling'? For that matter, crisps are made from potatoes, and should be considered - so 'Crisping' could as easily be included as 'Chipping'.
All this made me rather hungry.
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Monday, 6 June 2011
6.6.11 Blindside
I stood to one side and I thought I was safe
As I waited in line for a cab
I stood to one side, such a silly mistake
I could not see the oncoming crab!
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As I waited in line for a cab
I stood to one side, such a silly mistake
I could not see the oncoming crab!
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6.6.11 The "Up To" Con
It's all to do with making seemingly fantastic claims whilst actually not making any real commitment or promise at all. In other words, conning us.
Giving your dog Chewy Stix can reduce the build up of Tartar by up to 80%
So, the very best possible result from your regular purchases of Chewy Stix will be a build up at a fifth (20%) of the normal rate. However, there may be no effect at all; the "up to" caveat could mean there's absolutely no benefit, or certainly a much reduced benefit - anywhere between a 1% and 80% reduction in tartar. Of course, claiming "an average 40% reduction" doesn't sound that good, does it?
The Steam-the-fuck-out-of-your-floor cleaner kills up to 95% of bacteria
But it may only kill a few. I think you're getting the message. Retailers like us to rush to their summer sales, where we can save "up to 70%". Rarely is the item you or I want available at such a saving. No, the lame Christmas decoration going for 60p instead of £2 means the retailer can label as "up to 70%" the whole fucking event. Now there's a word that retailers just love to use for their crappy touting of merchandise. I don't think that half-price on a selected range of sofas (ie. the ones that are twice the price they should be in the first place) is much of an event.
The other words to look out for are "could" and "should", which are less alarming or hopeful than "might".
Shitty Shakes could help you lose up to 12lbs in your first week
This translates as: "It might help you lose weight, but might not, and if you do lose any, it could be anything from an ounce to twelve pounds"
By the way, a product that's Half Fat is hardly good for you because some fucker has halved the amount of heart-attack-inducing ingredient. It simply means you're eating less fat per mouthful, but probably too many mouthfuls anyway. Just like "90% fat free" sounds good, but actually means the item is 10% fat!
...
Giving your dog Chewy Stix can reduce the build up of Tartar by up to 80%
So, the very best possible result from your regular purchases of Chewy Stix will be a build up at a fifth (20%) of the normal rate. However, there may be no effect at all; the "up to" caveat could mean there's absolutely no benefit, or certainly a much reduced benefit - anywhere between a 1% and 80% reduction in tartar. Of course, claiming "an average 40% reduction" doesn't sound that good, does it?
The Steam-the-fuck-out-of-your-floor cleaner kills up to 95% of bacteria
But it may only kill a few. I think you're getting the message. Retailers like us to rush to their summer sales, where we can save "up to 70%". Rarely is the item you or I want available at such a saving. No, the lame Christmas decoration going for 60p instead of £2 means the retailer can label as "up to 70%" the whole fucking event. Now there's a word that retailers just love to use for their crappy touting of merchandise. I don't think that half-price on a selected range of sofas (ie. the ones that are twice the price they should be in the first place) is much of an event.
The other words to look out for are "could" and "should", which are less alarming or hopeful than "might".
Shitty Shakes could help you lose up to 12lbs in your first week
This translates as: "It might help you lose weight, but might not, and if you do lose any, it could be anything from an ounce to twelve pounds"
By the way, a product that's Half Fat is hardly good for you because some fucker has halved the amount of heart-attack-inducing ingredient. It simply means you're eating less fat per mouthful, but probably too many mouthfuls anyway. Just like "90% fat free" sounds good, but actually means the item is 10% fat!
...
Sunday, 5 June 2011
5.6.11 Tennis Rules
I believe there needs to be a rethink in the world of tennis regarding the rules, and possible penalty points for transgressions. Enjoyment for spectators is now hampered by numerous factors, most particularly relating to time wasting, and the various mannerisms/rituals adopted by players. My suggestions are as follows.
Ball Bouncing
There should be a maximum number of ball bounces that a server can have before getting on and hitting the fucking thing! Four would seem to me more than adequate to satisfy the server's need to gain a steadying effect before launching into a serve. Any more than four is gratuitous time wasting and complete OCD. If a player exceeds the four bounces, the umpire should declare a 'fault'.
Use of the Towel
After every couple of games, players get a chance to have a little rest, have a drink, eat a banana, and in some cases, put on a new T-shirt. They can of course just sit and meditate, or get a ball boy to run around getting water or juice. Whatever any player's preference, there is ample time for use of a towel to remove sweat. It is therefore most frustrating to watch players wave at a ball boy after almost every single point, asking for a towel (which has been transported from the seating area to the back of the court). Nadal is one of the worst offenders I've ever seen. The 'OCD' has now stretched to his insistence that a towel is produced so that he can dab at his biceps, as well as give a cursory wipe of the face. He is then apparently refreshed, and ready to hits the soles of his trainers with his racquet. Seeing as there's no limit on the number of fresh/dry shirts a player can use, that headbands are available, and that wristbands can be worn on both wrists to help with stemming the rivers of sweat created by a bit of exertion, there's absolutely no need for continual 'drying' in between changeovers. Umpires should insist that players' towels remain by their seats for use only in each break at the changeover of ends.
Arse Picking
Umpires should censor any player whose OCD extends to picking underwear from the crack of an arse. It does not make for good viewing, and it suggests that the player's choice of attire is completely flawed. Nadal is again a serial offender; get it sorted, Rafa - choose a different design.
Ball Boy Abuse
Abuse of ball boys (and girls) is habitual my many players. They seem to think it is acceptable to demand three balls be provided for serving, rather than two. Players then seem to mull over which two of the three are acceptable before rejecting the weakest candidate. They do this by dropping the surplus ball and tapping it behind them. The ball boy then has to run and pick it up, and then return to the corner. There are six balls in play, and they are all the same age. It's not as if there's any need to avoid the one that doesn't bounce, or steer clear of the one with bird shit on it! Ball boys should be allowed to provide two balls to any server, and decline if asked for a third.
Women's Tennis
Women should look like women. [If not, they should be playing 'best of 5' with the men]
...
Ball Bouncing
There should be a maximum number of ball bounces that a server can have before getting on and hitting the fucking thing! Four would seem to me more than adequate to satisfy the server's need to gain a steadying effect before launching into a serve. Any more than four is gratuitous time wasting and complete OCD. If a player exceeds the four bounces, the umpire should declare a 'fault'.
Use of the Towel
After every couple of games, players get a chance to have a little rest, have a drink, eat a banana, and in some cases, put on a new T-shirt. They can of course just sit and meditate, or get a ball boy to run around getting water or juice. Whatever any player's preference, there is ample time for use of a towel to remove sweat. It is therefore most frustrating to watch players wave at a ball boy after almost every single point, asking for a towel (which has been transported from the seating area to the back of the court). Nadal is one of the worst offenders I've ever seen. The 'OCD' has now stretched to his insistence that a towel is produced so that he can dab at his biceps, as well as give a cursory wipe of the face. He is then apparently refreshed, and ready to hits the soles of his trainers with his racquet. Seeing as there's no limit on the number of fresh/dry shirts a player can use, that headbands are available, and that wristbands can be worn on both wrists to help with stemming the rivers of sweat created by a bit of exertion, there's absolutely no need for continual 'drying' in between changeovers. Umpires should insist that players' towels remain by their seats for use only in each break at the changeover of ends.
Arse Picking
Umpires should censor any player whose OCD extends to picking underwear from the crack of an arse. It does not make for good viewing, and it suggests that the player's choice of attire is completely flawed. Nadal is again a serial offender; get it sorted, Rafa - choose a different design.
Ball Boy Abuse
Abuse of ball boys (and girls) is habitual my many players. They seem to think it is acceptable to demand three balls be provided for serving, rather than two. Players then seem to mull over which two of the three are acceptable before rejecting the weakest candidate. They do this by dropping the surplus ball and tapping it behind them. The ball boy then has to run and pick it up, and then return to the corner. There are six balls in play, and they are all the same age. It's not as if there's any need to avoid the one that doesn't bounce, or steer clear of the one with bird shit on it! Ball boys should be allowed to provide two balls to any server, and decline if asked for a third.
Women's Tennis
Women should look like women. [If not, they should be playing 'best of 5' with the men]
...
5.6.11 Inconvenience
A few hundred yards away from my house, at the main crossroads controlled by traffic lights, there are a couple of signs announcing that there will soon be a road closure. Apparently there is to be some work undertaken which will necessitate the closure of a road for eight weeks!
The yellow signs that announce the closure from 20th June onwards were no doubt erected with no sense of irony on the part of the contractor. The words after the note about closure for eight weeks are:
"We apologise for any inconvenience"
What the fuck? Any inconvenience!! Of course there's fucking inconvenience, tons of it!! How on earth can a main road be shut for eight weeks and there not be massive fucking disruption while workmen piss about and drag out a week's worth of labour over two months, while the local population queues, swears and gets frustrated. Maybe I missed the yellow notice positioned by the government just before it started bombing Libya, apologising to the residents for "any inconvenience".
...
The yellow signs that announce the closure from 20th June onwards were no doubt erected with no sense of irony on the part of the contractor. The words after the note about closure for eight weeks are:
"We apologise for any inconvenience"
What the fuck? Any inconvenience!! Of course there's fucking inconvenience, tons of it!! How on earth can a main road be shut for eight weeks and there not be massive fucking disruption while workmen piss about and drag out a week's worth of labour over two months, while the local population queues, swears and gets frustrated. Maybe I missed the yellow notice positioned by the government just before it started bombing Libya, apologising to the residents for "any inconvenience".
...
Saturday, 4 June 2011
4.6.11 Father's Day
I rather thought the clue to what it's all about is in the name. So, on 19th June, there will of course be lots of cards given to fathers by their sons and daughters. Quite simple, really. But no . . . . it would seem that there's always room for complication and commercialisation.
I saw some cards on display this morning, and amongst the cards were a few with the message "To Granddad". Now, what the fuck's all that about. It is Father's Day, not Granddad's Day! It makes no sense for someone to give a Granddad a card. Now, I am sure I will get a card from my son, and in turn, my dad will get a card from me; but my son will not be skipping a generation as well, and 'covering for me' by buying two cards for two generations. It's not his responsibility to send a card with "Granddad" on it to save me the bother of sending one with "Dad" on it.
It is quite simply an opportunistic approach by the card manufacturers; they've missed a trick, though, and have discriminated against Great Granddads. Great Granddads should in that case get a Father's Day card from their son or daughter, plus a "To Granddad on Father's Day" card from their grandchildren, and a "To Great Granddad on Father's Day" card from their great grandchildren! Further, if there is to be recognition of fatherhood from those other than direct offspring, then by rights, Granddad should send a card - "To My Son on Father's Day", to acknowledge the day in sync with the grandson. A great granddad would of course be obliged to send two cards, to the two generations below him - more for multiple sons and grandsons.
All of this makes sense, even if it's a bit hard to follow. So the missing cards in the pack are:
...
I saw some cards on display this morning, and amongst the cards were a few with the message "To Granddad". Now, what the fuck's all that about. It is Father's Day, not Granddad's Day! It makes no sense for someone to give a Granddad a card. Now, I am sure I will get a card from my son, and in turn, my dad will get a card from me; but my son will not be skipping a generation as well, and 'covering for me' by buying two cards for two generations. It's not his responsibility to send a card with "Granddad" on it to save me the bother of sending one with "Dad" on it.
It is quite simply an opportunistic approach by the card manufacturers; they've missed a trick, though, and have discriminated against Great Granddads. Great Granddads should in that case get a Father's Day card from their son or daughter, plus a "To Granddad on Father's Day" card from their grandchildren, and a "To Great Granddad on Father's Day" card from their great grandchildren! Further, if there is to be recognition of fatherhood from those other than direct offspring, then by rights, Granddad should send a card - "To My Son on Father's Day", to acknowledge the day in sync with the grandson. A great granddad would of course be obliged to send two cards, to the two generations below him - more for multiple sons and grandsons.
All of this makes sense, even if it's a bit hard to follow. So the missing cards in the pack are:
- To Great Granddad on Father's Day
- To My Son on Father's Day
- To My Grandson on Father's Day
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Friday, 3 June 2011
3.6.11 Don't Go Anywhere
Three things where the consequences are identical:
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- Time for a break
- Time for a quick break
- Time for a very quick break
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Thursday, 2 June 2011
2.6.11 Horse Trading
The man in the Co-op had a problem, and he successfully 'transferred' it to those around him, including me. Minding my own business in the bread aisle, I suddenly became aware of a vile smell. With the Doppler effect, the sound comes and goes. There is no equivalent for a smell emitted by a moving object, and the effect lingers on.
I clocked him moving away from me (not taking his smell with him, as already noted) and heading for the milk. It was difficult to place the smell, but it was truly awful. He was wearing a checked shirt with mud splattered on it, brown jeans and boots. He had clearly just finished work, and was not an office worker!
The Co-op is not known for its efficiency (nor for its value for money, or excellent product range or helpful staff) so it was no surprise to find a long queue at the kiosk and a long queue (at which progress had stalled) at the one normal checkout in use. As I stood watching the confusion regarding a kerfuffle over a void transaction, I quickly realised that the man in question was two people in front of me in the queue for the kiosk. Then it hit me - not the smell, that was already well established - the type of smell. Horse shit.
I considered the options. Either his natural body odour was horse-like, or he was a manual labourer who probably mucked out horses; or, he was a horse. Seeing as I've never seen a horse walk on two feet, I decided that he was human. At the same time I wondered if the mud on his shirt was something else.
The queue was moving rather too slowly for comfort. It was strange to be amongst others who could not have failed to notice the smell as well, yet say nothing. I was finally pleased to see the back of the horseman, and got to the till myself, to be irritated by Rita. In summary, it was an awful lot of aggro for some mushrooms and some Mini Magnums. [I've always thought that the plural of Magnum should actually be Magna]
Leaving the shop, I knocked into a stupidly positioned box of something green. It was a trip hazard disguised as a display of something edible - cress, probably. I did not stop to pick it up. As I walked back past the shopfront, I wondered if my rebellious act was to be severely punished, as I saw Lee Van Cleef looking intently at me from the driver's seat of a parked car. However, as I could not hear the music from a fancy timepiece, and couldn't see a gun with an extended barrel poking out of the window, I realised he was a lookalike and that I was safe. The fresh air was lovely.
...
I clocked him moving away from me (not taking his smell with him, as already noted) and heading for the milk. It was difficult to place the smell, but it was truly awful. He was wearing a checked shirt with mud splattered on it, brown jeans and boots. He had clearly just finished work, and was not an office worker!
The Co-op is not known for its efficiency (nor for its value for money, or excellent product range or helpful staff) so it was no surprise to find a long queue at the kiosk and a long queue (at which progress had stalled) at the one normal checkout in use. As I stood watching the confusion regarding a kerfuffle over a void transaction, I quickly realised that the man in question was two people in front of me in the queue for the kiosk. Then it hit me - not the smell, that was already well established - the type of smell. Horse shit.
I considered the options. Either his natural body odour was horse-like, or he was a manual labourer who probably mucked out horses; or, he was a horse. Seeing as I've never seen a horse walk on two feet, I decided that he was human. At the same time I wondered if the mud on his shirt was something else.
The queue was moving rather too slowly for comfort. It was strange to be amongst others who could not have failed to notice the smell as well, yet say nothing. I was finally pleased to see the back of the horseman, and got to the till myself, to be irritated by Rita. In summary, it was an awful lot of aggro for some mushrooms and some Mini Magnums. [I've always thought that the plural of Magnum should actually be Magna]
Leaving the shop, I knocked into a stupidly positioned box of something green. It was a trip hazard disguised as a display of something edible - cress, probably. I did not stop to pick it up. As I walked back past the shopfront, I wondered if my rebellious act was to be severely punished, as I saw Lee Van Cleef looking intently at me from the driver's seat of a parked car. However, as I could not hear the music from a fancy timepiece, and couldn't see a gun with an extended barrel poking out of the window, I realised he was a lookalike and that I was safe. The fresh air was lovely.
...
Wednesday, 1 June 2011
1.6.11 Disgusting (No.2)
In the last week I have seen two advertisements touting deodorant. The marketing people involved have clearly adopted the tried and trusted technique of going 'one better' than the competition. However, the stakes have been raised, and we may now be in the "deodorant wars".
For a while now, some manufacturers have been claiming their products can keep us dry for 48 hours. As if that wasn't enough of an improvement on the normal 24hr life of a stick or spray application, some idiot in marketing has convinced a company to claim 72 hours of effectiveness!
The whole thing is disgusting. Why on earth would anyone decide not to wash and/or reapply any form of deodorant for three fucking days? When I use deodorant and put on a clean shirt, it never crosses my mind that I may get away with not washing for 72 hours. If you are reading this and think such a product is a blessing, then you need to re-evaluate your personal hygiene standards/regime. The whole concept is flawed. I suspect that the people who buy this 3-day ticket to sweat profusely will actually most likely be so desperate for something to mask their body odour, they'll be thinking that if they use it every day, they'll get three times the effect per day because it's stronger. So, smelly and thick then.
...
For a while now, some manufacturers have been claiming their products can keep us dry for 48 hours. As if that wasn't enough of an improvement on the normal 24hr life of a stick or spray application, some idiot in marketing has convinced a company to claim 72 hours of effectiveness!
The whole thing is disgusting. Why on earth would anyone decide not to wash and/or reapply any form of deodorant for three fucking days? When I use deodorant and put on a clean shirt, it never crosses my mind that I may get away with not washing for 72 hours. If you are reading this and think such a product is a blessing, then you need to re-evaluate your personal hygiene standards/regime. The whole concept is flawed. I suspect that the people who buy this 3-day ticket to sweat profusely will actually most likely be so desperate for something to mask their body odour, they'll be thinking that if they use it every day, they'll get three times the effect per day because it's stronger. So, smelly and thick then.
...
1.6.11 Dickhead
I was listening to a Kate Nash album the other day, [purchased for 99p] and at the fourth track she confirmed her illiteracy. The song, Dickhead, was (still is, and always will be - not that I will ever need to check by listening to it again) pretty dire. However, more annoying than three minutes of my life being wasted (or the loss of 99p) was the awful grammar - I quote:
Why you being a dickhead for?
This "song" is on a par with Black and Yellow, another waste of space that I recently highlighted on this blog. KN's warbling of a couple of buckets of drivel, in that nauseating talking style, is quite simply an affront to other more deserving artists who are not given a record deal. The album (Made of Bricks) is to be avoided. If you do decide to listen to it and you like it, then you are a Dickhead.
...
Why you being a dickhead for?
This "song" is on a par with Black and Yellow, another waste of space that I recently highlighted on this blog. KN's warbling of a couple of buckets of drivel, in that nauseating talking style, is quite simply an affront to other more deserving artists who are not given a record deal. The album (Made of Bricks) is to be avoided. If you do decide to listen to it and you like it, then you are a Dickhead.
...
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