This 'nanny state' is fucking pathetic. Cunts in charge of shops now give "guidance" to checkout staff which leads to lunacy at the tills. Oh, I accept that there needs to be some sort of check on underage purchasing of some items, but come on - we've taken the cuntin' exercise to extremes now. Also, we have given malicious and/or over-zealous twats on the checkout the power to display cuntishness!
I read in today's paper that Arlene Phillips was asked for ID by Morrisons a couple of years ago; she's 68 years old! I can well believe this, as I recall Morrisons being the offending retailer when a 72-year-old was challenged when buying whisky.
Sainsbury's is certainly no better, judging by the story yesterday, reported by the Daily Mail (online). A 25-year-old woman was asked for ID when she tried to buy a pack of six teaspoons. Apparently the twat on the tills used zero common sense. The story explained the view (as if!) that the spoons could have been for use in the preparation of heroin. Fucking criminal - not the spoon-buyer, the fucking supermarket. Apologies always come far too late, and after the would-be purchaser has been declined service. The mad thing about this online story was the comments posted underneath. Someone in Scotland was asked for ID in Tescunt when buying a wooden cutlery tray!
"Think 25" is the slogan for this flawed fucking policy. The '25' refers to the IQ of the person in charge if ID requests, in most cases. I have previously ranted about my son being declined when trying to buy a cigarette rolling machine when he was 19, because he didn't have ID with him by cunts at the corner shop.
Do we know have to make weird connections to establish whether any purchase is allowed? Could the fifteen-year-old who wants to buy a bottle of Evian and some Homepride Flour secretly be plotting to mix them, make glue and sniff? Should toothbrush sales be restricted because a bored teenager might scrape the handle on the pavement while waiting outside the local off licence, and in effect whittle it to a point, then march in and threaten to stab the eighteen-year-old ex-school mate who is serving at the tills on minimum wage? Should a pair of Marigolds be available to a fifteen-year-old, because they might be 'converted' into a condom, and by selling the gloves, the shop would be promoting underage sex!
If any cunt on a checkout messes with me, I will abandon all shopping - after taking photos for publication online, through social network sites and of course this blog. We know that those who even help pack a bottle of gin need to be of a certain age, because of a cunt at Morrisons who would not let the granddaughter (aged 21) pack Grandma's gin !!! Apparently it was more than the checkout operator's job was worth to leave herself exposed to a fine for endorsing underage drinking. Fucking TWAT!
In the local area, one now has to be 25 to buy alcohol without being asked for ID - unless of course you use Olay or some other expensive shit, and look young for your age. So, a woman could be 30, look 24 as far as the spotty cunt on the checkout is concerned, and be asked for ID. If she hasn't got it, then the thirty-year-old will have to go without a glass of wine.
The same approach could be adopted for someone wanting 10 Silk Cuntin' Cut. In you throw a crust of bread to a pigeon in Redcar, you'll probably be fined £80 because that is classed as littering. The fact that the bird will eat it is neither here nor there. If I am stopped, I will be tempted to shit on the path and get my £80 worth. Of course, if I am a cunt who throws from a car window a McDonald's carton, I'll not be chased. Easy pickings then for arseholes who watch shoppers, looking for things being dropped. What's madder than anything else is that an old dear who throws a spare chip to a seagull will be fined £80, yet the pre-meditated actions of a shoplifter who is caught with a trouser-load of cheese and razor blades will be 'penalised' also with a fine of £80. ???
If a twenty-four-year-old buys a DVD that's a 'Certificate 15', will he/she be challenged? I reckon shops need to train staff properly, and not belatedly apologise for some dimwit who loved to be controversial with a shopper the day before. If I were still 18-25, I'd be so pissed off to have to prove myself to every fucker when I want a fag, a drink, go to a film, club, or some other age-restricted venue.
All this has given me a headache. I am over 25, but still I must make sure I do not buy more than 32 paracetamol in one transaction, or I'd be most definitely on a suicide mission. So, "Suicide Watch" is the sister slogan to "Think 25".
...
Tuesday, 31 January 2012
Monday, 30 January 2012
30.1.12 Bishop Pricks in Bishoprics
Bishoprics in the Church of England seem to be in many cases very well named, considering the fact that it is often pricks who take the role of Bishop. As with any organisation, there's a certain level of infighting, ambition and egotism in the church. None of this would be of too much concern to the masses (forgive the pun) who these days don't give a fuck about attending church. Rowan Williams (the loony left's biggest ally) leads the church with a weird but certainly not wonderful 'flair' that marks (pun intended) him out as a Marxist. He dabbles in politics and pisses people off - excellent credentials, you might think, for one in charge of the Anglican Church! Telling him and his bishops to piss off would be a whole lot easier if there was not an atrocious anomaly - there are bishops in the House of Lords, and these twats vote on matters with a 'slant' that means they support their leader's gauche views.
There is no place for pricks in politics, but we do unfortunately have very many in both houses. However, those that do get involved in running the country are mostly elected, and in other cases have a 'rounded view' of the world. Unfortunately the same cannot be said of bishops. I have no idea what the collective noun is for a 'group' of bishops - a gaggle, a troupe, or perhaps an abuse ??? Whatever it is (and I really favour the last option) this abuse of bishops in the Lords should be ousted; I think you can now get a spray called that. They have no place in blocking government legislation.
...
There is no place for pricks in politics, but we do unfortunately have very many in both houses. However, those that do get involved in running the country are mostly elected, and in other cases have a 'rounded view' of the world. Unfortunately the same cannot be said of bishops. I have no idea what the collective noun is for a 'group' of bishops - a gaggle, a troupe, or perhaps an abuse ??? Whatever it is (and I really favour the last option) this abuse of bishops in the Lords should be ousted; I think you can now get a spray called that. They have no place in blocking government legislation.
...
Sunday, 29 January 2012
29.1.12 Dancing On Ice - Wk4
So, we've had another instalment of Pissing About On Ice. There are a few contestants who are actually skating and dancing, but most are pissing about. This week's pathetic "Duel" idea was a complete waste of fucking time, and totally pointless. The two worst skaters were likely to be Corey (obviously) and Charlene. What happened? Despite all the 'Duel' crap, they were left to wind up the show. I am not even watching, as Corey is so dire that it's a formality he'll go.
Gubba was only 'reasonable', this week, with the following (amongst others):
Pressure Plank Lift
Reclining Showgirl Lift
Isle of Man Lift
The Angel of the North
Flying Teapot
Thread the Needle Lift
Attitude Lift
Inane comments of the week were everywhere, but I did pick out two that I had to log:
"On the night it's going to come down to who gives the best performance" - Jayne Torvill. Thanks for that, luv, because it's made the whole thing so much clearer now.
"If you want to save [insert name here] and [insert name here], they will need your votes" - Christine Bleakness. Amazing insight you have there, Blokey!
I suppose we ought to expect Charlene to exit next week; let's face it, she's not good to watch. I'd love to say it's in the can. In fact, for a unique "can" analogy, I'd say that if Heidi was a tin of beans, Charlene was a Fray Bentos !!! It does seem that she has adopted a TV format that's not 4:3, nor 16:9 but more of a squat-looking 22:7
Desperation On Ice returns next Sunday
...
Gubba was only 'reasonable', this week, with the following (amongst others):
Pressure Plank Lift
Reclining Showgirl Lift
Isle of Man Lift
The Angel of the North
Flying Teapot
Thread the Needle Lift
Attitude Lift
Inane comments of the week were everywhere, but I did pick out two that I had to log:
"On the night it's going to come down to who gives the best performance" - Jayne Torvill. Thanks for that, luv, because it's made the whole thing so much clearer now.
"If you want to save [insert name here] and [insert name here], they will need your votes" - Christine Bleakness. Amazing insight you have there, Blokey!
I suppose we ought to expect Charlene to exit next week; let's face it, she's not good to watch. I'd love to say it's in the can. In fact, for a unique "can" analogy, I'd say that if Heidi was a tin of beans, Charlene was a Fray Bentos !!! It does seem that she has adopted a TV format that's not 4:3, nor 16:9 but more of a squat-looking 22:7
Desperation On Ice returns next Sunday
...
Saturday, 28 January 2012
28.1.12 Take Me Out (& Shoot Me)
Why oh why oh why has ITV decided that the clown known as Paddy McGuinness is worthy of using up even more of our lives. I now have to abstain from ITV for an hour-and-a-quarter while 'Take Me Out' is on. How the cuntin' fuck did this shit get endorsed for a pissing slot that's bigger than the cunts participating in this bollocks? ITV - you have lost the fucking plot, big time.
As for Jonathan Ross interviewing The Muppets, takes one to know one. Waste of space shit!
...
As for Jonathan Ross interviewing The Muppets, takes one to know one. Waste of space shit!
...
28.1.12 Fucking Sofas
As If the World Depended on a Couch
What we need for Christmas is a corner sofa, white
And leather would be good for keeping clean
I know we need a sofa as I’m brainwashed every night
Bombarded by the adverts on my screen.
I sit and watch the telly but I cannot quite relax
Unless I stick to watching BBC
Commercial breaks are full of people spelling out the facts
A four-year deal, completely interest-free.
Celebrities employed to tell me how amazed they are
Invade my space with rather stupid grins
They sit around and pose in ways so overly bizarre
And tell me when the season’s sale begins.
They tell the viewers (yet again) to come on down and buy
Before the brilliant offers disappear
Our lives depend on sofas is the message they imply
Though payment won’t be needed for a year.
Of course, there isn’t any point in rushing to the store
With ‘Sales’ extended every single time
So ‘Ends On Sunday’ means of course another week or more
Before the prices might begin to climb.
And even then, another range is worthy of a tout
Designer sofas with reclining seats
And so we are reminded what the world is all about
Four years to pay for bloody three-piece suites.
With Christmas gone there’s no relief from sofas in your face
The January silly season kills
For every slot available in advertising space
Is one more slot that sofa-madness fills.
The double discount mania invades and batters lives
Convincing us of needs we haven’t got
And if we make it through to Spring, the Easter Sale arrives
To drive us mad until we lose the plot .
There’s much to do in Summer time, but ‘sofa makers’ pray
For cloud and rain to keep us all inside
So as we watch the telly we can dream our lives away
On comfort that a sofa would provide.
For those of us who last the Summer, those who still resist
The Autumn brings another strong campaign
Another round of offers and of deals that can’t be missed
To drive the public even more insane.
And so it’s nearly Christmas as my palms begin to bleed
The adverts start again with no remorse
If ordered now, delivery in time is guaranteed
I look at what celebrities endorse.
A load of crappy furniture, just dodgy wooden frames
All covered with material and foam
A pile of tacky merchandise to which they lend their names
Yet much of it does not deserve a home.
Please save me from insanity, from Courts and SCS
From World of Leather, please, I need a break
And worst of all I crave escape from fucking DFS
And all the false reductions that they make!
Epilogue
I never turn my telly on, I sit and read instead
I thought that was enough, well wouldn’t you?
But still they found me, through the post, the invitation read:
‘There’s cheese and wine in-store, please come and view’.
...
©TMWSC
28.1.12 Buscopan and Toothpaste
What the fuck did we ever do before the arrival of Buscopan ??? We must have been suffering enormously for decades, and in the background, scientists and pharmacists have worked tirelessly to put us out of our misery and the pain caused by stomach cramps. This must be so, as there's now a fucking fanfare and hundreds of adverts for Buscopan Cramps cramping our style and relaxation time in front of the TV. How did we ever get by without it? Easily.
Meanwhile, in Morrisons, the price of value pasta twists remains at 40p. There's no offer for buying two anymore. Asda's version is at 30p. However, a more serious issue has arisen in the last week, surrounding toothpaste. 'Emergency Toothpaste' as I like to think of it, is the cheapest 'saver' version, and proves useful (and almost disposable) for overnight stays, and as a backup. The attractively low price means one can have a tube for emergencies for little outlay. The going rate was 17p - 20p depending on the supermarket - until a week ago. Yes, there's been a development at Morrisons whereby the 17p no longer applies, and the new rate is 30p! That's an instant 76% increase because the cunts felt like it! Disgusting approach, Morrisons.
Over at Asda, things are worse. This week, there was NONE on sale. That's right, the 17p green and white tube of paste was nowhere to be seen. Removed from the shelves, no doubt to encourage purchase of brand name versions. I had Macleans already, bought at Morrisons instead of the madly priced basic stuff at 30p, and I was simply checking the Asda policy. I suspect something may be going on, just as happened a few years ago with washing up liquid. **
** You may recall that the cheapest WUL was around 13p for one litre, in the classic shape plastic tubular container. The squirty bottle contained a runny liquid that allowed liberal dispensing. Then about three years ago, all the supermarkets stopped selling it. It was clearly a conspiracy. I suspect we will see toothpaste go the same way; I will keep you updated.
Ten blades for my Fusion razor were available at Asda, on offer at the special price of £25.00! That's right, twenty-cuntin-five-quid to shave! The world is fucking mad; it'll be five quid for a dozen rolls of paper next, to wipe my arse. Oh, it already is! Shit!
Finally, getting out of Asda was not straightforward. I joined a queue at the checkouts; a woman was just about to pay, and one woman behind her had placed items on the belt, leaving a two-foot space for me to make a start with my own shopping. Nothing moved for fuckin' ages. Now, I appreciate that twats who run supermarkets have decided it is a good tactic for checkout staff to chat with customers, show an interest in stuff, and generally be all pally-pally. However, some twats take things a bit far. I waited while the old woman who should have been living in a shoe but instead had a part-time job at Asda, conversed with the woman who was paying, and continued to talk to her even after she had paid. I was just getting to the point of threatening to abandon what turned out to be £140 worth of shopping when the shopper escaped the verbal lasso of the checkout biddie. The next line, directed at the woman in fornt of me, was amazing:
"Sorry about the long wait"
Stupid cow! It was all of your own making, you deceitful fuck! When my turn came, she asked me if I was all right packing (I was tempted to ask if she was all right breathing) and then asked me if I wanted any bags. I said "Yes" rather than "What the fucking hell do you think, you doughnut". Then, she was relieved by a replacement operator (not as relieved as I was!) because it was 'break time'. The newcomer was a female 'Jeeves' as in Jeeves & Wooster, and condescendingly but 'nicely' made twittering comments, and as I made my escape after paying, she stopped just short of bowing (there being no room to curtsey behind a till).
Any regular readers of my blog will know I am avoiding Sainsbury's after the 'gloves' incident, and Tescunt (Tesco if you really do prefer) is just no good anymore.
...
Meanwhile, in Morrisons, the price of value pasta twists remains at 40p. There's no offer for buying two anymore. Asda's version is at 30p. However, a more serious issue has arisen in the last week, surrounding toothpaste. 'Emergency Toothpaste' as I like to think of it, is the cheapest 'saver' version, and proves useful (and almost disposable) for overnight stays, and as a backup. The attractively low price means one can have a tube for emergencies for little outlay. The going rate was 17p - 20p depending on the supermarket - until a week ago. Yes, there's been a development at Morrisons whereby the 17p no longer applies, and the new rate is 30p! That's an instant 76% increase because the cunts felt like it! Disgusting approach, Morrisons.
Over at Asda, things are worse. This week, there was NONE on sale. That's right, the 17p green and white tube of paste was nowhere to be seen. Removed from the shelves, no doubt to encourage purchase of brand name versions. I had Macleans already, bought at Morrisons instead of the madly priced basic stuff at 30p, and I was simply checking the Asda policy. I suspect something may be going on, just as happened a few years ago with washing up liquid. **
** You may recall that the cheapest WUL was around 13p for one litre, in the classic shape plastic tubular container. The squirty bottle contained a runny liquid that allowed liberal dispensing. Then about three years ago, all the supermarkets stopped selling it. It was clearly a conspiracy. I suspect we will see toothpaste go the same way; I will keep you updated.
Ten blades for my Fusion razor were available at Asda, on offer at the special price of £25.00! That's right, twenty-cuntin-five-quid to shave! The world is fucking mad; it'll be five quid for a dozen rolls of paper next, to wipe my arse. Oh, it already is! Shit!
Finally, getting out of Asda was not straightforward. I joined a queue at the checkouts; a woman was just about to pay, and one woman behind her had placed items on the belt, leaving a two-foot space for me to make a start with my own shopping. Nothing moved for fuckin' ages. Now, I appreciate that twats who run supermarkets have decided it is a good tactic for checkout staff to chat with customers, show an interest in stuff, and generally be all pally-pally. However, some twats take things a bit far. I waited while the old woman who should have been living in a shoe but instead had a part-time job at Asda, conversed with the woman who was paying, and continued to talk to her even after she had paid. I was just getting to the point of threatening to abandon what turned out to be £140 worth of shopping when the shopper escaped the verbal lasso of the checkout biddie. The next line, directed at the woman in fornt of me, was amazing:
"Sorry about the long wait"
Stupid cow! It was all of your own making, you deceitful fuck! When my turn came, she asked me if I was all right packing (I was tempted to ask if she was all right breathing) and then asked me if I wanted any bags. I said "Yes" rather than "What the fucking hell do you think, you doughnut". Then, she was relieved by a replacement operator (not as relieved as I was!) because it was 'break time'. The newcomer was a female 'Jeeves' as in Jeeves & Wooster, and condescendingly but 'nicely' made twittering comments, and as I made my escape after paying, she stopped just short of bowing (there being no room to curtsey behind a till).
Any regular readers of my blog will know I am avoiding Sainsbury's after the 'gloves' incident, and Tescunt (Tesco if you really do prefer) is just no good anymore.
...
Friday, 27 January 2012
27.1.12 Fifteen Kids and Counting
I saw this programme the other day, as well as the one the week before. The dynamics and likeability of families with numerous kids are widely variable. This week we had Mrs Lewis, a woman with a slightly warped view of her offspring whose apparent purpose in life is to satisfy a mother's wish to win 'beauty' competitions. These tragically naf pageants and low-level 'competitions' bring out everything that's wrong in girls. Encouraging them is hardly sensible, and these endeavours always seem to highlight the not-so-attractive in the participants, rather than the attractive elements. Get a life, woman, and leave the kids alone. The one male seems not to have been nudged into competition, unlike the twelve females.
The other family this week was a weird collection, with various kids from different relationships and families all under one roof. The family name was 'Bland' but life was anything but! Anyone trying to live in such an atmosphere would struggle, so these kids are on an uphill journey. It was the incessany bickering, fighting, shouting and squabbling that made me feel claustrophobic just watching.
More interesting though was the previous weeks episode. The first family featured (the Radfords from Morcambe) was marvellous. Fourteen kids, and one on the way! The parents were wonderful, the kids were totally decent and all worked together. It was actually amazingly uplifting and everyone worked so hard as a team. Fair play. However, down in Kent, the other family, the Sullivans, was skewed. Sorry, luv, but you cannot 'home school' kids ranging from age four to age thirteen round the same table in the kitchen, and expect a decent standard of education to be gained. Nine kids, with twins just being born, is hardly sensible if you're going to deny them the chance to mix with others of their ages. Denying access to TV, school, and insisting on reading the bible is not something I am applauding you for! Spouting shit about 'what God wants' and making yourself out to be some sort of saint for having loads of Catholic kids is not going to get you into heaven. I notice that you're against condoms because 'what will be will be' and there 'shouldn't be intervention' - but it's rather two-faced then to accept a caesarian birth because it suits! Divine? No, fucking mad. Talk about cherry picking your ideals.
Having loads of kids can certainly work, and be good for some. However, whether the families themselves realise it or not, most are well fucked up. For every wonderful example, as in the Radfords, there are many which raise severe doubts about the sense of large families, and the mental state of the parents.
...
The other family this week was a weird collection, with various kids from different relationships and families all under one roof. The family name was 'Bland' but life was anything but! Anyone trying to live in such an atmosphere would struggle, so these kids are on an uphill journey. It was the incessany bickering, fighting, shouting and squabbling that made me feel claustrophobic just watching.
More interesting though was the previous weeks episode. The first family featured (the Radfords from Morcambe) was marvellous. Fourteen kids, and one on the way! The parents were wonderful, the kids were totally decent and all worked together. It was actually amazingly uplifting and everyone worked so hard as a team. Fair play. However, down in Kent, the other family, the Sullivans, was skewed. Sorry, luv, but you cannot 'home school' kids ranging from age four to age thirteen round the same table in the kitchen, and expect a decent standard of education to be gained. Nine kids, with twins just being born, is hardly sensible if you're going to deny them the chance to mix with others of their ages. Denying access to TV, school, and insisting on reading the bible is not something I am applauding you for! Spouting shit about 'what God wants' and making yourself out to be some sort of saint for having loads of Catholic kids is not going to get you into heaven. I notice that you're against condoms because 'what will be will be' and there 'shouldn't be intervention' - but it's rather two-faced then to accept a caesarian birth because it suits! Divine? No, fucking mad. Talk about cherry picking your ideals.
Having loads of kids can certainly work, and be good for some. However, whether the families themselves realise it or not, most are well fucked up. For every wonderful example, as in the Radfords, there are many which raise severe doubts about the sense of large families, and the mental state of the parents.
...
27.1.12 Rihanna & Roberts - Designer Crap
I read in today's paper that there's to be a new "talent hunt" programme, hosted by Nicola Roberts from Girls Aloud. The hunt is for a new fashion designer (like we really need one of those) and the winner will get to create an outfit for Rihanna to wear at a performance in July, in Hyde Park. What a fucking flawed concept, pointless waste of time, and waste of human endeavour.
The over-exposed Rihanna [never mentioned without some cunt of a journalist using the term "Bajan beauty"] is easily dressed in a badly fitting but highly decorated and coloured Pampers nappy, and an ill-fitting bra top to match. This woman wears the most appalling clothes to perform in, and so is hardly equipped to comment on the input of any fashion designers, let alone claim to be worthy of providing the body to be adorned for the 'winner' of this project.
Apparently Rihanna has said: "I've always had a great love of fashion. It's a constant source of inspiration and is a big reason why I've grown into the artist I am today." Well, dearie, your 'fashion' and 'taste' sucks - nearly as much as the awful noise that was piped to me from speakers in Asda the other day. The noise was in fact "You Da One" - some complete shit churned out by a mincing machine and a handful of bollocks.
...
The over-exposed Rihanna [never mentioned without some cunt of a journalist using the term "Bajan beauty"] is easily dressed in a badly fitting but highly decorated and coloured Pampers nappy, and an ill-fitting bra top to match. This woman wears the most appalling clothes to perform in, and so is hardly equipped to comment on the input of any fashion designers, let alone claim to be worthy of providing the body to be adorned for the 'winner' of this project.
Apparently Rihanna has said: "I've always had a great love of fashion. It's a constant source of inspiration and is a big reason why I've grown into the artist I am today." Well, dearie, your 'fashion' and 'taste' sucks - nearly as much as the awful noise that was piped to me from speakers in Asda the other day. The noise was in fact "You Da One" - some complete shit churned out by a mincing machine and a handful of bollocks.
...
27.1.12 Taxis, Roundabouts & Caravans
Caravans have long been a source of annoyance for numerous motorists, usually those following one. We have all been in a slow-moving convoy before, at the head of which has been a vehicle towing a caravan. The experience is frustrating, and the frustration is rather more than 'topped up' by the ineptitude of twats following directly behind the tin can, who seem incapable and/or uninterested in passing the thing. Thus, numerous motorists are left to stew and experience raised blood pressure.
Caravan owners, though, are not the worst nuisances on the road by a long shot. They do have a reason for driving a bit more slowly. No, far worse than them are the private hire cabs that seem to insist on crawling along. These taxis are always diesel powered, and the drivers are adamant that they will drive more carefully and slowly than a snail performing heart surgery. The prize for these inconsiderate cunts is an extra mile-per-gallon, which is a fucking joke really, considering they charge so much! Taxis are often Skodas, but could be Vectras. They gingerly negotiate roundabouts, accelerate like the slow-motion sequence from the Six Million Dollar Man, and remain cuntin' oblivious to everyone else on the road. Finally, they have the cheek to believe they are good drivers. There is little worse than driving behind a taxi whose actual 0-62mph acceleration is 35.7 seconds, and whose top speed is too cuntin' slow! Fuck off!
So, taxis get 64.5 mpg when driven by a cunt who doesn't care about anyone else. This is rather in contrast to the driver of a BMW who yesterday chose to approach a roundabout in the left-hand lane, to turn right. So, the owner of PE55 UWV managed to go the whole way round the roundabout, exiting on the third exit alongside (on the inside of) me. Then, it was full steam ahead, but because he wanted to turn right at the next roundabout in 300yds, he decided to force his way into the right-hand lane. Basically, an inconsiderate cunt. He cut someone up two cars in front of me, and fucked off right.
On the subject of roundabouts, there is now a drive (forgive the pun) to convert roundabouts to junctions with a circular layout but with traffic lights. Yes, the free-flowing roundabout now has to have lights to inconvenience us all, and ensure that we are often waiting for no cunt at all! Roundabouts should, where large enough, have lanes which spiral outwards. Where this is the case, traffic naturally moves outwards as it makes progress around the thing, and the world is in order (assuming there are no BMW drivers). However, there are many roundabouts where the planners have decided not to adopt this approach. This allows drivers to think that it is okay to stay in the left hand lane, and drive all the way round the roundabout in the outside lane. They then get the fucking hump when you try to move outwards from the middle and line up your own exit. Traffic lights simply aid these twats, stopping natural movements outwards, and common sense merging.
I have not yet mounted a sub-machine gun on my front grill, but am considering such a move, so I can blast cunts out of the way.
...
Caravan owners, though, are not the worst nuisances on the road by a long shot. They do have a reason for driving a bit more slowly. No, far worse than them are the private hire cabs that seem to insist on crawling along. These taxis are always diesel powered, and the drivers are adamant that they will drive more carefully and slowly than a snail performing heart surgery. The prize for these inconsiderate cunts is an extra mile-per-gallon, which is a fucking joke really, considering they charge so much! Taxis are often Skodas, but could be Vectras. They gingerly negotiate roundabouts, accelerate like the slow-motion sequence from the Six Million Dollar Man, and remain cuntin' oblivious to everyone else on the road. Finally, they have the cheek to believe they are good drivers. There is little worse than driving behind a taxi whose actual 0-62mph acceleration is 35.7 seconds, and whose top speed is too cuntin' slow! Fuck off!
So, taxis get 64.5 mpg when driven by a cunt who doesn't care about anyone else. This is rather in contrast to the driver of a BMW who yesterday chose to approach a roundabout in the left-hand lane, to turn right. So, the owner of PE55 UWV managed to go the whole way round the roundabout, exiting on the third exit alongside (on the inside of) me. Then, it was full steam ahead, but because he wanted to turn right at the next roundabout in 300yds, he decided to force his way into the right-hand lane. Basically, an inconsiderate cunt. He cut someone up two cars in front of me, and fucked off right.
On the subject of roundabouts, there is now a drive (forgive the pun) to convert roundabouts to junctions with a circular layout but with traffic lights. Yes, the free-flowing roundabout now has to have lights to inconvenience us all, and ensure that we are often waiting for no cunt at all! Roundabouts should, where large enough, have lanes which spiral outwards. Where this is the case, traffic naturally moves outwards as it makes progress around the thing, and the world is in order (assuming there are no BMW drivers). However, there are many roundabouts where the planners have decided not to adopt this approach. This allows drivers to think that it is okay to stay in the left hand lane, and drive all the way round the roundabout in the outside lane. They then get the fucking hump when you try to move outwards from the middle and line up your own exit. Traffic lights simply aid these twats, stopping natural movements outwards, and common sense merging.
I have not yet mounted a sub-machine gun on my front grill, but am considering such a move, so I can blast cunts out of the way.
...
Wednesday, 25 January 2012
25.1.12 National Television Awards
What a painful, forced, limp and contrived effort, interspersed (riddled is probably a more accurate term) with advert breaks. How the fuck did someone have the nerve to wheel out Bruce Forsythe and then top that fuck-up by asking him to 'sing'. The inverted commas are of course in recognition of his inability to actually sing.
Dermotitis was prevalent; the disease that is Dermot seems to infiltrate a number of ITV productions. His best line in the early stages of the programme was:
"The votes were independently adjudicated by independent adjudicators."
Thanks, Dermot, that was exceptionally helpful. Dermot's delivery is so annoying; he growls here and there for (unneeded) emphasis and asks silly questions sporadically (why does he do that?) during protracted preamble for each award.. I am so glad that Jonathan Ross did not win anything; this is a man whose chat show is all about himself, and never the guests!
How, How, How, How did "Take Me Out" get a fucking nomination? Absolute nonsense. After Little Mix, we endured Caroline Quentin milking the exposure to announce the Male Drama award. Send her back to Cornwall, please; could Bodmin Jail be made available?
Matt Smith won the award for his Dr Who shite. No surprise, as his assistant had already won the Female Drama award. It's all rather sad that Dr Who watchers make up a disproportionate number of people who bother to vote in these awards.
The frequency of the adverts meant an equivalent frequency of the advert from the programme sponsor - Crabbie's Alcoholic Ginger Beer. When one is bombarded with the same shit, the relentlessness causes a reaction. I am now fucking crabby as hell, and wouldn't touch the stuff if it was buy-one-get-two-free!
Ant & Dec won again. This element of the awards is a given, year on year. The 'Outstanding Contribution' award obviously changes, and this year Gary Barlow collected it.
"This award is an absolutely fantastic" said Thomas, in his predictable, slow, chuff . . . . chuff . . . . chuff way.
To be fair, it was well deserved, but I couldn't resist a reference to Thomas The Tank Engine. The Hilary Devay presentation went a bit wrong, eh? As for Drama, how could it include Waterloo Road? That's just 'Grange Hill' for grown-ups. Still, Downton Abbey winning meant that Dr Who didn't get even more unwarranted recognition.
Talking of that, Special Recognition? For Jonathan Ross? Fucking joke. Here we have a self-obsessed, overpaid bloke who a year ago was suspended and not paid millions for his out-of-order behaviour. He was subsequently dropped by the BBC. Yet here we are, praising the fuck out of him for being 'irreverent'. The country is so fickle that it lambasts him one year and resents the fuck out of him for getting £6million per year of licence payers' money for promoting himself and acting like a twat. The next year, he gets an award? Pah!
Dermotitis introduced the programme with comment on how good the UK is at producing television programmes. Sorry, but if we are including Come Dine With Me, Take Me Out and Benidorm in the nominations, supposedly part of the cream of the output, then we are sadly disillusioned.
As for Corrie winning the soap battle, get in!
...
Dermotitis was prevalent; the disease that is Dermot seems to infiltrate a number of ITV productions. His best line in the early stages of the programme was:
"The votes were independently adjudicated by independent adjudicators."
Thanks, Dermot, that was exceptionally helpful. Dermot's delivery is so annoying; he growls here and there for (unneeded) emphasis and asks silly questions sporadically (why does he do that?) during protracted preamble for each award.. I am so glad that Jonathan Ross did not win anything; this is a man whose chat show is all about himself, and never the guests!
How, How, How, How did "Take Me Out" get a fucking nomination? Absolute nonsense. After Little Mix, we endured Caroline Quentin milking the exposure to announce the Male Drama award. Send her back to Cornwall, please; could Bodmin Jail be made available?
Matt Smith won the award for his Dr Who shite. No surprise, as his assistant had already won the Female Drama award. It's all rather sad that Dr Who watchers make up a disproportionate number of people who bother to vote in these awards.
The frequency of the adverts meant an equivalent frequency of the advert from the programme sponsor - Crabbie's Alcoholic Ginger Beer. When one is bombarded with the same shit, the relentlessness causes a reaction. I am now fucking crabby as hell, and wouldn't touch the stuff if it was buy-one-get-two-free!
Ant & Dec won again. This element of the awards is a given, year on year. The 'Outstanding Contribution' award obviously changes, and this year Gary Barlow collected it.
"This award is an absolutely fantastic" said Thomas, in his predictable, slow, chuff . . . . chuff . . . . chuff way.
To be fair, it was well deserved, but I couldn't resist a reference to Thomas The Tank Engine. The Hilary Devay presentation went a bit wrong, eh? As for Drama, how could it include Waterloo Road? That's just 'Grange Hill' for grown-ups. Still, Downton Abbey winning meant that Dr Who didn't get even more unwarranted recognition.
Talking of that, Special Recognition? For Jonathan Ross? Fucking joke. Here we have a self-obsessed, overpaid bloke who a year ago was suspended and not paid millions for his out-of-order behaviour. He was subsequently dropped by the BBC. Yet here we are, praising the fuck out of him for being 'irreverent'. The country is so fickle that it lambasts him one year and resents the fuck out of him for getting £6million per year of licence payers' money for promoting himself and acting like a twat. The next year, he gets an award? Pah!
Dermotitis introduced the programme with comment on how good the UK is at producing television programmes. Sorry, but if we are including Come Dine With Me, Take Me Out and Benidorm in the nominations, supposedly part of the cream of the output, then we are sadly disillusioned.
As for Corrie winning the soap battle, get in!
...
25.1.12 Burt Lancaster - The Swimmer
For some strange reason, I carry with me the 'plot' of the 1968 film called "The Swimmer", starring Burt Lancaster. It was, and still is, a good film and I suspect I am just as crazy as Neddy Merrill (Lancaster) was. In the film, Neddy realises he can swim around the valley, using the pools that the various properties contain. So, he jogs from house to house, borrowing the pools of these local residents, and through this linking of the properties, manages to swim around the valley, all the way home.
To various levels of success, it is possible to achieve a similar result in respect of cookery programmes on TV. The schedules provide opportunities for one to move from programme to programme. Burt was happy to jog from one property to the next and then take a dip in the pool. It is possible to hop from one channel to another, and dip into a cookery programme, as they are so prolific.
Today, for example, one might adopt the following itinerary:
4.00 - 5.00pm ITV1 The Hungry Sailors
5.30 - 6.00pm CH4: Come Dine With Me
7.00 - 8.00pm BBC2: Hairy Bikers' Best Of British
8.00 - 8.30pm CH4: How To Cook Like Heston
8.30 - 9.00pm CH4: The Fabulous Baker Brothers
9.00 - 10.00pm BBC1: Masterchef
It really is quite preposterous that this many food-related programmes are lined up on one night! I have managed a whole blog post without using my favourite four-letter word, beginning with 'C' - and that's not the word "Cook" !!!
The Swimmer of 1968 has become The Cooker of 2012. Sad.
...
To various levels of success, it is possible to achieve a similar result in respect of cookery programmes on TV. The schedules provide opportunities for one to move from programme to programme. Burt was happy to jog from one property to the next and then take a dip in the pool. It is possible to hop from one channel to another, and dip into a cookery programme, as they are so prolific.
Today, for example, one might adopt the following itinerary:
4.00 - 5.00pm ITV1 The Hungry Sailors
5.30 - 6.00pm CH4: Come Dine With Me
7.00 - 8.00pm BBC2: Hairy Bikers' Best Of British
8.00 - 8.30pm CH4: How To Cook Like Heston
8.30 - 9.00pm CH4: The Fabulous Baker Brothers
9.00 - 10.00pm BBC1: Masterchef
It really is quite preposterous that this many food-related programmes are lined up on one night! I have managed a whole blog post without using my favourite four-letter word, beginning with 'C' - and that's not the word "Cook" !!!
The Swimmer of 1968 has become The Cooker of 2012. Sad.
...
25.1.12 Dinosaurs & Religion
In the world of 'religion', there are most definitely some 'dinosaurs' - old relics who hang on, each touting the mantra that fits his (and occasionally but not often) her point of view. But the dinosaurs I am really referring to and the ones that most definitely inhabited the earth.
As yet, I have never received an adequate explanation on how these creatures fit into any of the stories that supposedly support the main religions of the world. It seems to me that whether there's a knock on the door from a Mormon, or a summoning to an Anglican church via a bell, or a chap on top of a minaret calling followers to prayer, there is little mention of the massive creatures that once ruled Earth. I asked a priest for an answer once; the lack of decent response to this question led to my own abandonment of talks ahead of my possible confirmation. I rather suspect I'd never have got that far for other reasons anyway, and still struggle to understand how the Catholic church could advocate for those at risk of AIDS in Africa celibacy or some other method (timely withdrawal?) rather than condoms. God apparently was quite happy to see the spread of disease and increased suffering, and was adamant that people should be banned from using condoms.
I am more than happy to receive proper input on this matter, but suspect that there is nothing much to say except that religion fails to deal with dinosaurs. Archaeology helps us to understand (to a point) what has preceded us on this planet. Religion simply sets people against each other, and factions seem to act as though they are supporters of football teams. Everyone seems to claim to have God on his/her side, whatever name that 'God' goes under. There is either one God, or no God. Atheists don't tend to cause wars or any grief at all really - they leave it to the 'supporters'. Agnostics are non-players and non-supporters. We are therefore left with an unsatisfactory position whereby half a dozen religions (and who knows how many 'sub-sets') thrive and encourage followers to sustain them. I am not particularly well educated, and certainly have no real interest in religion whereby I profess a specific faith. I am in fact 'open minded'.
Maybe I will one day reconcile the existence of dinosaurs with one or more of the religions, but as things stand, Dinosaurs seem to work with none of them. I believe in Dinosaurs, so must therefore doubt all religion.
...
As yet, I have never received an adequate explanation on how these creatures fit into any of the stories that supposedly support the main religions of the world. It seems to me that whether there's a knock on the door from a Mormon, or a summoning to an Anglican church via a bell, or a chap on top of a minaret calling followers to prayer, there is little mention of the massive creatures that once ruled Earth. I asked a priest for an answer once; the lack of decent response to this question led to my own abandonment of talks ahead of my possible confirmation. I rather suspect I'd never have got that far for other reasons anyway, and still struggle to understand how the Catholic church could advocate for those at risk of AIDS in Africa celibacy or some other method (timely withdrawal?) rather than condoms. God apparently was quite happy to see the spread of disease and increased suffering, and was adamant that people should be banned from using condoms.
I am more than happy to receive proper input on this matter, but suspect that there is nothing much to say except that religion fails to deal with dinosaurs. Archaeology helps us to understand (to a point) what has preceded us on this planet. Religion simply sets people against each other, and factions seem to act as though they are supporters of football teams. Everyone seems to claim to have God on his/her side, whatever name that 'God' goes under. There is either one God, or no God. Atheists don't tend to cause wars or any grief at all really - they leave it to the 'supporters'. Agnostics are non-players and non-supporters. We are therefore left with an unsatisfactory position whereby half a dozen religions (and who knows how many 'sub-sets') thrive and encourage followers to sustain them. I am not particularly well educated, and certainly have no real interest in religion whereby I profess a specific faith. I am in fact 'open minded'.
Maybe I will one day reconcile the existence of dinosaurs with one or more of the religions, but as things stand, Dinosaurs seem to work with none of them. I believe in Dinosaurs, so must therefore doubt all religion.
...
Monday, 23 January 2012
23.1.12 Thug of the Week
1st Place - Mario Balotelli
2nd Place - Joleon Lescott
3rd Place - Daniel Chrapkowski
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2nd Place - Joleon Lescott
3rd Place - Daniel Chrapkowski
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23.1.12 Soft Justice
I do not propose to expand much upon the four letters so far used to describe him - not 'Lout', the other one! The sad thing is that this cunt was let off by a complete twat of a judge. There is no excuse for the UK having to demonstrate its uselessness by letting off thugs, and the establishment is an arse. I have enormous sympathy for the victim of this cunt's actions, and cannot begin to imagine how I'd feel or react if someone who attacked me and kicked me unconscious was allowed free!
It is so apparent that this country is fucked!
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23.1.12 Dancing On Ice - Wk 3
Thirteen contestants remain - about seven too many. There's no reason why we shouldn't be hacking to fuck at the line-up, and culling half of them. Instead, we'll all experience the removal of the extra tacky sticking plaster, over many weeks. Far better to have a swift removal.
Chemmy is a stupid name.
Charlene did no skating.
Shemmy, Sharleen, Shit.
Mark simply did no skating and deserved to be ejected, to make up for the reprieve he got in week one, which was a travesty. So, because of the fickle voters, Mark was saved in week one while Andy (who was third on the leader board) went out. Now Mark has rightly left, but we're stuck with Charlene Stilton! This was the woman laughingly referred to by Katarina Witt as "Merlin Munroe" - wicked accent and pronunciation, KW!
Tony Gubba was not as prolific with his weird terms this week. Still, we did get a few:
By the way, the title is 'Dancing On Ice', not 'Dancing just to the side of the ice and wasting as much time as possible before getting on to the fucking Ice'. This week was especially annoying; we've long since realised that useless skaters fuck about for 30 seconds without moving from the start position, but to give them an excuse to do the same off the ice beforehand is a stupid idea.
Desperation On Ice returns on Sunday.
...
Chemmy is a stupid name.
Charlene did no skating.
Shemmy, Sharleen, Shit.
Mark simply did no skating and deserved to be ejected, to make up for the reprieve he got in week one, which was a travesty. So, because of the fickle voters, Mark was saved in week one while Andy (who was third on the leader board) went out. Now Mark has rightly left, but we're stuck with Charlene Stilton! This was the woman laughingly referred to by Katarina Witt as "Merlin Munroe" - wicked accent and pronunciation, KW!
Tony Gubba was not as prolific with his weird terms this week. Still, we did get a few:
- The Flying Nun Lift
- The Thinker
- The Reclining Spy
- The Hoover
By the way, the title is 'Dancing On Ice', not 'Dancing just to the side of the ice and wasting as much time as possible before getting on to the fucking Ice'. This week was especially annoying; we've long since realised that useless skaters fuck about for 30 seconds without moving from the start position, but to give them an excuse to do the same off the ice beforehand is a stupid idea.
Desperation On Ice returns on Sunday.
...
Sunday, 22 January 2012
22.1.12 Grapefruit & Starfish
There's a worrying trend at the moment, whereby marketing is leading people astray. The 'people' I am talking about is - well, me at the moment. But there must be others (?)
A week ago, the Morrisons display of Walker's Crisps at the end of the aisle was tempting enough for me to grab a multipack, containing 18 bags. Now, I am quite used to seeing two types of multipack; one with a bias towards meaty flavours, so that it includes as well as Ready Salted, Salt & Vinegar and Cheese & Onion, a few Chicken, Bacon and Beef bags, and the other with a bias that means the inclusion of Prawn Cocktail, Worcester Sauce and something else. [NB: Whatever happened to Sausage & Tomato?] So, I picked up the large bag of the Meat ones, added it to my shopping, and away I went.
A short while later, while in the car, I thought I might have some crisps. To my disgust, I learned that the 18 bags comprised Roast Chicken, Steak & Onion and Smokey Bacon flavours - six bags of each. Meaty! Too fucking right, Meaty !!! There was indeed a bias, but the 'bias' was 100 per-fucking-cent. "All Meat" would have been a better and fairer way to have described the contents of the multipack. Fucking Walker's, and fucking Morrisons. I don't go for Bacon, and Steak is 'okay'. Being that I can't stand the Worcester Sauce and Prawn flavours, the 'meat variant' is preferable - but not 'all meat'. The mainstay varieties are essential to maintain balance.
This weekend, again at Morissons, I have come a cropper for a second time. I picked up some multipacks of Fruit-tella, which were at half price. Now, 5 tubes of Fruit-tella in a multipack for 62p is a right result, so I spent £2.48. What was not made clear at all was that the contents had been tampered with. They were not in fact the 'Fruit-tella' that we have all come to know over the last few decades. No - some cunt has fucked about with the packaging, design, colours, flavours and the taste.
On the car journey on Saturday, I discovered to my horror that there was something not quite right. Having put a sweet in my mouth, I pulled a face that might have been suitable if seeing the 'achilles heel' scene in Hostel for the first time. A check of the packaging revealed the problem.
Raspberry & Peach? Peach has no business at all being included in sweet flavourings! It has basically contaminated the rather straightforward Raspberry - Yuk! Next, I saw another option that seemed slightly more reasonable - Blackberry & Apple. Unfortunately this not uncommon combination did not work on the chemical level that was clearly so vital in the preparation of this sweet. Fucking rank! The third option was (and still is) Strawberry & Banana. These tasted of something akin to Banana, and so were 'passable'. The problem was that I was in my mind expecting the tasty, fruity, Fruit-tella that I've always known, and thirsts are not quenched by 'banana'.
So take this blog post as a warning. Be vigilant when shopping, and do not trust historical facts, because the bastards out there are keen to fleece us with inferior goods/products. What next? I'll tell you. Do not be surprised if when you next look at flavours, some cunt isn't trying to sneak in new flavour combinations, and nothing is 'out of bounds'. I predict Fruit-tellas will soon be available in:
Grapefruit & Starfish
Trout & Biscuit
Bamboo & Clothes Horse
...
A week ago, the Morrisons display of Walker's Crisps at the end of the aisle was tempting enough for me to grab a multipack, containing 18 bags. Now, I am quite used to seeing two types of multipack; one with a bias towards meaty flavours, so that it includes as well as Ready Salted, Salt & Vinegar and Cheese & Onion, a few Chicken, Bacon and Beef bags, and the other with a bias that means the inclusion of Prawn Cocktail, Worcester Sauce and something else. [NB: Whatever happened to Sausage & Tomato?] So, I picked up the large bag of the Meat ones, added it to my shopping, and away I went.
A short while later, while in the car, I thought I might have some crisps. To my disgust, I learned that the 18 bags comprised Roast Chicken, Steak & Onion and Smokey Bacon flavours - six bags of each. Meaty! Too fucking right, Meaty !!! There was indeed a bias, but the 'bias' was 100 per-fucking-cent. "All Meat" would have been a better and fairer way to have described the contents of the multipack. Fucking Walker's, and fucking Morrisons. I don't go for Bacon, and Steak is 'okay'. Being that I can't stand the Worcester Sauce and Prawn flavours, the 'meat variant' is preferable - but not 'all meat'. The mainstay varieties are essential to maintain balance.
This weekend, again at Morissons, I have come a cropper for a second time. I picked up some multipacks of Fruit-tella, which were at half price. Now, 5 tubes of Fruit-tella in a multipack for 62p is a right result, so I spent £2.48. What was not made clear at all was that the contents had been tampered with. They were not in fact the 'Fruit-tella' that we have all come to know over the last few decades. No - some cunt has fucked about with the packaging, design, colours, flavours and the taste.
On the car journey on Saturday, I discovered to my horror that there was something not quite right. Having put a sweet in my mouth, I pulled a face that might have been suitable if seeing the 'achilles heel' scene in Hostel for the first time. A check of the packaging revealed the problem.
Raspberry & Peach? Peach has no business at all being included in sweet flavourings! It has basically contaminated the rather straightforward Raspberry - Yuk! Next, I saw another option that seemed slightly more reasonable - Blackberry & Apple. Unfortunately this not uncommon combination did not work on the chemical level that was clearly so vital in the preparation of this sweet. Fucking rank! The third option was (and still is) Strawberry & Banana. These tasted of something akin to Banana, and so were 'passable'. The problem was that I was in my mind expecting the tasty, fruity, Fruit-tella that I've always known, and thirsts are not quenched by 'banana'.
So take this blog post as a warning. Be vigilant when shopping, and do not trust historical facts, because the bastards out there are keen to fleece us with inferior goods/products. What next? I'll tell you. Do not be surprised if when you next look at flavours, some cunt isn't trying to sneak in new flavour combinations, and nothing is 'out of bounds'. I predict Fruit-tellas will soon be available in:
Grapefruit & Starfish
Trout & Biscuit
Bamboo & Clothes Horse
...
Friday, 20 January 2012
20.1.12 Cookery & Other Phenomena
This week on terrestrial television [excluding Channel 5, where worse fodder has been served up] we have been bombarded with 30 hours and 20 minutes of cooking. Whether it's been baking, dining with me, Masterchef shit or being a hungry sailor, cookery has dominated. Channel 4 is king, with just under twelve hours, but the BBC1 offering of ten hours was complimented by BBC2's further three-and-a-half hours. Surely (please!!!) there is some sort of limit on what we can be expected to endure by way of cuntin' food programmes.
TV adverts are pushing, yet again, the 5-a-day mantra. It might be worth considering a change in tactics here, and instead of encouraging consumption of 5-a-day in terms of fruit and veg, it's 5-a-day by way of abstention from shit, whether cream cakes, cokes, crisps or Subway helpings. This would do far more to improve the health of the nation. What's the point of some twat eating meat and three veg, a smoothie and a banana if he/she then stuffs a pizza, chips, cakes and sweets, plus two beers and seven vodka red bulls???
The national sport of the British (sofa buying, for anyone who is unaware) has just been improved upon as a pursuit, by CSL's launch of a new 'ap'. It allows a purchaser to see how a sofa might look in the living room before actually ordering. What a fantastic development and cracking use of technology! Bollocks!
Apparently temperatures are animate objects, capable of feelings/emotions/actions. I say this because I have come to learn, through the details relayed by weather presenters* that they quite often try hard but don't find it easy. You'll appreciate what I mean when I quote the simple line, that "temperatures will struggle today". Yes, apparently they are occasionally unable to attain great feats and they struggle, like a bound and gagged presenter, to do anything even approaching average. Sorry, that's not fair; presenters struggle to achieve anything approaching 'average' even when they're not bound and gagged.
* The asterisk was needed above, so I'd have the chance to explain that I was unable to use the word 'forecasters'. There was a time, long ago, when those advising us on matters weather-related were qualified to do so, and actually did enlighten us on what was likely to happen. These days, the 'presenters' have no fucking idea what the difference is between an occluded front and a clued up cunt. As for 'forecasting', they spend the first minute of any transmission telling us how the weather has been in various places - fucking pointless, that!
How is it that Stoke City Football Club manages to get away with institutional foul play at the highest level? To describe the team as 'physical' is an understatement. I would say that 'wrestling' is a better terms to describe the efforts of Stoke defenders, when trying to stop attackers from scoring. Stoke City footballers manage to grapple their way towards results that keep them at an artificially high position in the Premiership.
...
TV adverts are pushing, yet again, the 5-a-day mantra. It might be worth considering a change in tactics here, and instead of encouraging consumption of 5-a-day in terms of fruit and veg, it's 5-a-day by way of abstention from shit, whether cream cakes, cokes, crisps or Subway helpings. This would do far more to improve the health of the nation. What's the point of some twat eating meat and three veg, a smoothie and a banana if he/she then stuffs a pizza, chips, cakes and sweets, plus two beers and seven vodka red bulls???
The national sport of the British (sofa buying, for anyone who is unaware) has just been improved upon as a pursuit, by CSL's launch of a new 'ap'. It allows a purchaser to see how a sofa might look in the living room before actually ordering. What a fantastic development and cracking use of technology! Bollocks!
Apparently temperatures are animate objects, capable of feelings/emotions/actions. I say this because I have come to learn, through the details relayed by weather presenters* that they quite often try hard but don't find it easy. You'll appreciate what I mean when I quote the simple line, that "temperatures will struggle today". Yes, apparently they are occasionally unable to attain great feats and they struggle, like a bound and gagged presenter, to do anything even approaching average. Sorry, that's not fair; presenters struggle to achieve anything approaching 'average' even when they're not bound and gagged.
* The asterisk was needed above, so I'd have the chance to explain that I was unable to use the word 'forecasters'. There was a time, long ago, when those advising us on matters weather-related were qualified to do so, and actually did enlighten us on what was likely to happen. These days, the 'presenters' have no fucking idea what the difference is between an occluded front and a clued up cunt. As for 'forecasting', they spend the first minute of any transmission telling us how the weather has been in various places - fucking pointless, that!
How is it that Stoke City Football Club manages to get away with institutional foul play at the highest level? To describe the team as 'physical' is an understatement. I would say that 'wrestling' is a better terms to describe the efforts of Stoke defenders, when trying to stop attackers from scoring. Stoke City footballers manage to grapple their way towards results that keep them at an artificially high position in the Premiership.
...
20.1.12 Tevez Disgrace
It is disgraceful on so many levels. The world of professional football is fucked beyond belief, and the latest story on the Tevez front suggests he'll be joining Paris St Germain. So, after enormous controversy from as far back as I can remember, the business that is Carlos Tevez is to benefit once more, and at a preposterous level. His 'advisors' (I prefer pimps) have managed, it seems, to secure interest based on a £31million transfer fee, and CT getting £8.3million as a signing on fee ahead of his £35million wages over three-and-a-half years. £43million for 182 weeks of 'work'. So, that's £236,000 per week for kicking a ball about.
All this is for a man who seems not to worry too much about contracts anyway. CT is in Argentina at the moment, after the 'fall out' with Man City. So, he's skiving then. The world has gone mad; not a week goes by without us all hearing about another footballer on £200k+ per week. Everywhere you look in football, there are CTs, thugs, arseholes and all is set in an atmosphere of greed.
...
All this is for a man who seems not to worry too much about contracts anyway. CT is in Argentina at the moment, after the 'fall out' with Man City. So, he's skiving then. The world has gone mad; not a week goes by without us all hearing about another footballer on £200k+ per week. Everywhere you look in football, there are CTs, thugs, arseholes and all is set in an atmosphere of greed.
...
20.1.12 Fred Goodwin
There seems to be a debate concerning what to do about "Sir" Fred Goodwin, specifically over his knighthood. The answer is completely and utterly simple - strip him of it, and stop fannying around!
The main reason for acting is not that he's a man with unattractive traits, and whose profile is shabby as fuck. Nor is it that he is greedy and displays everything about bankers that gets the public riled. Stripping him of the honour is essential because he was given it in the first place for "services to banking". So, there can be no cry that his job and performance are nothing to do with the knighthood. It would certainly be more difficult to argue for removal of the honour if he'd done tons of charity work to gain it, and just happened to be a cock on the banking front. However, it is fortunately his work that was commended.
Now that we know the full extent of his "services to banking" - a taxpayer bill of £45billion - I rather think that he can be fairly described as a twat, and ever so slightly incompetent. Some might argue that "Cunt" is a better form of address for Fred Goodwin, rather than "Sir".
I suspect Gordon Brown, who created this situation with the award of a knighthood, is squirming a bit - well, as much as his conscience and outlook allows. Hmmmmm . . . . perhaps not then; no, he'll be in hiding still, after doing nothing good. His low profile these days is actually the best thing that's ever materialised on the Gordon Brown front.
Bankers will always earn a fortune, and whatever governments do to try and gain support from the public in curbing bonuses, there will be numerous examples of amazing payouts, whether cash, shares, pensions or Nectar Points. With this being a given, why oh why do we insist on topping up the earnings of these mercenary bigwigs with knighthoods and various other honours? His services to banking (irrespective of the £45billion debt legacy) were being paid for via a salary of many millions anyway!
...
The main reason for acting is not that he's a man with unattractive traits, and whose profile is shabby as fuck. Nor is it that he is greedy and displays everything about bankers that gets the public riled. Stripping him of the honour is essential because he was given it in the first place for "services to banking". So, there can be no cry that his job and performance are nothing to do with the knighthood. It would certainly be more difficult to argue for removal of the honour if he'd done tons of charity work to gain it, and just happened to be a cock on the banking front. However, it is fortunately his work that was commended.
Now that we know the full extent of his "services to banking" - a taxpayer bill of £45billion - I rather think that he can be fairly described as a twat, and ever so slightly incompetent. Some might argue that "Cunt" is a better form of address for Fred Goodwin, rather than "Sir".
I suspect Gordon Brown, who created this situation with the award of a knighthood, is squirming a bit - well, as much as his conscience and outlook allows. Hmmmmm . . . . perhaps not then; no, he'll be in hiding still, after doing nothing good. His low profile these days is actually the best thing that's ever materialised on the Gordon Brown front.
Bankers will always earn a fortune, and whatever governments do to try and gain support from the public in curbing bonuses, there will be numerous examples of amazing payouts, whether cash, shares, pensions or Nectar Points. With this being a given, why oh why do we insist on topping up the earnings of these mercenary bigwigs with knighthoods and various other honours? His services to banking (irrespective of the £45billion debt legacy) were being paid for via a salary of many millions anyway!
...
Wednesday, 18 January 2012
18.1.12 Make Sense Of This If You Can
Britain has ordered fighter jets which cannot land on the aircraft carriers on order. That's £5billion well spent then! Can someone enlighten me as to why the MOD is an institutional TWAT? This country is fucked.
Halle Berry has become engaged to Olivier Martinez, the 'ex' of both Kylie Minogue and Juliette Binoche. Can someone explain why someone who spends his time roving and on the lookout for well-known people to attach himself to is deemed by Halle as suitable?
A secret dossier detailing police plans for the Olympics was left on a train by a dim copper. This is not the first instance of security being compromised - there have been numerous 'losses' of plans, computer discs, laptops, files and who knows what else. In every case, you would not believe that such information could so easily be lost. There is simply no limit to the stupidity of institutions and individuals. Why are people allowed to carry around this stuff with such little regard?
I would appreciate some help in understanding how the self-serving useless human known as Tony Blair managed to pay £315,000 tax on a declared income of £12million last year? Why is he allowed to get away with this? This country is fucked.
Surrey County Council is pursuing a couple whose actions have clearly been horrendous. What are the two citizens in the firing line for? Tidying up the verge. Yes, they cleared weeds and rubbish from the verge next to their home. Surrey Cunting Council wants £78 for a retrospective licence. The couple bought shrubs and put in a lot of effort to improve the neighbourhood - something the council failed to do. Madness. This country is fucked.
A driver, aged 87, drives along the pavement and kills a 16-year-old as she is on her way to college. This selfish old cunt knew he was unfit to drive. The police had been called out before this, to a Tesco petrol station last year, when they established via an on-the-spot eye test that the driver could not see well enough to drive - he failed to see a registration plate at the minimum distance required. BUT, whilst the police can stop someone who's pissed from driving, and they can do the same if the driver is drugged up, they're apparently powerless to stop a blind cunt. So, a young girl dies. This is horrendous, and common sense seems not to prevail in the UK. This country is fucked.
A 'Big Issue' seller from Romania has won her case and can now claim housing benefit. The judge has decided she is self-employed, and so entitled to claim £50 per week on top of her existing benefits of £491 per week. Yes, that's right, £28,132 per year - NOT COUNTING what she makes from selling fucking Big Issue. No offence to the woman; if I were in her shoes, I'd do the same thing. But, where will it end? Talk about an open invitation for people to come here, beg, and earn £28k. This country is fucking fucked.
...
Halle Berry has become engaged to Olivier Martinez, the 'ex' of both Kylie Minogue and Juliette Binoche. Can someone explain why someone who spends his time roving and on the lookout for well-known people to attach himself to is deemed by Halle as suitable?
A secret dossier detailing police plans for the Olympics was left on a train by a dim copper. This is not the first instance of security being compromised - there have been numerous 'losses' of plans, computer discs, laptops, files and who knows what else. In every case, you would not believe that such information could so easily be lost. There is simply no limit to the stupidity of institutions and individuals. Why are people allowed to carry around this stuff with such little regard?
I would appreciate some help in understanding how the self-serving useless human known as Tony Blair managed to pay £315,000 tax on a declared income of £12million last year? Why is he allowed to get away with this? This country is fucked.
Surrey County Council is pursuing a couple whose actions have clearly been horrendous. What are the two citizens in the firing line for? Tidying up the verge. Yes, they cleared weeds and rubbish from the verge next to their home. Surrey Cunting Council wants £78 for a retrospective licence. The couple bought shrubs and put in a lot of effort to improve the neighbourhood - something the council failed to do. Madness. This country is fucked.
A driver, aged 87, drives along the pavement and kills a 16-year-old as she is on her way to college. This selfish old cunt knew he was unfit to drive. The police had been called out before this, to a Tesco petrol station last year, when they established via an on-the-spot eye test that the driver could not see well enough to drive - he failed to see a registration plate at the minimum distance required. BUT, whilst the police can stop someone who's pissed from driving, and they can do the same if the driver is drugged up, they're apparently powerless to stop a blind cunt. So, a young girl dies. This is horrendous, and common sense seems not to prevail in the UK. This country is fucked.
A 'Big Issue' seller from Romania has won her case and can now claim housing benefit. The judge has decided she is self-employed, and so entitled to claim £50 per week on top of her existing benefits of £491 per week. Yes, that's right, £28,132 per year - NOT COUNTING what she makes from selling fucking Big Issue. No offence to the woman; if I were in her shoes, I'd do the same thing. But, where will it end? Talk about an open invitation for people to come here, beg, and earn £28k. This country is fucking fucked.
...
18.1.12 Hot Hands
On a recent visit to the West Midlands, I was driving in the Black Country when I noticed a small sign at the side of the road, which said: Hand Car Wash and below it the price. I carried on driving, because I was not inclined to spend money in this regard, nor devote the time. I did wonder though whether the car wash was completely by hand, or whether an operator did in fact make use of a steam jet. Anyway, it was irrelevant, so I let it go.
However, about a mile and a half further on, I saw to my left further signs, touting similar input for my motor. I say 'similar' because the offers were not identical. No, the sign that caught my eye said: Hot Hand Car Wash. Now I was confused. Was the person set to wash cars an individual with hot hands? Was he perhaps the owner of just the one hot hand? If so, was that because only one had been warmed to the level of 'hot', or because he in fact had just the one hand? Or, did the hand have some sort of quality (sexual, aesthetic?) that meant it might legitimately be described as 'hot'? Any of these could have applied; it told me nothing about the actual car wash, but it did confirm the (subjective) temperature of the hand of the person in charge of the washing. Perhaps the washer would use a jetwash with a handle that gets hot, which in turn gives the person a hot hand?
My mind then moved on a bit, to consider the option that this was in fact an offer of a 'Hand Car Wash' that was hot. Again there could be two angles here; was this again an assessment of the service, so that 'hot' could have a meaning akin to 'sexy' or 'super'? Or, are we back to saying that the Hand Car Wash was one completed with hot water? If that was so, then surely the competition a mile and a half up the road had made a fatal mistake in its advertising campaign, omitting the word 'Hot'. If the Hand Car Wash sign I'd driven past was touting a service using just cold water, then it would have been inferior, and not worth the price. However, I suspect that common sense would mean few people would attempt to wash a car without hot water. This doesn't, though, cover the possible use of the word 'warm'. A 'Warm Hand Car Wash' starts sounding a bit weird though.
Next to the sign that said Hot Hand Car Wash was another that said: Shine Hand Car Wash. It could not possibly have meant that the person washing the cars had a shiny hand, as the last letter was most definitely an 'e' not a 'y'. I guessed that this would be a car wash that was followed by some sort of effort to make the car shine. Whether that would be possible after a hand car wash is debatable, for the temperature of the water and the temperature of the hand (or hands) would most surely have some bearing on the outcome . . . . ?
All this resulted from some small signs strategically placed by car washers. I think when I do get around to sorting out my car, I will either do it myself, or take it to a Car Wash - an automatic one where you sit in your car and the massive contraption surrounds it and gets rid of the dirt.
...
However, about a mile and a half further on, I saw to my left further signs, touting similar input for my motor. I say 'similar' because the offers were not identical. No, the sign that caught my eye said: Hot Hand Car Wash. Now I was confused. Was the person set to wash cars an individual with hot hands? Was he perhaps the owner of just the one hot hand? If so, was that because only one had been warmed to the level of 'hot', or because he in fact had just the one hand? Or, did the hand have some sort of quality (sexual, aesthetic?) that meant it might legitimately be described as 'hot'? Any of these could have applied; it told me nothing about the actual car wash, but it did confirm the (subjective) temperature of the hand of the person in charge of the washing. Perhaps the washer would use a jetwash with a handle that gets hot, which in turn gives the person a hot hand?
My mind then moved on a bit, to consider the option that this was in fact an offer of a 'Hand Car Wash' that was hot. Again there could be two angles here; was this again an assessment of the service, so that 'hot' could have a meaning akin to 'sexy' or 'super'? Or, are we back to saying that the Hand Car Wash was one completed with hot water? If that was so, then surely the competition a mile and a half up the road had made a fatal mistake in its advertising campaign, omitting the word 'Hot'. If the Hand Car Wash sign I'd driven past was touting a service using just cold water, then it would have been inferior, and not worth the price. However, I suspect that common sense would mean few people would attempt to wash a car without hot water. This doesn't, though, cover the possible use of the word 'warm'. A 'Warm Hand Car Wash' starts sounding a bit weird though.
Next to the sign that said Hot Hand Car Wash was another that said: Shine Hand Car Wash. It could not possibly have meant that the person washing the cars had a shiny hand, as the last letter was most definitely an 'e' not a 'y'. I guessed that this would be a car wash that was followed by some sort of effort to make the car shine. Whether that would be possible after a hand car wash is debatable, for the temperature of the water and the temperature of the hand (or hands) would most surely have some bearing on the outcome . . . . ?
All this resulted from some small signs strategically placed by car washers. I think when I do get around to sorting out my car, I will either do it myself, or take it to a Car Wash - an automatic one where you sit in your car and the massive contraption surrounds it and gets rid of the dirt.
...
18.1.12 Useless Comments
There's always someone around who can make a pointless comment. Darren Jones is addicted to Diet Coke (ironic, eh? Diet) and wants to do something about his habit that costs £100 per week for the 74 pints he consumes.
The 35-stone chap said: "I just feel like I'm a big bag of water, I'm so full of fluid. So things need to change in 2012"
A public health spokeswoman said: "I would advise trying to cut down but not stopping suddenly." Well thanks for that, luv - fucking gold!
*****************************
Meanwhile, Churchill Home Insurance completed its study, which concluded that £2.5billion of damage will have been done to homes during the festive season (seems a tad high to me?) and on January 1st each year, it gets 68% more claims for accidental damage than on any other typical day.
Spokesman Matt Owen said: "People get clumsy after a few festive tipples." Fucking revelation, that, Matt!
*****************************
In a recent article on parling tickets issued by Westminster Council, it was revealed that one Mercedes truck has been issued with 124 tickets, worth over £16,000 in fines. There are other serial offenders, and the Council is owed £48million in all.
Councillor Lee Rowley said: "Drivers who flaunt the rules cause danger to pedestrians and other road users and clog up roads." Well thanks for that, Lee, because I'd never have worked that out for myself! I am so glad you clarified things for me, and had an opportunity to churn out a useless bit of mantra. What do you really think?
...
The 35-stone chap said: "I just feel like I'm a big bag of water, I'm so full of fluid. So things need to change in 2012"
A public health spokeswoman said: "I would advise trying to cut down but not stopping suddenly." Well thanks for that, luv - fucking gold!
*****************************
Meanwhile, Churchill Home Insurance completed its study, which concluded that £2.5billion of damage will have been done to homes during the festive season (seems a tad high to me?) and on January 1st each year, it gets 68% more claims for accidental damage than on any other typical day.
Spokesman Matt Owen said: "People get clumsy after a few festive tipples." Fucking revelation, that, Matt!
*****************************
In a recent article on parling tickets issued by Westminster Council, it was revealed that one Mercedes truck has been issued with 124 tickets, worth over £16,000 in fines. There are other serial offenders, and the Council is owed £48million in all.
Councillor Lee Rowley said: "Drivers who flaunt the rules cause danger to pedestrians and other road users and clog up roads." Well thanks for that, Lee, because I'd never have worked that out for myself! I am so glad you clarified things for me, and had an opportunity to churn out a useless bit of mantra. What do you really think?
...
18.1.12 River Island Scratch
It does sound like something weird or wonderful, doesn't it. The River Island Scratch could be a style of music or perhaps a dance. It could be a fatal disease from some far-off exotic place. It could be a rare stamp or some other collector's item. But none of these is true.
Last night, Mrs MWSC searched for, and found, her short and sharp implement, after rootling around at the back of the landing cupboard, in various boxes. It is the sort of instrument that Airport Security would have a fucking field day with, and probably quarantine you, carry out a strip search and conduct an hour-long interrogation to be sure you miss your flight. "What is this monstrous device?" I hear you ask, "And why was Mrs MWSC so keen to locate its whereabouts on a Tuesday night?". Well, I will pull you out of your confused state. My jogging bottoms (or should I give them their proper descriptive term - 'Lounging Pants'), acquired by Mrs MWSC for my good self as a present a while ago, have been giving me jip. The cause was the 'River Island' tag sewn into the waistband. This had been causing grief for a fair while, scratching at the base of my back.
Mrs MWSC has a small plastic holder (the size of a cigarette) within which is a thing with a sharp, U-shaped point, perfect for getting under small stitches and cutting the little buggers. In such a manner, she was able to remove the offending label. The problem was, she told me, that the label had been cut not by scissors but some sort of heated cutter/laser, so the edges of the material became rather too hard. Sewing the label on to the jogging bottoms meant stitching close to the edge of the label, pulling the label on to the trousers, but forcing the very edge outwards slightly. This was the cause of the River Island Scratch.
I am pleased to report that I am now cured of River Island Scratch, and hope that this little report might help you to overcome any similar problems you encounter. [New Look Rash can be quite debilitating]
...
Last night, Mrs MWSC searched for, and found, her short and sharp implement, after rootling around at the back of the landing cupboard, in various boxes. It is the sort of instrument that Airport Security would have a fucking field day with, and probably quarantine you, carry out a strip search and conduct an hour-long interrogation to be sure you miss your flight. "What is this monstrous device?" I hear you ask, "And why was Mrs MWSC so keen to locate its whereabouts on a Tuesday night?". Well, I will pull you out of your confused state. My jogging bottoms (or should I give them their proper descriptive term - 'Lounging Pants'), acquired by Mrs MWSC for my good self as a present a while ago, have been giving me jip. The cause was the 'River Island' tag sewn into the waistband. This had been causing grief for a fair while, scratching at the base of my back.
Mrs MWSC has a small plastic holder (the size of a cigarette) within which is a thing with a sharp, U-shaped point, perfect for getting under small stitches and cutting the little buggers. In such a manner, she was able to remove the offending label. The problem was, she told me, that the label had been cut not by scissors but some sort of heated cutter/laser, so the edges of the material became rather too hard. Sewing the label on to the jogging bottoms meant stitching close to the edge of the label, pulling the label on to the trousers, but forcing the very edge outwards slightly. This was the cause of the River Island Scratch.
I am pleased to report that I am now cured of River Island Scratch, and hope that this little report might help you to overcome any similar problems you encounter. [New Look Rash can be quite debilitating]
...
Tuesday, 17 January 2012
17.1.12 Royal Yacht
Have you ever been roped into contributing to some cunt's birthday present when you'd rather not have chipped in? You know the scenario, "do-gooder" Justine from Accounts decides that the Director's forthcoming birthday ought to be marked by the presentation of a gift from his staff. The fact that he is well off, and doesn't need or want a gift is neither here nor there - Justine is on a mission.
The envelope gradually fills after numerous prompts and under duress, people cough up. Justine is somewhat disappointed that she's extracted £61.24 from the twenty-strong workforce, but then devotes three days to considering what to buy and doing no fucking work in the process. She then fucks off to town for three hours to buy something shit with the pooled money. The hard-up workers trudge on while the top-man is actually on the golf course.
On the day, a 'present' is handed over by Justine, who likes to take rather more credit for her efforts than her £2.24 input warrants. The recipient is gracious, unimpressed, annoyed, and embarrassed all at once, but doles out a thank-you while deciding whether he can recycle the gift at Christmas.
The government is not going to ask taxpayers to pay £80million for a new Royal Yacht (thank fuck!!!) but the Prime Minister has suggested that he'll back plans for such a gift to the Queen if the money is raised through private donations. Hmmmmm. Justine is going to need a fucking big envelope, and will have to set aside about five years rather than three days. I, for one, will be contributing fuck all to this pointless exercise being overseen by toadying twats. We are in a cuntin' recession. Harriers are gone, we've no pissing aircraft carrier, soldiers are being made redundant three days before they are due to qualify for pensions and here we have a call for a fucking boat for royalty to piss about in!!
Britain is fucked.
...
The envelope gradually fills after numerous prompts and under duress, people cough up. Justine is somewhat disappointed that she's extracted £61.24 from the twenty-strong workforce, but then devotes three days to considering what to buy and doing no fucking work in the process. She then fucks off to town for three hours to buy something shit with the pooled money. The hard-up workers trudge on while the top-man is actually on the golf course.
On the day, a 'present' is handed over by Justine, who likes to take rather more credit for her efforts than her £2.24 input warrants. The recipient is gracious, unimpressed, annoyed, and embarrassed all at once, but doles out a thank-you while deciding whether he can recycle the gift at Christmas.
The government is not going to ask taxpayers to pay £80million for a new Royal Yacht (thank fuck!!!) but the Prime Minister has suggested that he'll back plans for such a gift to the Queen if the money is raised through private donations. Hmmmmm. Justine is going to need a fucking big envelope, and will have to set aside about five years rather than three days. I, for one, will be contributing fuck all to this pointless exercise being overseen by toadying twats. We are in a cuntin' recession. Harriers are gone, we've no pissing aircraft carrier, soldiers are being made redundant three days before they are due to qualify for pensions and here we have a call for a fucking boat for royalty to piss about in!!
Britain is fucked.
...
17.1.12 Hands-only CPR
Whilst I think the video with Vinnie Jones is funny enough, I am struggling with the approach being adopted by the British Heart Foundation.
The campaign is aiming to get more people prepared to do something when someone collapses, but the result is to create the impression that the 'new way forward' is hands-only cpr. This is not the case, and there will be many people now believing that mouth-to-mouth is not the right approach.
For as long as I can remember, the right method for assisting is to mix compressions with rescue breaths, and for that now to be considered not worth promoting is daft. I suspect some form of dumbing-down here, prompted by institutional concern about people being sued or being unwilling to make mouth-to-mouth contact. Vinnie says in the advert that there is to be no "kissing on the lips" during the humorous relaying of advice.
The advert and the campaign should most definitely be suggesting that this hands-only approach is better than nothing, but that people should continue to give the casualty proper attention for the best chance of resuscitation. Unfortunately it now comes across that the endorsed approach is hands-only. This will lead to fewer casualties making it!
...
The campaign is aiming to get more people prepared to do something when someone collapses, but the result is to create the impression that the 'new way forward' is hands-only cpr. This is not the case, and there will be many people now believing that mouth-to-mouth is not the right approach.
For as long as I can remember, the right method for assisting is to mix compressions with rescue breaths, and for that now to be considered not worth promoting is daft. I suspect some form of dumbing-down here, prompted by institutional concern about people being sued or being unwilling to make mouth-to-mouth contact. Vinnie says in the advert that there is to be no "kissing on the lips" during the humorous relaying of advice.
The advert and the campaign should most definitely be suggesting that this hands-only approach is better than nothing, but that people should continue to give the casualty proper attention for the best chance of resuscitation. Unfortunately it now comes across that the endorsed approach is hands-only. This will lead to fewer casualties making it!
...
17.1.12 Newspaper Supplements
There is now more junk in newspapers than arrives as junk mail via the postman. Here's a bundle from the Saturday editions of the Sun and Daily Mail.
The amount of shit included is ludicrous, and I am simply being asked by the publishers to dispose of trees in my bin. This is a terrible waste, not least because I am not going to rush to fucking Morrisons on the strength of a 50p saving on Pepsi, nor do I want expensive shoes. Gary Rhodes can fuck off, and I don't want a £9.50 holiday which turns out to be £198 for four on the week I want to go, but in the arse end of nowhere and thus £150 in petrol as well. As for DFS, when will they ever get the message that I will never buy a sofa again from these cunts - I bought one once (14 years ago) and the experience was horrendous.
I re-packaged the lot, as my bin is emptied so infrequently, and so space is at a premium. I had close to hand a spare pre-paid envelope from some normal junk mail, and this was easily affixed to the front of the 'pass-the-parcel' style package.
Maybe this has given you an idea for disposing of your own unwanted supplementary shit (?)
...
The amount of shit included is ludicrous, and I am simply being asked by the publishers to dispose of trees in my bin. This is a terrible waste, not least because I am not going to rush to fucking Morrisons on the strength of a 50p saving on Pepsi, nor do I want expensive shoes. Gary Rhodes can fuck off, and I don't want a £9.50 holiday which turns out to be £198 for four on the week I want to go, but in the arse end of nowhere and thus £150 in petrol as well. As for DFS, when will they ever get the message that I will never buy a sofa again from these cunts - I bought one once (14 years ago) and the experience was horrendous.
I re-packaged the lot, as my bin is emptied so infrequently, and so space is at a premium. I had close to hand a spare pre-paid envelope from some normal junk mail, and this was easily affixed to the front of the 'pass-the-parcel' style package.
Maybe this has given you an idea for disposing of your own unwanted supplementary shit (?)
...
17.1.12 Scot Free Scotland
Sorry, but you can't just vote to bugger off and not accept your fair share of the bad as well as the supposed good that's awaiting you. This whole thing is clearly going to turn into a playground scrap, and drag on for ages. Name calling, taunts and posturing are all set to form part of the lead up to a vote.
Alex Salmond is hardly what I'd call a successful politician, and he has an annoying demeanour. It is so obvious that his obsession with nationalism is going to overshadow common sense, and that even at the expense of Scottish people, he'd plough on with his agenda to go it alone; he relies on whipping up a feud between England and Scotland. It's pretty much like the Rangers / Celtic spats.
Meanwhile, the English are somehow ignored. Surely there is room for the English to have a say on the matter? The United Kingdom included Scots and English, so if the UK is to be reduced in size, there should be a vote that allows the English to decide on what they want as well. I for one would vote that the Scots are quite welcome to go-it-alone. They can choose something other than sterling, pay for their own National Health, security, schools. No, they cannot escape their proportion of the UK's debt, and no, they cannot claim more than their fair share of oil revenues.
Alex Salmond is trying very hard to act like those dealing with a company that is fucked, and for which pre-pack administration is sorted. That is, keep all the good bits for the new/incoming regime, and dump all the shit. Sorry mate, no go. On reflection, I suspect that the wiser inhabitants of Scotland will reject the separation. What's more annoying is the fact that Scotland will probably get a "Yes" for the extended levels of autonomy through the so-called 'Max' option. All this will do is annoy everyone in England, and the Scots will be resented for not actually leaving, but having unfair influence in England while Scottish matters are out-of-bounds for English MPs.
...
Alex Salmond is hardly what I'd call a successful politician, and he has an annoying demeanour. It is so obvious that his obsession with nationalism is going to overshadow common sense, and that even at the expense of Scottish people, he'd plough on with his agenda to go it alone; he relies on whipping up a feud between England and Scotland. It's pretty much like the Rangers / Celtic spats.
Meanwhile, the English are somehow ignored. Surely there is room for the English to have a say on the matter? The United Kingdom included Scots and English, so if the UK is to be reduced in size, there should be a vote that allows the English to decide on what they want as well. I for one would vote that the Scots are quite welcome to go-it-alone. They can choose something other than sterling, pay for their own National Health, security, schools. No, they cannot escape their proportion of the UK's debt, and no, they cannot claim more than their fair share of oil revenues.
Alex Salmond is trying very hard to act like those dealing with a company that is fucked, and for which pre-pack administration is sorted. That is, keep all the good bits for the new/incoming regime, and dump all the shit. Sorry mate, no go. On reflection, I suspect that the wiser inhabitants of Scotland will reject the separation. What's more annoying is the fact that Scotland will probably get a "Yes" for the extended levels of autonomy through the so-called 'Max' option. All this will do is annoy everyone in England, and the Scots will be resented for not actually leaving, but having unfair influence in England while Scottish matters are out-of-bounds for English MPs.
...
Monday, 16 January 2012
16.1.12 Chomp Exchange
A Chomp was always the equivalent of 1/10 of a pound sterling. Ten New Pence was the established worth of a Chomp and this fact was irrefutable. Today, I saw them on sale at . . . . 20 fucking pence! 23.5g of chewy chocolate covered toffee in a tiny orange wrapper, marked with '20p'. What on earth???
I am so disappointed that the world's economic problems have led to a devaluing of the Chomp, as well as the Euro. I will now have to re-evaluate my confectionary needs. On a related matter, while in the queue at the Co-op [or Cunt-op, as I like to call it] I saw at the end of the aisle an offer. The till operators (all three of them) were engaged in trying to deal with a single customer who was fucking about with a lottery ticket, a switch card and some issues relating to a past transaction. One of the staff was operating the yellow terminal, one was frowning and writing something, and one was doing fuck all. So, this all gave me plenty of time to consider two things.
1 - I could have milked the fucking cow myself and bottled the resultant liquid in the time it was taking to purchase a newspaper and bottle of milk.
2 - Why, oh why, was there an offer of Cadbury's Creme Eggs at half price? It's cuntin' January! There is no way any supermarket has any right to be touting fucking eggs, let alone trying to shift them at half price. £3.05 for six! I wouldn't even buy them at the offer price of £1.52.
There was one good offer at the Cunt-op: a Double Decker four-pack for £1.00. Not surprisingly, there were none on the fucking shelf.
Co-operative: Shit With Food
...
I am so disappointed that the world's economic problems have led to a devaluing of the Chomp, as well as the Euro. I will now have to re-evaluate my confectionary needs. On a related matter, while in the queue at the Co-op [or Cunt-op, as I like to call it] I saw at the end of the aisle an offer. The till operators (all three of them) were engaged in trying to deal with a single customer who was fucking about with a lottery ticket, a switch card and some issues relating to a past transaction. One of the staff was operating the yellow terminal, one was frowning and writing something, and one was doing fuck all. So, this all gave me plenty of time to consider two things.
1 - I could have milked the fucking cow myself and bottled the resultant liquid in the time it was taking to purchase a newspaper and bottle of milk.
2 - Why, oh why, was there an offer of Cadbury's Creme Eggs at half price? It's cuntin' January! There is no way any supermarket has any right to be touting fucking eggs, let alone trying to shift them at half price. £3.05 for six! I wouldn't even buy them at the offer price of £1.52.
There was one good offer at the Cunt-op: a Double Decker four-pack for £1.00. Not surprisingly, there were none on the fucking shelf.
Co-operative: Shit With Food
...
16.1.12 Giggs Overload
It is almost unbelievable that newspapers can devote so much of their space to stories involving the most warped family of the UK. Ryan Giggs (the older one, with the permanent scowl or is that simply an intense but pained look?) has, as the whole world knows, shagged Natasha behind the back of Rhodri (the younger one) for eight years before the cat was let out of the bag. The two brothers are a pain, although not so much of a pain as Natasha, whose shagging has apparently earned her the status of 'celebrity', and a place on the recent Big Brother crap.
After an inordinate amount of Giggs shit in last week's papers, with pages allocated to the whining of Natasha and Rhodri, we now have the front page of today's Sun dominated by his further fucking whinge: CHEATING RAT RYAN TOOK ALL I HAD. Get a fucking life. Clearly there's nothing else to report in the world that's of greater significance [sarcasm] and nothing that requires on top of the front page coverage a further full page; page 5 shows the "prize" (and I use that word as loosely as Natasha conducts access to her charms) of the 29-year-old plain-looking woman who is simply pointless. I am struggling to understand why Rhodri is bothering to whinge, because she is clearly not worth anything, the same as his brother. (It must be the money, of course.) Ironic then, don't you think, that Rhodri's anger is directed at his Celebrity Big Brother !!!
Apparently she now wants to try and save her marriage to Rhodri. Well I wish all those with the name 'Giggs' would bugger off (I chose that word because it's got 'gg' in it, so it seemed appropriate). I turned the page, and then announced my annoyance to Mrs MWSC.
"Fucking Natasha has even managed to get in on the cruise liner story on the next page as well!"
"What do you mean?" came the reply, with a tone suggesting mild curiosity and surprise.
"There - 230ft GASH IN HULL" I said, pointing at the newsprint; "Didn't know she'd gone to Hull though."
...
After an inordinate amount of Giggs shit in last week's papers, with pages allocated to the whining of Natasha and Rhodri, we now have the front page of today's Sun dominated by his further fucking whinge: CHEATING RAT RYAN TOOK ALL I HAD. Get a fucking life. Clearly there's nothing else to report in the world that's of greater significance [sarcasm] and nothing that requires on top of the front page coverage a further full page; page 5 shows the "prize" (and I use that word as loosely as Natasha conducts access to her charms) of the 29-year-old plain-looking woman who is simply pointless. I am struggling to understand why Rhodri is bothering to whinge, because she is clearly not worth anything, the same as his brother. (It must be the money, of course.) Ironic then, don't you think, that Rhodri's anger is directed at his Celebrity Big Brother !!!
Apparently she now wants to try and save her marriage to Rhodri. Well I wish all those with the name 'Giggs' would bugger off (I chose that word because it's got 'gg' in it, so it seemed appropriate). I turned the page, and then announced my annoyance to Mrs MWSC.
"Fucking Natasha has even managed to get in on the cruise liner story on the next page as well!"
"What do you mean?" came the reply, with a tone suggesting mild curiosity and surprise.
"There - 230ft GASH IN HULL" I said, pointing at the newsprint; "Didn't know she'd gone to Hull though."
...
Sunday, 15 January 2012
15.1.12 Dancing On Ice - Wk2
Well, during two hours, ITV churned out another dose of DOI (it's so tempting to use DOA instead, don't you think?) and I endured it doggedly, having dealt with the first offering last week. This time, we all wasted those two hours of our lives (plus the half-hour results bit) to see the woman from Eastenders (Laila) removed from the line up - something that could have and should have been done before any blade ever touched any fucking ice!
The whole programme was pointless, because the result was so clearly obvious. I say this, but there was always the ludicrous possibility that viewers of Eastenders would show the intellect of a market stall potato and vote for her, a woman who needed an armchair so she could be pushed around the ice. Her injury was irrelevant.
I hear that in some quarters, there is dissatisfaction with Katarina Witt and her questionable diction. I must say that I don't myself struggle to understand what she's saying. I assume that any with a dislike of the 'German' accent are equally upset by the contributions of Louie Spence with his unusual delivery, and of course "Bleakness Personified". These two surely have greater claim on causing difficulties for listeners than the Witt woman - someone who can claim to have actual skated before!
So, let's recap on the show, via Tony Gubba's top ten best skating terms included in his commentary:
Wizzard of Oz Kick Sequence
Toe Jump-around
Grand National Lifts
Scorpion Kiss
Tortilla Wrap
Mirrored Teapots
Threading The Needle Lift
Wild Thing Swing
Wrist Ripper
Falling Leaves
Desperation On Ice returns next Sunday
...
The whole programme was pointless, because the result was so clearly obvious. I say this, but there was always the ludicrous possibility that viewers of Eastenders would show the intellect of a market stall potato and vote for her, a woman who needed an armchair so she could be pushed around the ice. Her injury was irrelevant.
I hear that in some quarters, there is dissatisfaction with Katarina Witt and her questionable diction. I must say that I don't myself struggle to understand what she's saying. I assume that any with a dislike of the 'German' accent are equally upset by the contributions of Louie Spence with his unusual delivery, and of course "Bleakness Personified". These two surely have greater claim on causing difficulties for listeners than the Witt woman - someone who can claim to have actual skated before!
So, let's recap on the show, via Tony Gubba's top ten best skating terms included in his commentary:
Wizzard of Oz Kick Sequence
Toe Jump-around
Grand National Lifts
Scorpion Kiss
Tortilla Wrap
Mirrored Teapots
Threading The Needle Lift
Wild Thing Swing
Wrist Ripper
Falling Leaves
Desperation On Ice returns next Sunday
...
15.1.12 Bake Off
We've had the Lorraine Pascale half-hours, showing us 'Baking Made Easy', plus the obligatory repeats (there was the fourth of six, last Monday). We've also had the Hairy Bikers this week, on BBC2 at 7.00pm. They were sandwiched between "Great British Railway Journeys" and "The Great Sport Relief Bake Off". Does every programme now have to have the word 'Celebrity' or the word 'Great' in its title? ("The Great Barrier Reef" was on tonight)
Michael Portillo is still pissing about on trains; he's been stuck on them for two years now, and his latest series has 25 fucking instalments. Someone is making up useless journeys for him, and is glad to see him on his way. If it were down to me, I'd stick him on the Underground - Circle Line - and leave him to age for 8 years on one £4 ticket for Zone 1.
After the bikers, we've endured the Bake Off. I realise the title relates to the activity, but come on, it's a bit much for the contestants to be led into their efforts with a "Ready, Steady, Bake" from some unknown woman.
I am struggling to understand who is in charge at the BBC when it comes to selecting people to compete in these things. The format for this pointless programme was: three heats, each with four participants, Tue-Thu and a final shown on Friday for the three heat winners. Judges Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood (me neither) were assessing the efforts of, and I don't know if they were supposed to be 'celebrities' (ha) or 'well known faces' (ha, again, in most cases) -
Sarah Hadland, Joe Swift, James Wong, Angela Griffin, Arlene Phillips, Fi Glover, Saira Khan, Gus Casely-Hayford, Anita Rani, Pearl Lowe, Alex Deakin and Alex Langlands. So, just three that I've heard of, with programmes hosted by the very-well-known Mel Giedroyc !!! I belatedly worked out that this is the female host. It's one of those names, isn't it - not as bad though as the Irish, ie. Joirsiemhrvn (pronounced 'Julie').
Woeful offerings like this mean that BBC2 is the place to avoid.
...
Michael Portillo is still pissing about on trains; he's been stuck on them for two years now, and his latest series has 25 fucking instalments. Someone is making up useless journeys for him, and is glad to see him on his way. If it were down to me, I'd stick him on the Underground - Circle Line - and leave him to age for 8 years on one £4 ticket for Zone 1.
After the bikers, we've endured the Bake Off. I realise the title relates to the activity, but come on, it's a bit much for the contestants to be led into their efforts with a "Ready, Steady, Bake" from some unknown woman.
I am struggling to understand who is in charge at the BBC when it comes to selecting people to compete in these things. The format for this pointless programme was: three heats, each with four participants, Tue-Thu and a final shown on Friday for the three heat winners. Judges Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood (me neither) were assessing the efforts of, and I don't know if they were supposed to be 'celebrities' (ha) or 'well known faces' (ha, again, in most cases) -
Sarah Hadland, Joe Swift, James Wong, Angela Griffin, Arlene Phillips, Fi Glover, Saira Khan, Gus Casely-Hayford, Anita Rani, Pearl Lowe, Alex Deakin and Alex Langlands. So, just three that I've heard of, with programmes hosted by the very-well-known Mel Giedroyc !!! I belatedly worked out that this is the female host. It's one of those names, isn't it - not as bad though as the Irish, ie. Joirsiemhrvn (pronounced 'Julie').
Woeful offerings like this mean that BBC2 is the place to avoid.
...
15.1.12 The Plural of Zebra
Safari Vet School was a reasonably interesting half-hour, but was rather spoiled by the voiceover arsehole and his insistence that in no way can 'zebra' ever have an 's' on the end.
"Zebra are powerful animals."
"As the zebra reached the funnel system . . . "
"The zebra are left with nowhere to run."
"The zebra begin the drive to their new home."
Once could be a slip, but this narrator was persistent and the grammatical 'faux cunts' were relentless!
...
"Zebra are powerful animals."
"As the zebra reached the funnel system . . . "
"The zebra are left with nowhere to run."
"The zebra begin the drive to their new home."
Once could be a slip, but this narrator was persistent and the grammatical 'faux cunts' were relentless!
...
15.1.12 Swansea Student Sex
How wacky is the world in which we live? Very, if the latest study is indicative of our stupidity. Swansea University's Centre for Criminal Justice and Criminology is launching a study to find out how many students are working as prostitutes. More deplorable than the rather questionable objective is the fact that the study is being funded by £489,000 of lottery money. Fucking disgraceful!
Apparently all this effort will develop support services for girls who turn to vice to pay for their studies. Some idiot from the university department has said: "We know we have student sex workers but we don't understand their motivations and needs." You stupid cunt, and all your twattish colleagues! You don't need to waste half a million fucking quid on this!
The National Union of Students has apparently offered the following comment on the study: "It is vital to our members, who have suffered a lack of advice and support." Arseholes; advice and support? I'll give some advice.
...
Apparently all this effort will develop support services for girls who turn to vice to pay for their studies. Some idiot from the university department has said: "We know we have student sex workers but we don't understand their motivations and needs." You stupid cunt, and all your twattish colleagues! You don't need to waste half a million fucking quid on this!
The National Union of Students has apparently offered the following comment on the study: "It is vital to our members, who have suffered a lack of advice and support." Arseholes; advice and support? I'll give some advice.
- Students have always been pretty skint; if the pretty ones (or should that be willing ones) want to boost income, that's their choice. Ad-fuckin-vice? Add vice to your lives and top up your loans.
- Since tuition fees have come in, and have risen three-fold, even more students will be desperate to make ends meet. So, more will decide there's no fucking support, and will find support through fucking. They do not need advice.
- The Uni's quote/input is pathetic. "We don't understand their motivations and needs" ??? If you are institutionally that thick, you've no business awarding degrees and other qualifications to anyone! They need some money, there are hardly any jobs, vice pays well, and this is not rocket science.
- £489,000 - disgusting, deplorable, and criminal.
...
Saturday, 14 January 2012
14.1.12 Take Me Out
Nearly as bad as Big Brother? Not quite
But it sure is a fucking close thing
In scraping the barrel for any old shite
ITV has its arse in a sling.
Brainwashing trailers are mind numbing hype
And the programme itself is a cunt
"No likey, no lighty", complete fuckin' tripe
From the man standing up at the front.
Watching is agony, all is inane
And the price you will pay is absurd
Just ten minutes in you will bleed from the brain
It's atrocious, I give you my word.
Standards have slipped to 'outrageously low'
Take Me Out is abysmal for sure
And Paddy McGuinness? With every crap show
He confirms he is now just a whore.
Who would have thought that a format like this
Would survive and be prime-time TV?
Well somebody somewhere is taking the piss
On a limb? No, they're out of their tree!
Dozens of women all eager for fame
Get attention they do not deserve
It's almost as if they are tarts on the game
And they call it a date? What a nerve!
Why stupid cunts choose to stand in a line
For a bloke who's a nob, I don't know
In standards there can be no further decline
So it's Paddy - piss off! Fuckin' go!
14.1.12
But it sure is a fucking close thing
In scraping the barrel for any old shite
ITV has its arse in a sling.
Brainwashing trailers are mind numbing hype
And the programme itself is a cunt
"No likey, no lighty", complete fuckin' tripe
From the man standing up at the front.
Watching is agony, all is inane
And the price you will pay is absurd
Just ten minutes in you will bleed from the brain
It's atrocious, I give you my word.
Standards have slipped to 'outrageously low'
Take Me Out is abysmal for sure
And Paddy McGuinness? With every crap show
He confirms he is now just a whore.
Who would have thought that a format like this
Would survive and be prime-time TV?
Well somebody somewhere is taking the piss
On a limb? No, they're out of their tree!
Dozens of women all eager for fame
Get attention they do not deserve
It's almost as if they are tarts on the game
And they call it a date? What a nerve!
Why stupid cunts choose to stand in a line
For a bloke who's a nob, I don't know
In standards there can be no further decline
So it's Paddy - piss off! Fuckin' go!
14.1.12
© TMWSC
...
Friday, 13 January 2012
13.1.12 Bankers
There isn't much to cheer us up
With things the way they are
The banks have fucked us over good and proper
The awful strain of holding on
Creates a mental scar
And some will doubtless slip and come a cropper
There isn't much to do but wait
And hope that time will heal
The fucking mess created by the bankers
With reckless greed and negligence
They had to wheel and deal
And prove themselves a bunch of cunts and wankers
Hypocrisy is being told
They'll give us all advice
With TV ads on how to manage money
As if the cunts are qualified!
They fail - we pay the price
And all the time I'm sure they think it's funny
The cost of living's on the rise
We chew but swallow less
It's bollocks now for breakfast, lunch and dinner
And far too many hopes are pinned
On just a lucky guess
As if there's more than just one Lotto winner
So governments are overdrawn
Economies are lame
The retail sector's on its knees and crying
Yet banking seems to be immune
To banks it's all a game
They roll the dice while companies are dying
Recession's hit us rather hard
The outlook's cold and bleak
A shiver calls for Tunes or sucking Lockets
But money men are safe and warm
They ride their winning streak
While politicians line their fucking pockets
The credit crunch is biting yet
It's more than "sink or swim"
As millions learn to live while treading water
For some it's just a slight delay
Before their world turns grim
And bailiffs gather ready for the slaughter
13.1.12
With things the way they are
The banks have fucked us over good and proper
The awful strain of holding on
Creates a mental scar
And some will doubtless slip and come a cropper
There isn't much to do but wait
And hope that time will heal
The fucking mess created by the bankers
With reckless greed and negligence
They had to wheel and deal
And prove themselves a bunch of cunts and wankers
Hypocrisy is being told
They'll give us all advice
With TV ads on how to manage money
As if the cunts are qualified!
They fail - we pay the price
And all the time I'm sure they think it's funny
The cost of living's on the rise
We chew but swallow less
It's bollocks now for breakfast, lunch and dinner
And far too many hopes are pinned
On just a lucky guess
As if there's more than just one Lotto winner
So governments are overdrawn
Economies are lame
The retail sector's on its knees and crying
Yet banking seems to be immune
To banks it's all a game
They roll the dice while companies are dying
Recession's hit us rather hard
The outlook's cold and bleak
A shiver calls for Tunes or sucking Lockets
But money men are safe and warm
They ride their winning streak
While politicians line their fucking pockets
The credit crunch is biting yet
It's more than "sink or swim"
As millions learn to live while treading water
For some it's just a slight delay
Before their world turns grim
And bailiffs gather ready for the slaughter
13.1.12
© TMWSC
...
Thursday, 12 January 2012
12.1.12 High Speed Rail Link
So, the government has given the go ahead on this project, and has decided that we've got £32Billion to spare. I rather thought we were cutting back on things. We get rid of perfectly usable Harrier Jets, become an island with a downsized fucking navy and a slight 'gap' as regards having an aircraft carrier, but we nevertheless believe that people are massively desperate to go between London and Birmingham! Sorry, I mean go between these two places a bit more quickly, as clearly they can travel between them already. The thirty-two billion pounds will allow people to save 40 minutes on travelling time - in fifteen fucking years!
Hang on, tell me which projects you know of that have not taken much longer than anticipated, and have not come in at double the price. Dome, Olympics, and every fucking scheme involving new computer systems and consultants to advise. This will take not 15 years but 20. It will not cost £32 billion, but £64 billion. At the end of it (if I am alive) I suspect that travellers will be faced with fares that make the cuntin' service unaffordable. It's all very well having the ability to get to places quickly, but not if you've got no pissing money left to spend - and in London, you really do need extra money to spend. I suspect that a London sandwich in fifteen years time will have gone from the current £2.99 (Egg & Cress) to £13.49.
So, we are going to fuck up the lives of many people who live on the planned route, compensate them at levels that do nothing to actually compensate them for having their lives fucked up, and murder the environment. Even if tunnels mean we 'put back' what may seem to be a reasonable looking scene, it will never be the same.
Government "estimates" about a benefit of up to £2.50 for every pound spent are fucking worthless. First, "up to" means anything from £0.01 to £2.50, so for a start, it's a rather big gamble. Then, there's the fact that people's working practices will be vastly different in fifteen years time. Already people work from home in large numbers, work on the move via laptops, Blackberrys etc, and in the future, it is surely going to be the case that being in London for 9am-5pm is unnecessary. The government estimate is based on more productivity because travel time is reduced. Sorry, but travel time is no longer dead time, and it most certainly won't be dead time for many, come 15 years time! So, office based work being all that counts is not right!
Getting to London quickly is one thing, but then getting to your final destination is another, and there will be a great demand for more London infrastructure. Indeed, filling London with even more people will cripple the capital even more. The underground service will seize up with hoards of extra people encouraged south - if they can pay the fare, there are no leaves on the line, no strikes, no technical issues, no security alerts . . . . .etc etc etc.
Are we saying that Londoners will abandon London and whiz up to Birmingham? Possibly. Maybe they will dare to travel north and expose themselves to the wastelands of the Midlands, where there's a smattering of manufacturing left, a fair few logistics operations (for geographical reasons only) and the Bull Ring complex. Hang on, is there really going to be enough benefit for them to do that? No, because if they liked it so much, they'd move there, save on housing, have no travel costs and live their lives. That same choice exists today, without a pissing train service at £32 Billion fuckin' quid!
MOD, Trident, Navy, Armed Forces, Dome, Computer Systems, NHS, Roads, Airports, DHS, Benefits, Justice, Europe. We FUCK UP everything. The rail link will quite simply be another thing on the list of complete cock-ups and another dire waste of money, time, lives and nature.
Still, on the bright side, in 2033 it might be possible to benefit from the links on to Leeds and Manchester. That's a very big "might" because it will be delayed or cancelled anyway, in my opinion.
Absolute bollocks!
...
Hang on, tell me which projects you know of that have not taken much longer than anticipated, and have not come in at double the price. Dome, Olympics, and every fucking scheme involving new computer systems and consultants to advise. This will take not 15 years but 20. It will not cost £32 billion, but £64 billion. At the end of it (if I am alive) I suspect that travellers will be faced with fares that make the cuntin' service unaffordable. It's all very well having the ability to get to places quickly, but not if you've got no pissing money left to spend - and in London, you really do need extra money to spend. I suspect that a London sandwich in fifteen years time will have gone from the current £2.99 (Egg & Cress) to £13.49.
So, we are going to fuck up the lives of many people who live on the planned route, compensate them at levels that do nothing to actually compensate them for having their lives fucked up, and murder the environment. Even if tunnels mean we 'put back' what may seem to be a reasonable looking scene, it will never be the same.
Government "estimates" about a benefit of up to £2.50 for every pound spent are fucking worthless. First, "up to" means anything from £0.01 to £2.50, so for a start, it's a rather big gamble. Then, there's the fact that people's working practices will be vastly different in fifteen years time. Already people work from home in large numbers, work on the move via laptops, Blackberrys etc, and in the future, it is surely going to be the case that being in London for 9am-5pm is unnecessary. The government estimate is based on more productivity because travel time is reduced. Sorry, but travel time is no longer dead time, and it most certainly won't be dead time for many, come 15 years time! So, office based work being all that counts is not right!
Getting to London quickly is one thing, but then getting to your final destination is another, and there will be a great demand for more London infrastructure. Indeed, filling London with even more people will cripple the capital even more. The underground service will seize up with hoards of extra people encouraged south - if they can pay the fare, there are no leaves on the line, no strikes, no technical issues, no security alerts . . . . .etc etc etc.
Are we saying that Londoners will abandon London and whiz up to Birmingham? Possibly. Maybe they will dare to travel north and expose themselves to the wastelands of the Midlands, where there's a smattering of manufacturing left, a fair few logistics operations (for geographical reasons only) and the Bull Ring complex. Hang on, is there really going to be enough benefit for them to do that? No, because if they liked it so much, they'd move there, save on housing, have no travel costs and live their lives. That same choice exists today, without a pissing train service at £32 Billion fuckin' quid!
MOD, Trident, Navy, Armed Forces, Dome, Computer Systems, NHS, Roads, Airports, DHS, Benefits, Justice, Europe. We FUCK UP everything. The rail link will quite simply be another thing on the list of complete cock-ups and another dire waste of money, time, lives and nature.
Still, on the bright side, in 2033 it might be possible to benefit from the links on to Leeds and Manchester. That's a very big "might" because it will be delayed or cancelled anyway, in my opinion.
Absolute bollocks!
...
Tuesday, 10 January 2012
10.1.12 Holidays & Funerals
The nauseating adverts remind us how wonderful the Co-op is:
The Co-operative - Good With Food.
Yeah, right! We all know that prices are high, and people who are forced to shop locally pay loads for basic stuff. "Shit With Food" would be so much more in line with Advertising Standards requirements. Still, I doubt I will make much progress in getting the change made. Interestingly, the Co-op is a tad inconsistent with its adverts. I have seen two adverts this evening, one for Co-operative Travel and one for Co-operative Funeralcare. Where's the voiceover in a Scottish accent now, then?
The Co-operative - Good With Holidays
The Co-operative - Good With Death
I think Co-op heaven (well, heaven in the eyes of those running the Co-op) is someone who shops for food at the Co-op, gets milk delivered by Co-op Dairies, banks with the Co-op, books holidays with the Co-op, buys electricals from Co-op Electricals, gets medicine from the Co-op Pharmacy, sorts out insurance with the Co-op, and gets buried by the Co-op. They'll be taking over shops at petrol stations next! What? Oh . . . . already done that then.
And they say that the Chinese will one day take over the world.
...
The Co-operative - Good With Food.
Yeah, right! We all know that prices are high, and people who are forced to shop locally pay loads for basic stuff. "Shit With Food" would be so much more in line with Advertising Standards requirements. Still, I doubt I will make much progress in getting the change made. Interestingly, the Co-op is a tad inconsistent with its adverts. I have seen two adverts this evening, one for Co-operative Travel and one for Co-operative Funeralcare. Where's the voiceover in a Scottish accent now, then?
The Co-operative - Good With Holidays
The Co-operative - Good With Death
I think Co-op heaven (well, heaven in the eyes of those running the Co-op) is someone who shops for food at the Co-op, gets milk delivered by Co-op Dairies, banks with the Co-op, books holidays with the Co-op, buys electricals from Co-op Electricals, gets medicine from the Co-op Pharmacy, sorts out insurance with the Co-op, and gets buried by the Co-op. They'll be taking over shops at petrol stations next! What? Oh . . . . already done that then.
And they say that the Chinese will one day take over the world.
...
10.1.12 Activia Weight Gain
There's something not quite right about the so-called "T.L.C." that comes with eating Activia because this would seem to be a yoghurt that helps you put on weight. I say this, after seeing an advert yesterday, and noticing that Martine McCutcheon has got bigger. I am convinced it's got nothing to do with widescreen TV; I know that it's said to put 5lbs on you, but of course that's the case on a rolling basis. No, Martine has not reached the rolling stage yet, not even the waddling stage * but she most certainly is at the hoiking stage. She hoiks herself across the screen, smiling and licking a spoon that never had anything on it, extolling the virtues of Activia. Sorry, luv, but you need to do a bit more than hoik across my screen, however wide it is, and do some serious exercise instead. As a consumer, I don't want to eat something that's having the effect Activia's having on you.
On another advert (a rather longer one!) we have Alesha Dixon (why, why, why???) fronting a musical march for "ordinary" people who are all getting on down to Weight Watchers. The massive advert is of course biased to fuck, in that the only people who need to slim are women. There are no fat cunts who are men of course! So, Alesha fronts the campaign for no good reason, and hundreds of women march for no good reason - well, actually, maybe to exercise and so lose weight. I suggest that everyone who was in the advert lost more weight participating in it than would ever be lost in a week following the diet, or weight-watching, or whatever.
* For those of you who clocked the asterisk above, I have decided to include this note, rather than annoy by omitting it - something I occasionally see done. "Waddling" is demonstrated superbly by the chap with the Irish accent who does the Everest Windows adverts. He's not overweight, but has mastered the Waddle, so keep a look out.
As for Activia, then, do yourself a favour - look at Martine, and decide if you want to go up a size as well. The T.L.C. isn't quite working, is it?
...
On another advert (a rather longer one!) we have Alesha Dixon (why, why, why???) fronting a musical march for "ordinary" people who are all getting on down to Weight Watchers. The massive advert is of course biased to fuck, in that the only people who need to slim are women. There are no fat cunts who are men of course! So, Alesha fronts the campaign for no good reason, and hundreds of women march for no good reason - well, actually, maybe to exercise and so lose weight. I suggest that everyone who was in the advert lost more weight participating in it than would ever be lost in a week following the diet, or weight-watching, or whatever.
* For those of you who clocked the asterisk above, I have decided to include this note, rather than annoy by omitting it - something I occasionally see done. "Waddling" is demonstrated superbly by the chap with the Irish accent who does the Everest Windows adverts. He's not overweight, but has mastered the Waddle, so keep a look out.
As for Activia, then, do yourself a favour - look at Martine, and decide if you want to go up a size as well. The T.L.C. isn't quite working, is it?
...
Monday, 9 January 2012
9.1.12 Apology - Paul Daniels
The newspapers are littered with errors and inaccuracies, and apologies often have to be printed. Ahead of time, I have noticed an issue with a story in today's paper, regarding Paul Daniels. I will first show the printed story - well, the beginning of it at any rate.
Paul Daniels thought his career was over after a DIY accident with a power saw. Paul - more used to sawing other people in half - almost severed his fingers on New Year's Day at the Berkshire home he shares with wife Debbie McGee. As she was out, Paul wrapped his torn left hand and drove himself to a nearby hospital. [The story goes on a bit, with some boring extra information.]
Whilst not a fan of Mr Daniels, I do wish him a speedy recovery, and suggest to him that he stays away from power saws in the future, and perhaps sticks to handkerchiefs and cards.
Now to the issue. I apologise on behalf of The Sun for the error contained within the opening line of the article. Clearly the career of Paul Daniels was over some considerable time ago.
...
Paul Daniels thought his career was over after a DIY accident with a power saw. Paul - more used to sawing other people in half - almost severed his fingers on New Year's Day at the Berkshire home he shares with wife Debbie McGee. As she was out, Paul wrapped his torn left hand and drove himself to a nearby hospital. [The story goes on a bit, with some boring extra information.]
Whilst not a fan of Mr Daniels, I do wish him a speedy recovery, and suggest to him that he stays away from power saws in the future, and perhaps sticks to handkerchiefs and cards.
Now to the issue. I apologise on behalf of The Sun for the error contained within the opening line of the article. Clearly the career of Paul Daniels was over some considerable time ago.
...
9.1.12 Cheese & Wine
I have no great facts on wine, but I have discovered something interesting today, as regards cheese. Here it is:
Four per cent of all cheese put on store shelves in the UK gets stolen.
What an amazing fact. This came to light in the article I was reading about the exploits of "cheese and wine pilferer Antony Worrall Thompson". What a fantastic description, for the little chap who could be one of The Borrowers - well, based on size, yes, but what with him stealing rather than borrowing, I think he's disqualified himself. What the fuck was he thinking, repeatedly nicking stuff from Tesco? Still, it brought some much-needed amusement from a totally unexpected direction. Further, it's given me a break from reading about and seeing pictures of Sarah Harding, who seems on a mission to rustle up as much sympathy for her self-induced troubles as she can. Sorry, but that's not news really. Instead, maybe Take-a-Break magazine could cover her story. That would give the useless Melanie Sykes something to waffle on about, now that she's finished touting Wynsors Shoes.
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Four per cent of all cheese put on store shelves in the UK gets stolen.
What an amazing fact. This came to light in the article I was reading about the exploits of "cheese and wine pilferer Antony Worrall Thompson". What a fantastic description, for the little chap who could be one of The Borrowers - well, based on size, yes, but what with him stealing rather than borrowing, I think he's disqualified himself. What the fuck was he thinking, repeatedly nicking stuff from Tesco? Still, it brought some much-needed amusement from a totally unexpected direction. Further, it's given me a break from reading about and seeing pictures of Sarah Harding, who seems on a mission to rustle up as much sympathy for her self-induced troubles as she can. Sorry, but that's not news really. Instead, maybe Take-a-Break magazine could cover her story. That would give the useless Melanie Sykes something to waffle on about, now that she's finished touting Wynsors Shoes.
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