I was driving the other day, and had the misfortune to follow a cunt in a CRV. The problem was his speed, which bore no relation to the car's ability, nor the speed limit that applied to any road. On the 60mph by-pass, it moved at 40mph. It slowed to 33mph for the 30mph section, and then on the national speed limit single-lane road (60mph) it shot up to fucking 40mph again. This vehicle pretends to be an off-road one, but the irony (or fucking bad luck in this particular case) is that few are actually off the fucking road and in a field where they belong. Instead, I have to follow a twat who was oblivious to anything outside of his direct vision, covering thirty yards in a straight line ahead.
Renault
Half hour later, I found myself musing at the name of the silver vehicle in front of me. It was a few years old, and was ugly as fuck. Strange then, that the makers had settled upon 'Scenic' as a name for the model - wholly inappropriate.
Cunt-operative
I chanced upon a lorry that was transporting overpriced shit to Co-op shops, or 'Cunt-op' as you'll appreciate, if you have read other blog posts or been anywhere near a fucking store! On the side of the large vehicle was:
Co-op is the biggest supermarket
Supporter of Fairtrade
Now, I find it both ironic and fucking annoying that this retailer boasts about being the biggest supermarket, yet it has absolutely loads of fairly small stores to make up the chain. So, it's the biggest supermarket chain, with shops of the smallest average size - which often don't sell what you have gone in to buy, or present you with one expensive option. The second level of irony comes from its support of Fairtrade whilst adopting practices which hardly support any notion whatsoever of trading fairly. You cannot believe a single recommended retail price, or that any offers are not weird contortions of normal pricing policy to make the 'deal' look good. Every single temporary good deal is made up for 156 times over by the horrendously high prices for items not in a promotion. Luckily for the Cunt-op, the old folk with no cars or computers waddle in with their tartan trolleys and wicker baskets, and load up with overpriced items.
The final irony, of course, is the Cunt-op's slogan: Good with food. Yeah, right . . . . [Sorry, that's sarcasm, rather than emphasis on the irony of the complete mismatch of claim/view with reality]
Leicestershire
I've nothing against Leicestershire - although I've nothing for it either. Neither am I really fussed one way or the other regarding the use of alliteration; couldn't cuntin' care. However, I was amused by the advertising hoarding on the edge of the field by the motorway, announcing:
Luxury Living in Leicestershire
The enticement towards what is a housing development is alongside the motorway, right next to Leicester Forest East service station, one of the direst and most depressing places on earth!
Limited Speed
On a duel carriageway, I found myself slowly (very slowly, mind) catching a lorry, and because of a faster car approaching in the outside lane, I settle for temporarily following the lorry. I saw a sticker on its rear, saying:
This vehicle is limited at 50mph
I looked at my speedometer, which was showing 63mph, and decided that the reliability of stickers is not what it used to be.
Water Leak
I saw a Landrover recently, adorned with logos and writing to prove it was a vehicle owned by Severn Trent Water. Included in the sign-written display was an invitation to call a telephone number to report a problem.
Spotted a leak? Phone Leakline - 0800 783 4444
I've no idea whether STW is one of the best or worst of the water companies, but considering there's a hosepipe ban across a quarter of the country, and the fact that the companies themselves are losing millions of litres per day from their pipes, I am tempted to investigate other telephone numbers for other areas - especially in the south east. I can imagine calling and highlighting to Thames Water a slight leak to the tune of millions of gallons per day!
Ryanair
Cabin crews are highly trained, and in one aspect, females excel. The tannoy announcements are most often handled by a female with a voice that could wake the fucking dead, and strip paint from the blue plastic seats. She will shriek with details of offers for overpriced snacks and perfumes, and give your ears the equivalent of a sand-blast. All this is commonly on the back of either her, the pilot or another member of staff suggesting four minutes beforehand that everyone should "sit back, relax and enjoy the flight". That's irony for you, free of charge, from Ryanair.
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