Tuesday 11 September 2012

11.9.12 England v Ukraine

What a load of sour grapes in the ITV studio.  We of course had absolutely no need of three 'pundits' to add to the drivel spewed by Adrian Chiles, but as ever, there was overload on pointless chat.  The supposed issues with the referee were rather accentuated, and for some reason there was a view that England had been 'hard done by'.

It is true that the referee got a couple of things wrong.  Glen Johnson's yellow card was a bit harsh considering his foot made contact with the ball first.  Do I have sympathy?  No.  The guy is forever out of position, and trying to either catch up a player, or challenge in desperation.  On this basis, sooner or later, you'll lose out in some way or other.  On other matters, I don't think there's much to moan about at all.  Defoe scored an excellent goal with a fantastic strike of the ball from outside the box.  It is indeed a shame that it was ruled out and a free kick awarded to Ukraine.  However, he had his right arm and hand out and in the air, level with his head, and managed to hold off the Ukraine player.  The fact that the Ukraine player went down and acted like a wailing Banshee that had just been garrotted does not mean that he was not in fact the recipient of a hand off to the face by Defoe.  Perhaps next time, Defoe will stop waving and holding off opponents.  Any claim that it was 'nothing' and accidental, or that the award of a free kick was 'soft' is complete shit.  Late in the game, when the Ukraine defender had his arm a bit high and the ball hit it, the penalty was apparently a no-brainer.  As ever, England seem to want it both ways.



Gerrard's sending off was totally appropriate.  If you were the one he managed to elbow in the face when challenging to head the ball, you'd soon know about it.  Any pundit's view that he "caught him on the way down" does not really address the fact that he jumped in the first place with his elbow level with the opponent's head, ready to be pulled sideways for a smack in the face.  There is no need to jump like that with such an obvious leading elbow; quite simply thuggish.  The desperate lung for the ball, through the opponent, with ten minutes to go was typical of a player trying to make good after a loss of possession; the over-eagerness had the consequence of a second yellow card, meaning a dismissal.  All very proper.

1-1 was okay in the end for both sides.  England should have won but failed to take the many chances.  As for Joe Hart, I will save him for another posting.  For the time being, I will simply confirm that he is nowhere near as good as people think, and his reputation (in some quarters) is not deserved.  There will be many opportunities for me to elaborate on his poor positioning, panicky flaps at the ball in the air, and his decisions to avoid catching the fucking thing.

...

11.9.12 He Doesn't Get Any Better

Who?  Jonathan Ross!  If you were fortunate enough to miss Saturday's airing of his show, then I wish you success in your further efforts to avoid at all costs the repeat scheduled for Thursday night.  You missed nothing of consequence, and managed to save yourself the arduous task of watching him be a pathetic toad.

I blame the lack of football on Saturday night.  If fact, there was a lack of it on Friday as well, because five-nil or not, the entertainment factor was most certainly nil.  Anyway, with no Match of the Day to divert my attention, I sad broke the habit of recent years, and sat through a whole programme of JR shit.  His guests are not all shit, of course - some are worth watching.  The problem [a what a fucking king-sized one it is] is that Jonathan Ross is busy fucking up any chance of entertainment while promoting himself at all times.

This week we had Andrew Lloyd Webber and people associated with his latest Jesus Christ effort.  Apart from the far-too-short appearance of Kayvan Novak, the show was basically pointless.  However, the worst aspect by a fucking mile was the arse-licking, creepy wetness that was JR introducing Cheryl Cole.  He introduced her no less than seven times, expecting the audience to applaud after each announcement.  She'd done fuck all, proceeded to do or say (or sing/mime) fuck all of any note, and yet applause was apparently due.  The nobs in the audience obliged.  This whole approach was nauseating.  Between vomiting and stabbing the voodoo doll, I saw her preening and smiling and doing nowt, while Ross acted like a cunt.  As for her efforts with a microphone, I will lay money that she was miming - despite the illusion created by the earpiece.



This programme sucks, Ross sucks, the humour is pathetic for most of the hour-long trail, and I've never witnessed more smoke being blown up an arse in my life.  Ross should be ashamed of himself, but of course he has no such ability or awareness, let alone inclination.

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Saturday 8 September 2012

8.9.12 August Quotes of the Month

What with so many quotes connected with the Olympics, and posted separately, the list is somewhat reduced for the August round-up, which I've just realised I haven't yet done.  As ever, there are a fair few grammatical calamities included.

1  -  "Mel B is far too butch to pull off a dress."  [Jess]

2  -  "A brilliant player to watch on the eye."  [Alan Shearer]

3  -  "Harvey looks like he's been wearing a helmet."

4  -  "I've been in the bath as well, and I've got a shiny foot - look!"  [TMWSC]

Grammar and Language Cock-ups

5  -  "They were issued with a final ultimatum."  [Radio Newsreader]

6  -  "It was an interesting avenue in which to go down."  [BBC Radio News - inadvertently reporting that the woman was 'going down' on someone in an avenue]

7  -  "Back-stadia was the Duchess of Cambridge."  [Radio Sports Report - horrendous!]

8  -  "It's not clear what the core message of these Olympics are."  [Idiot, on Newsnight]

9  -  "The dispute is within the medical team themselves."  [Radio News]

10 - "They're gonna see just how much speed are in the legs."  [Paralympics commentator]

11 - "Since then, podiums have become more difficult to come by."  [Paralympics commentator, talking rubbish about podia]

12 - "They didn't look like a dressing room in turmoil today."  [ITV News rubbish]

13 - "Only one of the four were smiling after the opening day."  [Colin Murray, MOTD2]

14 - "A real good start and a real good point."  [Alan Shearer]

15- "A group of horses are rescued from an isolated farm."  [TV Guide, ref Animal 24:7]

16 - "The Devon air ambulance rush to the aid of a patient in cardiac arrest."  [TV Guide, ref Emergency]

...

Thursday 6 September 2012

6.9.12 Not Giving A Shit

Does anyone really give a fucking shit about



a) what the following people get up to
b) what they do with other people
c) anything at all to do with . . . . . . ???????????????????????

1 - Rihanna
2 - Russell Brand
3 - Ashley Cole
4 - Cheryl Tweedy / Cole
5 - Kelly Brook
6 - Doctor Who (known in this house as 'Doctor Cuntin' Who)
7 - Ginger Spice
8 - Paul McCartney
9 - Russell Brand, again
10 - Barclays Bank
11 - Katherine Jenkins
12 - Darcey Bussell



All complete bollocks.

...

Sunday 2 September 2012

2.9.12 Paralympics Opening Ceremony

I was much less impressed than I'd hoped to be.  A few weeks ago, we had an opening ceremony for the 2012 Olympics that was overall rather good.  Yes, there were some obvious fuck-ups and oddities because the inclusion of some people and acts was preposterous.  I refer of course to the Pet Shop Boys, Naomi Campbell, Kate Moss, Paul McCartney, George Michael for two songs (?) and some others who I'll not mention now, because we've moved on.  The point is that where the Olympics commanded some interest and involvement from the entertainment world, it seems there was no such feeling with regard to the Paralympics.



We did have Beverley Knight.  Now, no offence to her at all (I think she's good) but if that constitutes the input from the world of music (and I'm not counting some bird/Birdie on the piano, moaning) then there can never have been such discrimination shown, surely?  The Olympics opening ceremony turned into a gig with big names, dead as well as alive, thanks to modern technology, and all the athletes and support staff were able to enjoy the music.  Has someone decided that disabled people cannot enjoy popular music?  It seems only depressing songs, laments and opera have any appeal if you're short of a limb.  How crass.

Instead of real entertainment, this ceremony seemed to me to lose its way from the outset.  The tosh that was supposedly highbrow was in fact shite, and whilst Ian McKellen was his usual enthusiastic self (albeit plodding) I was at a loss to understand why the woman with the splodge of blue in her hair was given so much attention.

The whole feel of the ceremony was of gloom and seemed to underline the difficulties of living with a disability.  The slowness, the melancholy, the artiness of the performances - they all suggested the adoption of an overall toning down of a proper opening ceremony.  Stephen Hawking was overly included.  Where was the fun and celebration?  It was gloomy.  When we eventually looked like we'd get some music (Beverley Knight) I said to Mrs MWSC that this sounded too much like a finale - and so it turned out to be!  "I am what I am" was the one song - a very extended version - and whilst that could be considered by many to be fitting for the Paralympics, I am actually of the opinion that this choice is patronising as fuck to humans who are competing for medals, and underlines far too much the disabilities that govern things.  In fact, I'd suggest that the whole opening ceremony was patronising.

I have heard comparisons being made between the medal count and chances of winning medals at this event versus the achievements at the 2012 Olympics.  Unfortunately there cannot be comparisons made whereby success in one competition can be deemed greater or lesser than success in the other.  The chances of winning medals, the number of different/extra competitions per sport in the Paralympics and the differing number of overall competitors (and thus the numbers of heats per event) all mean that it's futile and illogical to compare the Olympics results with the Paralympics results.

The parade of competitors was interesting, as was the supposed alphabetical order of the teams' entries to the stadium.  I struggled to understand the rules in this regard, and first gave it consideration after China came into the stadium but the team was announced as the 'People's Republic of China'.  I reckoned this to warrant entry as 'P' in the running order, rather than 'C'.  Behind China came Cote d'Ivoire, which I rather thought should come later under 'I' for Ivory Coast.  On that basis, Spain should shoot forward to entry as an 'E' what with it being called Espagna.  Obviously they didn't do this, because country names are supposed to be in English.

Further puzzles were thrown in my direction by the arrival of the 'Democratic People's Republic of Korea' under 'D' rather than 'P' or 'N' for North Korea.  It seems that any country choosing to label itself as belonging to the People is in fact a country that denies the People any rights at all.  'Democratic' seems to count as the overriding letter for alphabetic determination, even if democracy might be thin on the ground!  Before I could get carried away with countries wanting to jump forward, I realised that the 'Democratic Republic of the Congo' was happy with 'D' rather than moving up to a 'C'.

Macedonia gained a few places with its ludicrous 'FYR' clarification.  After Ghana (a very straightforward 'G') went by, Channel 4 decided it was time for a break, and we all needed to assess our possible needs for Sheba cat food, Strongbow, Walkers crisps and possibly insuring things via Hiscox.  Meanwhile, I wondered if we'd miss Great Britain before Mrs MWSC said we'd be last, as hosts.

Then we had 'Hong Kong China'.  Hang on a minute, we gave Hong Kong back to China, so why is it still listed separately?  I think China has little need of an extra chance of swamping the world of sport, and so to count Hong Kong as a separate country now is not reasonable.

The 'Republic of Ireland' was introduced under 'I' as one might expect, because the long-winded name is in the main pointless.  The 'Republic of Korea' (the one that apparently does not belong to the People, but is in fact rather freer than its more northerly People's version) came in under K (because it isn't democratic and worthy of a 'D') and avoided 'S' as South Korea, the name by which it is actually known worldwide.

China had another rip-off entry, under 'Macao China'.

After Moldova (republic etc) came Myanmar, which obstinately refused an earlier spot as 'Burma'.  The team from Peru entered the stadium wearing ponchos.  The commentary included the line that it was "getting a little chilly" and the irony was lost/ignored.  With another advert break, I suspected a move for Al Quaeda to sneak into the stadium (under 'Q' of course, and not 'A').

Russia announced itself as the 'Russian Federation' for no place gain or loss whatsoever.  In a similar way, Syria arrived as the 'Syrian Arab Republic'.

The nerve of the Chinese reached even greater heights, with the announcement of 'Chinese Taipei' under 'T'. What the fuck?  Why isn't it Taipei China?  Why is this even allowed, China, plus three psuedo-China entries?

After Tonga, we switched over to Claire Balding talking to the GB athletes, waiting their turn.  When we came back to the stadium, we were watching Vietnam, and again I suspected a conspiracy by migrants from the Thrombosis Islands seeking asylum!  After Vietnam, there was a jump to Zambia, which highlighted the lack of countries at the tail end of the alphabet - I blame all the coups, renaming and obsession with 'Democratic', 'People's' and 'Republic'.

At the end came Great Britain.  Whilst its position (last) was obligatory for the host nation, rendering the alphabetical position irrelevant, I was disappointed to hear 'Team GB' announced.  Surely it should have been the 'United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland'.  If London doesn't give a shit about Northern Ireland, perhaps it ought to sanction its return to Ireland - sorry, the Republic of Ireland, then?

The comparison of wheelchair quality by nation was evidence, in part, as to why some nations have done well at past venues.  The more developed nations have a distinct advantage over those without two grains of corn to rub together.  Sadly, human endeavour is therefore not equally judged; someone working like hell in an event will, if he or she is from the wrong country, probably do less well than someone with better equipment and training facilities, even if their personal actual ability is marginally lower.

All in all, a poor relation to the efforts, money and involvement of the entertainment world that was deemed appropriate for the able-bodied event.  What we are now in the middle of is a sporting event over 11 days that will be watched and supported by millions, and the efforts of the athletes will be celebrated along with their medals.  We will laud the athletes, ahead of returning to the normal state of affairs in a week or two, when we will as a nation moan about blue badge holders, benefits paid to those claiming disability, and whinging about wheelchairs cluttering the aisles in Tesco.  The media will not maintain its approach to patronising disabled people - it will simply reduce the times it pays attention to the needs of such a significant proportion of the population.  A gold medal won by someone referred to as S36 will bear no relation to the plight of that same someone in a wheelchair looking for some trousers, unless it coincidentally means 'Short 36' for the size.  Either way, "if it's not on the rack, we haven't got it" will be mumbled by a gum-chewing minimum wage assistant, even if there's a medal round the shopper's neck.

Call me cynical, but time will tell.

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2.9.12 Yesterday's Views

I went to the shops yesterday, to get some household items and to do some food shopping at Morrisons.  All rather mundane stuff, especially as the range of shops involved was at the 'bottom end' of the retail world.

Poundland

The benefits (in most cases) of paying one pound for items are often countered by the fiasco of paying and exiting the store.  My aim of a quick call to look for a doorbell and to get two items was buggered up upon finding just two tills operating, and a dozen shoppers advancing like zombies towards the beeps being emitted by the tills, signalling pound sales.  In my queue were two fatties.  Sorry, but fuck political correctness, they were fucking fat as fuck, with bellies the size of space hoppers.  The first one was loitering for her pal, who'd bought enough to fill numerous bags; £23 in a pound shop.  Much of it could have been purchased cheaper elsewhere, I reckon, but I suppose that the tactics for Poundland involve lulling people into thinking everything is fantastically cheap.  I was about to abandon my place in the queue when a bloke arrived to get a third till going.  One minute later I was breathing fresh air and on my way.

Poundworld

Just as Disneyland competes with Disney World, there is competition in the retail environment.  No cheap doorbells were on view as I whizzed round; was able to buy some cleaning stuff though, and get served immediately - 2 minutes all in.

Cash Converters

I couldn't resist a quick gander at the DVDs, on the off chance there might be something worth buying.  There was not, and I left.  However, this was not before overhearing a wonderful comment by a DVD-browser, in the shape of a female of around 20 years, with a much higher BMI.  I have no idea on her IQ, or her personal circumstances, but I feared for her future for a nanosecond. Then she recommended the film Clueless to her friend.  "Clueless is good."  I relished the irony of this, as the dozy bugger (who'd shuffled along the rack in front of me, oblivious to my presence) went on to say: "I were like that at her age".  I considered the mounting level of irony, as I tried to make the comparison between Alicia Silverstone and this blob in a tracksuit.  I have no idea whether the pair opted for the used film at £1.99, and decided to keep out of the process and not advise that it's being shown on Film4 on Wednesday evening - something I'd clocked that morning.

Yorkshire Trading

This is one of the world's strangest shops.  I bought a duvet cover and some sheets, and realised to my inconvenience that whilst the shop sells many things that are quite large, the maximum size of a carrier bag is such that it holds 0.5 cubic feet, and is so thin it could be used as tracing paper.  Outside the shop, one of the two bags provided for my purchases was fucked.  The corner of the plastic covering the double sheet had slit the bag more effectively than an assassin slicing a jugular with a Bowie knife.

Wilkinsons

A painless experience, and I was able to pick up a 10.5 tog king size duvet for £8.94.  More impressive was the fact that I was able to exit the store speedily, as the checkouts were not clogged to fuck.  I could also juggle bags and contents, and get back to the car without losing items en route.  The £4.99 doorbells were nowhere to be seen, under the sign that said "Doorbell - £4,99". Things being out of stock is a phenomenon that's cuntin' annoying.

WH Smith

This shop is good for absolutely nothing except buying a newspaper or a lottery ticket.  I'd bought papers that morning, so needed only a lottery ticket. The cramped conditions in the small shop, and the queue of six people down one narrow aisle was enough for me to turn round and leave after just two paces inside the door.

Brighthouse

Back towards the car, I passed Brighthouse.  The existence of this shop is proof that the country is completely fucked.  In the window was a washing machine.  It may too have been a dryer, and at the price quoted, the cunt should have done the ironing and putting away as well!  With finance, this machine was going to cost some unlucky (stupid) cunt £1400.  I am NOT kidding.  Rounding the corner, there were two girls, probably aged about eighteen, handing out leaflets or booklets.  I get the impression they were touting for customers, and were most likely associated with Brighthouse.  I therefore adopted my look - the one that says: '"Don't you dare waste my time by daring to offer your cuntin' crap to me - do I look like I am the least bit interested in anything you've got to offer?  Pick someone else and save yourself the aggro, and avoid me having to decline your tout."  This look is not one that is overtly hostile or demonstrates any lunatic rage waiting to burst out via a headbutt.  However, it certainly worked, and I was able to pass the touts without being approached, and anyway, I've already got a washing machine (around £200, if I remember rightly).

Argos

£5.99 for the cheapest doorbell, out of stock.  Some of the fucking things were thirty and forty quid!  Why the fuck would I pay that much so that a cunt I don't want to hear from can press a button and annoy me?  What a mad world.

Morrisons

At the car, I put the bags in the boot, and then made my way to the Morrisons entrance.  The first option to buy involved a triple display of Bacon, Cod in Batter, and something else that escapes me now.  My ability to get to the bacon was compromised in the first instance because there wasn't any smoked bacon on display. The bloke filling up the small 'island' cooler was finishing a stack of blue-labelled packs, but I didn't want unsmoked.  I went and got some vegetables and then returned to the bacon.  I couldn't get to it for three reasons:

1  The bloke filling the cooler was still on one side, as was his supply trolley, so only one approach was possible.
2  The woman who was hogging the access on the other side was busy comparing the bacon in the packs, and couldn't decide which was the best option.  I wondered if she was looking at patterns in the meat, or whether she was engaged in a more in-depth study, looking for DNA proof that she was buying two packs which contained meat from the same fucking pig.  It turned out not to be so, because the woman bought a single fucking pack, after all that effort.
3  During this woman's pondering, her flanks were guarded by family members.  They encroached, and prevented anyone gaining access.  So even with my long arms, I was blocked sufficiently by a gawky, lanky fifteen-year-old and a subdued/comatose husband, while a free radical (small boy of about nine) pissed about like an electron.

Pasta Watch - For those of you interested, the 500g packets of own-brand pasta have been reduced to 30p (down from 35p) and spaghetti is at 24p for the same weight.  Alas, on this visit I wanted some tagliatelli, and the fuckers at the Morrisons buying department had failed to gauge properly the public's need for this commodity.  The shelf was cuntin' empty!

Tuna - Apparently the going rate for a 185g tun of tuna is £1.69.  That's according to the sign that was advertising tins available for £1 instead of the aforementioned normal price.  Liars.  Meanwhile, over on the own-brand shelf, the 54p tuna was nowhere to be found.  Again, an empty cuntin' shelf!

Pepsi - I was about to pick up a pack of 15 cans for £4.  I then noticed that the sign mentioned 250ml cans. What the fuckin' fuck?  Since when did the denomination for a can of drink change from 330ml?  At 26.6p per can, I was happy to make the purchase.  However, a normal can is exactly 32% bigger than these shitty fucking things - making the true price per can over 35p. Cunts in marketing are con merchants.

I think everyone knows the situation that develops when you keep passing the same person or people, when shopping.  I suppose it can sometimes be quite nice to see someone of the opposite sex whose looks are worth seconds, thirds and further helpings.  However, it's more usually the case that the annoying cunt that barged in front of you at the store entrance is the same cunt you spend the next half an hour trying (unsuccessfully) to dodge in the aisles. So it was that the Bacon Foursome haunted me.

£110 poorer, I left the shop with my laden trolley and a voucher for £9.50 off if I spend over £95 in the next week.  If the fuckers have in stock some more of that Bulmers No.17 cider, some tuna and some tagliatelli, I may well stand a chance.

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Saturday 1 September 2012

1.9.12 TV Guides

The weekly TV guide throws up a reasonable amount of amusement, at least for me it does.  I am not sure if my mind is constructed differently from the minds of the average citizens of this country, but I do find the turns of phrase often nudge me towards interpretations that were not envisaged by the compilers, and towards criticisms which the compilers were no doubt not looking for.

I think some of the descriptions regarding certain programmes are better viewed without knowledge of the actual programme name.  Sometimes the innuendos are rather in-your-face, but they can still be funny.  As an example:

"The amateur cooks tackle three types of tart."  This is a funny one-line description.  It's a shame that the reference to 'cooks' is included, because that helps us realise that this is (yet another) cookery programme, and so the 'tart' reference is less funny.  However, there are other oddities in the schedules.

"The experts come across a collection of Royal Doulton ceramics."  Do they indeed!

"Featuring a pair of 19th century Chinese ginger jars.  Last in series."  I wondered whether the jars were ginger, or were the holders of ginger, before then considering whether the jars were the last in a series of jars, or if it was the programme itself that was the last one.

Elsewhere in the schedules, there is riveting entertainment by way of a 45 minute programme which carries the following appetite-wetter.  "A woman falls of her bike and a seven-year-old makes a 999 call."  This was actually a comment on Real Rescues  and is clearly a wonderfully entertaining and challenging experience for of all.  Yeah, right!  "A family's washing is set alight by a cooker" is another episode awaiting our attention.  I suspect the 'cooker' was not a person, but a hot thing that somehow transmitted its heat in the wrong direction and/or a bit too far.  How enthralling.

Elsewhere, I have seen more excitement lined up for viewers.  "A dog that became ill by eating a bone undergoes surgery."  Fuck me, it all happens, eh?  Who'd have thought it - a dog eating a bone!  Another programme in this series contains some relocation.  "Chris Shaw prepares to move 13 dogs from an unsuitable home."  I assume this refers to animals rather than a rather inappropriate reference to ugly people. Perhaps the wallpaper and ambience is not up to scratch for the canine inhabitants (?)  Yet another 45-minute helping is dog-related: "An aggressive pit bull is seized by police officers."  This is not to be confused with any other similar programme that could be described: "A pit bull is seized by aggressive police officers."  A final comment on this padding in the schedules by BBC1 concerns the listing for 20th August: "Inspector Emma Ellis saves two dogs with fleas and mites."  So, she didn't need a lead, or a cage, nor did she save them using a step ladder of emergency vehicle.  No, all she needed was a few fleas and some mites.  Amazing!

I was totally let down by Celebrity Masterchef, after the (false) promise of some violence.  Under the pretence that there would be an exciting finale.  "Laila Rouass, Gareth Gates, George Layton and Emma Kennedy prepare apple tarte Tatin withe creme anglaise and a dish of their own creation - before one of them is eliminated."  I waiting for the firing squad, or the club to the back of the head, but no one was on the receiving of the elimination I was hoping for.

...

1.9.12 Pissing In The Gutter

I was washing up at the kitchen sink this morning, and I looked through the window to see a couple of cars parked outside the Town Hall.  These blue badge holders were of course entitled to occupy road space on double yellow lines.  I then observed another vehicle come round the corner and park.  Well, it did not so much park as simply stop, with its back end about six feet from the main road.  This illegal parking was for a purpose that I could not have envisaged.

The black 4x4 stopped, and the driver emerged.  He went to the rear door on his side, and after a minute or so, managed to extract from a child seat a kid who must have been about 18 months to two years old.  Meanwhile, the front passenger seat remained occupied by a woman, as did one of the rear seats.  The bloke walked round to the front of the vehicle and I was expecting him to walk up the steps to the Town Hall.  No, there was an agenda here that I was not privy to - forgive the pun, although you've no idea yet what the pun could possibly be!

He stopped in front of the car, and proceeded to pull down the little guy's kegs, and oversee an episode of pissing in the road!  Yes, that's right - this bloke had decided it was perfectly reasonable to pull in and get his kid or grandkid to piss in the street at the foot of the Town Hall steps.  He (the bloke) then stuck the little guy back in his seat, got in the car, reversed into the main road (dangerously) and fucked the cunt off!

I then watched as passers-by went about their business in exactly the same area that the little man had been positioned to do his business.  Thirty yards up the road is a public convenience.  However, this twat in the 4x4 had clearly decided it was perfectly normal to stop a couple of yards off the High Street, and lay down (via his smaller companion) some piss in the gutter.  Fucking incredible, and unbelievable.  If I knew where he lived, I'd go to the nearest pub, drink a few pints and piss in his cuntin' driveway!

YE12 XY5 was the reg, by the way.

...