How is she 'Designer of the Year', wearing this pathetic wind sock? I've seen better designed ironing board covers!
...
Thursday, 29 November 2012
29.11.12 Designer of the Year
Here's a strange one. You look at the evidence, and decide for yourself.
How is she 'Designer of the Year', wearing this pathetic wind sock? I've seen better designed ironing board covers!
...
How is she 'Designer of the Year', wearing this pathetic wind sock? I've seen better designed ironing board covers!
...
29.11.12 Rotherham Council
Well, I think there is widespread agreement that the actions of Rotherham Council have been outrageous. Almost everyone commenting is condemning the decision to removed children from foster parents who are members of UKIP. Quite rightly, the country has united in favour of the parents and children - something the Council has completely failed in!
There are, I suspect, very many cunts hiding in councils and other institutions, collecting good money for doing a poor job. People in positions of power over ordinary folk need to be kept in check. Councils are a common hiding place, but there are also other institutions whose members are suspect. There are many 'experts' who get paid to pass comment on ordinary folk, and for some reason the opinions of a so-called expert are held in greater esteem than any form of common sense or counter claim by the man or woman in the street. The apparent aim of "child welfare" seems to be an objective that's the trump card which excuses all and any actions, whatever the consequences, or merits of the intervention.
The latest idiots to come to the public's attention are residing in Rotherham Council. I read in the papers that Joyce Thacker has defended her decision.
UKIP is not a racist institution. In fact, its policies towards immigration are based on common sense and economic realities - a far cry from the pathetic open-cunting-door policy of the last Labour government (which has acknowledged it fucked up and covered up its real motives) and the useless Liberal Democrats, whose policies have less substance than watered down porridge. As for the Conservatives, they talk tough and do fuck all about anything. UKIP is therefore reflecting the views of the nation in respect of immigration. It's an economic issue - period. To decide that it's against the long-term interests of a child to have parents who agree with UKIP is preposterous! In fact, I maintain that the council has itself been racist, because at the heart of this mess is the fact that the foster parents are caring for children from Eastern Europe. For the Council to think this is unacceptable is appalling. For the foster parents to find out afterwards that they will still be considered in future, but for white children as reported) means racism is at work here, surely?
Fostering and adoption rules in this country are mad, unfair and serve to make things worse overall. There are very many parents who are quite possibly not fit to have children; parents who may, amongst other things, be irresponsible, druggies, criminals or whatever. Try adopting if you're a smoker - you won't get far. But if you're a parent who smokes, you're obviously not going to lose your kids. With so many children deserving of proper and warranted attention, how can it be appropriate for councils to start fucking about with people's politics?
This latest farce is tragic for the children, tragic for the foster parents, and shows the State to be in a tragic state! The council has shown itself to be discriminatory - something that along with all other councils, it claims NOT to be. Blimey, there are twats who seem to spend a fortune making sure every cunt in the country is not excluded, ignored, upset over references to religion, sexual orientation or race, or generally not counted as a citizen.. It seems there are no 'eggshells' in the vicinity of foster parents, and Rotherham Council is walking in hobnail boots. This is apparently a "complex case", said the top bloke at the Council. Yeah, right.
This country is fucked.
...
There are, I suspect, very many cunts hiding in councils and other institutions, collecting good money for doing a poor job. People in positions of power over ordinary folk need to be kept in check. Councils are a common hiding place, but there are also other institutions whose members are suspect. There are many 'experts' who get paid to pass comment on ordinary folk, and for some reason the opinions of a so-called expert are held in greater esteem than any form of common sense or counter claim by the man or woman in the street. The apparent aim of "child welfare" seems to be an objective that's the trump card which excuses all and any actions, whatever the consequences, or merits of the intervention.
The latest idiots to come to the public's attention are residing in Rotherham Council. I read in the papers that Joyce Thacker has defended her decision.
UKIP is not a racist institution. In fact, its policies towards immigration are based on common sense and economic realities - a far cry from the pathetic open-cunting-door policy of the last Labour government (which has acknowledged it fucked up and covered up its real motives) and the useless Liberal Democrats, whose policies have less substance than watered down porridge. As for the Conservatives, they talk tough and do fuck all about anything. UKIP is therefore reflecting the views of the nation in respect of immigration. It's an economic issue - period. To decide that it's against the long-term interests of a child to have parents who agree with UKIP is preposterous! In fact, I maintain that the council has itself been racist, because at the heart of this mess is the fact that the foster parents are caring for children from Eastern Europe. For the Council to think this is unacceptable is appalling. For the foster parents to find out afterwards that they will still be considered in future, but for white children as reported) means racism is at work here, surely?
Fostering and adoption rules in this country are mad, unfair and serve to make things worse overall. There are very many parents who are quite possibly not fit to have children; parents who may, amongst other things, be irresponsible, druggies, criminals or whatever. Try adopting if you're a smoker - you won't get far. But if you're a parent who smokes, you're obviously not going to lose your kids. With so many children deserving of proper and warranted attention, how can it be appropriate for councils to start fucking about with people's politics?
This latest farce is tragic for the children, tragic for the foster parents, and shows the State to be in a tragic state! The council has shown itself to be discriminatory - something that along with all other councils, it claims NOT to be. Blimey, there are twats who seem to spend a fortune making sure every cunt in the country is not excluded, ignored, upset over references to religion, sexual orientation or race, or generally not counted as a citizen.. It seems there are no 'eggshells' in the vicinity of foster parents, and Rotherham Council is walking in hobnail boots. This is apparently a "complex case", said the top bloke at the Council. Yeah, right.
This country is fucked.
...
Tuesday, 27 November 2012
27.11.12 X-Factor Fiasco
Tulisa
Tulisa needs to watch out because although she had a great first year and won with Little Mix, the novelty of having her around has pretty much worn off. I am bored of her input, and have been for weeks.
"Do you know what, I'm gonna be really honest, . . . . "
"It was really stripped back . . . "
"It had an urban feel to it."
"You made it your own."
However, she managed to top all of this drivel with her comments after Ella Henderson was voted off. Apparently it was our fault! Yes, she announced: "The public were complacent." Her worth is diminishing at the same rate that her sulkiness is growing. She seems sullen and drab now. Perhaps she realises that Ella was a sure-fire finalist, and likely winner if she's been handled right. Sorry, TC, but you let her down - YOU were complacent!
Fuck off with that, why don't you! You were the one who helped keep Rylan in the competition by going to 'deadlock' and letting the public vote retain Rylan and his shocking vocals. He is a lovely bloke and quite the gentleman, but no one can really argue that his singing is very weak. So, after a pathetic display of so-called judging, Tulisa fucked it. While I think of it, judges on all competitions are pretty silly people who are full of their own importance. How many times do we hear them say, "I've made a decision" before they give a verdict/result? Whoop-de-fucking-do for you - 'Making a decision", eh? Whatever next? It's your pissing job to make a decision. I don't go round at work telling people "I'm doing my job" because that would be rather silly.
Christopher Maloney
Mr Baloney is not my cup of tea. In fact, he's not my anything because he's quite simply dire. He shouts rather than sings, and there is something that I don't like about him. In yesterday's paper he was quoted as saying:
"I am the public choice and the public are keeping me in and I am working probably harder than anyone else."
Hmmmmm . . . . there's arrogance for you, or is that conceitedness? Not too sure, but either way, he's not shy in bigging himself up. This is the guy who was a bag of nerves but managed to portray this without having revealed a past in which he performed on cruise ships. Who the hell is voting for him? I know of only one person who likes him (I found this out last night, and the person doing the liking is batty as fuck, so that doesn't say much for his appeal).
It appears that Jane McDonald has volunteered to sing with Baloney, and croon. What a fucking fiasco this series has turned out to be!
Bruno Mars
What a whining little chap. I am not a fan at all, and was not best pleased to hear his song on Sunday. It most definitely includes (in the chorus, I think) a section that appears to be a rip-off of the Gotye song, Somebody That I Used To Know. If that note sequence isn't the same, I'm the offspring of a Dutchman and a Totem Pole. Somebody throw him a grenade - I know he would catch it.
Rihanna
Oh dear, oh dear. That Diamonds shit was horrendous. WTF? I have no idea why this nursery rhyme is considered to be, by her, something to get all emotional about. Why this drivel warranted such airtime is a mystery that not even Poirot would be able to solve. At the end of her wailing, the special effects department decided to make it rain on stage. She was soaked as she 'sang' about fucking diamonds. I watched the confusing display and listened to the noise coming from the TV alongside Mrs MWSC. There followed a small exchange:
Mrs MWSC: "Isn't that an electrical hazard?"
TMWSC: "You'd hope so, wouldn't you!"
Alas, Rihanna lives on to subject us all to repetitive warbles. At least she didn't swear this time on X-Factor, whether verbally or via subversive means (ie. wording stitched on to her shoes) and instead, I was left to do all the swearing in my living room.
...
Tulisa needs to watch out because although she had a great first year and won with Little Mix, the novelty of having her around has pretty much worn off. I am bored of her input, and have been for weeks.
"Do you know what, I'm gonna be really honest, . . . . "
"It was really stripped back . . . "
"It had an urban feel to it."
"You made it your own."
However, she managed to top all of this drivel with her comments after Ella Henderson was voted off. Apparently it was our fault! Yes, she announced: "The public were complacent." Her worth is diminishing at the same rate that her sulkiness is growing. She seems sullen and drab now. Perhaps she realises that Ella was a sure-fire finalist, and likely winner if she's been handled right. Sorry, TC, but you let her down - YOU were complacent!
Fuck off with that, why don't you! You were the one who helped keep Rylan in the competition by going to 'deadlock' and letting the public vote retain Rylan and his shocking vocals. He is a lovely bloke and quite the gentleman, but no one can really argue that his singing is very weak. So, after a pathetic display of so-called judging, Tulisa fucked it. While I think of it, judges on all competitions are pretty silly people who are full of their own importance. How many times do we hear them say, "I've made a decision" before they give a verdict/result? Whoop-de-fucking-do for you - 'Making a decision", eh? Whatever next? It's your pissing job to make a decision. I don't go round at work telling people "I'm doing my job" because that would be rather silly.
Christopher Maloney
Mr Baloney is not my cup of tea. In fact, he's not my anything because he's quite simply dire. He shouts rather than sings, and there is something that I don't like about him. In yesterday's paper he was quoted as saying:
"I am the public choice and the public are keeping me in and I am working probably harder than anyone else."
Hmmmmm . . . . there's arrogance for you, or is that conceitedness? Not too sure, but either way, he's not shy in bigging himself up. This is the guy who was a bag of nerves but managed to portray this without having revealed a past in which he performed on cruise ships. Who the hell is voting for him? I know of only one person who likes him (I found this out last night, and the person doing the liking is batty as fuck, so that doesn't say much for his appeal).
It appears that Jane McDonald has volunteered to sing with Baloney, and croon. What a fucking fiasco this series has turned out to be!
Bruno Mars
What a whining little chap. I am not a fan at all, and was not best pleased to hear his song on Sunday. It most definitely includes (in the chorus, I think) a section that appears to be a rip-off of the Gotye song, Somebody That I Used To Know. If that note sequence isn't the same, I'm the offspring of a Dutchman and a Totem Pole. Somebody throw him a grenade - I know he would catch it.
Rihanna
Oh dear, oh dear. That Diamonds shit was horrendous. WTF? I have no idea why this nursery rhyme is considered to be, by her, something to get all emotional about. Why this drivel warranted such airtime is a mystery that not even Poirot would be able to solve. At the end of her wailing, the special effects department decided to make it rain on stage. She was soaked as she 'sang' about fucking diamonds. I watched the confusing display and listened to the noise coming from the TV alongside Mrs MWSC. There followed a small exchange:
Mrs MWSC: "Isn't that an electrical hazard?"
TMWSC: "You'd hope so, wouldn't you!"
Alas, Rihanna lives on to subject us all to repetitive warbles. At least she didn't swear this time on X-Factor, whether verbally or via subversive means (ie. wording stitched on to her shoes) and instead, I was left to do all the swearing in my living room.
...
Sunday, 25 November 2012
25.11.12 Leaving On A Jet Plane
For a change, I chose to book my most recent flights (out and back again) with Jet2.com rather than the awful Ryanair mob. In comparing the two, it's really a 'no contest'. The first benefit was felt before the airport even came into view, because the time of the flight was favourable for a change. I would not be arriving in Spain at night, as the departure time was a very civil 10.50am.
The Airport
The airport was almost deserted, and the chap checking boarding cards was bored - no one else in sight at all. Round the corner, at the security section, another chap was waiting to do something useful (by which I mean hand me a tray and point out the blindingly obvious route I had to take, through the 'door frame' sensor to the other side of the x-ray machine, to reclaim my bag and tray). He was rocking on his feet, but managed to make eye contact with me over the completely pointless 'snake'. I was forced to walk around the course despite there being not another soul in the place! I pointed at the boa constrictor with a quizzical expression and the bloke just shrugged. After I'd snaked towards him and arrived, he handed me a tray and pointed out the blindingly obvious route through the 'door frame' sensor, to the other side of the x-ray machine, to reclaim my bag and tray.
After ten paces, and holding my reclaimed bag, I was stopped by two blokes who were sitting behind a counter, for a passport check. I was asked where I was going and the correct response was of course: "Through there (with a helpful pointing finger) to whichever gate number comes up on the screen, so I can get on an aeroplane." I actually said: "Malaga", considering it less contentious, and I was quite sure that the bored blokes would not appreciate sarcasm. After being allowed on my way, I bought a newspaper (the only thing that WH Smith cannot mark-up-to-fuck and rip off customers on). I avoided an impulse buy after seeing a plug adaptor for £7.99, and instead adopted the rational approach of considering the retailer a corporate cunt based on the very same adaptors being available for £1 or 99p at any local store. I recalled seeing just a week beforehand a double pack for a pound that included two adaptors, one for Europe and one for North America! After a ten-minute wait, at 10.20am, 'Gate 9' appeared on the screen and two minutes later I found myself 8th in the queue. While waiting, I wondered why I'd been stopped and asked where I was going to; the Malaga flight seemed to account for 98% of the people in the terminal, so I was unlikely to have turned round and said "Botswana" or anywhere that wasn't a three-syllable Spanish city starting with 'M' and ending in 'A', with a functioning airport.
Boarding
Designated seating is preferable to the Ryanair method of boarding, which involves a more time consuming mad scramble and much jostling. As a result, I witnessed no passengers rugby tackling other competitors in the race for seats that were 'preferred' (eg. over the wings, at the front, or in clusters to accommodate extended families. Instead of the madness that occurs when people try to find space on blue and yellow plastic seats ( Ryanair ) there was order as passengers took up their seats in the grey and red seats. I effortlessly boarded via the rear door, found my seat and sat down after putting my bag and coat in the overhead compartment. It was so very easy, and I read my newspaper as others boarded, including two elderly passengers who took up their positions next to me. In fact, 80% of the passengers seemed to be retired / old; these two were in their seventies.
The background music that came on was awful; typical 'lift' music that certainly doesn't lift you. Under the Boardwalk started the playlist off, and Mr & Mrs Old proceeded to join in, but only with the three words in the song title. Over and over they sang it; well, she warbled and he spoke it like he was instructing a dog with a gruff, deep voice - his voice, not the dog's. I'd never before realised how many times the three words featured in the song. I endured the performances and the enthusiasm [thank God it wasn't She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain] of the Oldies. I was never more pleased with an interuption by the tannoy. The welcome relief was the result of the cabin crew needing to say something pointless and mind-numbing.
The young woman in charge was enthusiastic and clearly loved her job. Her effervescence transferred itself to her mouth which kept running ahead of her, adding words or making them up in the rush to create sounds of positivity, helpfulness, glee and joie-de-fucking-something! [No, she wasn't French]
"If anyone has brought any electronical items on to the flight, can they make sure they're switched off." I wondered on two counts. First, there were two references to "they" within the sentence, and only the items themselves could be linked grammatically. On this basis, she was assuming that all items were able able to switch themselves off. Second, what could possibly count as electronical ? I came up with no answer to this.
The safety announcement was refreshingly non-Irish. The pre-recorded advice on what to do in an emergency was delivered not by a softly spoken Irishwoman, but given in a forthright manner by an English bloke, and my interest was held.
The overly keen leader of the cabin crew had her hair in a bun, pulled as tight as the wires holding up a suspension bridge. It must have hurt, but she soldiered on; perhaps she wasn't 22 years old, but 42 and was benefiting from a home-made facelift (?) I saw her put some crutches in the overhead storage section, but a few rows back from where the man who needed them was sitting. He'd got on the plane okay, but now he was fucked because he'd not be leaving in a hurry, and the crutches were stowed to cause complete inconvenience in an emergency, I thought.
Ready For Take Off
After learning how not to die in any other way than through a broken neck after adopting the brace position (following compliance with the internationally accepted suicide signal of "brace, brace") I was pleased to be at the end of the runway, ready for take off. Three minutes later, nothing had changed - not even the illumination on the dial in front of the pilot which indicated the front door was open.
Unlike the approach to be adopted by any owner of a Renault car, especially the old Laguna (where drivers have to ignore any fucking sensor or flashing light) the Jet2.com policy is rather more onerous and strictly enforced. The pilot announced we'd have to return to the terminal in case the front door was not properly closed or closable. Miss Effervescent chipped in, and told us that back inside the departure lounge, we would have to wait while preparations were made, and that staff "will see to all your needs that you do have". [Not, then, the ones that we don't have?]
Plane Swap
After some huffing, puffing and waiting, and the removal of the threat to make us all disembark for the joys of the terminal building, we learnt via Miss Keenness herself how we'd be ferried by bus to another plane. Being almost last on to the second of the buses parked alongside the plane, I was well positioned when we paulled alongside the new plane. I was second on board via the rear steps and the 'deja vu' experience was underway. As before, I sat with my paper. Low and behold, Mr and Mrs Old came along in due course, and all around I heard dozens of people chuckling and relaying 'deja vu' comments.
Anyone would have thought the inconvenience was a major issue, calling for a 'Dunkirk' spirit. Anyway, we all settled in, and the music started. Under the Boardwalk came on. I was grief-stricken. Mrs and Mrs Goldfish sitting next to me had clearly no recollection at all of their earlier efforts, and they proceeded to join in again, singing along with the three words of the title - again, and again and again. Mrs Old was displaying much glee, joviality and whoop-de-fucking-do with the whole experience, and I suspect she'd show the same misplaced joy if she were on a plane to Switzerland, heading for Dignitas!
The next song was by Elvis - and never did a song have more appropriate lyrics, and arrive at such a timely juncture:
A little less conversation, a little more action please
All this aggravation ain't satisfaction in me
A little more bite and a little less bark
A little less fight and a little more spark
There was certainly a shortage of satisfaction, a need for action, less conversation and input from passengers and staff alike, and I'd have appreciated some progress. The next track took the biscuit. Come Fly With Me was quite simply a piss take, leading me to question my sanity. I waited in the excessive heat and tried to keep hold of my senses. Then, Miss Eagerness piped up with another announcement, telling us all that we'd again have to go through the safety routine. She then said:
"In two or three moments we should hopefully be under our way." I considered what three aviation moments equated to in real time, as well as trying to understand why she felt the need to add "our" into the perfectly acceptable word "underway". [Three aviation moments is in fact 4 minutes and 25 seconds]
Taking Off and Flying
To the granite tones of a northern woman directly behind me, the plane made its way to the runway. She talked and talked and talked. Then she talked some more, before continuing to talk. The deep voice and seriously strong accent combined to annoy the fuck out of me, and that's without even mentioning the content (shit) of the verbal assault. (Her monologue lasted until the Bay of Biscay.) As we were rising, Miss Chomping-at-the-bit was on the tannoy again:
"In a few short moments time [and I tried to convert short moments into some sense of real time] the seatbelt signs will be turned off." As the plane continued its ascent, Miss Chatterbox rattled on over the roaring engines to enlighten me on the opportunities that would shortly present themselves, including one to buy perfumes. Her timing was absolutely wonderful, as I'd that very moment decided that having just passed 7000ft, and sporting facial hair, my raging thirst was not of prime importance at all, and that despite the time already spent on two planes without a swig of anything, I needed to purchase urgently some Paco Rabanne to take with me to Spain! I also needed to know the various quantities in which other liquids were available - not liquids to drink, mind you! I make no apologies for this bumper (1000ml) portion of sarcasm.
For those of you unaware of the armrest deficiency syndrome (ADS) that prevails on Jet2.com aircraft, I'll explain. For some strange reason, the people in charge made a decision to cut back on the size of armrests and opted for "mini-armrests" instead of ordinary ones. They are approximately 7.5 inches long and less than 2 inches wide. This means they are useless except for people who have had amputations to both arms, from somewhere between the wrists and the elbows. However, anyone 'qualifying' on this criterion would fail to comply with essential requirements - ie. being able to fasten the seat belt!
Liquid
As soon as the plane began to level out, the tannoy came alive yet again, and Miss Bubbly told us how we could all enjoy some champagne; a minute later a short chap walked down the aisle holding a tray full of bottles and glasses. I saw no takers for a drink. Why Jet2.com thought we'd want to spend £30 on champagne was a mystery to me. I looked at the laminated menu to see what might be worth ordering; although I was thirsty, I was not desperate enough to spend £4 on one small can (330ml) of Magners cider. Instead, I wasted £1.80 on water, although the quantity was not specified. Eau de cuntin' toilette is sold in specified quatities, but eau de fuckin' ordinary gets no such detail. I ignored food, and noted the ghastly heading, which said:
"Sandwiches and Hot Eats"
I was handed the stumpiest bottle of water (from Harrogate!) that I could have imagined; 330ml. I drank the liquid from the stumpy bottle and tried unsuccessfully (because of severe ADS) to rest my right arm on the stumpy arm rest.
The Descent
I resisted the further touting of Jet2.com staff, and did not buy any fragrances, despite supposed 'savings' of 20%. By the end of the flight I was pleased to be on my way. Before landing, Miss Gushing was able to give one more burst of enthusiasm over the tannoy, and she told those who were on packages with Jet2.com Holidays that:
"Your holiday reps will be awaiting to see you."
Bless her; to the end, she gabbled shite. Still, despite all of this, everything was much better than Ryanair .
...
The Airport
The airport was almost deserted, and the chap checking boarding cards was bored - no one else in sight at all. Round the corner, at the security section, another chap was waiting to do something useful (by which I mean hand me a tray and point out the blindingly obvious route I had to take, through the 'door frame' sensor to the other side of the x-ray machine, to reclaim my bag and tray). He was rocking on his feet, but managed to make eye contact with me over the completely pointless 'snake'. I was forced to walk around the course despite there being not another soul in the place! I pointed at the boa constrictor with a quizzical expression and the bloke just shrugged. After I'd snaked towards him and arrived, he handed me a tray and pointed out the blindingly obvious route through the 'door frame' sensor, to the other side of the x-ray machine, to reclaim my bag and tray.
After ten paces, and holding my reclaimed bag, I was stopped by two blokes who were sitting behind a counter, for a passport check. I was asked where I was going and the correct response was of course: "Through there (with a helpful pointing finger) to whichever gate number comes up on the screen, so I can get on an aeroplane." I actually said: "Malaga", considering it less contentious, and I was quite sure that the bored blokes would not appreciate sarcasm. After being allowed on my way, I bought a newspaper (the only thing that WH Smith cannot mark-up-to-fuck and rip off customers on). I avoided an impulse buy after seeing a plug adaptor for £7.99, and instead adopted the rational approach of considering the retailer a corporate cunt based on the very same adaptors being available for £1 or 99p at any local store. I recalled seeing just a week beforehand a double pack for a pound that included two adaptors, one for Europe and one for North America! After a ten-minute wait, at 10.20am, 'Gate 9' appeared on the screen and two minutes later I found myself 8th in the queue. While waiting, I wondered why I'd been stopped and asked where I was going to; the Malaga flight seemed to account for 98% of the people in the terminal, so I was unlikely to have turned round and said "Botswana" or anywhere that wasn't a three-syllable Spanish city starting with 'M' and ending in 'A', with a functioning airport.
Boarding
Designated seating is preferable to the Ryanair method of boarding, which involves a more time consuming mad scramble and much jostling. As a result, I witnessed no passengers rugby tackling other competitors in the race for seats that were 'preferred' (eg. over the wings, at the front, or in clusters to accommodate extended families. Instead of the madness that occurs when people try to find space on blue and yellow plastic seats ( Ryanair ) there was order as passengers took up their seats in the grey and red seats. I effortlessly boarded via the rear door, found my seat and sat down after putting my bag and coat in the overhead compartment. It was so very easy, and I read my newspaper as others boarded, including two elderly passengers who took up their positions next to me. In fact, 80% of the passengers seemed to be retired / old; these two were in their seventies.
The background music that came on was awful; typical 'lift' music that certainly doesn't lift you. Under the Boardwalk started the playlist off, and Mr & Mrs Old proceeded to join in, but only with the three words in the song title. Over and over they sang it; well, she warbled and he spoke it like he was instructing a dog with a gruff, deep voice - his voice, not the dog's. I'd never before realised how many times the three words featured in the song. I endured the performances and the enthusiasm [thank God it wasn't She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain] of the Oldies. I was never more pleased with an interuption by the tannoy. The welcome relief was the result of the cabin crew needing to say something pointless and mind-numbing.
The young woman in charge was enthusiastic and clearly loved her job. Her effervescence transferred itself to her mouth which kept running ahead of her, adding words or making them up in the rush to create sounds of positivity, helpfulness, glee and joie-de-fucking-something! [No, she wasn't French]
"If anyone has brought any electronical items on to the flight, can they make sure they're switched off." I wondered on two counts. First, there were two references to "they" within the sentence, and only the items themselves could be linked grammatically. On this basis, she was assuming that all items were able able to switch themselves off. Second, what could possibly count as electronical ? I came up with no answer to this.
The safety announcement was refreshingly non-Irish. The pre-recorded advice on what to do in an emergency was delivered not by a softly spoken Irishwoman, but given in a forthright manner by an English bloke, and my interest was held.
The overly keen leader of the cabin crew had her hair in a bun, pulled as tight as the wires holding up a suspension bridge. It must have hurt, but she soldiered on; perhaps she wasn't 22 years old, but 42 and was benefiting from a home-made facelift (?) I saw her put some crutches in the overhead storage section, but a few rows back from where the man who needed them was sitting. He'd got on the plane okay, but now he was fucked because he'd not be leaving in a hurry, and the crutches were stowed to cause complete inconvenience in an emergency, I thought.
Ready For Take Off
After learning how not to die in any other way than through a broken neck after adopting the brace position (following compliance with the internationally accepted suicide signal of "brace, brace") I was pleased to be at the end of the runway, ready for take off. Three minutes later, nothing had changed - not even the illumination on the dial in front of the pilot which indicated the front door was open.
Unlike the approach to be adopted by any owner of a Renault car, especially the old Laguna (where drivers have to ignore any fucking sensor or flashing light) the Jet2.com policy is rather more onerous and strictly enforced. The pilot announced we'd have to return to the terminal in case the front door was not properly closed or closable. Miss Effervescent chipped in, and told us that back inside the departure lounge, we would have to wait while preparations were made, and that staff "will see to all your needs that you do have". [Not, then, the ones that we don't have?]
Plane Swap
After some huffing, puffing and waiting, and the removal of the threat to make us all disembark for the joys of the terminal building, we learnt via Miss Keenness herself how we'd be ferried by bus to another plane. Being almost last on to the second of the buses parked alongside the plane, I was well positioned when we paulled alongside the new plane. I was second on board via the rear steps and the 'deja vu' experience was underway. As before, I sat with my paper. Low and behold, Mr and Mrs Old came along in due course, and all around I heard dozens of people chuckling and relaying 'deja vu' comments.
Anyone would have thought the inconvenience was a major issue, calling for a 'Dunkirk' spirit. Anyway, we all settled in, and the music started. Under the Boardwalk came on. I was grief-stricken. Mrs and Mrs Goldfish sitting next to me had clearly no recollection at all of their earlier efforts, and they proceeded to join in again, singing along with the three words of the title - again, and again and again. Mrs Old was displaying much glee, joviality and whoop-de-fucking-do with the whole experience, and I suspect she'd show the same misplaced joy if she were on a plane to Switzerland, heading for Dignitas!
The next song was by Elvis - and never did a song have more appropriate lyrics, and arrive at such a timely juncture:
A little less conversation, a little more action please
All this aggravation ain't satisfaction in me
A little more bite and a little less bark
A little less fight and a little more spark
There was certainly a shortage of satisfaction, a need for action, less conversation and input from passengers and staff alike, and I'd have appreciated some progress. The next track took the biscuit. Come Fly With Me was quite simply a piss take, leading me to question my sanity. I waited in the excessive heat and tried to keep hold of my senses. Then, Miss Eagerness piped up with another announcement, telling us all that we'd again have to go through the safety routine. She then said:
"In two or three moments we should hopefully be under our way." I considered what three aviation moments equated to in real time, as well as trying to understand why she felt the need to add "our" into the perfectly acceptable word "underway". [Three aviation moments is in fact 4 minutes and 25 seconds]
Taking Off and Flying
To the granite tones of a northern woman directly behind me, the plane made its way to the runway. She talked and talked and talked. Then she talked some more, before continuing to talk. The deep voice and seriously strong accent combined to annoy the fuck out of me, and that's without even mentioning the content (shit) of the verbal assault. (Her monologue lasted until the Bay of Biscay.) As we were rising, Miss Chomping-at-the-bit was on the tannoy again:
"In a few short moments time [and I tried to convert short moments into some sense of real time] the seatbelt signs will be turned off." As the plane continued its ascent, Miss Chatterbox rattled on over the roaring engines to enlighten me on the opportunities that would shortly present themselves, including one to buy perfumes. Her timing was absolutely wonderful, as I'd that very moment decided that having just passed 7000ft, and sporting facial hair, my raging thirst was not of prime importance at all, and that despite the time already spent on two planes without a swig of anything, I needed to purchase urgently some Paco Rabanne to take with me to Spain! I also needed to know the various quantities in which other liquids were available - not liquids to drink, mind you! I make no apologies for this bumper (1000ml) portion of sarcasm.
For those of you unaware of the armrest deficiency syndrome (ADS) that prevails on Jet2.com aircraft, I'll explain. For some strange reason, the people in charge made a decision to cut back on the size of armrests and opted for "mini-armrests" instead of ordinary ones. They are approximately 7.5 inches long and less than 2 inches wide. This means they are useless except for people who have had amputations to both arms, from somewhere between the wrists and the elbows. However, anyone 'qualifying' on this criterion would fail to comply with essential requirements - ie. being able to fasten the seat belt!
Liquid
As soon as the plane began to level out, the tannoy came alive yet again, and Miss Bubbly told us how we could all enjoy some champagne; a minute later a short chap walked down the aisle holding a tray full of bottles and glasses. I saw no takers for a drink. Why Jet2.com thought we'd want to spend £30 on champagne was a mystery to me. I looked at the laminated menu to see what might be worth ordering; although I was thirsty, I was not desperate enough to spend £4 on one small can (330ml) of Magners cider. Instead, I wasted £1.80 on water, although the quantity was not specified. Eau de cuntin' toilette is sold in specified quatities, but eau de fuckin' ordinary gets no such detail. I ignored food, and noted the ghastly heading, which said:
"Sandwiches and Hot Eats"
I was handed the stumpiest bottle of water (from Harrogate!) that I could have imagined; 330ml. I drank the liquid from the stumpy bottle and tried unsuccessfully (because of severe ADS) to rest my right arm on the stumpy arm rest.
The Descent
I resisted the further touting of Jet2.com staff, and did not buy any fragrances, despite supposed 'savings' of 20%. By the end of the flight I was pleased to be on my way. Before landing, Miss Gushing was able to give one more burst of enthusiasm over the tannoy, and she told those who were on packages with Jet2.com Holidays that:
"Your holiday reps will be awaiting to see you."
Bless her; to the end, she gabbled shite. Still, despite all of this, everything was much better than Ryanair .
...
25.11.12 November News
Co-operative
I am pleased to confirm there's been a change of policy at the local Co-operative store, as noted on an A4 photocopy, amateurishly sellotaped to the back of the lottery machine. The establishment is apparently now pleased to accept American Express. Well, fuck me. What a difference that's going to make - I don't think! Admittedly the prices in the Co-op are generally extortionate, and so it may well be appropriate to use a credit card or a charge card. However, anyone with any sense at all does NOT spend any money there except on selected offer items, or in emergencies, and/or on 'essentials' only. On that reasoning, transactions should be low value and infrequent.
Premier Inn
I read recently that Lenny Henry chose to stay at a hotel 7 miles from the venue in which he was performing, rather than opt for the Premier Inn that was half a mile away. You'd think that as 'the face of Premier Inn' and in light of the hefty dosh he picks up for telling us what we already fucking know (that there are lots of purple Premier Inns that charge by the room) he'd show some loyalty. However, on reflection, the fancy hotel at over £300 was perhaps not that bad value. Let's face it, whilst Lenny is forever telling us that rooms are available from just £29 per night, there's never actually a room available at that cunting rate!
Nadine Dorries
Does any one of us really give a flying fuck about her views, her 'jungle' experiences, her politics, her justifications for appearing on I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here, or have the slightest interest in her?
A: No
B: Fucking No
C: Cunting No !
Text your answer - A B or C followed by the word YAWN to wherever you want, because no fucker cares.
Smoking News
Apparently there's a bit of a to-do about Helen Flanagan's actions in the jungle. I refer NOT to the pathetic efforts, the lips-tapping, the pouting, the verbal diarrhoea, the inanity of 99% of what she says, the fake tan, her inability to blow-dry her own hair, her woeful disposition, her lack of common sense, her silly claims that she gives 100%, her further claims that she's independent, her display of oversized boobs, the manic eyes, nor the general pain-in-the-arseness that surround her and taints anyone within range. I refer to her being seen smoking. Some Mumsnet moaners are saying it sets a poor example for young girls. FUCK the fucking smoking!!! SHE sets a poor example for all youngs girls, period! Compared with all the other elements, smoking is the least worrying trait associated with HF. I also read that Birmingham City Council's health boss has made a complaint to Ofcom. How mad is this country when we have organisations set up to receive the pointless and selective whinges of people with no clue about real life. People on this planet smoke. If the nanny state is now supposed to demand TV crews avoid smoking people, we're doomed. I wonder if Mr Steve Bedser has complained to Ofcom about 'Deirdre' in Coronation Street, who smokes like a chimney? Back to the jungle - what about Eric Bristow? Is it okay then for Eric to smoke heavily, cough, and talk in a gravelly voice without fear of upsetting anyone, or - heaven forbid - setting a bad example for anyone else? Considering Helen is in the firing line and not Eric, I suggest that there is no logic or basis for any complaints. If I sound, on this last point, that I am defending HF, I apologise.
Fostering
To penalise foster parents for being members of UKIP is absolutely fucking mad. The UK is completely fucked, and this example of stupidity is proof of it. UKIP's policies are reasonable in most respects, and there is no basis at all for interfering fuckers to toys unnecessarily with people's lives or wellbeing. The nanny state has relinquished some of its powers so that nanny local authorities can fuck things up as well.
The bases for rejecting applications for adoption are mad, and it seems fostering is being equally targeted. We're in a multi-cultulral society where adoptions are not multi-cultural / cross-cultural. There is ghettoisation both in reality and in thought processes. There is active discrimination on grounds of age, sex, ethnicity, sexual orientation, politics, smoking habits, criminal record, employment history, religion and probably a whole load of other things that are below the radar.
The CIC are exactly that.
[ CIC = Cunts In Charge ]
...
I am pleased to confirm there's been a change of policy at the local Co-operative store, as noted on an A4 photocopy, amateurishly sellotaped to the back of the lottery machine. The establishment is apparently now pleased to accept American Express. Well, fuck me. What a difference that's going to make - I don't think! Admittedly the prices in the Co-op are generally extortionate, and so it may well be appropriate to use a credit card or a charge card. However, anyone with any sense at all does NOT spend any money there except on selected offer items, or in emergencies, and/or on 'essentials' only. On that reasoning, transactions should be low value and infrequent.
Premier Inn
I read recently that Lenny Henry chose to stay at a hotel 7 miles from the venue in which he was performing, rather than opt for the Premier Inn that was half a mile away. You'd think that as 'the face of Premier Inn' and in light of the hefty dosh he picks up for telling us what we already fucking know (that there are lots of purple Premier Inns that charge by the room) he'd show some loyalty. However, on reflection, the fancy hotel at over £300 was perhaps not that bad value. Let's face it, whilst Lenny is forever telling us that rooms are available from just £29 per night, there's never actually a room available at that cunting rate!
Nadine Dorries
Does any one of us really give a flying fuck about her views, her 'jungle' experiences, her politics, her justifications for appearing on I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here, or have the slightest interest in her?
A: No
B: Fucking No
C: Cunting No !
Text your answer - A B or C followed by the word YAWN to wherever you want, because no fucker cares.
Smoking News
Apparently there's a bit of a to-do about Helen Flanagan's actions in the jungle. I refer NOT to the pathetic efforts, the lips-tapping, the pouting, the verbal diarrhoea, the inanity of 99% of what she says, the fake tan, her inability to blow-dry her own hair, her woeful disposition, her lack of common sense, her silly claims that she gives 100%, her further claims that she's independent, her display of oversized boobs, the manic eyes, nor the general pain-in-the-arseness that surround her and taints anyone within range. I refer to her being seen smoking. Some Mumsnet moaners are saying it sets a poor example for young girls. FUCK the fucking smoking!!! SHE sets a poor example for all youngs girls, period! Compared with all the other elements, smoking is the least worrying trait associated with HF. I also read that Birmingham City Council's health boss has made a complaint to Ofcom. How mad is this country when we have organisations set up to receive the pointless and selective whinges of people with no clue about real life. People on this planet smoke. If the nanny state is now supposed to demand TV crews avoid smoking people, we're doomed. I wonder if Mr Steve Bedser has complained to Ofcom about 'Deirdre' in Coronation Street, who smokes like a chimney? Back to the jungle - what about Eric Bristow? Is it okay then for Eric to smoke heavily, cough, and talk in a gravelly voice without fear of upsetting anyone, or - heaven forbid - setting a bad example for anyone else? Considering Helen is in the firing line and not Eric, I suggest that there is no logic or basis for any complaints. If I sound, on this last point, that I am defending HF, I apologise.
Fostering
To penalise foster parents for being members of UKIP is absolutely fucking mad. The UK is completely fucked, and this example of stupidity is proof of it. UKIP's policies are reasonable in most respects, and there is no basis at all for interfering fuckers to toys unnecessarily with people's lives or wellbeing. The nanny state has relinquished some of its powers so that nanny local authorities can fuck things up as well.
The bases for rejecting applications for adoption are mad, and it seems fostering is being equally targeted. We're in a multi-cultulral society where adoptions are not multi-cultural / cross-cultural. There is ghettoisation both in reality and in thought processes. There is active discrimination on grounds of age, sex, ethnicity, sexual orientation, politics, smoking habits, criminal record, employment history, religion and probably a whole load of other things that are below the radar.
The CIC are exactly that.
[ CIC = Cunts In Charge ]
...
25.11.12 The Local Paper
The Gazette
I was unlucky enough to find myself left with a copy of the local paper. Someone visiting the house must have left it behind, and looking through it reinforced why I don't bother buying local papers. I did notice some odd things, as I scanned the pages. There was an advert for a sale, alongside a £50 'voucher'; whilst there's little surprising about this, the wording of the offer had me confused:
MASSIVE MATTRESS SALE
I could not work out whether this was a sale of very large mattresses, or a very big sale of ordinary mattresses. If anyone know, don't bother to tell me.
*****
I also read an article on fuel consumption, and was driven to despair (pun intended) by the writer's much poorer puns, illiteracy, mixed metaphors and long 'non-sentences'. Let me give you an idea, by exactly relaying the first part.
"With two kids to tote around Teesside, mum's taxi can often be a very expensive thing to run. And with the price of petrol driving ever deeper inroads into everyone's increasingly stretched pockets, we're all looking at ways to pinch the budget."
Have you honestly ever heard such shit? The woman who wrote this drivel was relaying her experiences, driving around town twice. The second time she adopted some techniques to save fuel, based on the observations of a chap sitting next to her. I suggest that the chap should have written the article, because he couldn't have been any worse. The story went on, but I'll save you the tosh. There was, though, a section below, where the editor thought it appropriate to pad out the feature with 'Your Views', and the explanatory note saying:
WE ASKED: What are your money saving tips for cheaper driving?
Among the two or three sensible but predictable one-liners from Joe Public were a few pathetic contributions. I don't know whether to blame the contributors for being thick, or the editir for being a twat.
D Brunskill included in his comments a suggestion of, "Get a lift from someone else" and this is clearly NOT a tip for cheaper driving, but one for doing no fucking driving at all. This was after his opening comment, suggestion "coasting for a bit". I maintain that 'coasting' is not a safe practice, as one lose's much control of the vehicle!
L Welch helped us by stating her tip - "I often walk rather than drive". How the fuck is this a tip on cheaper driving, you idiot? Here's my tip for saving money on the cost of Wembley tickets to see England - "Watch it on TV". There you go; do you see what I mean? How to save energy on a 25-mile bike ride? Watch Corrie on the sofa! How to cut down on calorie intake? Starve yourself!
*****
I will leave you with a good example of there being in journalism no understanding of the difference between singular and plural, plus ignorance on proper use of collective nouns. As for consistency, well, an abstract concept that is unachievable, and sentence construction is not so much a dying art but one that's six-feet under!
A group of neighbours are hoping plans will be given the green light to allow them to extend their gardens by buying land from the council. Middlesbrough Council have since submitted a planning application for the change of use from public open space to private garden use. A Middlesbrough Council spokesman said: "The owners of the properties have requested to purchase the land to the rear of their houses."
Local news . . . . . excitement all the way!
...
I was unlucky enough to find myself left with a copy of the local paper. Someone visiting the house must have left it behind, and looking through it reinforced why I don't bother buying local papers. I did notice some odd things, as I scanned the pages. There was an advert for a sale, alongside a £50 'voucher'; whilst there's little surprising about this, the wording of the offer had me confused:
MASSIVE MATTRESS SALE
I could not work out whether this was a sale of very large mattresses, or a very big sale of ordinary mattresses. If anyone know, don't bother to tell me.
*****
I also read an article on fuel consumption, and was driven to despair (pun intended) by the writer's much poorer puns, illiteracy, mixed metaphors and long 'non-sentences'. Let me give you an idea, by exactly relaying the first part.
"With two kids to tote around Teesside, mum's taxi can often be a very expensive thing to run. And with the price of petrol driving ever deeper inroads into everyone's increasingly stretched pockets, we're all looking at ways to pinch the budget."
Have you honestly ever heard such shit? The woman who wrote this drivel was relaying her experiences, driving around town twice. The second time she adopted some techniques to save fuel, based on the observations of a chap sitting next to her. I suggest that the chap should have written the article, because he couldn't have been any worse. The story went on, but I'll save you the tosh. There was, though, a section below, where the editor thought it appropriate to pad out the feature with 'Your Views', and the explanatory note saying:
WE ASKED: What are your money saving tips for cheaper driving?
Among the two or three sensible but predictable one-liners from Joe Public were a few pathetic contributions. I don't know whether to blame the contributors for being thick, or the editir for being a twat.
D Brunskill included in his comments a suggestion of, "Get a lift from someone else" and this is clearly NOT a tip for cheaper driving, but one for doing no fucking driving at all. This was after his opening comment, suggestion "coasting for a bit". I maintain that 'coasting' is not a safe practice, as one lose's much control of the vehicle!
L Welch helped us by stating her tip - "I often walk rather than drive". How the fuck is this a tip on cheaper driving, you idiot? Here's my tip for saving money on the cost of Wembley tickets to see England - "Watch it on TV". There you go; do you see what I mean? How to save energy on a 25-mile bike ride? Watch Corrie on the sofa! How to cut down on calorie intake? Starve yourself!
*****
I will leave you with a good example of there being in journalism no understanding of the difference between singular and plural, plus ignorance on proper use of collective nouns. As for consistency, well, an abstract concept that is unachievable, and sentence construction is not so much a dying art but one that's six-feet under!
A group of neighbours are hoping plans will be given the green light to allow them to extend their gardens by buying land from the council. Middlesbrough Council have since submitted a planning application for the change of use from public open space to private garden use. A Middlesbrough Council spokesman said: "The owners of the properties have requested to purchase the land to the rear of their houses."
Local news . . . . . excitement all the way!
...
Saturday, 24 November 2012
24.11.12 October Quotes of the Month
1 - "The worst kind of cups for coffee are navy blue ones . . . . . . they make it look like shit." [Sue]
2 - "I think my entire life has been in preparation for this moment." [Contestant on X-Factor USA, aged 13]
3 - "I like to use a shallow casserole that isn't deep." [Nigella Lawson]
4 - "Fred & Perry go live." [TMWSC, drunk, and meaning 'Kevin & Perry Go Large']
Further pathetic comments that include horrendous grammar
5 - "The runner up today are the reds." [Tim Wonnacott]
6 - "We've marked down a huge amount of prices." [Wickes TV advert]
7 - "The range of savings are fantastic." [Boundary Mill Stores TV advert]
8 - "There are one or two question marks about his future." [Football commentator, ref Nani]
9 - "Demba Ba could have stealed the point." [Local TV sports news, ref Newcastle losing 1-0]
10 - "The second most amount of cards." [Colin Murray on MOTD2, talking shit]
11 - "They started the game so sloppy." [Lee Dixon]
...
2 - "I think my entire life has been in preparation for this moment." [Contestant on X-Factor USA, aged 13]
3 - "I like to use a shallow casserole that isn't deep." [Nigella Lawson]
4 - "Fred & Perry go live." [TMWSC, drunk, and meaning 'Kevin & Perry Go Large']
Further pathetic comments that include horrendous grammar
5 - "The runner up today are the reds." [Tim Wonnacott]
6 - "We've marked down a huge amount of prices." [Wickes TV advert]
7 - "The range of savings are fantastic." [Boundary Mill Stores TV advert]
8 - "There are one or two question marks about his future." [Football commentator, ref Nani]
9 - "Demba Ba could have stealed the point." [Local TV sports news, ref Newcastle losing 1-0]
10 - "The second most amount of cards." [Colin Murray on MOTD2, talking shit]
11 - "They started the game so sloppy." [Lee Dixon]
...
24.11.12 October 'Jess' of the Month
Not for the first time, Jess has managed to feature rather too much in the quote of the month list, and so gets her own separate list.
1st - "It's the same as a hot water bottle, just not poured." [Jess being cold and explaining why she was sitting on the kitchen worktop, cuddling the kettle]
2nd - "It's like bitty potato." [Jess explaining why she doesn't much like hash browns!]
3rd - "I go around knocking into things all the time; I only notice if it hurts." [Jess commenting on her clumsiness]
4th - "I can't imagine you doing it, Nel; you won't even eat a prawn! [Jess, rejecting the idea of eating fellow (dead) passengers to stay alive, if stranded after a plane crash, and challenging with this one-liner]
5th - "Liam plays poker the way he deals with money in real life." [Jess, not quite impressed]
6th - "It's everything you want from a takeaway." [Jess, ref a 'London Pizza', at the end of a night out: Margherita, with both garlic sauce and chips on top]
...
1st - "It's the same as a hot water bottle, just not poured." [Jess being cold and explaining why she was sitting on the kitchen worktop, cuddling the kettle]
2nd - "It's like bitty potato." [Jess explaining why she doesn't much like hash browns!]
3rd - "I go around knocking into things all the time; I only notice if it hurts." [Jess commenting on her clumsiness]
4th - "I can't imagine you doing it, Nel; you won't even eat a prawn! [Jess, rejecting the idea of eating fellow (dead) passengers to stay alive, if stranded after a plane crash, and challenging with this one-liner]
5th - "Liam plays poker the way he deals with money in real life." [Jess, not quite impressed]
6th - "It's everything you want from a takeaway." [Jess, ref a 'London Pizza', at the end of a night out: Margherita, with both garlic sauce and chips on top]
...
24.11.12 Family Fortunes
I had the 'mis-fortune' (pun intended) to stumble across a repeat programme being shown at stupid o'clock in the morning. It was Stacey Solomon and her clan versus some bloke from Emmerdale, whose team scored just a few points after winning just one round. In the round-up at the end of the show, Vernon Kay described their efforts in all seriousness as "awesome", and never has a better example arisen to show how overused and misused this word is.
In speaking to the Emmerdale chap, to pad out the show and waste time, Vernon suggested to him that he was very "family oriented". This may well be perfectly acceptable in the USA, and most probably Canada as well, Vernon, but you are fucking British and a highly (over-) paid presenter; please in future use the correct term - 'family orientated'. Globalisation is not an excuse for people to give up on things and opt for either whatever they like, or more often, the easiest/laziest/shortest way of saying something.
The last question on the show was to find the top answers to the question:
"What is another word for intelligent?"
After revealing 'Bright', 'Brainy', 'Smart' and 'Clever', the Emmerdale family was stumpted and it passed to the Solomons to try and come up with the one missing word suggested by respondents in the survey. Stacey's sister suggested "Intellectual" and I thought that this was a good choice for the fifth and least popular answer, behind the aforementioned four words. Vernon moved along the line and was met with multiple suggestions of "Genius" from family members. That's what they all decided upon as the answer, and they were duly disappointed when it was wrong - and the missing word was 'Intellectual'. It was a fitting subject/theme for the programme, as none of the Solomon family (excluding Stacey's sister) can have any claim to intellectuality. If these were supposed to be alternatives to 'Intelligent' (an ADJECTIVE) and the four answers revealed were of course all ADJECTIVES, why the fuck did this mob then elect to choose 'Genius' as another word for 'Intelligent'? I reckon simply because of the way they all talk, and their understanding of grammar is shit. The dumbed down world in which we now live means it's apparently acceptable to describe someone by saying: "He's really genious". Actually, they probably all say "He's real genius" and it's no doubt this level of ignorance that meant the faux pas by the Solomons was forthcoming.
Is it the case, I wonder, that contestants on a show are deemed more worthy if they are not intelligent? TV generally endorses stupidity to gain laughs, and contributes massively to the decline in standards. Not content with their chosen hosts being unable to speak properly, channels now search high and low for misfits and idiots to fill the schedules, and promote the lowest levels of just about anything one can measure.
...
In speaking to the Emmerdale chap, to pad out the show and waste time, Vernon suggested to him that he was very "family oriented". This may well be perfectly acceptable in the USA, and most probably Canada as well, Vernon, but you are fucking British and a highly (over-) paid presenter; please in future use the correct term - 'family orientated'. Globalisation is not an excuse for people to give up on things and opt for either whatever they like, or more often, the easiest/laziest/shortest way of saying something.
The last question on the show was to find the top answers to the question:
"What is another word for intelligent?"
After revealing 'Bright', 'Brainy', 'Smart' and 'Clever', the Emmerdale family was stumpted and it passed to the Solomons to try and come up with the one missing word suggested by respondents in the survey. Stacey's sister suggested "Intellectual" and I thought that this was a good choice for the fifth and least popular answer, behind the aforementioned four words. Vernon moved along the line and was met with multiple suggestions of "Genius" from family members. That's what they all decided upon as the answer, and they were duly disappointed when it was wrong - and the missing word was 'Intellectual'. It was a fitting subject/theme for the programme, as none of the Solomon family (excluding Stacey's sister) can have any claim to intellectuality. If these were supposed to be alternatives to 'Intelligent' (an ADJECTIVE) and the four answers revealed were of course all ADJECTIVES, why the fuck did this mob then elect to choose 'Genius' as another word for 'Intelligent'? I reckon simply because of the way they all talk, and their understanding of grammar is shit. The dumbed down world in which we now live means it's apparently acceptable to describe someone by saying: "He's really genious". Actually, they probably all say "He's real genius" and it's no doubt this level of ignorance that meant the faux pas by the Solomons was forthcoming.
Is it the case, I wonder, that contestants on a show are deemed more worthy if they are not intelligent? TV generally endorses stupidity to gain laughs, and contributes massively to the decline in standards. Not content with their chosen hosts being unable to speak properly, channels now search high and low for misfits and idiots to fill the schedules, and promote the lowest levels of just about anything one can measure.
...
Thursday, 22 November 2012
22.11.12 I'm A Celebrity 2012
This year's mess is mildly entertaining, regardless of the dubiousness of the 'celebrity' label, considering the mix of people in the jungle. Most are has-beens. I haven't a clue what Eric Bristow's been doing for the last decade, but being a celebrity was not part of his regime. Linda Robson was never funny, and still isn't. In fact, she's of no real value in terms of entertainment. The Pussycat Doll who's fulfilling this year's role of 'American' is neither here nor there. Actually, she's here, and there would be better than here!
Ant & Dec are amusing (most of the time) and clearly enjoy themselves with the banter. They're well paid, as are the so-called celebrities. I have not phoned to vote, as that would be wasting money, and encouraging the producers to pay twats silly money to appear on the show.
I think the last time I saw Brian Conley was on some sort of crappy 'family' programme, year ago. Seaside Special, maybe? A politician is exactly that. So how the MP for Arsing-Around-On-The-Wold is deemed a 'celebrity' is baffling. I didn't realise Colin Baker was still breathing, let alone twice the size he was and considered a celebrity. Limahl !!! Whatever next?
Rosie Webster has shown she's completely useless. I do not care that she got 12 stars on a trial that was actually very easy. I also refer to her as 'Rosie Webster' rather than Helen Flanagan for the simple reason that they are one and the same. She has managed to reveal to all viewers that when playing the part of 'Rosie' in Coronation Street, she was at no point acting. She was being herself. Yes, the spoilt airhead with the dismissive attitude and head in the clouds was the same person we are now seeing in the jungle. Out of touch with reality, claiming to give 100% when doing no such thing, and displaying everything that's annoying and pathetic about overly rewarded people in the public eye, Helen/Rosie has babbled on with her self-obsessed mutterings for far too long. I believe it was Eric Bristow who commented that if he had a son or daughter with her outlook and abilities, he would hang them [sic]. Perhaps someone ought to tell Helen/Rosie that she should leave her pouty lips alone, and work on making her eyes less manic.
The cook (Rosemary) wears one down with her 'jolly hockey sticks' banter. The bloke from 'Made In Chelsea' (Hugo) is an enigma. Charlie Brookes is down-to-earth and okay, as is David Haye. If I've missed out anyone else, then that rather proves how useless he/she is.
...
Ant & Dec are amusing (most of the time) and clearly enjoy themselves with the banter. They're well paid, as are the so-called celebrities. I have not phoned to vote, as that would be wasting money, and encouraging the producers to pay twats silly money to appear on the show.
I think the last time I saw Brian Conley was on some sort of crappy 'family' programme, year ago. Seaside Special, maybe? A politician is exactly that. So how the MP for Arsing-Around-On-The-Wold is deemed a 'celebrity' is baffling. I didn't realise Colin Baker was still breathing, let alone twice the size he was and considered a celebrity. Limahl !!! Whatever next?
Rosie Webster has shown she's completely useless. I do not care that she got 12 stars on a trial that was actually very easy. I also refer to her as 'Rosie Webster' rather than Helen Flanagan for the simple reason that they are one and the same. She has managed to reveal to all viewers that when playing the part of 'Rosie' in Coronation Street, she was at no point acting. She was being herself. Yes, the spoilt airhead with the dismissive attitude and head in the clouds was the same person we are now seeing in the jungle. Out of touch with reality, claiming to give 100% when doing no such thing, and displaying everything that's annoying and pathetic about overly rewarded people in the public eye, Helen/Rosie has babbled on with her self-obsessed mutterings for far too long. I believe it was Eric Bristow who commented that if he had a son or daughter with her outlook and abilities, he would hang them [sic]. Perhaps someone ought to tell Helen/Rosie that she should leave her pouty lips alone, and work on making her eyes less manic.
The cook (Rosemary) wears one down with her 'jolly hockey sticks' banter. The bloke from 'Made In Chelsea' (Hugo) is an enigma. Charlie Brookes is down-to-earth and okay, as is David Haye. If I've missed out anyone else, then that rather proves how useless he/she is.
...
22.11.12 Chelsea FC
What a fucking mess. Abramovich is quite clearly 'affected' and not able to think rationally let alone fairly about anything in his realm. Whilst I have major issues with Di Matteo's horrible gum-chewing prowess, I don't understand the sense that's behind a sacking for someone who's brought to the club a fantastic Champions League result a few months ago.
Chelsea is a laughing stock. John Terry is obviously a boil on the arse of the establishment, and has done more than most to bring down the club. Ashley Cole is a twat as well. Then, after a soap-opera style display, the owner decides to be a nob - again.
Oh well - do I care? No, of course not. Chelsea is a club that deserves everything shite that comes its way.
...
Chelsea is a laughing stock. John Terry is obviously a boil on the arse of the establishment, and has done more than most to bring down the club. Ashley Cole is a twat as well. Then, after a soap-opera style display, the owner decides to be a nob - again.
Oh well - do I care? No, of course not. Chelsea is a club that deserves everything shite that comes its way.
...
Thursday, 1 November 2012
1.11.12 Why Britain Is Screwed Up (No.76)
I read today that a useless judge has allowed a thug to walk free. The offender was a mother of two (the children are 8 years old and 4 months old, if you're interested) and is actually pregnant as well - heaven help her kids, born and unborn. Amanda Lowe, aged 26, decided it would be appropriate to join in with an attack on a a chap called Khuram Nisar. After shouting "Fucking Paki" and "Terrorist!" this worthless mother decided to repeatedly kick and stamp on him, after others had punched him. The two blokes had paved the way, and Lowe joined in.
Despite the trio having 21 previous convictions between them, they were not jailed. Lowe was given leniency because she is pregnant, as it would be unfair on her children to jail her. In turn, with Lowe being allowed to walk, the judge (aka useless twat) decided that it would be unfair to jail the other two. So, all three got 12-month suspended sentences. The two kids (and the one that will arrive in due course) will be consigned to fucked-up lives, what with having a mother like Amanda Lowe.
The judge (Lindsey Kushner) did manage some outrage after stating that Lowe was "disgraceful for being drunk in charge of children" and adding by way of a question, "How irresponsible can you get?" Wll, luv, a damn sight less irresponisble than a fucking judge who decides to allow a racist attack by a drunken thug to go unpunished, and for the children to be allowed the harmful effects of input by a mother whose talent are for cage fighing rather than child rearing! The real guilt here lies with the system, and the cunting useless sentencing by judges who haven't a fucking clue.
...
Despite the trio having 21 previous convictions between them, they were not jailed. Lowe was given leniency because she is pregnant, as it would be unfair on her children to jail her. In turn, with Lowe being allowed to walk, the judge (aka useless twat) decided that it would be unfair to jail the other two. So, all three got 12-month suspended sentences. The two kids (and the one that will arrive in due course) will be consigned to fucked-up lives, what with having a mother like Amanda Lowe.
The judge (Lindsey Kushner) did manage some outrage after stating that Lowe was "disgraceful for being drunk in charge of children" and adding by way of a question, "How irresponsible can you get?" Wll, luv, a damn sight less irresponisble than a fucking judge who decides to allow a racist attack by a drunken thug to go unpunished, and for the children to be allowed the harmful effects of input by a mother whose talent are for cage fighing rather than child rearing! The real guilt here lies with the system, and the cunting useless sentencing by judges who haven't a fucking clue.
...
1.11.12 Amy Winehouse
Far be it from me to be critical of the phenomenon that is the 'Amy Winehouse crusade' (whereby we all continually refer to her as 'tragic' and show reverence to someone who - separate from having talent - managed to act strangely and associate with weirdness full stop) but the reports in today's papers confirm what I think is rather misplaced awe for a singer who couldn't cope with her success.
It appears that two dresses, which were due to be auctioned for charity, have gone missing. The newspaper report states that the two items were "worth £130,000". Sorry, but NO !!!
Whether some idiot might have been prepared to hand over £130k for two small dresses is one thing (and I suppose there's a suitable idiot somewhere around) but to report that they are "worth £130k" is a travesty. They are together worth about two hundred quid. Just because she got married to "junkie Blake Fielder-Civil" [not my description, but as noted in The Sun] in one of them, it does not somehow make it a valuable item - £100k's worth! The other one was worn when she appeared on Jools Holland's TV programme; clearly a £30,000 price tag is mad!
So, in no way condoning theft at all, I am commenting that the use of the word "worth" is completely wrong in all respect.
...
It appears that two dresses, which were due to be auctioned for charity, have gone missing. The newspaper report states that the two items were "worth £130,000". Sorry, but NO !!!
Whether some idiot might have been prepared to hand over £130k for two small dresses is one thing (and I suppose there's a suitable idiot somewhere around) but to report that they are "worth £130k" is a travesty. They are together worth about two hundred quid. Just because she got married to "junkie Blake Fielder-Civil" [not my description, but as noted in The Sun] in one of them, it does not somehow make it a valuable item - £100k's worth! The other one was worn when she appeared on Jools Holland's TV programme; clearly a £30,000 price tag is mad!
So, in no way condoning theft at all, I am commenting that the use of the word "worth" is completely wrong in all respect.
...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)