I have no real point to make about caravans being towed around the country; all that can be said on the subject has been said already. If people want to tow them around, stop, live in them for a bit, and then tow them back home, that's up to them. Not really my cup of tea.
I do however have a concern regarding those who choose to own one, relating to the suitability (or not) of their fixed homes/property. I am quite sure it is at best 'mildly annoying' and at worst 'fucking aggravating' to have a massive caravan stuck in one of your neighbour's driveways. For both neighbours to have a caravan parked in the drive would be bad luck, or more accurately, cuntin crap. But having a driveway gives one a right to park stuff without any real comeback. What's a lot more challenging is the situation for those living in terraced accommodation.
Today, taking a short cut (to avoid a queue at a junction) I took a couple of turns along side roads, where the properties were predominantly terraced houses, with either no front garden, or a very small effort squashed between the path and the front door. At a tight junction, I saw a caravan to my left and also one up ahead of me. These very large containers were parked on the road, amongst the cars lining each road. Every available space was taken up, the caravans occupying more space than any car. If I lived on a terraced road, I would not be chuffed if a neighbour parked a twenty-foot tin box outside my front door!
What makes it worse is that these tin boxes are on the road without any road tax. How can it be right that a massive caravan is purchased by someone who has no space for it on their property, and resorts to leaving it on the highway taking up loads of space, causing a nuisance. At the same time, if any resident needs a skip (which would occupy about half the floor space and be half the height based on what I observed today) then a permit would be required. My local council insists on all sorts of restrictions about how and where to position a skip, including notes on traffic cones and lighting. A permit costs £15 for 2 weeks and £10 per subsequent week.
So, park a caravan [ 20 x 6 x 8 feet = 960 cubic feet ] for a year on the road, and pay nothing. Position an 8 cubic yard skip [ 216 cubic feet ] which is less than a quarter of the size on the road, and pay £515 per year. It is perhaps totally coincidental that one of the caravans I looked at seemed no more homely than a skip. In fact, it could perhaps be used as a working skip, to transport people's shit to a waste site - and no permit would be required.
PS: People commonly mention the term "skip it" to mean throw it away; how do you skip a skip?
...
Sunday, 22 May 2011
Thursday, 19 May 2011
19.5.11 Holiday Inn Bolton
The restaurant was not overly busy. I was shown a table, next to two small white-haired, severe looking, old, tiny, Scottish women. When the Boddingtons arrived [for me, not them] I asked for the 'Mixed Grill, steak medium-rare'. I did not adopt the phraseology of the woman two tables away who had just used multiple "can I get" questions at the waitress. This style of ordering annoys me. It's as though a load of food is coming anyway, and the hungry woman wanted first dibs on what she could be allocated. Instead, I adopted the approach of there's no food coming my way unless I actually order it, so I used the "I'd like" ordering method. My waiter left, and I started to read the paper.
The two gnomes dithered over a menu, considering what to have. Tea was the easy part, and soup seemed not too taxing a decision. However, the 6-stone gerbils decided to ask for scones, which were not on the menu. So a minute later, the waiter left to see "what chef could do"; sounded like Fawlty Towers to me.
Unsurprised, I heard a waitress (shortly after) imparting the news - "unfortunately there are no scones today, but we have some desserts that might be of interest" (although I also caught the interesting phrase, "the Cheesecake is Madagascan Vanilla rather than the Chocolate noted on page two"). She then handed over the same menu the gerbils were pouring over when I first sat down. They decided on just the tea and the soup.
I waited for over 30 minutes for food, which was pathetic. I should have known better than to expect speedy service, after my visit on 3rd February had involved a wait long enough to have played two games of snooker. Next to me, the two white-haired gerbils exchanged such limited dialogue that I wondered if their tongues had been removed. It was like the script from 2001: A Space Odyssey (for those of you who are aware that fuck all's said).
The waiter walked in at almost half-an-hour into the ordeal, and stood in the middle of the restaurant achieving nothing, and looking in my direction. I held out my arms and hands to the side with a sort of shrug, to indicate: "What the fuck is going on here - where's my cuntin' food". [I pride myself with being able to say so much with a tiny gesture.] "It's just coming, it's being assembled now." Assembled!!! Had I ordered some sort of fucking Airfix Kit? The chef was either playing Jenga with the components of the mixed grill, or gluing bits together, or creating a Tracey Emin concoction that I'd prefer not to see, let alone eat.
The food came. It was okay. The sausage (that's right, singular) was not Award Winning so the Holiday Inn must have changed supplier, but let's not get into that again/now. The speediness of service was rarer than the medium-rare steak element of the mixed grill, but overall, the food was edible.
I left after signing the bill, ten minutes after the soup-eaters, who no doubt went to run in a wheel and nestle in cotton wool that matched their hair. All I can say in summary is: do not eat at the Holiday Inn Bolton, unless you have time to spare, because the service is slow.
...
The two gnomes dithered over a menu, considering what to have. Tea was the easy part, and soup seemed not too taxing a decision. However, the 6-stone gerbils decided to ask for scones, which were not on the menu. So a minute later, the waiter left to see "what chef could do"; sounded like Fawlty Towers to me.
Unsurprised, I heard a waitress (shortly after) imparting the news - "unfortunately there are no scones today, but we have some desserts that might be of interest" (although I also caught the interesting phrase, "the Cheesecake is Madagascan Vanilla rather than the Chocolate noted on page two"). She then handed over the same menu the gerbils were pouring over when I first sat down. They decided on just the tea and the soup.
I waited for over 30 minutes for food, which was pathetic. I should have known better than to expect speedy service, after my visit on 3rd February had involved a wait long enough to have played two games of snooker. Next to me, the two white-haired gerbils exchanged such limited dialogue that I wondered if their tongues had been removed. It was like the script from 2001: A Space Odyssey (for those of you who are aware that fuck all's said).
The waiter walked in at almost half-an-hour into the ordeal, and stood in the middle of the restaurant achieving nothing, and looking in my direction. I held out my arms and hands to the side with a sort of shrug, to indicate: "What the fuck is going on here - where's my cuntin' food". [I pride myself with being able to say so much with a tiny gesture.] "It's just coming, it's being assembled now." Assembled!!! Had I ordered some sort of fucking Airfix Kit? The chef was either playing Jenga with the components of the mixed grill, or gluing bits together, or creating a Tracey Emin concoction that I'd prefer not to see, let alone eat.
The food came. It was okay. The sausage (that's right, singular) was not Award Winning so the Holiday Inn must have changed supplier, but let's not get into that again/now. The speediness of service was rarer than the medium-rare steak element of the mixed grill, but overall, the food was edible.
I left after signing the bill, ten minutes after the soup-eaters, who no doubt went to run in a wheel and nestle in cotton wool that matched their hair. All I can say in summary is: do not eat at the Holiday Inn Bolton, unless you have time to spare, because the service is slow.
...
19.5.11 Travel Size
Tesco - "Every Little Helps". The Little certainly does help, regarding profit levels for the retailer that seems to profess to be the people's champion. Browsing the shelves the other day, I came across a section devoted entirely to supplies for customers from Lilliput. I jest of course; the items on display were being marketing to us as 'travel size' although the pro-rata prices were not so much small as fucking outrageous. No doubt playing to the ludicrous airline policies of the day, Tesco is marketing handy amounts of stuff in miniature bottles/tubes, so that we might fly with them to Spain without blowing up a plane.
On a recent trip, a family member put a small amount of Clarins cleanser into a small empty plastic bottle, to conform with twattish guidelines limiting liquids to 100ml. This was a sensible approach, and the bottle cost 32 pence. To my horror, Tesco sells two small plastic bottles with nothing in at £1.89!!!!!
As it happened, I had just purchased some shaving gel. My selection some five minutes earlier had been:
Nivea For Men - Sensitive Shaving Gel 200ml @ £1.45
Now, the item was on offer (half price) but nevertheless, the miniature version (50ml) in the travel section was being sold for £1.79. So the large one is going for £7.25 per litre, and the small one for £35.80 per litre.
Pretty much 5 times the price for the convenience of going small. Now I have heard of "would you like to go large" from the nauseating McDonalds people, but I've never heard of "would you like to go small", and certainly not at 5x the price rather than 30p extra!!!
The 'travel shelves' were full of similarly sized potions, lotions, creams and other substances, all at rip-off prices for fuck all. I stuck with my big can of gel, and did not succumb to the temptation to pay five times as much, on the basis that I could fly with confidence without qualifying as a terrorist. A close shave for all concerned.
...
On a recent trip, a family member put a small amount of Clarins cleanser into a small empty plastic bottle, to conform with twattish guidelines limiting liquids to 100ml. This was a sensible approach, and the bottle cost 32 pence. To my horror, Tesco sells two small plastic bottles with nothing in at £1.89!!!!!
As it happened, I had just purchased some shaving gel. My selection some five minutes earlier had been:
Nivea For Men - Sensitive Shaving Gel 200ml @ £1.45
Now, the item was on offer (half price) but nevertheless, the miniature version (50ml) in the travel section was being sold for £1.79. So the large one is going for £7.25 per litre, and the small one for £35.80 per litre.
Pretty much 5 times the price for the convenience of going small. Now I have heard of "would you like to go large" from the nauseating McDonalds people, but I've never heard of "would you like to go small", and certainly not at 5x the price rather than 30p extra!!!
The 'travel shelves' were full of similarly sized potions, lotions, creams and other substances, all at rip-off prices for fuck all. I stuck with my big can of gel, and did not succumb to the temptation to pay five times as much, on the basis that I could fly with confidence without qualifying as a terrorist. A close shave for all concerned.
...
Monday, 16 May 2011
16.5.11 Television at 9pm
What a truly shit choice for television viewing tonight. The options for 9.00pm seem rather odd.
BBC1 = The Street That Cut Everything
A street in Preston has basically told the council to fuck off for six weeks, and will be self sufficient while not paying council tax. What a brilliant idea. Seeing as I quite often have to drive a 16-mile round trip to the tip, I wouldn't mind doing it to save £44 per week council tax! Let's face it, that's the only pissin' thing the council does (fortnightly) as long as you put out the bin at the correct time, put it in the right place, make sure the lid is closed, and that the bin contains the right sort of rubbish.
BBC2 = Children's Craniofacial Surgery
What bright spark at the beeb thought that this would pass for entertainment? What next - "OAP's Barium Meals"? "Incontinence Across the Continents"? "The Sexuality of Bi-Polar Bi Polar Bears"?
ITV1 = Strangeways
A focus on the prison's healthcare unit. David claims to be disabled and needing a wheelchair, but experts say he can walk. Well fuck me - riveting! ITV certainly has strange ways of deciding what's entertaining.
Channel 4 = Gordon's Great Escape
Gordon Ramsay visits Vietnam, where he samples a snake heart that's still beating, barbecued duck (that's no longer quacking, I assume) and a squid caught in a basket (makes a change from the chicken, I suppose). He then hosts a pork dinner for connoisseurs, whatever that means. I translate that as 'cooks sausages for cunts'. All of this is totally unnecessary, gratuitous, pointless, uninteresting and crass. We cannot seem to escape Gordon wherever he goes or whatever he does. Shouldn't he be in hell or a fucking kitchen somewhere, out of sight (and earshot)?
Channel 5 = The Hotel Inspector
Not worth more than these seven words.
R.I.P Terrestrial Television
...
BBC1 = The Street That Cut Everything
A street in Preston has basically told the council to fuck off for six weeks, and will be self sufficient while not paying council tax. What a brilliant idea. Seeing as I quite often have to drive a 16-mile round trip to the tip, I wouldn't mind doing it to save £44 per week council tax! Let's face it, that's the only pissin' thing the council does (fortnightly) as long as you put out the bin at the correct time, put it in the right place, make sure the lid is closed, and that the bin contains the right sort of rubbish.
BBC2 = Children's Craniofacial Surgery
What bright spark at the beeb thought that this would pass for entertainment? What next - "OAP's Barium Meals"? "Incontinence Across the Continents"? "The Sexuality of Bi-Polar Bi Polar Bears"?
ITV1 = Strangeways
A focus on the prison's healthcare unit. David claims to be disabled and needing a wheelchair, but experts say he can walk. Well fuck me - riveting! ITV certainly has strange ways of deciding what's entertaining.
Channel 4 = Gordon's Great Escape
Gordon Ramsay visits Vietnam, where he samples a snake heart that's still beating, barbecued duck (that's no longer quacking, I assume) and a squid caught in a basket (makes a change from the chicken, I suppose). He then hosts a pork dinner for connoisseurs, whatever that means. I translate that as 'cooks sausages for cunts'. All of this is totally unnecessary, gratuitous, pointless, uninteresting and crass. We cannot seem to escape Gordon wherever he goes or whatever he does. Shouldn't he be in hell or a fucking kitchen somewhere, out of sight (and earshot)?
Channel 5 = The Hotel Inspector
Not worth more than these seven words.
R.I.P Terrestrial Television
...
Sunday, 15 May 2011
15.5.11 South West Trains
Absolutely disgraceful! The cuntish behaviour of South West Trains beggars belief! A Stationmaster went on to the tracks to remove a shopping trolley that was left there by yobs. Acting responsibly (and exactly how we would all hope someone with 27 years of service would act in such circumstances) he of course prevented an accident. What is the fucking point of having a Stationmaster and relying on him to oversee the service if it appears he is supposed to watch and do nothing? Apparently he should not have removed it because it was a breach of Health & Safety rules - well so is leaving a shopping trolley on the line!!
So, here we have a classic situation. The arseholes of the world, along with the cheats, scroungers, the complete cunts, the thugs, the ASBO magnets and the dregs of society all seem to be allowed to get away with anything and behave how they like with no comeback. Institutional acceptance that this is just how it is, means that we all have to be unsurprised when shit happens. Meanwhile, an upstanding member of the community tries his very best to help the public and his employers, yet gets heavily penalised (fucked over, basically) because the country is up its own arse.
What would have happened if there was a small level crossing next to the station, and instead of a trolley being left on the line, a car had stalled and was stranded. Is South West Trains saying that it should be left there because to move it would be breaching H&S rules? Logic says that must be the case. So, in conclusion, readers, don't travel on South West Trains. By default, the company is encouraging staff to avoid going on to the track at any time, whatever the circumstances - even to prevent an accident. So, remember this if you do decide to catch a South West Train; while you're doing 120mph, there could well be a car across the line waiting to derail you, and anyone who dares try to move it will suffer consequences. It's clearly preferable that there is carnage and multiple deaths in line with Health & Safety rules.
QED
...
So, here we have a classic situation. The arseholes of the world, along with the cheats, scroungers, the complete cunts, the thugs, the ASBO magnets and the dregs of society all seem to be allowed to get away with anything and behave how they like with no comeback. Institutional acceptance that this is just how it is, means that we all have to be unsurprised when shit happens. Meanwhile, an upstanding member of the community tries his very best to help the public and his employers, yet gets heavily penalised (fucked over, basically) because the country is up its own arse.
What would have happened if there was a small level crossing next to the station, and instead of a trolley being left on the line, a car had stalled and was stranded. Is South West Trains saying that it should be left there because to move it would be breaching H&S rules? Logic says that must be the case. So, in conclusion, readers, don't travel on South West Trains. By default, the company is encouraging staff to avoid going on to the track at any time, whatever the circumstances - even to prevent an accident. So, remember this if you do decide to catch a South West Train; while you're doing 120mph, there could well be a car across the line waiting to derail you, and anyone who dares try to move it will suffer consequences. It's clearly preferable that there is carnage and multiple deaths in line with Health & Safety rules.
QED
...
14.5.11 Peanuts, Cake & Chicken
Act I Scene I
Mountain restaurant, Gran Canaria, waiting for drinks to arrive.
Mrs MWSC: "I love salted almonds"
Daughter-in-law: "I prefer it when they're not salted"
TMWSC: "I prefer it when they're not almonds"
Act I Scene II
Mountain restaurant, Gran Canaria, watching cake consumption at next table.
Mrs MWSC: "I don't want to say what they're eating as H will want some"
Daughter-in-law: "Can't you say it out loud in a different language?"
Son-of-MWSC: "No, he knows helado"
Daughter-in-law: "What about spelling it in a different language, so it's a secret code?"
TMWSC: "Like G.A.L.L.E.T.A ?
Mrs MWSC: "What?"
TMWSC: "G.A.L.L.E.T.A. Galleta?"
Mrs MWSC: "What?"
TMWSC: "Spanish biscuit!!! I was sure I'd spelt it right!"
Mrs MWSC: "Oh, yes, sorry you did. I just didn't understand you for a minute, for some reason"
One minute later, when discussing what we would be eating in a couple of hours time
TMWSC: "We could always have a thing at the thing"
Mrs MWSC: "Yes, we could do"
Daughter-in-law: "A what? How do you know what that means?"
Mrs MWSC: "I just do"
TMWSC: "A buffet at the apartments; she can understand a thing at the thing, but not a proper word that I also spell out correctly!"
Act I Scene III
Just before leaving the mountain restaurant, Gran Canaria, a chicken crosses the road and approaches the table
Son-of-MWSC: "There's a chicken coming"
TMWSC: "I haven't ordered one (?)"
Mrs MWSC: "I've never seen a chicken actually cross the road before, and not on a zebra crossing!"
Chicken: Nods, and walks away
...
Mountain restaurant, Gran Canaria, waiting for drinks to arrive.
Mrs MWSC: "I love salted almonds"
Daughter-in-law: "I prefer it when they're not salted"
TMWSC: "I prefer it when they're not almonds"
Act I Scene II
Mountain restaurant, Gran Canaria, watching cake consumption at next table.
Mrs MWSC: "I don't want to say what they're eating as H will want some"
Daughter-in-law: "Can't you say it out loud in a different language?"
Son-of-MWSC: "No, he knows helado"
Daughter-in-law: "What about spelling it in a different language, so it's a secret code?"
TMWSC: "Like G.A.L.L.E.T.A ?
Mrs MWSC: "What?"
TMWSC: "G.A.L.L.E.T.A. Galleta?"
Mrs MWSC: "What?"
TMWSC: "Spanish biscuit!!! I was sure I'd spelt it right!"
Mrs MWSC: "Oh, yes, sorry you did. I just didn't understand you for a minute, for some reason"
One minute later, when discussing what we would be eating in a couple of hours time
TMWSC: "We could always have a thing at the thing"
Mrs MWSC: "Yes, we could do"
Daughter-in-law: "A what? How do you know what that means?"
Mrs MWSC: "I just do"
TMWSC: "A buffet at the apartments; she can understand a thing at the thing, but not a proper word that I also spell out correctly!"
Act I Scene III
Just before leaving the mountain restaurant, Gran Canaria, a chicken crosses the road and approaches the table
Son-of-MWSC: "There's a chicken coming"
TMWSC: "I haven't ordered one (?)"
Mrs MWSC: "I've never seen a chicken actually cross the road before, and not on a zebra crossing!"
Chicken: Nods, and walks away
...
Saturday, 14 May 2011
14.5.11 Ryanair
I will forgive Ryanair for the relentlessness with which the onboard staff touted the snacks, drinks, gifts etc. and I forgive them for the ludicrous length of the 'bag drop' queue before we ever got near the fucking aeroplane. I will never forgive the two cunts who were stationed at the boarding gate!
A woman was checking boarding cards (A4 sheets of paper these days) against passports. She was unable to multi-task, and insisted that for our party of five, each passport and A4 sheet had to be paired up, so she could make sure we were not international terrorists trying to sneak on board and fuck Ryanair by blowing up a plane in protest over the outrageous cup-a-soup cost (3.60 Euros). We obliged after considering that her ability to play 'snap' had one her the job, and she'd never progressed to the 'Simple Simon' game where sequences had to be remembered. Past her loitered the two cunts; one was limping around, using a stick. She instantly reminded me of 'Herr Flick' from 'Allo 'Allo. This officious bitch was on a mission to offend anything that had the nerve to breathe, and that included us!
I was first to run the gauntlet, and was directed by Bitch 1 towards the frame which measures hand luggage. Bitch 2 was a smaller woman who sat next to the frame, adding nothing to the capabilities of the universe. She observed the luggage that was put into the frame upon the direction of Herr Flick. I put my case in, and it fitted perfectly, as I knew it would. I was carrying a smaller bag as well, to save my youngest son carrying it. Bitch 2 insisted I put the other bag (which was so obviously smaller) into the frame as well - pointless. But then she stopped me from proceeding, as I was carrying a bag for someone else [my son who has enough to deal with in suffering the Ryanair fucking systems and his autism, the former being the greater handicap] and insisted that I leave the bag behind. As I hung around for my family to follow the same process, I was amazed that Bitch 1 and Bitch 2 expected us to put two more bags into the frame, when they were IDENTICAL to the first one. I pointed this out but was met with two cuntin' ignorant cunts who insisted that we co-operate.
My wife mentioned (at 88 decibels) that "this is fuckin stupid" as we checked the further two bags of the same design/size, along with a further smaller bag. "TMWSC Junior" (like his father) was vocal, stating to Bitch 2, "what do you know, it fucking fits, like the last one" with a sarcastic/shocked expression. He also came out with: "Do you know what, luv, you've got crackin' people skills". I don't believe the Bitch had any idea that he was taking the piss. Meanwhile, my wife was being told to move on with a "you go" order, and leave our son to manage on his own. "How dare you!" and other comments came from Mrs TMWSC.
The walk from the gate to the aeroplane provided as all with an opportunity to let off steam, after the absolutely outrageous treatment from two complete cunts employed by Ryanair. We all swore to get it out of our systems before boarding. The real issue was that there's no way of winning in such circumstances. To create a scene would have risked us being banned from flying. So, all I can do is highlight that there are two cunts at East Midlands Airport who deserve to be dipped in something acidic. If you ever have a choice, then choose another airline.
By the way, apparently it's vital that when there's the slightest chance of the tiniest level of turbulence, everyone has to sit down and fasten his/her seatbelt - without exception. At the very same time, it's perfectly fine for trolley dollies to wander around selling overpriced scalding hot coffee. You can drink and/or be scalded, but you cannot have a piss.
...
A woman was checking boarding cards (A4 sheets of paper these days) against passports. She was unable to multi-task, and insisted that for our party of five, each passport and A4 sheet had to be paired up, so she could make sure we were not international terrorists trying to sneak on board and fuck Ryanair by blowing up a plane in protest over the outrageous cup-a-soup cost (3.60 Euros). We obliged after considering that her ability to play 'snap' had one her the job, and she'd never progressed to the 'Simple Simon' game where sequences had to be remembered. Past her loitered the two cunts; one was limping around, using a stick. She instantly reminded me of 'Herr Flick' from 'Allo 'Allo. This officious bitch was on a mission to offend anything that had the nerve to breathe, and that included us!
I was first to run the gauntlet, and was directed by Bitch 1 towards the frame which measures hand luggage. Bitch 2 was a smaller woman who sat next to the frame, adding nothing to the capabilities of the universe. She observed the luggage that was put into the frame upon the direction of Herr Flick. I put my case in, and it fitted perfectly, as I knew it would. I was carrying a smaller bag as well, to save my youngest son carrying it. Bitch 2 insisted I put the other bag (which was so obviously smaller) into the frame as well - pointless. But then she stopped me from proceeding, as I was carrying a bag for someone else [my son who has enough to deal with in suffering the Ryanair fucking systems and his autism, the former being the greater handicap] and insisted that I leave the bag behind. As I hung around for my family to follow the same process, I was amazed that Bitch 1 and Bitch 2 expected us to put two more bags into the frame, when they were IDENTICAL to the first one. I pointed this out but was met with two cuntin' ignorant cunts who insisted that we co-operate.
My wife mentioned (at 88 decibels) that "this is fuckin stupid" as we checked the further two bags of the same design/size, along with a further smaller bag. "TMWSC Junior" (like his father) was vocal, stating to Bitch 2, "what do you know, it fucking fits, like the last one" with a sarcastic/shocked expression. He also came out with: "Do you know what, luv, you've got crackin' people skills". I don't believe the Bitch had any idea that he was taking the piss. Meanwhile, my wife was being told to move on with a "you go" order, and leave our son to manage on his own. "How dare you!" and other comments came from Mrs TMWSC.
The walk from the gate to the aeroplane provided as all with an opportunity to let off steam, after the absolutely outrageous treatment from two complete cunts employed by Ryanair. We all swore to get it out of our systems before boarding. The real issue was that there's no way of winning in such circumstances. To create a scene would have risked us being banned from flying. So, all I can do is highlight that there are two cunts at East Midlands Airport who deserve to be dipped in something acidic. If you ever have a choice, then choose another airline.
By the way, apparently it's vital that when there's the slightest chance of the tiniest level of turbulence, everyone has to sit down and fasten his/her seatbelt - without exception. At the very same time, it's perfectly fine for trolley dollies to wander around selling overpriced scalding hot coffee. You can drink and/or be scalded, but you cannot have a piss.
...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)