6.5.14 Eurovision Song Contest - 1st Semi Final

This first show opened with last year's effort, Teardrops, which led to the arrival of the best part of Europe (and a whole load outside Europe) in Denmark.  On this particular point, I will have to avoid massive repetition of my gripes in recent years, and the inclusion of countries which should not be in the competition at all.

Confusion was introduced by the trio of comperes, who bellowed "Hello Europe" and completely missed the point that "Eurovision" is NOT synonymous with "Europe",.  Twats, but what can one expect from this who fiasco.

Armenia made a noise to get us going.  It served to give me a benchmark for the show, and set my standards low enough that someone was bound to be better.  It was mediocre.  For some reason Latvia thought we might need to hear a song about baking a cake!  The "Bake That Cake" rubbish was like something one might hear on a children's TV programme - the Rainbow team could have delivered this noise, and would have sounded less flat.  When the main singer shouted "Come on" to the crowd, I considered he'd well and truly lost the plot.

Estonia gave us a song called 'Amazing', but it was unsurprisingly a long way short of amazing.  I would have called the song "Drab".  Sanna from Sweden followed this, with "Undo", a ballad that was very formulaic.  Still, she could definitely sing, and in a singing competition, that's a bonus.  I'd like to say it was essential, but in this madcap environment, that's a fucking luxury.

Iceland sang about "No Prejudice", while dressed as Showaddywaddy.  Sadly (and I do actually mean this) they did not sing as well as Showaddywaddy! They were rather dire.  Albania surprised me with a very unusual song, and probably a risky one considering what the voters like.  Nevertheless, there was something of Evanescence in this performance by the woman with a tattoo of the Albanian flag on her back.  This was strangely rather good.

Russia took a break from invading Ukraine, to send twins to the stage.  The two women provided a typically weird effort; not so much the singing, but the entwined hair, plastic poles and a fucking seesaw.  Azerbaijan (obviously not in Europe) turned up with "Start a Fire", and again, I was pleasantly surprised by the woman who sang - slightly less so by the woman on the trapeze.

Ukraine dodged some bullets and avoided some hooded thugs with batons, to let a woman turn up with her human hamster.  She sang "Tick-Tock" while he literally ran inside a large wheel.  This song was vacuous in terms of lyrics, and so repetitive.  I do know that the YouTube version comes across a whole lot better. Belgium lost all sense of reason and sense, sending to the stage a bloke who reminded me of the Fat Controller, wailing in vain at his engines.  He was in fact singing a song called "Mother", and it was a revelation.  Complete shit, and I think he really ought to get mother to tuck him up in bed with a sedative getting to grips with his body, and most particularly his mouth.

Moldova then took over the stage, and re-enacted a Game of Thrones scene. The scary woman was horrendous, shouting, demanding and scaring. "Mercy", she sang/shouted, and I echoed the fucking sentiment.  Called "Wild Soul", the noise was threatening and awful.  San Marino arrived in the shape of a lovely woman who sang a song called "Maybe".  This was her third time trying to get through, although there can be no doubt that the song had stolen some sounds from "Don't Cry For Me Argentina", and I caught a snippet of "The Day Before You Came", by Abba.  Still, maybe Maybe will manage.

Portugal rustled up "Quero Ser Tua", which was quite frankly poor; there's little more I can say.  Then came The Netherlands, with a risky, quirky, slower song that was super.  The beat started and made me think of "Every Breath You Take" by The Police, but the singing was almost Country.  Very good.

Montenegro gave us a chap singing in his own language; "Moi Svijet" came through my speakers and I was none the wiser, so I concentrated on the skater who was gliding across the stage.  Can't really comment on the song, as it just didn't register as worth listening to, however nice I suspect the bloke is.  Finally Hungary surpassed itself with a modern song that had a decent speedy beat as it went on.


The ten through to the final, announced randomly (and fucking slowly), were:

Montenegro
Hungary
Russia
Armenia
Azerbaijan
San Marino
Ukraine
Sweden
The Netherlands
Iceland / Showaddywaddy

We had a "Goodnight, Europe" from the Goons, and so they ignored all those watching who are NOT in Europe.  Roll on Thursday, for the same again.

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6.5.14 A Splattering of News

Bewilderment

Just when you think there's little that can surprise you, though knowing full well there so much that will disgust and cause fury, there comes complete bewilderment at the fucking atrocious comments by Adriana Ford-Thompson. She is the wife of Mark Thompson, who's just been branded a "danger to women" by the judge.  He kidnapped and raped a student, and was guilty of three further sex attacks.  As her husband is sentenced to life imprisonment, she is bleating and standing by him.

Bewildering is indeed the only word to try and label this unbelievable cuntism from a woman who is moaning that the jury has taken away her husband - a "gentle, kind and sensitive" man, according to the deranged 36-year-old.  With such support for a self-confessed rapist and violent individual, I believe that she might be a candidate for the cells as well.  Twat.

Patten

Chris Patten has quit as Chairman of the BBC Trust after three years, a step that has come exactly three years too fucking late.  This bloke is quite simply a breathing disaster, one of the most ineffective leaders that the governors could have appointed.  This self-serving limp,wet lettuce of a man has managed to achieve absolutely nothing, and preside over the organisation as it has floundered while wasting so many millions of pounds.  This left-wing institution has suited itself while fucking up just about everything that can be fucked up.

Susanna Reid

Ha!  What a farce, the new-style morning shite that has seen Susanna Reid get paid loads for being smug on ITV instead of being smug on BBC1.  First we were told to like Adrian Chiles (yawn) and the horrendous Christine Bleakley; that turned out to be the worst pairing of two unlikable character that could have been devised.  The fanfares that have preceded the arrival of the stomping Strictly strumpet have been silence by viewing figures that suggest the British public (well those awake AND disposed to watching television in the morning) is less keen to endorse the woman than the twats in charge at ITV.  It seems that just 330,000 people fall into the aforementioned category.  The other 59 million are either in bed, going to work, not bothering with TV or are playing Sudoku.  One million tune in to BBC1's offering.  Reid's wages; money well spent?  I think not.

Harry Potter

After showing the whole fucking lot of these films not more than a couple of months ago, ITV has increased its laziness to new depths with a further showing of this nonsense during peak viewing hours.  Instead of a bit of Sunday afternoon padding, the film is taking up prime time in the schedule - 7.30pm. Harry Potter and the Giblets Desire is an unwanted feature on a Tuesday evening - well, any evening, actually.

Zero Hours

Zero Hours jobs are NOT jobs at all, they are simply an arrangement whereby an individual is expected to forfeit his/her right to any control over trying to earn a living, and a licence for employers to take the fucking piss.  I am the last person to defend layabouts who like benefits more than the prospect of working, and milk the system.  However, that is a separate matter all together. From the employment perspective, if there really is a job available, then it should have set hours with a set expectation of what's to be done, and what the pay will be.  To sign up people to work when it suits an employer is preposterous - yet the government is now demanding that people accept Zero Hours jobs.  What a fucking cunting farce!

Fat Cunts

When will someone get through to the media that fat cunts losing weight is NOT 'news'.  Someone getting fat is not news; someone being fat is not news; someone losing fat is not news.  Next time some cunt says "look at me, I've lost 14 stone by not eating chocolate-coated lard for lunch every day", tell them to fuck off, and give the motability scooter to someone who is missing a fucking leg.

Eurovision

How the fuck can there be a war going on between Russia and Ukraine, yet they are both participating in the Eurovision Song Contest?  Barmy.  If the war could be settled via Eurovision, then there might for the first time be a point to this tosh; Ukraine would win.

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6.5.14 Fashion Is A Farce

I have nothing to say of a complimentary nature about the so-called "fashion" that was allegedly evident in New York, for some event called the Met-Gala. The rabble of celebrities gathered in one place in a variety of pathetic outfits highlighted that the fashion world is simply bonkers, and pathetic.  Does no one ever say to these people:

"Look, luv, before you step outside, have a look in that mirror over there and you'll see that there is a real danger of you confirming yourself as a laughing stock if you do go to the ball."

It seems there is no such person, and the sense check that's so necessary in the vast majority of cases is simply missing.  Thus, we have a fancy dress parade that is full of stuff you'd see in a school play for 11-year-olds, some slashed material that reveals either a chopstick of a leg or a tree trunk of a leg, see through parts which should most definitely be opaque, and some celebrities wrapped up in no better fashion (pun intended) than a pass-the-parcel prepared for a toddler's birthday party.

Together with all the face pulling, pouting, preening and posing, the army of odd-shaped clothes horses displays material that after being stitched together in a designer's workshop is supposedly worth thousands of pounds.  Mostly these are prototypes and the real clothes that the industry hopes to sell are marketed at ludicrous prices, with the stitching together left to Bangladeshi kids.  Meanwhile, western companies gloat at their brilliance.

Usually the celebrities are given the clothes free of any charge, and are in many cases paid to wear them.  Then the items are discarded, because no one seems to be allowed to wear anything twice.  WTF?  As for shoes, I am not sure I've seen more than a dozen photos in my life where a shoe fits the foot of a fucking model.  I don't mean a model fucking of course.

Just a word on the women whom we are led to believe are perfect, fashionable and to be idolised - and copied, of course.  I am afraid that Rihanna, Cara Delevingne, Beyonce, Rita Ora and a host of others are the constantly displaying actions and traits that are a long way from attractive, and so the fact that these people are held up as icons is the weirdest part of the whole mess.

Can someone tell me how this person is attractive?

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4.5.14 Benefits Cheats - Hall of Shame

Out of 7188 court cases for benefit fraud in 2012, just 250 cunts were jailed. The cost per year is £2billion, and despite all the promises of crackdowns, there's no real progress.  When sentences are so fucking lenient, it's no wonder there are people willing to fleece the taxpayer.  There are of course many thousands more who are never caught and brought to court.  This was not a fluke year either; over the five years of 2008-2012 inclusive, the cases total 32,847 with just 1306 going to jail; pitiful.

I believe that if you are a complete cheating cunt and defraud taxpayers through claiming benefits, then all money should be paid back - assets sold if necessary, and under no circumstances should there be entitlement to further fucking benefits, after such abuse and cuntishness.

£35,600 - Dawn Pinchen

This is being paid back at £18.25 per week by the benefits thief who was spotted walking on the Great Wall of China when supposedly incapacitated and unable to walk.  That's 1950 weeks - or 37 years and 6 months.  Hmmm . . she is now 40 years old.  Let's hope she lives till she's 78, eh?

£76,000 - Louise Port

The housing benefit scam was running for five years, and she escaped with a suspended sentence.  What about the fucking £76k then?  Nothing to pay back.

£37,380 - Paul Stephens

Paying back . . . . fucking nothing!  What is the point of prosecuting people if there is simply no deterrent through forced repayment of money that is in essence stolen from my pocket, seeing as I pay tax and do not claim benefits? This country is fucking fucked!

£49,409 - Karen Armitage

She claimed multiple benefits saying she was an unemployed single parent, despite being in a relationship.  The 6-month sentence, suspended for 2 years, is a joke, after the cheating went on for over seven years.  She has indicated that she hoped to pay some money back.  What the cunting fuck?  "Hoped?" The judge should be making her pay something back but as it is, the taxpayer will get nothing!

£40,294 - Trudy Nelder

She managed to steal benefits through claiming to be a single mother while living with her husband.  She was spared jail because she has six children (that the taxpayer is of course funding) and so picked up a suspended sentence plus 200 hours community service.  She then got out of the community service because she is "too ill" and so has instead accepted a 3-month curfew - but only on week nights, so as not to affect her care for the children.  Fucking disgraceful!  Why not simply pat the cunt on the back and praise her!  How much is she being made to pay back?  Cunting NOTHING!

£38,280 - Louise Coulter

Over five years the lazy 38-year-old cunt claimed housing and council tax benefit, and income support.  Neighbours confirm she's hardly done a day's work in her life.  She got a jail sentence of 20 weeks but will be out after a month (of being looked after by the taxpayer; let's face it, no hardship as she does fuck all.) Rather than be made to sell stuff, or suffer in future for having stolen MY taxes, she is to pay back £10.95 per week - from fucking BENEFITS.  Mathematically the repayment will be completed by 2082 (when she is 106 years old.  I am not joking.  The taxpayer will get fuck all back; I guarantee she will fail to make some payments, and the taxpayer will spend more chasing her for money she hasn't got than a paltry few quid per week we might "get back".

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4.5.14 Too Much Faith

Paloma Faith is without doubt an interesting person, and clearly talented. However, there is one major flaw in her approach to making music, especially more recently.  The unnecessary repetition.

I maintain that whilst a good record can tolerate some repetition, and some repetition is arguably necessary to give real identity to a song and provide a 'hook', there is a fucking limit.

Can't Rely On You was quite simply as annoying as fuck, with an abrasive tone accompanying the 23 deliveries of these words.  Paloma says it, and the backing singers mimic her like an echo, so that by the end of the 'song', we are all traumatised.  Absolutely pathetic.

Her current single is being touted on radio stations and television channels as I type.  Only Love Can Hurt Like This is actually completely misleading, as I am very well aware that repetitive songs can hurt rather more.  The six-word chant is drawn out and wailed 16 times, and there cannot be a cunt in the country who doesn't get the message after the fourth announcement of this fact by PF.  Whilst she didn't write this one herself, that's no excuse because she decided to sing it.

Still, I don't see anyone getting close to Rebecca Ferguson, whose song I Hope manages to include those two words a staggering 64 times!

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3.5.14 March & April Quotes

A rather late posting of the mixture of rubbish and amusement that caught my ear in March, combined with April's utterances.


1   - "Sometimes a ten-minute touch-up is all it takes."  [Nice 'n Easy advert]

2   - "I don't eat cherries; I work around them."  [TMWSC]

3   - "It's always a little bit tempting sometimes."  [Andy Townsend]

4   - "The ball was intended to go big."  [Andy Townsend]

5   - "They've been really poor, Galatasaray, really poor . . . . . . . average."  [Andy Townsend]

6   - "They made it a very pain free service."  [Twat on an Automoney advert, qualifying 'pain free']

7   - "I'm gonna give it a hundred million percent."  [Sarah on The Voice, rather overdoing it - still not enough, though, as she went out]

8   - "There's an ambition from both sides to play rugby today."  [Moron commentating on a Wales v Scotland rugby match that was about to start]

9   - "I always imagine they are quite skinny people."  [Jess, regarding Italians]

10 - "I don't even get the point of this; what are they all doing?"  [Jess, unimpressed by rugby scrums]

11 - "With scenes of injury and medical intervention, it's Student Nurses, Bedpans and Bandages."  [Continuity announcer on TV, with a line I simply found funny]

12 - "I think they've shown why they were pre-season favourites before this season got underway."  [Steve Claridge - when else, Steve?]

13 - "I hope they help us as they move up the pyramid ladder."  [Bloke talking about Celtic (Carlisle) helping the fortunes of the Carlisle team]

14 - "For 75 minutes they didn't lay a glove on the opposition."  [Jason Roberts on Final Score, regarding a football match]

15 - "Hello to anyone in my family that knows me.  [Silly billy on Radio 2's Pop Master quiz]

16 - "Enjoy HD TV viewing from the comfort of your own home."  [Panasonic advert, unnecessarily mentioning location]

17 - "If it doesn't fit in my pocket, I don't need it."  [Liam's simple life philosophy]

18 - "It's quite easy to not hit a sheep."  [Jess]

19 - "Excuse me a minute, I've got to swab me armpits."  [Al]

20 - "I wondered if you'd kept my number for prosperity."  [Old customer who meant 'posterity']

21 - "Absolute zero must be maintained to prevent prompt criticality."  [Ludicrous sign on the wall, in The Man with the Golden Gun]

22 - "Sergio Aguero is imminent."  [Football commentator; is he indeed!]

23 - "City are struggling of ideas."  [Andy Townsend]

24 - "Blackburn have got players that can handle the ball."  [Surely only the goalkeeper, Andy?]

25 - "He very nearly give it away."  [Andy Townsend, trying to out-Shearer Alan Shearer for sounding stupid]

3.5.14 Scouting and the King of Spain's Beard

There needs to be some serious attention with regard to the presence of Scouts in the checkout area at Asda.  Whilst I acknowledge that these days, every fucker is trying to raise money for something or other, there must surely be some sort of checking process to make sure there's a reasonable level of competence before neckerchief-clad teenagers are let loose in Asda.

Today I was met with an awkward fucker at the till, and two dozy boys at the end of the Asda checkout lane.  They were on site, raising money for an unspecified reason.  Most probably, they wanted a new tent, or were trying to bulk buy woggles from Taiwan.  Whatever the basis for their presence, it soon became apparent to me that Asda had condoned unqualified packers to pack the shopping of customers.  The level of awareness and common sense provided by the duo proved beyond any doubt whatsoever that the Scouting movement ought to give urgent and serious consideration to introducing a new test, and associated badge for those who pass the test.  The two I encountered this morning would have needed considerable training to pass any such test.

First, I will expand on the "awkward" tag that I gave to the till operator.  I knew she was going to be a stingy cunt the minute I was asked about bagging arrangements.  Before the Scouts got anywhere near handling my goods, she was exploring whether I'd like normal bags or those stronger versions known as Bags For Life.  I have enough information in my head (some of it posted on numerous previous occasions) to write a thesis on carrier bags.  I passed on her offer to spend money on bags, and opted for "normal" bags.  I used the plural in the vain hope that the mildly feminine quartermaster would provide more than one of the things.

She managed to comply, but not before enquiring which of my shopping was to be contained within bags.  I was tempted to point to the full conveyor belt and say "That lot, you stupid cunt," but refrained on the basis that the two Scouts had a look about them that suggested they had yet to come across the word 'cunt' let alone know what one was.  I could of course have helped them acquire a badge to confirm knowledge on this matter, but thought I'd let them mature at their own speed, and no doubt fiddle with a Guide in the years to come - or maybe a Brown Owl.  I told the bag-dispenser, "All of it except the boxes," and decided not to ask her how the fuck I'd get any of it home if it was all loose. The two bags she flapped open and passed to the Scouts was simply NOT CUNTING SUFFICIENT and I have never met such cunting incompetence from a nob in charge of a till.

I placed the boxes of cider, which were first to be scanned, directly into the trolley, while Ant & Dec started packing.  I began to wonder if the two of them were expecting a bonus if they saved using too many Asda carrier bags, as they were hell bent (a bit like my fucking shopping) on stuffing as much incompatible shopping in each bag as possible.  When each had filled a bag, there was a temporary halt to any packing, as Brun-fucking-hilde carried on scanning and piling up the items.  She realised she was a stupid cunt, and stopped to dispense two more bags.

I intervened when Ant was about to overfill a bag with wine.  I suggested he ought to use a new bag (begrudgingly provided by Asda) for the further three bottles.  I'd have thought common sense would have dictated a poor quality Asda bag is not a suitable container for six bottles of wine at £36.  I could, I suppose, have left him to risk the bottom falling out, but that would have caused grief, delay and an argument over who was responsible.  There were no terms and conditions available for reference, regarding the Scouting input at Asda.

Eventually I was asked for £96.63 by Begrudging Brunhilde, and the 37p was put into a money-rattler so that the Scouts could purchase six woggles.  As I walked to the car park, I decided that next time, I would decline any offer of assistance.  I could have bought six "Bags For Life" with that money, and these would have contained all shopping, with each only being half full, what with their thick plastic construction and capacity at double that of the flimsy Asda carrier bags.  I left Ant & Dec to unassist the next customer, and set off for the exit.

I passed other checkouts, at the end of which were stationed Scouts of varying ages and sizes - and sexes.  I clocked that it's now acceptable (in fact, compulsory) that girls are allowed to join the Scouts.  However, boys are not allowed to join the Guides.  That's discrimination.  Still, that's a state of affairs that persists in Asda, because customers who bring Bags For Life or purchase them, are given better service than those who have the fucking audacity to expect Asda to provide the cheap (shitty) bags.  On my way out, I passed the self-service area where just one customer was using the facility, and wads of carrier bags dangled invitingly from the side of seven other scanning points.

The week before last, Mrs MWSC was inconvenienced by an old bloke on a till who was clearly pissed off with her (and life, no doubt) because she was not wanting to purchase a Bag For Life.  As a result, she was "allowed" just two normal ones, and this led to the "Bread Impasse".  This is perhaps not as significant in terms of world history as the "Sinking of the Titanic" or the "Singeing of the King of Spain's Beard" [1587, if you're interested] but it was nevertheless a stalemate (pun intended).  The stale looking old codger watched as Mrs MWSC considered instantly becoming The Woman Who Says Cunt ; between them was a loaf of bread that could not be contained within the two bags already supplied - they were full.  He then proceeded to put the bread in a half-size fucking bag that one might use for a birthday card or a pair of fucking socks.  The bag could only be carried by the handle/holes through creating the maximum span possible with the thumb and little finger each taking hold of a side.

When Mrs MWSC got home that day and recounted her experience, I was vicariously fucked off.  I knew the bloke concerned, because he'd tried to encourage me to purchase a bad a few days before.  There is some sort of mission at the local Asda.

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