Hello,
Imagine if you will, getting up one day to find you'd been burgled and everything of value you owned had been nicked. Worse still you hadn't got round to renewing the insurance leaving you seriously out of pocket. Still not to worry -you're a plucky, robust sort. Of course you'll need to cut back a bit, raid the savings and maybe holiday at home next year. Still you say to yourself it could be worse at least none of your family were hurt during the burglary. Gradually the house starts to feel like home again and though you're still angry about the burglary, you can think of it without foaming at the mouth.
Then one day a postcard arrives. It's from the thief. He just wants to let you know he booked himself an extended holiday with the proceeds of the burglary and wanted to tell you all about the great laughs he's been having at your expense. The next morning his wife drops you a line to tell you about the lovely kettle she bought with that money you'd foolishly left on the sideboard. And not a word of thanks between them.
You'd be hopping mad, homicidal, crazed with rage. Walls would be punched, cats would be kicked, appliances would be hurled from top floor windows -only you don't have any appliances because the bastard burglar knicked them all. You'd be bloody furious so much so that you really would see the red mist there before your very eyes.
Someone nicking your stuff is bad enough but nicking your stuff and laughing at you is maddening beyond belief. You'd feel you were being goaded, belittled, insulted. You'd say he's taking the piss and you'd be right.
The above just about sums up how I feel about the article I linked to in my last post written by Austin Mitchell MP . Not only has he robbed us with his extravagant expenses claims, he's popped along to The Guardian to tell us all just how bloody funny he thinks the whole thing is. And yes, his wife, his unelected wife is at the expenses as well, having just splashed out £75 for a kettle. Some bird who happens to live with a MP has spent £75 of our money, £10:70 more than a single unemployed person gets to live on in a week, on a wretched bloody kettle. A kettle.
Words fail me! I'm reduced to opening and shutting my mouth like a big purple faced fish. Talk about a brassneck. As if the article itself isn't offensive enough he's laughing in his byline photo. Laughing at us like a man with a fucking subsidised kettle.
From time to time I fill out Community Care Grant forms for my more impoverished clients to help them buy furniture and household goods. There are no £75 kettles for these folk. As the grants are drawn from a limited budget people are expected seek out the bargains so whilst you might want a £75 kettle, the decision maker will call you up establish that you own a pot and your hob works therefore you don't need a kettle. Fancy a fridge? Not if you have a windowsill to keep a pint of milk on and no essential medication that needs keeping cool. What about an oven? No -you own a perfectly good microwave. A Duck House - no chance! A Bell Tower -piss off! Removal of that troublesome wisteria - when hell freezes over.
These grants are applied for by people with disabilities, ex-homeless and the like who have no savings and rely entirely on benefits for their income. They don't get £60,000 p/a -these are folk on four figure annual incomes. Perhaps one of the good socialists of the Labour Party could enlighten us. Are these people receiving far, far less help than they're due or having you lot just been ripping the piss right out of your expenses? After all expenses are just for what you need not wee treats. Or are some pigs more equal than others?
Cheerio
Showing posts with label arseholes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label arseholes. Show all posts
12/11/2009
9/20/2009
Brilliant More Arseholes!
Hello,
Good Lord as if we didn't have enough anti-social beer monsters cluttering up the place and getting on everyone's wick I am informed that we in Glasgow (why us?) are due a visit from the English Defence League in November. Wow! I can just see that bringing all colours and creeds together in a rousing round of 'Roll Out the Barrel'.
Apparently they pop up wherever they feel Islamic extremism is eroding their way of life. Bloody hell 'feel' , have they all been watching Oprah or something? I strongly suspect the only thing they feel is the urge to clobber some unpopular minority judging from their recent conduct. Quite how the Muslim extremists of Glasgow have managed to erode the English way of life has not been explained. More to the point whilst there are Muslims in Glasgow with some very dodgy ideas about this world and the next, they are in my experience a minority.
A minority that I have to say don't erode my way of life at all. Other than in airports, which in fairness were disgusting to begin with. Horrid places. Stand up, sit down, wait to be called get in line, stupid questions and festooned all over with little swastikas barking at you not to smoke, mind the hot tap, stand to the left, stand to the right and declare your nuclear bombs all the while minding the slippy floor. As far as I can tell all the mentalist wing of Islam has added to that horror is causing a flap about shoes and liquids at customs.
Anyway as I say the EDL 'feel' that their English way of life is being eroded. Not by their complete lack of interest in anything approaching English culture, unless looking like Phil Mitchell with foetal alcohol syndrome counts as uniquely English, but by the Muslims. This is a puzzle to me. I asked my brother who has been living in England for the last decade or so what it was the Muslims were preventing the English from doing and he was similarly baffled. Perhaps the Muslim influence hasn't reached London yet.
Still the question remains how does one deal with a visit from a group so odious even the leadership of the repellent BNP want nothing to do with them, not that it deters the lower ranking scum from dual membership. The previous tactic seems to have been to bellow at them and meet violence with violence. It is both tempting and understandable to feel violent when faced with sub normal baldy aggro merchants which is why I shall be unsurprised but very disappointed if so much as eyebrow is raised at them.
Instead I'm proposing a mass peaceful 'British In' to disrupt the fuckers. Essentially it's a mass fancy dress with a bit of optional role playing. To take part all one has to do is dress up as any character from British/Scottish history or literature and refuse to move out the way of their stomp or respond to anything they do. Ideally it would be women only but one hates to deter the chaps from protesting against wankers so I'm willing to allow the chaps on board.
The reason I'd prefer a women only protest is simply because of how awful they'll look threatening and beating up a load of women. Still needs must so let's imagine how absurd an English Defence League would look kicking St George's head in or their bastard offspring The Scottish Defence League would seem kicking fuck out of William Wallace. Whoever one dresses up as doesn't have to be one's personal hero or heroine just someone the morons cannot wallop without looking like utter fools and of course the thugs they are. Come on imagine an Asian Muslim Winston Churchill making their heads explode. It'd be the all time hoot. I'm either going as the Queen, Britannia or Robert Burns -it depends on my thighs at the time. Burns wore awfully tight breeches. The naughty fox.
I don't normally go around organising things like this but I'm not having good weegie Muslims monstered in this fashion or this whole debacle descend into a fight. That said we can't just ignore it as they'll only get bigger and worse until it's too late to be anything other than violent.
If we can keep this entirely peaceful on our side we'll win. The moral high ground is ours for the taking. It might just be my cynical mind but an organisation made up of football hooligans wants a fight. I see no reason for divisive violence merchants to be handed what they want.
That's my party piece. Anyone who wants to join me on a counter demonstration can email me for further details.
Cheerio
Good Lord as if we didn't have enough anti-social beer monsters cluttering up the place and getting on everyone's wick I am informed that we in Glasgow (why us?) are due a visit from the English Defence League in November. Wow! I can just see that bringing all colours and creeds together in a rousing round of 'Roll Out the Barrel'.
Apparently they pop up wherever they feel Islamic extremism is eroding their way of life. Bloody hell 'feel' , have they all been watching Oprah or something? I strongly suspect the only thing they feel is the urge to clobber some unpopular minority judging from their recent conduct. Quite how the Muslim extremists of Glasgow have managed to erode the English way of life has not been explained. More to the point whilst there are Muslims in Glasgow with some very dodgy ideas about this world and the next, they are in my experience a minority.
A minority that I have to say don't erode my way of life at all. Other than in airports, which in fairness were disgusting to begin with. Horrid places. Stand up, sit down, wait to be called get in line, stupid questions and festooned all over with little swastikas barking at you not to smoke, mind the hot tap, stand to the left, stand to the right and declare your nuclear bombs all the while minding the slippy floor. As far as I can tell all the mentalist wing of Islam has added to that horror is causing a flap about shoes and liquids at customs.
Anyway as I say the EDL 'feel' that their English way of life is being eroded. Not by their complete lack of interest in anything approaching English culture, unless looking like Phil Mitchell with foetal alcohol syndrome counts as uniquely English, but by the Muslims. This is a puzzle to me. I asked my brother who has been living in England for the last decade or so what it was the Muslims were preventing the English from doing and he was similarly baffled. Perhaps the Muslim influence hasn't reached London yet.
Still the question remains how does one deal with a visit from a group so odious even the leadership of the repellent BNP want nothing to do with them, not that it deters the lower ranking scum from dual membership. The previous tactic seems to have been to bellow at them and meet violence with violence. It is both tempting and understandable to feel violent when faced with sub normal baldy aggro merchants which is why I shall be unsurprised but very disappointed if so much as eyebrow is raised at them.
Instead I'm proposing a mass peaceful 'British In' to disrupt the fuckers. Essentially it's a mass fancy dress with a bit of optional role playing. To take part all one has to do is dress up as any character from British/Scottish history or literature and refuse to move out the way of their stomp or respond to anything they do. Ideally it would be women only but one hates to deter the chaps from protesting against wankers so I'm willing to allow the chaps on board.
The reason I'd prefer a women only protest is simply because of how awful they'll look threatening and beating up a load of women. Still needs must so let's imagine how absurd an English Defence League would look kicking St George's head in or their bastard offspring The Scottish Defence League would seem kicking fuck out of William Wallace. Whoever one dresses up as doesn't have to be one's personal hero or heroine just someone the morons cannot wallop without looking like utter fools and of course the thugs they are. Come on imagine an Asian Muslim Winston Churchill making their heads explode. It'd be the all time hoot. I'm either going as the Queen, Britannia or Robert Burns -it depends on my thighs at the time. Burns wore awfully tight breeches. The naughty fox.
I don't normally go around organising things like this but I'm not having good weegie Muslims monstered in this fashion or this whole debacle descend into a fight. That said we can't just ignore it as they'll only get bigger and worse until it's too late to be anything other than violent.
If we can keep this entirely peaceful on our side we'll win. The moral high ground is ours for the taking. It might just be my cynical mind but an organisation made up of football hooligans wants a fight. I see no reason for divisive violence merchants to be handed what they want.
That's my party piece. Anyone who wants to join me on a counter demonstration can email me for further details.
Cheerio
6/19/2008
Dirty Bastards!
Hello,
Some of you may recall my plan to turn the communal bin area behind my flats into a garden. Well today I escaped from work a couple of hours early and since it was a nice day thought I'd make a start.
Imagine my horror when I was greeted with the mess above! You will note that there is less piled up stinking rubbish in the second picture than in the first. This is only because I put the rubbish lying on the path into the three EMPTY bins available. These are now full to overflowing. The two blue bins at the back are next to bloody useless recycling bins that from what I could tell appear to be full of rainwater and nothing else. They're also locked with only a small hole for paper to go into, meaning there is nowhere for the remaining rubbish to go!
I came back indoors to fire off an email to the council, vent a bit of rage and have a rest before getting back into it.
It's just so frustrating. Why in God's name won't they put the rubbish in the bin? I have resigned myself to cleaning up after the rest of the close since I seem to be the only current resident that would prefer not to live in a landfill site. I don't understand their behaviour or mindset at all. Any suggestions on tackling this problem that don't involve physical violence (that is plan b)?
Cheerio
6/07/2008
It's Not Us it's You.
Hello,
Some of you may recall I wrote a rather rude post a while back about Tanya Gold. Would you believe it she's annoyed me again?
On my internet travels -well checking my stats and scrutinising what brought people to this well of loneliness, I came across Tanya's account of speed dating.
This article or rather disgraceful piece of snobbery and hollow intellectual boasting just about sums this moron up. It poses the question which I'm sure we've all asked ourselves, do men prefer 'dazzlingly literate human rights lawyers' or 'gibbering idiots who work as florists'.
It's perhaps symptomatic of living in a predominantly working class city but snobbery of this variety always knocks me off my feet. Has some form of class apartheid been introduced where Ms Gold lives? I merely ask because her idea of what she thinks folk who work in florists must be like beggars belief.
In the interests of research Fat Tan hauls her vast arse out speed dating, the first time pretending to be a human rights lawyer and the second pretending to be a florist. She skews her research by cunningly behaving like an aggressive, objectionable bore in her guise as a lawyer. What this is meant to tell us about men isn't clear. I cannot stand people who endlessly bang on about their qualifications or folk who try and foist their opinions on you at totally inappropriate moments and I'm a woman. Is a speed dating event really the right place to air your views on wearing leather or the Middle East?
Of course unlike Fat Tan I'm not not single and even when I was I didn't really mind. I've always been able to get along nicely, anything additional is just a bonus. Poor Tan -a fine brain and not a shred of dignity or self reliance! Even when I was single I was rarely short of company, perhaps that's why I never felt the need to write self pitying articles complaining that men don't fancy me.
Anyway to return to her contempt for florists of all people. What on earth this largely female group of semi-skilled working class people did to rile feminist Tanya is never explained but her contempt for them is obvious. To convince her potential suitors she is a florist she giggles a lot, pretends not to know what a geneticist is, asks what a chair is, asks why water is wet and most hilarious of all pretended that she wanted to open her own florists.
I drew the conclusion a while back that what most western feminists mean by women's rights is the world saying how high when a middle class women says jump. We see endless articles by stuck up middens on juggling career and motherhood or the pain of being mildly rebuked for some lifestyle choice or another but precious few on juggling a life worth living with a pitiful existence in a theocracy or the miserable lot of elderly women on crime ridden council schemes.
I wouldn't mind if they'd at least be honest about it. Perhaps we could do a deal those folk interested in the well being of women could call ourselves feminists and Tanya Gold and chums could be known as Violet Elizabeth Bott's Barmy Army. At least that way we'd all know what we were getting. Honestly every time Tanya Gold uses the word feminist I want to alert Trading Standards or reach for a blunt instrument.
Cheerio
Some of you may recall I wrote a rather rude post a while back about Tanya Gold. Would you believe it she's annoyed me again?
On my internet travels -well checking my stats and scrutinising what brought people to this well of loneliness, I came across Tanya's account of speed dating.
This article or rather disgraceful piece of snobbery and hollow intellectual boasting just about sums this moron up. It poses the question which I'm sure we've all asked ourselves, do men prefer 'dazzlingly literate human rights lawyers' or 'gibbering idiots who work as florists'.
It's perhaps symptomatic of living in a predominantly working class city but snobbery of this variety always knocks me off my feet. Has some form of class apartheid been introduced where Ms Gold lives? I merely ask because her idea of what she thinks folk who work in florists must be like beggars belief.
In the interests of research Fat Tan hauls her vast arse out speed dating, the first time pretending to be a human rights lawyer and the second pretending to be a florist. She skews her research by cunningly behaving like an aggressive, objectionable bore in her guise as a lawyer. What this is meant to tell us about men isn't clear. I cannot stand people who endlessly bang on about their qualifications or folk who try and foist their opinions on you at totally inappropriate moments and I'm a woman. Is a speed dating event really the right place to air your views on wearing leather or the Middle East?
Of course unlike Fat Tan I'm not not single and even when I was I didn't really mind. I've always been able to get along nicely, anything additional is just a bonus. Poor Tan -a fine brain and not a shred of dignity or self reliance! Even when I was single I was rarely short of company, perhaps that's why I never felt the need to write self pitying articles complaining that men don't fancy me.
Anyway to return to her contempt for florists of all people. What on earth this largely female group of semi-skilled working class people did to rile feminist Tanya is never explained but her contempt for them is obvious. To convince her potential suitors she is a florist she giggles a lot, pretends not to know what a geneticist is, asks what a chair is, asks why water is wet and most hilarious of all pretended that she wanted to open her own florists.
I drew the conclusion a while back that what most western feminists mean by women's rights is the world saying how high when a middle class women says jump. We see endless articles by stuck up middens on juggling career and motherhood or the pain of being mildly rebuked for some lifestyle choice or another but precious few on juggling a life worth living with a pitiful existence in a theocracy or the miserable lot of elderly women on crime ridden council schemes.
I wouldn't mind if they'd at least be honest about it. Perhaps we could do a deal those folk interested in the well being of women could call ourselves feminists and Tanya Gold and chums could be known as Violet Elizabeth Bott's Barmy Army. At least that way we'd all know what we were getting. Honestly every time Tanya Gold uses the word feminist I want to alert Trading Standards or reach for a blunt instrument.
Cheerio
4/27/2008
I'm going to be on telly!
Hello,
Don't get all excited! Sadly the BBC haven't seen sense and given me my own show. Lord knows why I'd love a show. I'm thinking of something along the lines of a chat show where I get to choose the guests. So instead of speaking to someone from Eastenders who has just released a fitness video I might have an expert on seahorses drop in with Barbara Windsor and someone I found on the bus. God I don't know why I'm bothering to go into all this. It isn't going to happen.
Instead I am merely going to be a star of CCTV. Our wonderful Labour council here in Glasgow have decided to splash out on £300,000 worth of CCTV coverage of my stamping ground. Of course my fantastic local councillor Gordon Matheson is quick to point out that 'The Merchant City is not a high crime area but the residential population is growing rapidly and there is a substantial night-time economy. This is why we are installing a network of CCTV cameras.'
I must say I'm somewhat puzzled by this because a few weeks Gordy boy was telling us that Paddy's Market was the cause of an unacceptably high level of crime and that the local residents were suffering as a result.
More peculiar still he describes the pubs in the area as the night-time economy and to be fair many of them aren't a problem but a fair number of them are. I have written to Mr Matheson to complain about the antics of the patrons of the night time economy on several occasions but have yet to receive a response or see any improvement in the situation. Only this evening I got home at 8pm to find the front door covered in sectarian graffiti and the entry panel ripped off the door. To get to this I had to walk through the carpet of fag butts that the night time economy seems to produce post-smoking ban and the pools of piss that folk too anti-social to use the toilet pop out the pub to decorate the the street with. I will also be woken up at least once tonight by the racket made by the night time economy as it retreats to the suburbs. I should point out that I'm a heavy sleeper, for example I once slept through the fire brigade evacuating the flats next door and was stunned to read about it the paper the following day.
I bought my house eight years ago for the princely sum of £46,000 so I'm well aware that I'm part of the scum element that Mr Matheson wishes would vanish. As I'm neither a big brewery or a landlord renting out luxury apartments my quality of life is an irrelevance. Funnily enough if I hadn't been aware Paddy's Market existed prior to buying my house I'd still be oblivious to it's existence. Yet that is Gordy's main issue. I expect that if the Paddy's traders could afford to make it worth Gordon's while to support them they'd be fine.
The Merchant City is by no means a crime blackspot but it is blighted by drunken anti-social behaviour of an evening. You might imagine that the council would seek to tackle this but instead every encouragement is given to big chain pubs to come here, let their customers get rat arsed and wash their hand of them. CCTV will change nothing. What disrupts the peace in these parts is provisional IRA obsessed piss heads roaring and singing. Are the council seriously asserting that the installation of cameras will shut these wankers up? Oh and no the the irony of such anti-social beasts being so in love with the provisionals has not escaped my notice given the IRA's knee-capping response to anti-social behaviour. In any case it is perfectly possible to support the IRA quietly -I did for years when I was the left wing equivalent of the Daily Mail, a dogmatic mental and fifteen years old.
It is clear to me that the council couldn't care less about crime which begs the question what do the want with the CCTV footage. My best guess is that the plan to flog footage of fit birds getting humped over the bins to the highest bidder. The notion that a city would continually elect halfwits who will devote twice the energy to being seen to be doing something as it actually takes to tackle the problem is too implausible to believe.
Cheerio
Don't get all excited! Sadly the BBC haven't seen sense and given me my own show. Lord knows why I'd love a show. I'm thinking of something along the lines of a chat show where I get to choose the guests. So instead of speaking to someone from Eastenders who has just released a fitness video I might have an expert on seahorses drop in with Barbara Windsor and someone I found on the bus. God I don't know why I'm bothering to go into all this. It isn't going to happen.
Instead I am merely going to be a star of CCTV. Our wonderful Labour council here in Glasgow have decided to splash out on £300,000 worth of CCTV coverage of my stamping ground. Of course my fantastic local councillor Gordon Matheson is quick to point out that 'The Merchant City is not a high crime area but the residential population is growing rapidly and there is a substantial night-time economy. This is why we are installing a network of CCTV cameras.'
I must say I'm somewhat puzzled by this because a few weeks Gordy boy was telling us that Paddy's Market was the cause of an unacceptably high level of crime and that the local residents were suffering as a result.
More peculiar still he describes the pubs in the area as the night-time economy and to be fair many of them aren't a problem but a fair number of them are. I have written to Mr Matheson to complain about the antics of the patrons of the night time economy on several occasions but have yet to receive a response or see any improvement in the situation. Only this evening I got home at 8pm to find the front door covered in sectarian graffiti and the entry panel ripped off the door. To get to this I had to walk through the carpet of fag butts that the night time economy seems to produce post-smoking ban and the pools of piss that folk too anti-social to use the toilet pop out the pub to decorate the the street with. I will also be woken up at least once tonight by the racket made by the night time economy as it retreats to the suburbs. I should point out that I'm a heavy sleeper, for example I once slept through the fire brigade evacuating the flats next door and was stunned to read about it the paper the following day.
I bought my house eight years ago for the princely sum of £46,000 so I'm well aware that I'm part of the scum element that Mr Matheson wishes would vanish. As I'm neither a big brewery or a landlord renting out luxury apartments my quality of life is an irrelevance. Funnily enough if I hadn't been aware Paddy's Market existed prior to buying my house I'd still be oblivious to it's existence. Yet that is Gordy's main issue. I expect that if the Paddy's traders could afford to make it worth Gordon's while to support them they'd be fine.
The Merchant City is by no means a crime blackspot but it is blighted by drunken anti-social behaviour of an evening. You might imagine that the council would seek to tackle this but instead every encouragement is given to big chain pubs to come here, let their customers get rat arsed and wash their hand of them. CCTV will change nothing. What disrupts the peace in these parts is provisional IRA obsessed piss heads roaring and singing. Are the council seriously asserting that the installation of cameras will shut these wankers up? Oh and no the the irony of such anti-social beasts being so in love with the provisionals has not escaped my notice given the IRA's knee-capping response to anti-social behaviour. In any case it is perfectly possible to support the IRA quietly -I did for years when I was the left wing equivalent of the Daily Mail, a dogmatic mental and fifteen years old.
It is clear to me that the council couldn't care less about crime which begs the question what do the want with the CCTV footage. My best guess is that the plan to flog footage of fit birds getting humped over the bins to the highest bidder. The notion that a city would continually elect halfwits who will devote twice the energy to being seen to be doing something as it actually takes to tackle the problem is too implausible to believe.
Cheerio
4/13/2008
Human Stupidity
Hello,
I shall mark this week down in my diary as the week I witnessed so much human stupidity I began to feel like a lonely intellectual with only my lute and protractor for company. Where do I begin?
Well I watched the apprentice for the first time in years. I'm only preparing to be self employed again and Lord knows I wouldn't like to be judged on my track record last time around but do the contestant's mothers know they are out? Do they have mothers or were they spawned in petri dishes? Throughout that programme all I could hear was my grandmother saying empty cans rattle the loudest. Quite remarkable if amusing in a somewhat cruel fashion. Can it be long before Sir Alan goes on a machine gun rampage?
Later in the week I saw a young mum and a young mum to be having a heated discussion about something that could only be of importance to the sort of people who appear on the Jeremy Kyle Show. It's hard to say who won given that the entire squabble managed to pass under my head but the moment that will stay with me to the grave is young mum threatening to boot mum be in the bump. More alarming still she was cheered on by her bovine mates for this. I was horrified enough at the young men present for joining in but for a group of young women including several mothers to applaud someone for in effect threatening to induce an abortion is disgusting. I have not of course overlooked the fact that mum to be was giving as good as she got on the threats front.
When I was a schoolgirl a number of my school friends found themselves suddenly pregnant. Without exception this had such a calming effect on them I always suspected it might have been hormone induced. Lord knows how one would account for the behaviour mentioned above. Perhaps Farmfoods are putting something in their icepoles.
We also had several young chaps into our surgery with their parents for advice on the best way to throw said young chaps out the house. What could have brought on such a display of tough love? What crime had these boys committed? Well the young fellows had spoken to careers advisers and decided to get jobs. To be fair one of the boys was going into insurance but until that racket is made illegal then he shouldn't be judged. Apparently if the boys take up work their parents benefits would be affected. The boys protestations that they would pay dig money fell on deaf ears. I only met with one of the families and that was one too many.
The mother was convinced that as her boy had asthma he should spend the rest of his life on benefits. The boy on the other hand felt that as his asthma was only very mild and that he hardly used his inhaler he was fit to work. The boy who stated that his worst nightmare was to end up 'like everyone else round here' was in my view a walking miracle. How such a household of fools produced a well spoken, reasonably intelligent fine young man I'll never know. He's on the waiting list for a flat near me and I hope he gets it soon. What mentality of parent doesn't want to see their children do better than them? Much as I mock my own parents I can see that I've been bloody lucky. Even when I went through my new age phase they were right behind me.
Finally my most detested of work colleagues who was made redundant last year is back, back, back. This time as my assistant. I am not making this up- God knows I wish I was. It is just as well I'm looking for a new job and going on to start a business because I don't know how much more I can take. On Thursday I strolled into work to find him sitting at my desk talking to himself and giggling at an empty excel spreadsheet. That was bad enough but later he went on to tell us that his daughter is moving in with him because he is cool. After a small amount of questioning we discovered that his daughter thinks he is cool because he buys her drink before she goes out. Her mother on the other hand refuses to on the grounds that she is seventeen. Sadly we are not talking about a couple of cans of lager here. Not for his 'princess' oh no she gets a litre bottle of vodka to share with her boyfriend of three weeks. Oddly enough her mother disapproves of this.
What is wrong with this scenario -oh let me count the ways. Well first up a boyfriend of three weeks is probably not the best person to be drinking oneself into a coma with. I am quite certain that underneath his baseball cap, trackie and menacing expression he is perfectly nice but statistics alone tell us he's a potential rapist. That's not to tar all men with the same brush but given the choice would you rather your daughter spoke to a strange man or a strange woman?
Secondly even if her boyfriend of three weeks is a perfect gent, will every man she encounters during the evening's festivities be harmless? Will every woman she comes across just be out for a bit of fun and not a fight? Can her seventeen year old liver sustain this level of consumption over her adult life? Am I alone in hearing banjos when a man goes to such lengths to get his daughter drunk?
God if you're reading this, send down the locusts and thunderbolts. It's all gone wrong and I'm fucked if I can fix it.
Cheerio
I shall mark this week down in my diary as the week I witnessed so much human stupidity I began to feel like a lonely intellectual with only my lute and protractor for company. Where do I begin?
Well I watched the apprentice for the first time in years. I'm only preparing to be self employed again and Lord knows I wouldn't like to be judged on my track record last time around but do the contestant's mothers know they are out? Do they have mothers or were they spawned in petri dishes? Throughout that programme all I could hear was my grandmother saying empty cans rattle the loudest. Quite remarkable if amusing in a somewhat cruel fashion. Can it be long before Sir Alan goes on a machine gun rampage?
Later in the week I saw a young mum and a young mum to be having a heated discussion about something that could only be of importance to the sort of people who appear on the Jeremy Kyle Show. It's hard to say who won given that the entire squabble managed to pass under my head but the moment that will stay with me to the grave is young mum threatening to boot mum be in the bump. More alarming still she was cheered on by her bovine mates for this. I was horrified enough at the young men present for joining in but for a group of young women including several mothers to applaud someone for in effect threatening to induce an abortion is disgusting. I have not of course overlooked the fact that mum to be was giving as good as she got on the threats front.
When I was a schoolgirl a number of my school friends found themselves suddenly pregnant. Without exception this had such a calming effect on them I always suspected it might have been hormone induced. Lord knows how one would account for the behaviour mentioned above. Perhaps Farmfoods are putting something in their icepoles.
We also had several young chaps into our surgery with their parents for advice on the best way to throw said young chaps out the house. What could have brought on such a display of tough love? What crime had these boys committed? Well the young fellows had spoken to careers advisers and decided to get jobs. To be fair one of the boys was going into insurance but until that racket is made illegal then he shouldn't be judged. Apparently if the boys take up work their parents benefits would be affected. The boys protestations that they would pay dig money fell on deaf ears. I only met with one of the families and that was one too many.
The mother was convinced that as her boy had asthma he should spend the rest of his life on benefits. The boy on the other hand felt that as his asthma was only very mild and that he hardly used his inhaler he was fit to work. The boy who stated that his worst nightmare was to end up 'like everyone else round here' was in my view a walking miracle. How such a household of fools produced a well spoken, reasonably intelligent fine young man I'll never know. He's on the waiting list for a flat near me and I hope he gets it soon. What mentality of parent doesn't want to see their children do better than them? Much as I mock my own parents I can see that I've been bloody lucky. Even when I went through my new age phase they were right behind me.
Finally my most detested of work colleagues who was made redundant last year is back, back, back. This time as my assistant. I am not making this up- God knows I wish I was. It is just as well I'm looking for a new job and going on to start a business because I don't know how much more I can take. On Thursday I strolled into work to find him sitting at my desk talking to himself and giggling at an empty excel spreadsheet. That was bad enough but later he went on to tell us that his daughter is moving in with him because he is cool. After a small amount of questioning we discovered that his daughter thinks he is cool because he buys her drink before she goes out. Her mother on the other hand refuses to on the grounds that she is seventeen. Sadly we are not talking about a couple of cans of lager here. Not for his 'princess' oh no she gets a litre bottle of vodka to share with her boyfriend of three weeks. Oddly enough her mother disapproves of this.
What is wrong with this scenario -oh let me count the ways. Well first up a boyfriend of three weeks is probably not the best person to be drinking oneself into a coma with. I am quite certain that underneath his baseball cap, trackie and menacing expression he is perfectly nice but statistics alone tell us he's a potential rapist. That's not to tar all men with the same brush but given the choice would you rather your daughter spoke to a strange man or a strange woman?
Secondly even if her boyfriend of three weeks is a perfect gent, will every man she encounters during the evening's festivities be harmless? Will every woman she comes across just be out for a bit of fun and not a fight? Can her seventeen year old liver sustain this level of consumption over her adult life? Am I alone in hearing banjos when a man goes to such lengths to get his daughter drunk?
God if you're reading this, send down the locusts and thunderbolts. It's all gone wrong and I'm fucked if I can fix it.
Cheerio
3/22/2008
Advice For Chaps
Hello,
As a lady who is rather fond of male company I do not like to speak ill of the chaps but sometimes events force one to reach conclusions. The following is directed to the more excitable chap and was provoked by an incident that took place about ten minutes ago.
Unless I am very much mistaken there is no law against women popping down to the shops of an evening. Nor has a curfew been imposed on the ladies. In fact if a gender based curfew were to be imposed I don't think the birds would be subject to it. If there is a case for movements to be restricted it is the chaps given the statistics on who is more likely to be a victim of violent crime and who is more likely to be the perpetrator. Not that I'm calling for a curfew to be placed on men. On the contrary I think they should be left to go about their business unmolested and if they could extend me the same courtesy we'd all get along famously.
There I was strolling back from the shops when a young fellow at least ten years my junior jumped on my back and asked where the party was. Being somewhat startled at being attacked from the rear and not wishing to appear daft because I had and have no idea where the party is I kicked him.
Well you'd have thought I'd tried to rape him the way he carried on. I calmly asked him to imagine how he'd feel and react if a strange man jumped on his back. This seemed to get him and his friends very angry indeed, prompting one of them to steal my hat and kick my arse. I then asked why it required six of them to harass one women. To which they responded that they were in fact having a laugh. Well with it not being at all funny I'd missed that.
By this point all I wanted to do was get home and take the painkillers I'd popped out to purchase. Just as I thought I was going to be stuck there all night trying to negotiate the return of my hat the police strolled into view. The hat was then handed over very quickly and the chaps made their exit. Which is peculiar because up until the police appeared they were adamant they hadn't done anything wrong.
Still this sort of thing shouldn't require the threat of the law to deal with. If we all follow a few basic ground rules when we're out and about the world will go round a good deal more smoothly than it does. I therefore unveil the lessons to be drawn from this sorry episode.
1. Do not jump on peoples backs it is startling and you do not have the right to lay hands on a another individual without their permission.
2. If you really must jump on folks back do not act the injured innocent when they take reasonable steps to defend themselves.
3. Do not steal peoples hats. Until a government is elected on a socialist programme of hat redistribution this sort of thing is illegal.
4. It really doesn't take six men to harass one female. The Yorkshire Ripper managed to kill stacks of them all by himself. I suggest you allow for women's inferior physical strength and only harass large groups of women. I will of course hoot as you are debagged, humiliated and beaten senseless. Strength in numbers cuts both ways.
5. Never do anything in public you could not justify to the police. Or if you do don't whine at getting caught.
6. A woman walking along the street is not a target but a human being going about their business. If that is too difficult for you to grasp then ponder the fact that between the ages of 19 and 20 I rarely went out without in a knife and a can of hairspray in my handbag. The boy who jumped on me was quite lucky to suffer nothing more than a bruised shin.
7. If I wanted male attention I would court it. I expect I'd get all dolled up and show a bit of cleavage. I would not be walking along in baggy clothes and a hat making eye contact with the space six inches above your head. I am not subtle. If I want your attention you'll know all about it.
8. Treat women going about their business the way you'd want your wife, sister, girlfriend or mother treated. Unless you regularly jump on their backs.
9. Men hanging around in packs, wearing excessive aftershave and crap shirts tucked into their jeans appeal to only the silliest of women. Note the furrowed brow! I might be daft but I'm not brain dead -you operate way beneath my head.
10. If you really can't contain yourself in the presence of women stay at home and look at pictures of them on the Internet and seek urgent medical advice.
Cheerio
As a lady who is rather fond of male company I do not like to speak ill of the chaps but sometimes events force one to reach conclusions. The following is directed to the more excitable chap and was provoked by an incident that took place about ten minutes ago.
Unless I am very much mistaken there is no law against women popping down to the shops of an evening. Nor has a curfew been imposed on the ladies. In fact if a gender based curfew were to be imposed I don't think the birds would be subject to it. If there is a case for movements to be restricted it is the chaps given the statistics on who is more likely to be a victim of violent crime and who is more likely to be the perpetrator. Not that I'm calling for a curfew to be placed on men. On the contrary I think they should be left to go about their business unmolested and if they could extend me the same courtesy we'd all get along famously.
There I was strolling back from the shops when a young fellow at least ten years my junior jumped on my back and asked where the party was. Being somewhat startled at being attacked from the rear and not wishing to appear daft because I had and have no idea where the party is I kicked him.
Well you'd have thought I'd tried to rape him the way he carried on. I calmly asked him to imagine how he'd feel and react if a strange man jumped on his back. This seemed to get him and his friends very angry indeed, prompting one of them to steal my hat and kick my arse. I then asked why it required six of them to harass one women. To which they responded that they were in fact having a laugh. Well with it not being at all funny I'd missed that.
By this point all I wanted to do was get home and take the painkillers I'd popped out to purchase. Just as I thought I was going to be stuck there all night trying to negotiate the return of my hat the police strolled into view. The hat was then handed over very quickly and the chaps made their exit. Which is peculiar because up until the police appeared they were adamant they hadn't done anything wrong.
Still this sort of thing shouldn't require the threat of the law to deal with. If we all follow a few basic ground rules when we're out and about the world will go round a good deal more smoothly than it does. I therefore unveil the lessons to be drawn from this sorry episode.
1. Do not jump on peoples backs it is startling and you do not have the right to lay hands on a another individual without their permission.
2. If you really must jump on folks back do not act the injured innocent when they take reasonable steps to defend themselves.
3. Do not steal peoples hats. Until a government is elected on a socialist programme of hat redistribution this sort of thing is illegal.
4. It really doesn't take six men to harass one female. The Yorkshire Ripper managed to kill stacks of them all by himself. I suggest you allow for women's inferior physical strength and only harass large groups of women. I will of course hoot as you are debagged, humiliated and beaten senseless. Strength in numbers cuts both ways.
5. Never do anything in public you could not justify to the police. Or if you do don't whine at getting caught.
6. A woman walking along the street is not a target but a human being going about their business. If that is too difficult for you to grasp then ponder the fact that between the ages of 19 and 20 I rarely went out without in a knife and a can of hairspray in my handbag. The boy who jumped on me was quite lucky to suffer nothing more than a bruised shin.
7. If I wanted male attention I would court it. I expect I'd get all dolled up and show a bit of cleavage. I would not be walking along in baggy clothes and a hat making eye contact with the space six inches above your head. I am not subtle. If I want your attention you'll know all about it.
8. Treat women going about their business the way you'd want your wife, sister, girlfriend or mother treated. Unless you regularly jump on their backs.
9. Men hanging around in packs, wearing excessive aftershave and crap shirts tucked into their jeans appeal to only the silliest of women. Note the furrowed brow! I might be daft but I'm not brain dead -you operate way beneath my head.
10. If you really can't contain yourself in the presence of women stay at home and look at pictures of them on the Internet and seek urgent medical advice.
Cheerio
2/28/2008
My Day
Hello,
Firstly I slept in and had to get a taxi to work at a cost of £11.50. Then one of my clients casually announced that they'd been caught speeding and driving without insurance oh and no valid license. Normally I'd think well hell mend you but I secretly approve of evading driving expenses and I like her which sadly isn't enough to let her off the hook.
Upon getting off the bus I felt a tugging on the hem of my skirt which, a rotund fellow informed me had been tucked into my drawers. I'm not sure what the etiquette is in that situation but I feel certain is quite wrong for a man to correct the error. A quite word in my ear would have sufficed.
I was then accosted by a chap who was upset that the CSA were demanding £5 per week to maintain his children. Apparently his ex is 'a fucking boot' which explains how he got near enough to impregnate her but not why it should exempt him from taking responsibility for his own children. He then went on to explain that the CSA were forcing him to become an alcoholic, I helpfully explained to him that if he spent £5 per week on his children he'd have less for drink and wouldn't be able to become alcoholic. He was most ungrateful which serves him right for accosting me on my lunch break.
Later on I locked myself out of the house rushing to an appointment to have my eyebrows dyed and plucked. I normally go to the beauty stop in Shawlands but I went to Frasers for a change. It certainly was a change -normally my treatment costs £8 but in Frasers it is £26. I just about died with my legs in the air!
Before I could gain access to my nest I had to go for a haircut and now look like a young Paul McCartney. Needless to say I didn't ask for a lovable moptop but that's what I've got.
On Friday I'm off to London, I haven't packed a thing, I going straight from work and I'm fit to drop. Wish me luck.
Cheers
Firstly I slept in and had to get a taxi to work at a cost of £11.50. Then one of my clients casually announced that they'd been caught speeding and driving without insurance oh and no valid license. Normally I'd think well hell mend you but I secretly approve of evading driving expenses and I like her which sadly isn't enough to let her off the hook.
Upon getting off the bus I felt a tugging on the hem of my skirt which, a rotund fellow informed me had been tucked into my drawers. I'm not sure what the etiquette is in that situation but I feel certain is quite wrong for a man to correct the error. A quite word in my ear would have sufficed.
I was then accosted by a chap who was upset that the CSA were demanding £5 per week to maintain his children. Apparently his ex is 'a fucking boot' which explains how he got near enough to impregnate her but not why it should exempt him from taking responsibility for his own children. He then went on to explain that the CSA were forcing him to become an alcoholic, I helpfully explained to him that if he spent £5 per week on his children he'd have less for drink and wouldn't be able to become alcoholic. He was most ungrateful which serves him right for accosting me on my lunch break.
Later on I locked myself out of the house rushing to an appointment to have my eyebrows dyed and plucked. I normally go to the beauty stop in Shawlands but I went to Frasers for a change. It certainly was a change -normally my treatment costs £8 but in Frasers it is £26. I just about died with my legs in the air!
Before I could gain access to my nest I had to go for a haircut and now look like a young Paul McCartney. Needless to say I didn't ask for a lovable moptop but that's what I've got.
On Friday I'm off to London, I haven't packed a thing, I going straight from work and I'm fit to drop. Wish me luck.
Cheers
1/31/2008
What Fresh Madness Is This?
Hello,
For reasons that are at the time of writing a complete mystery, a well intentioned person has presented me with a kit entitled 'The Best Year of Your Life' . Not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth I eagerly got it out the wrapping and poked it about a bit.
I must say I was surprised that The Best Year of Your Life involves awarding oneself 'Self- Love points. Surely they cannot be referring to the world's must popular solitary vice? Not online bingo -the one the Victorians had a bee in their bonnets about. Whilst I think devices like this are absurd, I'm slightly dubious about any system which rewards masturbation of all things. One might as well start dishing out nectar points for scratching an itch.
In addition to the opportunity to earn points for gusset typing the kit also contains 52 cards each of which have a task on them. I've glanced through them and they terrify me with their mad ideas. I cannot let go of my grudges, If I didn't have my bile I'd have nothing, I cannot forgive anyone! With the exception of religious folk I have a deep mistrust of anyone who owns a forgiving nature. Quite frankly if they think so little of themselves why should I waste my time on them?
For those preparing to muck up my comments box by sneering at my love of self-improvement -I hate you as well. People with no ambition should be dipped in acid then shot. Again I exclude religious folk from this. It's the every day arse scratching whiner that riles me with their disgraceful over-confidence. Neither use nor ornament they slouch about 'I can'ting', 'I won'ting' and 'I don'ting'. Yet they have the effrontery to imagine the world should be interested in them. Whether the cause is lax potty training, fast food or central heating I cannot say. I wouldn't mind but when one considers the horrific conditions people in some parts of the world exist in, pampered western tossers moaning their way through life in the rich bit of the world is appalling. Mummy was right you should think of the starving Africans when you turn your nose up at dinner. Mind you if people who profess to have no ambition really meant it -they'd give up their opportunities, set up home in the world's poorest country and make way for some ambitious third world individual.
Right I'm off to regenerate.
Cheerio
For reasons that are at the time of writing a complete mystery, a well intentioned person has presented me with a kit entitled 'The Best Year of Your Life' . Not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth I eagerly got it out the wrapping and poked it about a bit.
I must say I was surprised that The Best Year of Your Life involves awarding oneself 'Self- Love points. Surely they cannot be referring to the world's must popular solitary vice? Not online bingo -the one the Victorians had a bee in their bonnets about. Whilst I think devices like this are absurd, I'm slightly dubious about any system which rewards masturbation of all things. One might as well start dishing out nectar points for scratching an itch.
In addition to the opportunity to earn points for gusset typing the kit also contains 52 cards each of which have a task on them. I've glanced through them and they terrify me with their mad ideas. I cannot let go of my grudges, If I didn't have my bile I'd have nothing, I cannot forgive anyone! With the exception of religious folk I have a deep mistrust of anyone who owns a forgiving nature. Quite frankly if they think so little of themselves why should I waste my time on them?
For those preparing to muck up my comments box by sneering at my love of self-improvement -I hate you as well. People with no ambition should be dipped in acid then shot. Again I exclude religious folk from this. It's the every day arse scratching whiner that riles me with their disgraceful over-confidence. Neither use nor ornament they slouch about 'I can'ting', 'I won'ting' and 'I don'ting'. Yet they have the effrontery to imagine the world should be interested in them. Whether the cause is lax potty training, fast food or central heating I cannot say. I wouldn't mind but when one considers the horrific conditions people in some parts of the world exist in, pampered western tossers moaning their way through life in the rich bit of the world is appalling. Mummy was right you should think of the starving Africans when you turn your nose up at dinner. Mind you if people who profess to have no ambition really meant it -they'd give up their opportunities, set up home in the world's poorest country and make way for some ambitious third world individual.
Right I'm off to regenerate.
Cheerio
10/26/2007
ARRRGH!
Hello,
I've been watching a spot of TV this week. My interest was caught by the Channel Four show about the illiterate children.
Talk about fizzing mad. I was so angry I nearly hopped on a train to start a staff room massacre at the school. Firstly there was the shocking fact that roughly about 7 out of every 28 pupils in a class could barely read, which unsurprisingly causes them to become disruptive. Disruptive! -they have every right to become murderous. No jury in the land would convict them if they tore their teachers limb from limb.
Of course the teachers were full of 'oh it's a deprived area' as if that lets them of the hook. Surely that's all the more reason to try harder to teach the children to read so that they can grow up not to be deprived or at least be deprived and able to express themselves without throwing things. Honest to God if I couldn't read I would have killed someone years ago.
So it is just as well for the teachers on that show that I can read. Their attitudes stank to high heaven. There they sat as if a school full of illiterates was nothing to do with them, whining on about having police and social workers on the phone for various pupils which apparently meant there was limited time to spend on extra tuition. As if any of it couldn't be put off until out with teaching hours. A surgeon wouldn't go interrupting operations to take calls from social workers, I don't see any good reason for a child's education should be disrupted for phone calls of all things.
To be fair once the proper teacher they'd brought in started getting results they became very enthusiastic but until then the sense of priorities in the school was demented.
I seem to recall people at my school being made to repeat years if they weren't managing and in one amazing case of kiddie intellectual fraud, an utter buffoon being put forward a year for being clever. Has that stopped? If so, why? What is the point of dragging children through years of school when they haven't mastered the basics?
Many of the children in the school featured come from pretty horrible circumstances. Surely it is only humane to give them the means to escape. Sadly the 'it's a deprived area' mentality is very much in vogue. People who know better are always excusing all sorts of things with the 'poverty' and 'toddler on a pot' facial expression. I suspect that they mean to look compassionate and clever rather than punchable. I recently complained about a client calling me a cunt and a bitch for no real reason, only to be told I was working in a 'deprived area' as if that explained or excused his ill-mannered outburst.
Mind you the person that gave me the 'poverty' bit is and I am not making this up going to sleep on a church hall floor this weekend eating nothing but rice and dal to learn what life is like in a third world refugee camp. I don't understand it myself, all I can tell you is that you should not exclaim 'oh it's like Marie Antoinette pretending to be a shepherdess' if anyone you know indulges in this type of thing. It vexes them something awful. You shouldn't tell them that you adore rice and dal either, they'll only think you're taking the piss.
Cheerio
I've been watching a spot of TV this week. My interest was caught by the Channel Four show about the illiterate children.
Talk about fizzing mad. I was so angry I nearly hopped on a train to start a staff room massacre at the school. Firstly there was the shocking fact that roughly about 7 out of every 28 pupils in a class could barely read, which unsurprisingly causes them to become disruptive. Disruptive! -they have every right to become murderous. No jury in the land would convict them if they tore their teachers limb from limb.
Of course the teachers were full of 'oh it's a deprived area' as if that lets them of the hook. Surely that's all the more reason to try harder to teach the children to read so that they can grow up not to be deprived or at least be deprived and able to express themselves without throwing things. Honest to God if I couldn't read I would have killed someone years ago.
So it is just as well for the teachers on that show that I can read. Their attitudes stank to high heaven. There they sat as if a school full of illiterates was nothing to do with them, whining on about having police and social workers on the phone for various pupils which apparently meant there was limited time to spend on extra tuition. As if any of it couldn't be put off until out with teaching hours. A surgeon wouldn't go interrupting operations to take calls from social workers, I don't see any good reason for a child's education should be disrupted for phone calls of all things.
To be fair once the proper teacher they'd brought in started getting results they became very enthusiastic but until then the sense of priorities in the school was demented.
I seem to recall people at my school being made to repeat years if they weren't managing and in one amazing case of kiddie intellectual fraud, an utter buffoon being put forward a year for being clever. Has that stopped? If so, why? What is the point of dragging children through years of school when they haven't mastered the basics?
Many of the children in the school featured come from pretty horrible circumstances. Surely it is only humane to give them the means to escape. Sadly the 'it's a deprived area' mentality is very much in vogue. People who know better are always excusing all sorts of things with the 'poverty' and 'toddler on a pot' facial expression. I suspect that they mean to look compassionate and clever rather than punchable. I recently complained about a client calling me a cunt and a bitch for no real reason, only to be told I was working in a 'deprived area' as if that explained or excused his ill-mannered outburst.
Mind you the person that gave me the 'poverty' bit is and I am not making this up going to sleep on a church hall floor this weekend eating nothing but rice and dal to learn what life is like in a third world refugee camp. I don't understand it myself, all I can tell you is that you should not exclaim 'oh it's like Marie Antoinette pretending to be a shepherdess' if anyone you know indulges in this type of thing. It vexes them something awful. You shouldn't tell them that you adore rice and dal either, they'll only think you're taking the piss.
Cheerio
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