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

Slump!

Hello,

Apologies for my absence. I've been and remain in one of my slumps. I'm frantically trying to find another job but nothing suitable has been advertised for quite some time so I'm quite frustrated. If anyone has a job they reckon I could do please let me know and don't all rush at once.

Cheerio

Released From The Jaws Of Death!

Hello,
Normally I wouldn't start a post with a moan about a physical illness but the last few days of my life have been so painful and distressing I feel entitled. I opened a window and broke out in a rash, I ate and vomited, I sneezed and wanted to die, I coughed and thought I would, I tried to sleep and saw snakes weaving a path across my ceiling. Four days of my life -gone like a nightmare.

Mercifully I've been released and what a release it's been.

First up I find that Terry Kelly has become a national media star! .

Secondly I returned to work but we shan't dwell on that.

Thirdly I wanted to reassure my merry band that I still exist. I had started to doubt it myself but here we all are.

Cats

Hello,
The extent to which I love and worship cats cannot be overestimated. I thought I just liked them until people began to notice my indifference to family photos and news in contrast to my rapt attention when anyone was talking about their family pet.

I love the arrogant, selfish, stuck up little bastards with every fibre of my being. They are the one thing that leads me to believe there might just be a God. There is no bit of bad behaviour I cannot find an excuse for if a cat is the perpetrator.

Even when my own lads used to bring me live toads, I would merely exit the room and summon my father to remove the toad. Ten go back and play with the cats as if nothing untoward had happened.

Lack of pussy is all that I miss having left home. I live in a small flat and am told it would be cruel to keep a cat indoors but is it? I hear mixed reports. I did have a Guinea Pig by the name of Bel for a while who was almost as good as a cat but the pigs only live five years and the grief when they go is awful. Whereas a sturdy cat can last a couple of decades if it's so minded.

In truth I get quite lonely but not so lonely I want a human being getting in my road. I need a pet, I want a cat but don't want to ruin any animal's life. What should I do?

Advice Please!

Hello,
That facts of the matter are quite simple. I need a haircut rather badly as it happens. Oh how I long for my platinum blonde days when split ends were rather becoming and formed a glowing halo round my head. It was trashy but rather splendid. No-one has ever been impressed with dark brown split ends. It's unfair but the way of the world and up with it we must put.

Anyway I was wondering what to ask the hairdresser for when I chanced upon a picture of Paris Hilton and was rather taken with her hairdo. This is only the start of my problems. I cannot bring myself to enter a hairdressers and ask for a 'Paris Hilton'. It wouldn't be seemly and besides the hairdressers will all make snide remarks about the mutton wanting to look like Paris Hilton.

In truth I fear hairdressers. I nearly became one many years ago in a directionless moment in life but the combined might of the DSS and the scary girls on my course put paid to that. The DSS decided in their infinite wisdom that I'd be better off on a six week course to learn how to complete job applications rather than a twelve month part time hairdressing course with a guaranteed work placement and promptly stopped my dole. Of course I knew that I was right and was allowed to attend college part-time provided I continued to look for work but the chance to escape the inevitable beating from my fellow students was too good to pass up, so I didn't argue my case.

As an aside I pity anyone who claims benefits, I don't care about the con artists. To me the worst thing about benefits is not that a few folk take the piss but that every claimant has to explain themselves to passionless desk dwellers who sleep but never dream. I often wonder if what attracted me to my current line of work was the chance to put the spiritually dead wankers in their place. I am all about revenge really when you get down to it.

To stroll back in the direction of the point. What in God's name should I ask my hairdresser to do to avoid the shame of requesting a 'Paris Hilton'.

Cheerio

Whatever Next?

Hello,
The list of thing that can only happen to me has grown rather dramatically of late. First some tosser on Pickled Politics calls me a 'neo-con' and accuses me of owning an 'internment now' badge for no apparent reason then all hell breaks loose at The Scottish Idler's Guild.

For reasons which I fear will forever remain mysterious Wednesday's meeting was hijacked by a rather unpleasant and intimidating bunch who claimed to be 'a group of British Muslims'. They seemed to have a bee in their bonnet about supermarkets of all things. Lord knows what on earth we did to attract them but they claim to have come all the way from Edinburgh.

However all is not doom and gloom. The Britblog round up is here on Sunday and I'll be talking about it on Radio 5 at some stage next week so my English readers should prepare their side-splitting quips about being unable to understand me without delay.

Cheerio

A Warning Against Toying With The Occult

Hello,
A while back I mentioned that a psychic had informed me that I had someone very interesting behind me from the spirit world.

Naturally I was intrigued, so I was pleased to stumble across a different psychic who reckoned she could supply me with a drawing of my spirit guide. I duly coughed up the very reasonable £4.00 fee for this remarkable service and waited. The shocking outcome of all this is that I have a very well executed pencil drawing which appears to be of one of my ex-boyfriends. That said drawing has the same name and purports to be my 'soulmate' is, I need hardly day most distressing. Mr Clairwil could never be usurped in my affections.

Obviously I am the victim of some sort of prank. For a start a soulmate and a spirit guide are two entirely separate beasties. What worries me is who is responsible for this outrage? Why? I have of course submitted a stern email to them which has come back undelivered. It's as if they have vanished into thin air. The drawing itself is as I say very well done but every time I look at it I want to sleep with all it's friends and start pointless drunken fist fights. It can't be healthy.

I'm off to bed now though I doubt I shall ever sleep again.

Cheerio

How Does One Get To Port Logan From Glasgow?

Hello,
I am again requesting the help of my wise readers. I MUST get to Port Logan on 13/07/07. I decided this morning and that is that but I don't have a car and it seems somewhat remote!
I can get to Stranraer but that leaves me with another 13 miles to go. Is there a bus service? A horse and cart driven by a kindly farmer? One thing is certain I'm not bloody walking. Not with my feet. I am a martyr to my feet, buttocks and nerves which rules out 13 mile walks and uncertainty.

Some local knowledge would be lovely!

Elsewhere 'Smeatomania' continues to delight almost all of us.

Cheerio

Fragments

Fragments from the young Clairwil's diary.