It turns out that toddlers at a playgroup in York have been stopped from doing the hand gestures to 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star', just in case it offends deaf people. No, you haven't been infected with MY deafness, I did just say that.
The 'problem' is that the gesture for a twinkling star is very similar to a rude word beginning with 'C' that describes a naughty part of a lady's body. The 'front bottom', as some call it (not me). Probably the same sign, in fact, that deaf people might also use for Piers Morgan, Simon Cowell or Dobbie (hehe) now and again. I trust you're with me by now. Anyway, it's the sort of word that you don't want children to use.
Of course, there are no deaf children IN this playgroup. Or deaf parents. Or deaf teachers. Or deaf caterers. Or deaf nurses. Or deaf ANYONE who may be watching. And if, by some bizarre circumstance, deaf people were watching, they wouldn't be offended at all. This is because deaf people are not utterly stupid. Just because we can't hear, it doesn't mean we're thick (although some may argue I'm not a very valid example of this)! It would just give us a good laugh, to be honest.
But some nut-job eejit of a spokeswoman with oxtail soup (or perhaps bovril) between her ears has said that this is not a case of political correctness, but simply common sense. No, it really isn't love. It's the polar opposite of common sense. You would be better off flashing the children your own (C-word) if common sense was applied.
My guess is that one of these halfwits has been on some form of deaf-awareness course (paid for by taxpayers, naturally) and was itching to put her new knowledge into practice immediately. And so, cloaked in cringeworthy self-importance, that's exactly what she did. She imagined some far-fetched scenario in which a deaf person happened to swing by the nursery, peer through the window and end up outraged and called the cops. Or maybe the United Nations.
Look, I know this doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. What with the economy the way it is and the world likely to end in 2012 according to the Mayan calendar, the ice caps melting and Blackburn Rovers seemingly condemned to relegation. And if it were just an isolated incident of fabulous stupidity then I would merely snigger and move on. But it isn't. Not only is this a little personal to me, but it is abso-bloody ridiculous!!
It'd be like banning Santa Claus down the local M&S from saying 'Ho Ho Ho!' for fear shoppers would think he was referring to black, american prostitutes. "Say 'Hey Hey Hey!' instead. And don't touch the little'uns."
Individually, these examples are just minor irritations. But they happen week in, week out. Without fail. And taken together, they show us how we are today: Pathetically thin-skinned and determined to be offended on the behalf of other people for no reason whatsoever. Offended on one hand, but bossed about by self-righteous Johnny Jobsworths on the other.
DON'T be offended on the behalf of another person. Ever. That is unless they are clearly upset. But do not EVER presume so. If you are offended and they aren't, then how idiotic do you look? I have been at a Frankie Boyle gig, where he repeatedly jibed me about my deafness (I was sat in the front row DUE TO BEING DEAF) but had people laughing around me. Not too bad at first, but these jibes continued for a good 15 minutes without changing to another topic, or even anyone else. And guess what? I had to walk out, and the jibes continued.
Contrast that with a Michael McIntyre joke about deaf people in a car park and I was laughing my arse off! The bloke next to me took offence on my behalf (told me so) and left. Walked right out. That one walk-out ruined my night. That man offended me more than Frankie Boyle ever did. Other people may not think like me, but the point stands. Don't presume someone is offended before taking unnecessary offence yourself. It makes you look a complete and utter (Twinkling Star).
Thursday 22 December 2011
So, Venky's...about yourselves...and Mr. Kean....
About Venkys...
They have bought Blackburn Rovers FC on borrowed money.
They have been to 4 games since the takeover (over a year).
They have refused to invest any money. The only money put into the club was from the sale of Phil Jones to ManUtd (About £7million out of a total of around £20million).
They refuse to sack a man with a record that leaves his position untenable.
About Mr. Kean...
7 wins in 38 league games.
11 wins in 44 games over all (3 against lower leagues opposition).
He testified to a court of law that a fan spiked his drink when charged with (and then convicted of) drink-driving.
He refused to shore up the defense (or add a defensive midfielder to help protect the defense) in the summer, after the loss of Phil Jones and Jermaine Jones.
He refused to make the team more solid in general (pressure on opposition all across the pitch).
He continually releases press-statements that ridicule the fan base that pays him. Many of these which would lead to a charge of intent to incite a riot* if said by a 'normal' citizen.
*As told to me by several cops at games (one a Stoke fan, one a Wigan fan and one a Brentford fan).
Events influenced (but not directly caused) by one or the other:
John Williams (respected chairman who forged Rovers a reputation of being the best-run club in England) has left.
Tom Finn (respected deputy to John Williams) has left.
Sam Allardyce (respected and pragmatic manager throughout England) was mercilessly sacked and replaced by a man who previously only had brief experience of being an assistant manager.
Major local sponsors WEC Engineering are relctant to sponsor the club any more and are looking to pull out.
Wayne Wild (higher-up in WEC), Ian Battersby (Rovers fan, higher-up in a Wealth Management firm), Jack Straw (MP for Blackburn) and Jake Berry (MP for Darwen and Rossendale) have all expressed concern at the situation.
Rovers' fanbase are left feeling detached and angry at the lack of communication from the club and feel the need to protest vociferously (after giving solid support to the manager from his appointment right up until the Arsenal game on 17th Sept 2011.
Attendances decline with every game, yet the voices get louder and more rebellious. Shirts and SeasonTickets are thrown at Kean in the dugout.
The worst crime of all? Blackburn Rovers were built over 135years. If the above is anything to go by (as well as the conjecture and rumours flying around), it took only a year to destroy.
They have bought Blackburn Rovers FC on borrowed money.
They have been to 4 games since the takeover (over a year).
They have refused to invest any money. The only money put into the club was from the sale of Phil Jones to ManUtd (About £7million out of a total of around £20million).
They refuse to sack a man with a record that leaves his position untenable.
About Mr. Kean...
7 wins in 38 league games.
11 wins in 44 games over all (3 against lower leagues opposition).
He testified to a court of law that a fan spiked his drink when charged with (and then convicted of) drink-driving.
He refused to shore up the defense (or add a defensive midfielder to help protect the defense) in the summer, after the loss of Phil Jones and Jermaine Jones.
He refused to make the team more solid in general (pressure on opposition all across the pitch).
He continually releases press-statements that ridicule the fan base that pays him. Many of these which would lead to a charge of intent to incite a riot* if said by a 'normal' citizen.
*As told to me by several cops at games (one a Stoke fan, one a Wigan fan and one a Brentford fan).
Events influenced (but not directly caused) by one or the other:
John Williams (respected chairman who forged Rovers a reputation of being the best-run club in England) has left.
Tom Finn (respected deputy to John Williams) has left.
Sam Allardyce (respected and pragmatic manager throughout England) was mercilessly sacked and replaced by a man who previously only had brief experience of being an assistant manager.
Major local sponsors WEC Engineering are relctant to sponsor the club any more and are looking to pull out.
Wayne Wild (higher-up in WEC), Ian Battersby (Rovers fan, higher-up in a Wealth Management firm), Jack Straw (MP for Blackburn) and Jake Berry (MP for Darwen and Rossendale) have all expressed concern at the situation.
Rovers' fanbase are left feeling detached and angry at the lack of communication from the club and feel the need to protest vociferously (after giving solid support to the manager from his appointment right up until the Arsenal game on 17th Sept 2011.
Attendances decline with every game, yet the voices get louder and more rebellious. Shirts and SeasonTickets are thrown at Kean in the dugout.
The worst crime of all? Blackburn Rovers were built over 135years. If the above is anything to go by (as well as the conjecture and rumours flying around), it took only a year to destroy.
Tuesday 20 December 2011
Single-y.....Having....A Wonderful Christmas Time!!
This will be my first Christmas as a singleton in 4 yrs. The last 3 Christmasses were all with different girlfriends (how they never discovered each other I'll never know haha), but this year I will not be dedicating my time to one girl. I will be spreading my love and joy around my various groups of friends :) I'd say 'It's cheaper too' but I've spent more on nights out and drink than each of the last christmasses in with a girl. And I'm loving it! That having been said; in the New Year (which I will be posting about sometime next week, I'm sure) I'll be ready to take on the challenge of a new girlfriend (whoever she may be) while juggling my studies.
Christmas is, without question, my favourite time of year. I'd like to rant about it being commercialised etc, but I just don't care. I believe in God, but I detest religion. Christianity has given us the most popular festival of winter however. Nevermind the birth of the original Harry Houdini. This is the time of year that parents make their children the happiest they will be for the year. Santa is not a lie in my opinion. The concept of Santa is alive within all but Scrooge McDuck. 'Santa' is that little part of you that wants to show those you love just how much you appreciate them with cards and prezzies. It's also the part that gets angry and crosses people off next years 'XmasCard' list because you didn't get one off them this year.
Christmas is magical. The snow causes chaos, yes. But it makes kids and adults alike (even if just for a moment) admire the natural beauty of tiny bits of ice falling from the heavens and covering the rolling hills of Lancashire, Edinburgh Castle and Buckingham Palace in the same blanket of soft white icing. In summer, we wake up to heat and sunshine. We love it. But it has nothing on the wonder of seeing snow covering the land, your breath freezing in front of you, the freezing cold temperatures. Nor does it provide the comfort of a blanket wrapped around you, in front of a roaring fire, presents under an elaborately decorated tree, a glass of mulled wine and a mince pie by your side, surrounded by friends and family (close or long-lost).
My only complaint about Christmas (and with me not being musical, it has only struck me this year), we don't have one-hit wonders anymore. Slade, Wizzard, Mariah Carey, Mud etc all fill us with Christmas Spirit. X Factor winners do NOT. It would help if the songs were at least Christmassy, but they aren't. Just plain old pop ballads. X Factor needs to die, so that bands (groups that can USE instruments and can actually SING. Not 'artists') can play around and give us magic songs that take us back to the very year they were released/or the year we first heard them.
In particular:
Wham's 'Last Christmas' provokes memories of my FIRST xmas with a gf.
Slade's 'Merry Xmas Everybody' was first heard properly by me in the Xmas of 2009, so far my happiest Christmas.
Enough of me and my nonsense for now. I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and hope St. Nick grants you all your wishes. I hope he smacks 'Deluded' Steve Kean very hard in the face with a big bag of coal. THAT will be the topic of my next rant, some point this week.
Christmas is, without question, my favourite time of year. I'd like to rant about it being commercialised etc, but I just don't care. I believe in God, but I detest religion. Christianity has given us the most popular festival of winter however. Nevermind the birth of the original Harry Houdini. This is the time of year that parents make their children the happiest they will be for the year. Santa is not a lie in my opinion. The concept of Santa is alive within all but Scrooge McDuck. 'Santa' is that little part of you that wants to show those you love just how much you appreciate them with cards and prezzies. It's also the part that gets angry and crosses people off next years 'XmasCard' list because you didn't get one off them this year.
Christmas is magical. The snow causes chaos, yes. But it makes kids and adults alike (even if just for a moment) admire the natural beauty of tiny bits of ice falling from the heavens and covering the rolling hills of Lancashire, Edinburgh Castle and Buckingham Palace in the same blanket of soft white icing. In summer, we wake up to heat and sunshine. We love it. But it has nothing on the wonder of seeing snow covering the land, your breath freezing in front of you, the freezing cold temperatures. Nor does it provide the comfort of a blanket wrapped around you, in front of a roaring fire, presents under an elaborately decorated tree, a glass of mulled wine and a mince pie by your side, surrounded by friends and family (close or long-lost).
My only complaint about Christmas (and with me not being musical, it has only struck me this year), we don't have one-hit wonders anymore. Slade, Wizzard, Mariah Carey, Mud etc all fill us with Christmas Spirit. X Factor winners do NOT. It would help if the songs were at least Christmassy, but they aren't. Just plain old pop ballads. X Factor needs to die, so that bands (groups that can USE instruments and can actually SING. Not 'artists') can play around and give us magic songs that take us back to the very year they were released/or the year we first heard them.
In particular:
Wham's 'Last Christmas' provokes memories of my FIRST xmas with a gf.
Slade's 'Merry Xmas Everybody' was first heard properly by me in the Xmas of 2009, so far my happiest Christmas.
Enough of me and my nonsense for now. I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and hope St. Nick grants you all your wishes. I hope he smacks 'Deluded' Steve Kean very hard in the face with a big bag of coal. THAT will be the topic of my next rant, some point this week.
Thursday 15 December 2011
Made Me Chuckle (4)
Please note that this Bank is installing new Drive-through ATM machines enabling customers to withdraw cash without leaving their vehicles.
Customers using this new facility are requested to use the procedures outlined below when accessing their accounts.
After months of careful research, MALE & FEMALE procedures have been
developed.
Please follow the appropriate steps for your gender.
MALE PROCEDURE:
1. Drive up to the cash machine.
2. Put down your car window.
3. Insert card into machine and enter PIN.
4. Enter amount of cash required and withdraw.
5. Retrieve card, cash and receipt.
6. Put window up.
7. Drive off.
FEMALE PROCEDURE:
1. Drive up to cash machine.
2. Reverse and back up required distance to align car window with machine.
3. Set parking brake, put window down.
4. Find handbag, remove all contents on to passenger seat to locate card.
5. Tell person on cell phone you will call them back and hang up.
6. Attempt to insert card into machine.
7. Open car door to allow easier access to machine due to its excessive distance from car.
8. Insert card.
9. Re-insert card right way.
10. Dig through handbag to find diary with PIN written on inside back page.
11. Enter PIN.
12. Press cancel and re-enter correct PIN.
13. Enter amount of cash required.
14. Check makeup in rear view mirror.
15. Retrieve cash and receipt.
16. Empty handbag again to locate wallet and place cash inside.
17. Write debit amount in check register and place receipt in back of checkbook.
18. Re-check makeup.
19. Drive forward 2 feet.
20. Reverse back to cash machine.
21. Retrieve card.
22. Re-empty hand bag, locate card holder, and place card into appropriate slot.
23. Give dirty look to irate male driver waiting behind you.
24. Restart stalled engine and pull off.
25. Redial person on cell phone.
26. Drive for 2 to 3 miles.
27. Release Parking Brake.
Customers using this new facility are requested to use the procedures outlined below when accessing their accounts.
After months of careful research, MALE & FEMALE procedures have been
developed.
Please follow the appropriate steps for your gender.
MALE PROCEDURE:
1. Drive up to the cash machine.
2. Put down your car window.
3. Insert card into machine and enter PIN.
4. Enter amount of cash required and withdraw.
5. Retrieve card, cash and receipt.
6. Put window up.
7. Drive off.
FEMALE PROCEDURE:
1. Drive up to cash machine.
2. Reverse and back up required distance to align car window with machine.
3. Set parking brake, put window down.
4. Find handbag, remove all contents on to passenger seat to locate card.
5. Tell person on cell phone you will call them back and hang up.
6. Attempt to insert card into machine.
7. Open car door to allow easier access to machine due to its excessive distance from car.
8. Insert card.
9. Re-insert card right way.
10. Dig through handbag to find diary with PIN written on inside back page.
11. Enter PIN.
12. Press cancel and re-enter correct PIN.
13. Enter amount of cash required.
14. Check makeup in rear view mirror.
15. Retrieve cash and receipt.
16. Empty handbag again to locate wallet and place cash inside.
17. Write debit amount in check register and place receipt in back of checkbook.
18. Re-check makeup.
19. Drive forward 2 feet.
20. Reverse back to cash machine.
21. Retrieve card.
22. Re-empty hand bag, locate card holder, and place card into appropriate slot.
23. Give dirty look to irate male driver waiting behind you.
24. Restart stalled engine and pull off.
25. Redial person on cell phone.
26. Drive for 2 to 3 miles.
27. Release Parking Brake.
Help Our Heroes!
By this time next week, the 'Millies' will have been dished out to the servicemen and women who have so bravely served the Home Nations. For those of you who don't know (please educate yourselves immediately) these are officially titled 'The Sun's Annual Military Awards'. I can only applaud the work that The Sun has put into supporting the causes close to the troops that protect us. I wear a Help4Heroes wristband at all times, and often carry my long-departed Grandad's service medal with me as a reminder of what once was.
A very significant aspect of this year's ceremony is that the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge (Wills and Kate, our future King and stunningly beautiful Queen) will be in attendance, as will Prince Henry of Wales (more usually known as Prince Harry, or 'the ginger one'). It will be the first time since Wills and Kate's wedding that all 3 have attended an official engagement. Finally, there are members of the Royal Family who appear to have an understanding of the public's outlook. Members of the Royal Family who appear normal; who are (rather tellingly) serving in the Forces themselves!
HOWEVER, the troops are not QUITE getting what they deserve just yet. David 'The Punchable' Cameron has little-to-no chance of receiving a medal for his handling of Forces' pay. He seems to be ignoring government rules by refusing to let an independent body set troops' wages. The Prime Minister has included the Forces in his 1% public sector pay cap, meaning squaddies, corporals and sergeants lose money while benefit claimants rake in huge rises. This is nothing but an injustice.
May I suggest that Mr. Cameron sits down his cup and saucer of Earl Grey on Wednesday 21/12/2011, switches his TV over to ITV and give the Millies a watch. I would then invite him to ponder the following:
Who deserves extra? Those in uniform risking their lives on our behalf (and at his instruction) or welfare claimants sitting at home watching Loose Women? And for what it's worth, I include our 'MP's within the latter definition.
Our MP's are no longer allowed to vet their own expenses and sting us for every luxury they may take a fancy to; and bloody rightly so!!! Back in 2009, they were exposed for conning and cheating their way to duck houses, pornographic videos, moat excavation costs, second homes that weren't actually homes, chocolate bars and so on and so forth. Remember all that? And remember how they reacted? "Oh Lordy", they all wailed, once the details had been released - "How terribly we have let you all down!"
They wrung their hands in public. "We must reform, change our ways and try ever so hard to recapture your trust. Because that is what hurts most of all, the fact we have lost your trust! You, the voters, who we respect so much, and in whose service we labour!" And now, just two years down the line it's a case of "Actually, bugger the trust matey; We'd like our duck houses back, please!"
The House of Commons Select Committee, which looks into MP's expenses, has decided that the independent body which tries to stop them fleecing us for millions should have its powers reduced! The cheek! They don't like people asking them difficult questions about why they're claiming so much money from us. In future, they say, MPs should be allowed to oversee their own expenses because the current system is 'damaging democracy'. Also, they should get even more money for things such as travel and accommodation. Oh, and a pay rise if that's okay; or even if it isn't.
The incredible thing is, that even now the MPs are claiming more for their expenses than when they did when they were lying to us about their second homes and making us pay through the nose for trimming the clematis on the walls of their platinum-plated mansions. And that's under the new (supposedly 'tough') rules introduced when they wanted to 'restore our faith'. HA!!
And now - just like the bastard 'bankers' that gambled away non-existent money - they think they've been under the cosh for long enough and want to go back to the old system. And because they are MPs, who run the country, this is what will probably happen. All of this when we are being told to tighten our belts, and skilful, hard-working people (non-scroungers) are being laid off from jobs up and down the land!
Mr. Cameron, you said we were all in this together? Pffffffffft! Aye, and my dogs can shit gold.
A very significant aspect of this year's ceremony is that the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge (Wills and Kate, our future King and stunningly beautiful Queen) will be in attendance, as will Prince Henry of Wales (more usually known as Prince Harry, or 'the ginger one'). It will be the first time since Wills and Kate's wedding that all 3 have attended an official engagement. Finally, there are members of the Royal Family who appear to have an understanding of the public's outlook. Members of the Royal Family who appear normal; who are (rather tellingly) serving in the Forces themselves!
HOWEVER, the troops are not QUITE getting what they deserve just yet. David 'The Punchable' Cameron has little-to-no chance of receiving a medal for his handling of Forces' pay. He seems to be ignoring government rules by refusing to let an independent body set troops' wages. The Prime Minister has included the Forces in his 1% public sector pay cap, meaning squaddies, corporals and sergeants lose money while benefit claimants rake in huge rises. This is nothing but an injustice.
May I suggest that Mr. Cameron sits down his cup and saucer of Earl Grey on Wednesday 21/12/2011, switches his TV over to ITV and give the Millies a watch. I would then invite him to ponder the following:
Who deserves extra? Those in uniform risking their lives on our behalf (and at his instruction) or welfare claimants sitting at home watching Loose Women? And for what it's worth, I include our 'MP's within the latter definition.
Our MP's are no longer allowed to vet their own expenses and sting us for every luxury they may take a fancy to; and bloody rightly so!!! Back in 2009, they were exposed for conning and cheating their way to duck houses, pornographic videos, moat excavation costs, second homes that weren't actually homes, chocolate bars and so on and so forth. Remember all that? And remember how they reacted? "Oh Lordy", they all wailed, once the details had been released - "How terribly we have let you all down!"
They wrung their hands in public. "We must reform, change our ways and try ever so hard to recapture your trust. Because that is what hurts most of all, the fact we have lost your trust! You, the voters, who we respect so much, and in whose service we labour!" And now, just two years down the line it's a case of "Actually, bugger the trust matey; We'd like our duck houses back, please!"
The House of Commons Select Committee, which looks into MP's expenses, has decided that the independent body which tries to stop them fleecing us for millions should have its powers reduced! The cheek! They don't like people asking them difficult questions about why they're claiming so much money from us. In future, they say, MPs should be allowed to oversee their own expenses because the current system is 'damaging democracy'. Also, they should get even more money for things such as travel and accommodation. Oh, and a pay rise if that's okay; or even if it isn't.
The incredible thing is, that even now the MPs are claiming more for their expenses than when they did when they were lying to us about their second homes and making us pay through the nose for trimming the clematis on the walls of their platinum-plated mansions. And that's under the new (supposedly 'tough') rules introduced when they wanted to 'restore our faith'. HA!!
And now - just like the bastard 'bankers' that gambled away non-existent money - they think they've been under the cosh for long enough and want to go back to the old system. And because they are MPs, who run the country, this is what will probably happen. All of this when we are being told to tighten our belts, and skilful, hard-working people (non-scroungers) are being laid off from jobs up and down the land!
Mr. Cameron, you said we were all in this together? Pffffffffft! Aye, and my dogs can shit gold.
Wednesday 14 December 2011
Made Me Chuckle (3)
A very elderly man lay in his bed, terminally ill. While suffering the hideous agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the gorgeous aroma of his favourite scones wafting merrily up the stairs.
He gathered whatever strength of his remained, and agonisingly lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the railing with two arthritic hands, he made his painful way downstairs.
With laboured breath, he leaned against the door-frame, gazing straight into the kitchen. Were it not for death's embrace of agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread out upon the kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favourite scones.
Was this the Lord's glorious heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his loving and devoted Yorkshire wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in rumpled posture.
His aged and withered hand trembled towards a scone at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked away by his wife with a wooden spoon ......
*
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*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
'Bugger off' she said, 'they're for the funeral.'
He gathered whatever strength of his remained, and agonisingly lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the railing with two arthritic hands, he made his painful way downstairs.
With laboured breath, he leaned against the door-frame, gazing straight into the kitchen. Were it not for death's embrace of agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread out upon the kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favourite scones.
Was this the Lord's glorious heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his loving and devoted Yorkshire wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in rumpled posture.
His aged and withered hand trembled towards a scone at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked away by his wife with a wooden spoon ......
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
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*
'Bugger off' she said, 'they're for the funeral.'
Tuesday 13 December 2011
Made Me Chuckle: (2)
My job is bloody unbelievable. I'll try to sum it up by first telling you about the folks I work with:
First, there is this supermodel wanna-be girl. Yeah, okay, she's fit, but damn is she completely useless. The girl is constantly fixing her hair or putting on make-up. She is extremely self-centred and has never once considered the needs or wants of anyone but herself. She is as dumb as a box of rocks, and I still find it surprising that she has enough brain power to continue to breathe.
The next lass is completely the opposite. She might even be one of the smartest people on the planet. Her career opportunities are endless, and yet she is here with us. She is a zero on a scale of 1 to 10. I'm not sure she even showers, much less shaves her nether-regions. I think she might be a lesbian, because every time we drive by the hardware store she moans like a cat in heat.
But the jewel of the crowd has got to be the stoner. And this guy is more than just your average pothead. In fact, he is baked before he comes to work, during work, and I'm sure after work. He probably hasn't been sober any time in the last ten years, and he's only 22. He dresses like a beatnik throwback from the 1960's, and to make things worse, he brings his big bloody dog to work. Every fecking day, I have to look at this huge Great Dane walk around half-stoned from the second-hand smoke. Hell, sometimes I even think it's trying to talk with its constant bellowing. Also, both of them are constantly hungry, requiring multiple stops to McDonald's and Burger King, every single fecking day.
Anyway, I drive these tossers around in my van and we solve mysteries and shit.
First, there is this supermodel wanna-be girl. Yeah, okay, she's fit, but damn is she completely useless. The girl is constantly fixing her hair or putting on make-up. She is extremely self-centred and has never once considered the needs or wants of anyone but herself. She is as dumb as a box of rocks, and I still find it surprising that she has enough brain power to continue to breathe.
The next lass is completely the opposite. She might even be one of the smartest people on the planet. Her career opportunities are endless, and yet she is here with us. She is a zero on a scale of 1 to 10. I'm not sure she even showers, much less shaves her nether-regions. I think she might be a lesbian, because every time we drive by the hardware store she moans like a cat in heat.
But the jewel of the crowd has got to be the stoner. And this guy is more than just your average pothead. In fact, he is baked before he comes to work, during work, and I'm sure after work. He probably hasn't been sober any time in the last ten years, and he's only 22. He dresses like a beatnik throwback from the 1960's, and to make things worse, he brings his big bloody dog to work. Every fecking day, I have to look at this huge Great Dane walk around half-stoned from the second-hand smoke. Hell, sometimes I even think it's trying to talk with its constant bellowing. Also, both of them are constantly hungry, requiring multiple stops to McDonald's and Burger King, every single fecking day.
Anyway, I drive these tossers around in my van and we solve mysteries and shit.
Monday 12 December 2011
1st in my occasional item: Made me chuckle.
A Yorkshireman is travelling around the Greek Islands. He walks into a bar and by chance is served by a Yorkshire barmaid. As she takes his order of a pint of Tetley Bitter she notices his accent. Over the course of the evening, they get chatting. At the end of her shift he asks if she wants to come back to his place and although she is attracted to him, she say no.
He then offers to pay her £200 to sleep with him. As she is travelling around the world, and is short of funds, she agrees. The next night the guy turns up again, orders Tetley's and, after showing her plenty of attention, asks if she will sleep with him again for £200. She remembers the payout from the night before and is only too happy to agree.
This goes on for 5 nights. On the 6th night the guy comes in again, orders Tetley's but goes and sits in the corner. The barmaid thinks that if she pays him more attention then, maybe, she can shake some more cash out of him. So she goes over and sits next to him. She asks him where he's from in Yorkshire.
‘Leeds’ he tells her.
‘So am I, what suburb?’ She enquires.
‘Headingley’ he replies.
‘That's amazing’ she says excitedly, ‘so am I - what street?’
‘Boycott Street’ he replies.
‘That is unbelievable....’ She says, her voice quivering. ‘What number?’
‘Number 20 he replies.
She is totally astonished.
‘You are not going to believe this’ she screams, ‘but I'm from number 22! My parents still live there’.
‘I know’ he says,
‘Your Dad gave me £1000 to give to you’
He then offers to pay her £200 to sleep with him. As she is travelling around the world, and is short of funds, she agrees. The next night the guy turns up again, orders Tetley's and, after showing her plenty of attention, asks if she will sleep with him again for £200. She remembers the payout from the night before and is only too happy to agree.
This goes on for 5 nights. On the 6th night the guy comes in again, orders Tetley's but goes and sits in the corner. The barmaid thinks that if she pays him more attention then, maybe, she can shake some more cash out of him. So she goes over and sits next to him. She asks him where he's from in Yorkshire.
‘Leeds’ he tells her.
‘So am I, what suburb?’ She enquires.
‘Headingley’ he replies.
‘That's amazing’ she says excitedly, ‘so am I - what street?’
‘Boycott Street’ he replies.
‘That is unbelievable....’ She says, her voice quivering. ‘What number?’
‘Number 20 he replies.
She is totally astonished.
‘You are not going to believe this’ she screams, ‘but I'm from number 22! My parents still live there’.
‘I know’ he says,
‘Your Dad gave me £1000 to give to you’
4000 holes in Darwen, Lancashire........
See the title? How prophetic the Beatles almost were. Darwen (neighbour to Blackburn) used to be a beautiful little English town. Cobbled roads, magnificent architecture and trams galore (this is judging by a book of 'Old Darwen' I have, which features my GreatGrandadJimmy as a brass-band member).
Now? Concrete monstrosities giving all 'Darreners' conjunctivitis, utterly unnecessary 4x4's parked down the narrowest of streets and potholes, potholes, potholes. I've had bills for repaired/new tyres stretching into the hundreds (£300+) which is NOT cool. My student loan only covers me so far and these ridiculous roads are literally drinking my money without pissing it back out.
On the bright side (well, not really), I'm saving money this Christmas. No girlfriend = no £50 on prezzies, no ridiculous parking fees for restaurants in Manchester and no wasted money on condoms (I'm not pulling much either, as you saw in my post re: women). One Durex extra-safe remains in my wallet, after that packet of 12 was bought for £5 in June. Poor thing remains intact, feeling sullen, unused and therefore undervalued and unwanted. How can women be so cruel to one of the greatest inventions of the last century? Anyway, back to Darwen....
Here is the most frightening transformation:
Darwen Leisure Centre:
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrw_t1skwuzhx3rpL208LQDkATATBmuPIpp8dNlFk8TTCsu88XBxcLjCDG0SsmHP-cAElnBrarb8qJwyYnrzimiDG-d9T_7bPDGj2UmNW7QvHrJ2kyBf72HzHiY3gd7-qpG6bKLfeHnyM/s320/Leisure+Centre.jpg
Only 10 years ago, the black and white picture remained true. A stunning building in my opinion. I have not yet entered the modernised (bastardised) version and nor do I intend to. It is an utter eyesore and pretty much sums up how unnecessary changes make me feel. I know that Darwen is a shithole. If Blackburn is the arsehole of England, then Darwen is the 'piles' which plague that arse with unforgiving awkwardness. But it's MY shithole, MY hometown and I will always love the place.
The IndiaMillChimney remains, standing proud as a symbol of Darwen's prominence during the Industrial Revolution:
http://www.wainwright-wanderings.co.uk/OP024-0016.jpg
http://newsimg.bbc.co.uk/media/images/46625000/jpg/_46625334_jb01573-1.jpg
As does our magnificent Darwen Tower. It remains upon the moors, keeping watch on our little town:
http://www.penninelancsplace.org/Shared%20Documents/Darwen%20Tower%20and%20countryside%20D1000021.JPG
http://www.wittonweavers.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Darwen-Tower1.jpg
Now, if only the council would dig up that pathetically weak, tyre-terrorising tarmac and give us back our cobbles (they can't be any worse)! I'll leave yer be now. Gun' go stick me flat cap on, wit' me elbow-patched jacket, me wee smokin' pipe and go fetch a pie-er-two fer me lunch, 'fore seeing how't whippet be getting on down the dogs! Ta'raa chuck!
Now? Concrete monstrosities giving all 'Darreners' conjunctivitis, utterly unnecessary 4x4's parked down the narrowest of streets and potholes, potholes, potholes. I've had bills for repaired/new tyres stretching into the hundreds (£300+) which is NOT cool. My student loan only covers me so far and these ridiculous roads are literally drinking my money without pissing it back out.
On the bright side (well, not really), I'm saving money this Christmas. No girlfriend = no £50 on prezzies, no ridiculous parking fees for restaurants in Manchester and no wasted money on condoms (I'm not pulling much either, as you saw in my post re: women). One Durex extra-safe remains in my wallet, after that packet of 12 was bought for £5 in June. Poor thing remains intact, feeling sullen, unused and therefore undervalued and unwanted. How can women be so cruel to one of the greatest inventions of the last century? Anyway, back to Darwen....
Here is the most frightening transformation:
Darwen Leisure Centre:
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrw_t1skwuzhx3rpL208LQDkATATBmuPIpp8dNlFk8TTCsu88XBxcLjCDG0SsmHP-cAElnBrarb8qJwyYnrzimiDG-d9T_7bPDGj2UmNW7QvHrJ2kyBf72HzHiY3gd7-qpG6bKLfeHnyM/s320/Leisure+Centre.jpg
Only 10 years ago, the black and white picture remained true. A stunning building in my opinion. I have not yet entered the modernised (bastardised) version and nor do I intend to. It is an utter eyesore and pretty much sums up how unnecessary changes make me feel. I know that Darwen is a shithole. If Blackburn is the arsehole of England, then Darwen is the 'piles' which plague that arse with unforgiving awkwardness. But it's MY shithole, MY hometown and I will always love the place.
The IndiaMillChimney remains, standing proud as a symbol of Darwen's prominence during the Industrial Revolution:
http://www.wainwright-wanderings.co.uk/OP024-0016.jpg
http://newsimg.bbc.co.uk/media/images/46625000/jpg/_46625334_jb01573-1.jpg
As does our magnificent Darwen Tower. It remains upon the moors, keeping watch on our little town:
http://www.penninelancsplace.org/Shared%20Documents/Darwen%20Tower%20and%20countryside%20D1000021.JPG
http://www.wittonweavers.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Darwen-Tower1.jpg
Now, if only the council would dig up that pathetically weak, tyre-terrorising tarmac and give us back our cobbles (they can't be any worse)! I'll leave yer be now. Gun' go stick me flat cap on, wit' me elbow-patched jacket, me wee smokin' pipe and go fetch a pie-er-two fer me lunch, 'fore seeing how't whippet be getting on down the dogs! Ta'raa chuck!
Sunday 11 December 2011
Women: Do I understand them or not? Your call......
In secondary school, you could hold a door open for a lass (whether or not you are heading through it yourself) and they immediately decide you fancy them (and let's face it, you normally do if you hold a door open for a girl). With this in mind they act very coy whenever they are around you, implying that they too fancy you (which drives you nuts -in a good way- for a little while). They then repeat a mantra of this while smiling to themselves throught the day. The next day is where the real fun starts. The next day the lass begins to stalk her victim (you or me) pin-pointing his wherabouts throught the day and studying their habits. After a while we begin to feel uncomfortable. The female is soon is faced with the cold hard assumption (with no evidence at all to back it up) that the guy (you or me) doesn't like her and falls into a pit of despair; vowing a life of lonliness and contemplating becoming a nun. The FACT is that we probably like them a hell of a lot and just don't know how to approach them. Upon 'finding out' we have no chance (or just feeling that way) we become despondent and avoid them (or stalk them, depending on how you're affected by these things). After a further day of this needless brooding, the female returns to her habitat waiting for her next unsuspecting victim. And girls wonder why many lads are just a tiny bit shit-scared of them at this point.
At college, they become more friendly (GENUINELY more friendly, not more promiscuous) and we begin to enjoy the pleasure of their company (no, I promise I'm not using euphemisms). Meanwhile the ones that enjoy multiple carnal pursuits suddenly take a fancy to bloody EVERYONE (including those who didn't exist 5 minutes and 23 seconds ago). They decide to lavish us with flirtatious glances, smudged-yet-sexy-eye-shadow winks, licks of the lips (honestly, you filthy lot) and tightening of the shirts (you look for the clothes peg at the back, but you end up unhinging something which ends up giving us far less of a treat). Soon as we begin to take a mild fancy to the Essex-orange 'shat aaaap' lot, out flow the tears and out come the talons to shred you to pieces when you tell them a silver-sequinned shirt makes them resemble a Brillo-Pad (because our as of yet unconfident little brains believed that a joke was a better chat-up line than a compliment).
At Uni......well.....where to start?
At uni, we gain a little more confidence and there is a TSUNAMI of gorgeous lasses thrown our way (with the occasional whale, giraffe or pug. Or even remnants from the Tango crew). Myself and Dobbie, of course, have our own unwritten rules (who doesn't?) when it comes to a night on the pull. We also have a little match going on, which I am currently losing 5-2. That is pulls and not sex (and Dobbie's 5 includes 2 lesbians, each from a separate night. Must be something about being a ManYoo-supporting cockney from Wales). Upon sex, one of us wins the match and we start again. Upon the beginning of a relationship for either of us, game abandoned. HOWEVER, pulls flow from match to match, as a form of 'goal difference'. I hasten to add at this point, that this is just a bit of fun in no way do I approve of chauvinistic views. The 'game' just makes it an easy football reference for us poor, unintelligent little souls. Now get in the kitchen and make me a 'sammich', bitch :P
Women at University are lovely. Some of them become our best friends (RosieM and AmyW get shout-outs here). Even the acquaintances become the source of a great day or night out. It's as if the gender differences (while clearly there) become nothing. Senses of humour become fused. In-jokes form a big part of our lives. And sometimes you can end up boob-grabbing purely for a joke with no sexual implication whatsoever (or so they think anyway).
That is pretty much my observation of women so far in life. I've had one evil ex (no names), with a lovely ex either side of her (KathyG and LauraN). No, I don't mean all at once.
Women are wonderful creatures. But somehow, someway, they continue to scare the shit out of many of us.
At college, they become more friendly (GENUINELY more friendly, not more promiscuous) and we begin to enjoy the pleasure of their company (no, I promise I'm not using euphemisms). Meanwhile the ones that enjoy multiple carnal pursuits suddenly take a fancy to bloody EVERYONE (including those who didn't exist 5 minutes and 23 seconds ago). They decide to lavish us with flirtatious glances, smudged-yet-sexy-eye-shadow winks, licks of the lips (honestly, you filthy lot) and tightening of the shirts (you look for the clothes peg at the back, but you end up unhinging something which ends up giving us far less of a treat). Soon as we begin to take a mild fancy to the Essex-orange 'shat aaaap' lot, out flow the tears and out come the talons to shred you to pieces when you tell them a silver-sequinned shirt makes them resemble a Brillo-Pad (because our as of yet unconfident little brains believed that a joke was a better chat-up line than a compliment).
At Uni......well.....where to start?
At uni, we gain a little more confidence and there is a TSUNAMI of gorgeous lasses thrown our way (with the occasional whale, giraffe or pug. Or even remnants from the Tango crew). Myself and Dobbie, of course, have our own unwritten rules (who doesn't?) when it comes to a night on the pull. We also have a little match going on, which I am currently losing 5-2. That is pulls and not sex (and Dobbie's 5 includes 2 lesbians, each from a separate night. Must be something about being a ManYoo-supporting cockney from Wales). Upon sex, one of us wins the match and we start again. Upon the beginning of a relationship for either of us, game abandoned. HOWEVER, pulls flow from match to match, as a form of 'goal difference'. I hasten to add at this point, that this is just a bit of fun in no way do I approve of chauvinistic views. The 'game' just makes it an easy football reference for us poor, unintelligent little souls. Now get in the kitchen and make me a 'sammich', bitch :P
Women at University are lovely. Some of them become our best friends (RosieM and AmyW get shout-outs here). Even the acquaintances become the source of a great day or night out. It's as if the gender differences (while clearly there) become nothing. Senses of humour become fused. In-jokes form a big part of our lives. And sometimes you can end up boob-grabbing purely for a joke with no sexual implication whatsoever (or so they think anyway).
That is pretty much my observation of women so far in life. I've had one evil ex (no names), with a lovely ex either side of her (KathyG and LauraN). No, I don't mean all at once.
Women are wonderful creatures. But somehow, someway, they continue to scare the shit out of many of us.
Thursday 8 December 2011
Door to door.
There are a number of things about door-to-door that irritate me. I can understand that people just need ANY kind of work (especially given the current financial climate), but seriously, just stop. In the last 2 weeks, we've had a number of D2D's.
The first was a Jehovah's Witness. Don't start on me. I am a Christian, but only in a 'last resort' sort of way. ALL logic points to no God whatsoever, but just in case, eh? I was raised a catholic but detest many of the things catholicism stands for. I want to use condoms when I have sex so that I don't get the girl pregnant! Helps with stopping STI's too, but I'd like to think I know the lass well enough by the time I have her legs wrapped around my waist. This ties in with the notion that I want to have sex with a lass before I marry her. Surely EVERYONE does? I mean, why would you want to be with a girl that's a shite shag for several decades? A chef in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom. That's what my lass will be. It's little wonder I have no missus at the moment to be honest!! Re: other catholic objections: Abortion should be the choice of the woman (or the couple, if the woman is considerate and wasn't raped) and homophobia in this day and age is just soooooooooo gay!!
Getting back to the Jehovah's Witness (He said the name of the Lord!! STONE HIM!!!), I quite like Christmas and my birthday marks a very important day for medical advancement as well as being a reminder of my age. I should NOT be alive, but thanks to the doctors and nurses of Queen's Park Hospital in Blackburn (now bastardised as the 'Blackburn Royal Hospital') I am partially deaf rather than stone cold dead. Upon the words 'Do you love your God, Sir?', I slammed the door shut (we have a Christmas holly wreath on the door, I hope it scratched him) and thought of the following image that had me and Dobbie revelling in the accuracy of it's implications:
Another D2D we had was a charity-collector. Now, again, I appreciate the aims of these people. And I would only be too happy to contribute some unneeded copper to their noble cause. But do not interrupt my tea, under any circumstances when I have been working on a 6000 word piece of coursework and pulled an all-nighter just to sort out the statistics of it. I was grumpy, tired as hell and just wanted to shove my chips and gravy (wrapped in 'vintage' newspaper for some reason, rather than the modernised and more useful greaseproof paper) in my face, then go to sleep. At those moments 'Cancer Research' isn't my priority (although I hasten to add that I absolutely support the work of such charities when I'm awake).
Finally (and this is beautifully poetic) we had a D2D selling hearing aids. This time I wasn't annoyed, but enjoyed a lengthy conversation with him. Although I wasn't buying anything, I suspect he was happy to stand in the warmth of my porch for 15mins rather than stand in the freezing harsh Northern wind. I got around to asking how he was getting on in terms of business and he said it was about as good as it could be. When I asked what he meant by this, he responded:
'We get a fair few people interested, but the trouble is......the ones we REALLY want business from never hear the doorbell.'
And that, my friends, is how to enjoy the most dull, mundane, weather-braving of jobs. Find the funnies in everything you do.
The first was a Jehovah's Witness. Don't start on me. I am a Christian, but only in a 'last resort' sort of way. ALL logic points to no God whatsoever, but just in case, eh? I was raised a catholic but detest many of the things catholicism stands for. I want to use condoms when I have sex so that I don't get the girl pregnant! Helps with stopping STI's too, but I'd like to think I know the lass well enough by the time I have her legs wrapped around my waist. This ties in with the notion that I want to have sex with a lass before I marry her. Surely EVERYONE does? I mean, why would you want to be with a girl that's a shite shag for several decades? A chef in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom. That's what my lass will be. It's little wonder I have no missus at the moment to be honest!! Re: other catholic objections: Abortion should be the choice of the woman (or the couple, if the woman is considerate and wasn't raped) and homophobia in this day and age is just soooooooooo gay!!
Getting back to the Jehovah's Witness (He said the name of the Lord!! STONE HIM!!!), I quite like Christmas and my birthday marks a very important day for medical advancement as well as being a reminder of my age. I should NOT be alive, but thanks to the doctors and nurses of Queen's Park Hospital in Blackburn (now bastardised as the 'Blackburn Royal Hospital') I am partially deaf rather than stone cold dead. Upon the words 'Do you love your God, Sir?', I slammed the door shut (we have a Christmas holly wreath on the door, I hope it scratched him) and thought of the following image that had me and Dobbie revelling in the accuracy of it's implications:
Another D2D we had was a charity-collector. Now, again, I appreciate the aims of these people. And I would only be too happy to contribute some unneeded copper to their noble cause. But do not interrupt my tea, under any circumstances when I have been working on a 6000 word piece of coursework and pulled an all-nighter just to sort out the statistics of it. I was grumpy, tired as hell and just wanted to shove my chips and gravy (wrapped in 'vintage' newspaper for some reason, rather than the modernised and more useful greaseproof paper) in my face, then go to sleep. At those moments 'Cancer Research' isn't my priority (although I hasten to add that I absolutely support the work of such charities when I'm awake).
Finally (and this is beautifully poetic) we had a D2D selling hearing aids. This time I wasn't annoyed, but enjoyed a lengthy conversation with him. Although I wasn't buying anything, I suspect he was happy to stand in the warmth of my porch for 15mins rather than stand in the freezing harsh Northern wind. I got around to asking how he was getting on in terms of business and he said it was about as good as it could be. When I asked what he meant by this, he responded:
'We get a fair few people interested, but the trouble is......the ones we REALLY want business from never hear the doorbell.'
And that, my friends, is how to enjoy the most dull, mundane, weather-braving of jobs. Find the funnies in everything you do.
Wednesday 7 December 2011
Where is the British sense of humour going?
I try to be politically correct where I can be, but sometimes there is just no need for it! PC is seriously taking over the country and it's damned well killing all semblance of what used to be known as 'having a lark' or 'bit of a joke' or quite simply just HAVING A SENSE OF BLOODY HUMOUR!!
Missives of complaint used to be few and far between in Britain, but wholly genuine. Back in the days Hitler sending bombs over us, people just went in the bunkers, had a jolly old sing-song, shared dodgy 'knock-knock' or genie-related jokes and just enjoyed themselves; a total contrast to the mayhem caused in the cities. Even as recently as the 90's, things only received complaints when they REALLY warranted it. You knew this because people had to be incensed enough to put pen to paper, stick it in an envelope, papercut their tongues while licking said envelope, find out the correct address for the recipient, walk to the post office, buy a stamp and then trap their hand in the postbox after inserting the letter with a little too much fury.
These days, any faintly aggreived half-wit can simply apply pressure to a button called 'Send' on any number of wifi-enabled devices and join the bandwagons and the burgeoning number of pointless e-petitions set up by sad, lonely little people with so little happening in their lives that they actively seek out faux controversy to fill the void.
The very same people who knew damned well that Jeremy Clarkson was not seriously suggesting that public sector strikers should be shot, but they faked froth-mouthed frenzy anyway! And shame on the various so-called 'serious political figures' for being among them. They are out of touch with the British Public; so much so that I have already eliminated Labour, Tories or LibDems from receiving my vote at the next election. UKIP, the Green Party and even the Official Monster Raving Loony Party are more deserving of my vote than this country's so-called 'big 3'.
Ed Miliband looks like a frog, Nick Clegg has shown himself to be an utter liar (don't worry Nick, when stem cell research REALLY kicks in, you'll have that spine ready-made for you) and David Cameron looks like he's constantly possessed by Tony Blair! Tossers.
Missives of complaint used to be few and far between in Britain, but wholly genuine. Back in the days Hitler sending bombs over us, people just went in the bunkers, had a jolly old sing-song, shared dodgy 'knock-knock' or genie-related jokes and just enjoyed themselves; a total contrast to the mayhem caused in the cities. Even as recently as the 90's, things only received complaints when they REALLY warranted it. You knew this because people had to be incensed enough to put pen to paper, stick it in an envelope, papercut their tongues while licking said envelope, find out the correct address for the recipient, walk to the post office, buy a stamp and then trap their hand in the postbox after inserting the letter with a little too much fury.
These days, any faintly aggreived half-wit can simply apply pressure to a button called 'Send' on any number of wifi-enabled devices and join the bandwagons and the burgeoning number of pointless e-petitions set up by sad, lonely little people with so little happening in their lives that they actively seek out faux controversy to fill the void.
The very same people who knew damned well that Jeremy Clarkson was not seriously suggesting that public sector strikers should be shot, but they faked froth-mouthed frenzy anyway! And shame on the various so-called 'serious political figures' for being among them. They are out of touch with the British Public; so much so that I have already eliminated Labour, Tories or LibDems from receiving my vote at the next election. UKIP, the Green Party and even the Official Monster Raving Loony Party are more deserving of my vote than this country's so-called 'big 3'.
Ed Miliband looks like a frog, Nick Clegg has shown himself to be an utter liar (don't worry Nick, when stem cell research REALLY kicks in, you'll have that spine ready-made for you) and David Cameron looks like he's constantly possessed by Tony Blair! Tossers.
Monday 5 December 2011
Reality TV.....
So we come to the end of the one Reality TV show I can watch. Purely because of Ant and Dec, I can cope with I'mVaguelyFamiliar...GetMeOutOfHere, and Dougie (the winner - the one from McFly whose name nobody knew) was a decent lad. (Celebrity)BigBrother ended long ago, thank God! Tossers.
TheOnlyWayIsEssex (no it isn't, you can get to Amarillo via more picturesque places) isn't on at the moment, thank God! Tossers. Although 'Tango' Mark did his best to ruin my enjoyment of the Jungle. Tosser.
On the subject of 'TOWIE', such a shame that it has spawned other shows featuring people with all the intellectual capacity of squashed orange. GeordieShore (which I think actually is adapted from JerseyShore), MadeInChelsea and Desperate Scousewives. Tossers. I have enjoyed many a night in the wonderful cities of Newcastle, Liverpool and London, and no-one I have met on such occasions has had me wanting to hit them. Many of these TV undesirables believe they are 'hard', but they wouldn't know what 'hard' was if Giant Haystacks hit them in the face with a bag of conkers! Tossers.
That's it for tonight. Goodnight and God Bless!
TheOnlyWayIsEssex (no it isn't, you can get to Amarillo via more picturesque places) isn't on at the moment, thank God! Tossers. Although 'Tango' Mark did his best to ruin my enjoyment of the Jungle. Tosser.
On the subject of 'TOWIE', such a shame that it has spawned other shows featuring people with all the intellectual capacity of squashed orange. GeordieShore (which I think actually is adapted from JerseyShore), MadeInChelsea and Desperate Scousewives. Tossers. I have enjoyed many a night in the wonderful cities of Newcastle, Liverpool and London, and no-one I have met on such occasions has had me wanting to hit them. Many of these TV undesirables believe they are 'hard', but they wouldn't know what 'hard' was if Giant Haystacks hit them in the face with a bag of conkers! Tossers.
That's it for tonight. Goodnight and God Bless!
The Dentist, the Trafford Centre and Sainsbury's.
So, today has been interesting so far.
Firstly I let a man with a rubber glove prod his finger all around my mouth. Of course, this makes ME look like the weirdo, when Detective Inspector Tongue involuntarily investigates this foreign object!! Then, said man-in-white-coat pokes my gums with a little needle to make sure they aren't swollen/bleeding ('This may pinch a little'). By which he means 'I'm about to stab you repeatedly in the gums and if you move, I'll just prod even firmer and cut you, but you will get the blame, as well as having to wash out your own bloodstains'. He then went on to 'recommend you brush your teeth twice a day'. Yes, I know. I've seen the Sensodyne adverts during Jeremy Kyle. Tosser.
Straight from here, my Dad and I drive to the Trafford Centre as the glorious Northern Slush descends gracefully, yet forcefully, onto an already very slippery M60. We get there and it is packed, cannot find a parking space. Dad decides to run into John Lewis and buy these 2 pictures frames that Mum wants for Christmas, while I continue to drive round to find a space. 30mins later, I FINALLY find a space!!.......just as Dad is making his way back. I let out a series of expletives and then we set off back home on the even more dangerous M60 (although far less traffic). On the way a lorry driven by a woman (yes, they do exist and you already know where this is heading) decides to pull into the fast lane (my lane) without indicating, causing me and about 6 cars behind me to brake suddenly. Tosser.
Dad insists on going to Sainsbury's to take advantage of their 'Buy 6 bottles of wine and get 25% off' offer (which, of course, is only done AFTER adding that amount onto the price each bottle). I decide I want some Walkers' Thai Chilli Sensations, so I have a look at the offers. 'Bigger Bag for same price!' they proudly proclaim. They evidently missed out the phrase 'same amount of crisps, but more air'. Tossers.
Preparing myself for BSL (level 2) class at College later on. Hopefully it will go without incident. If not, I'll update later! Cheerio!
Firstly I let a man with a rubber glove prod his finger all around my mouth. Of course, this makes ME look like the weirdo, when Detective Inspector Tongue involuntarily investigates this foreign object!! Then, said man-in-white-coat pokes my gums with a little needle to make sure they aren't swollen/bleeding ('This may pinch a little'). By which he means 'I'm about to stab you repeatedly in the gums and if you move, I'll just prod even firmer and cut you, but you will get the blame, as well as having to wash out your own bloodstains'. He then went on to 'recommend you brush your teeth twice a day'. Yes, I know. I've seen the Sensodyne adverts during Jeremy Kyle. Tosser.
Straight from here, my Dad and I drive to the Trafford Centre as the glorious Northern Slush descends gracefully, yet forcefully, onto an already very slippery M60. We get there and it is packed, cannot find a parking space. Dad decides to run into John Lewis and buy these 2 pictures frames that Mum wants for Christmas, while I continue to drive round to find a space. 30mins later, I FINALLY find a space!!.......just as Dad is making his way back. I let out a series of expletives and then we set off back home on the even more dangerous M60 (although far less traffic). On the way a lorry driven by a woman (yes, they do exist and you already know where this is heading) decides to pull into the fast lane (my lane) without indicating, causing me and about 6 cars behind me to brake suddenly. Tosser.
Dad insists on going to Sainsbury's to take advantage of their 'Buy 6 bottles of wine and get 25% off' offer (which, of course, is only done AFTER adding that amount onto the price each bottle). I decide I want some Walkers' Thai Chilli Sensations, so I have a look at the offers. 'Bigger Bag for same price!' they proudly proclaim. They evidently missed out the phrase 'same amount of crisps, but more air'. Tossers.
Preparing myself for BSL (level 2) class at College later on. Hopefully it will go without incident. If not, I'll update later! Cheerio!
Just a little Bio to get started.
I'm Mike, currently 20 years old. No missus to speak of, but there's plenty of fun to be found in life.
I am currently a Season Ticket Holder at Blackburn Rovers FC, and not even slightly happy at the situation, but I'll get into my thoughts on that at a later date.
Currently, I am in my 2nd year at UCLan, studying Psychology (my 3rd year overall after some shenanigans involving a change of course).
In this blog you may well get to know Dobbie too. He is not a house-elf, he is my best mate at Uni. He's a cockney boy, that lives in Wales and supports ManYoo (and Millwall and Morecambe). Go figure!
Any other suspicious characters who appear, I shall explain along the way.
Bit tired atmo.
Goodnight, God Bless and I'll start speaking soon!
I am currently a Season Ticket Holder at Blackburn Rovers FC, and not even slightly happy at the situation, but I'll get into my thoughts on that at a later date.
Currently, I am in my 2nd year at UCLan, studying Psychology (my 3rd year overall after some shenanigans involving a change of course).
In this blog you may well get to know Dobbie too. He is not a house-elf, he is my best mate at Uni. He's a cockney boy, that lives in Wales and supports ManYoo (and Millwall and Morecambe). Go figure!
Any other suspicious characters who appear, I shall explain along the way.
Bit tired atmo.
Goodnight, God Bless and I'll start speaking soon!
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