Stirring my brandy with a nail

Get ready for tax dodging millionaires to bully you into giving money for children… children the government should be looking after. In twenty first century Britain we have kids going hungry, but the government, instead of carrying out their duty, cut funding to public services even more.

The whole fucking charade is televised by a corporation that turned a blind eye to rampant paedophillia for decades.

Lastly through a hogshead of real fire

Television has an innate ability to wind me up, with the exception of less than a handful of programs, most of it boils my piss. But… Blue Planet 2 makes it all worthwhile. It’s outstanding, it’s entertaining, educational, stunningly beautiful, and expertly narrated. Sir David Attenborough has probably taught me more than any other person, and he still manages to enthral after all these years. A TV program that I look forward to… who’d have thunk it?

George Lucas has sold my childhood, they’re selling fucking razors…. like a Jedi has to shave, they just decide not to grow a beard until they become a hermit…. soulless, greedy fucking mouse… ruiners of everything, sucking Satan’s cock for just another dollar…

I’m done, if you think I’m paying to see your shit movie you can think again, I’m going to steal a shit cam version, then I’m going to steal a slightly better one, and keep stealing it till I get the 4k, editor’s cut, 20th anniversary edition…. you fucks!

The media are all teary-eyed about Italy not qualifying for the WC. They’ve bored everyone into submission for years, they weren’t good enough to qualify so they won’t be a “big miss” to the tournament. You’ll forgive me if I don’t have any sympathy for multi millionaires crying on telly.

And kill processed fish

So, we’ve apparently got world kindness day coming up… do we really have to have a day to be nice to people? Does it also mean we can be a cunt to everyone for the other 363 days? It’s a sign of the times when someone saving a dog, or a few ducklings, goes viral on Facebook. How about this… we all just be nice to other people, it costs nothing and it makes you feel good.

Carry on.

Too marvelous for words…

Ring ring…. Ring ri…

Hello?

Tommy, it’s Simon.

Hello mate, what’s up?

Can you sing the song for us?

You’re fucking kidding? Once or twice a season’s ok, but every fucking week? You’re taking liberties.

But…

Click

Tommy? Tommy?

Oh well… Ohhh I’ve never felt more like singing the blues…..

Eligible for parole come Valentine’s day.

This whole “four-month-Christmas” bollocks is seriously pissing me off. Yes, this is a “things were better in my day” post. But they were… Halloween was a non-event, we were all too busy collecting wood for our bonfires. We were too busy making a Guy Fawkes and sitting it outside the local pub so we get the piss-cans (drunken gentlemen) to give us a penny for the Guy, then we could use that cash to buy some fireworks. Halloween was an American thing, we didn’t get it.

Next was Remembrance Sunday. If you were in the Boys brigade, or the cadets, then you marched on remembrance Sunday, stood at the cenotaph, put your poppy on the leaf sodden ground, bowed your head and remembered, looked at the old soldiers and wondered what they’d seen. Then, around the same time, there was the Royal Festival of Remembrance.

After that, the odd TV ad for Cointreau and Milk Tray started, maybe a new Campari ad with Lorraine Chase. What we didn’t get were Christmas decorations, they didn’t start till well into December, and in our house, the week before Christmas. The shops started to get a bit Christmassy a couple of weeks before, just as we were getting ready to finish school for two weeks.

This restraint made it special, its not special when Morrison’s have a fucking tree up in September. A third of the year is now given over to buying stuff for one fucking day. It’s preposterous, it’s unnecessary, and it’s fucking annoying.

I know modern life is amazing, but some traditions are worth keeping… can we go back please?

None of our pockets are lined with gold

Well, it’s been a weird week. A mildly annoying one too… there are Christmas aisles in the supermarkets and it isn’t even fucking Halloween yet. It should be outlawed until after the Royal Festival of Remembrance. We watched the latest Pirates of the Caribbean movie, and it really was a massive sack of Donkey wank. I love Depp, but this was woeful. We also realised that our dash cam has audio…. Fuck! If those files get out… we really must be careful what we say.

Apparently there are sex pests in Westminster, who’d have fucking thunk it? A place where white men are elevated way beyond their natural power level. I’m not sure Rees Mogg would be beating them off with a shitty stick if he weren’t in the position he’s in… or maybe his 19th century views on women would win they day? Who knows?

Anyway, back to it next week, words and all that. But first, wine.

The dark nights are drawing in

In the middle of Frankie Boyle’s Guardian column, where he compares Boris to a malevolent baked Alaska, he maintains that no one in the UK is doing a decent job. He’s absolutely fucking right. We stopped at Keele services on the way home from Birmingham on Wednesday. I know, in hindsight it’s a level of stupid on a par with the bloke who told the Beatles that they were shit, or the committee that brought us mocktails, but you know… coffee. We had passed a Costa/M&S combo at Stafford, in favour of the holy grail of Waitrose/Starbucks. The Waitrose sandwich had black slimy rocket and chopped and shaped ham… the coffee had no coffee in it. How the fuck do we get crap customer service in a recession?

Also, Marks and Spencer women’s clothes. This is a tale of fucking woe, as first world problems go anyway. Six pairs of women’s trousers, all the same size but a mixture of regular and long. All different lengths with only two pairs falling within M&S own tolerance. A right first time of 30%, which is piss poor. 85% is getting there, with 95% being pretty damned good. After an email string where M&S executive office failed to either apologise or admit they had a quality issue, I’m forced to conclude that M&S let their customers carry out their QC function. They did, eventually, apologise… but only after I shamed them into it.

So, customer service always improves in a recession, and this consistent lack of anyone seemingly giving a flying fuck in many of our customer facing businesses is proof that the Tory austerity con wasn’t in any way a cure for a recession, it was a robbery, moving public assists into private ownership.

Take a cha cha cha chance

Yesterday would have been my dad’s 77th birthday. He made it about 7 months into his 69th, not quite three score and ten but not that far off. I have very little time for grief, it’s such a selfish emotion.. me, me fucking me. The only thing that pissed me off was that he missed the the FA cup final the year after, when we got that fucking banner ripped down. He missed the goal against QPR and the faces of the rags at Sunderland. My regrets are for him, not for me.

If you find yourself in the middle of the road, dying, after being run over by a bus, and thinking “I wish I had gone on that holiday, or bought that car, or asked her to marry me” and you had the means to to do those things, then fuck you. Life is short, we have our time to make it as wonderful as we can, then we’re gone for good. If you haven’t done that, then you need to change your thinking.