Not in a Royal Wedding Frenzy

Ok, here's my stance.

On the Initial Announcement:
1. Whatever, good for them - hope is wasn't forced on them as an attempt to take our focus away from the misery of the recession and public sector cuts
2. Dread of the coming months media coverage
3. On the plus side I get an extra day off work

I wasn't really fussed either way - I'm not a Royalist but I recognise they're probably one of the biggest draws this country has for the tourist trade and I don't find them all totally offensive.

After the First Months Coverage:
1. Please no more
2. Please.....
3. *sigh*

I was blown away at how many spurious connections the media could make with totally random subjects/objects/places in an attempt to stay on the bandwagon.  Like many, I also took delight in voicing loudly and proudly that I would be anywhere but in London/in front of a TV/radio on the big day and quickly switched channel/turned page when anything of a nuptial nature was on the cards.

The Preceding Weeks:
1. Oh god, please no more
2. Even some of the loyal royalist must be turning
3. What happened to proper news, why is Kate's favourite ''blankety blank'' the lead story ?

For those that want to watch the possible future king get hitched to the common northern coal miner's great great great great second niece by witchery daughter (I suspect she's the poshest commoner in the whole of this realm), thanks go to the BBC for doing the wedding video.  Great - but that's all that's needed.  Ok, maybe get someone to do a bit of a voice-over for the simple witted; plus it would be of comfort to all those people sat alone with a limp flag and piece of stale cake - to help them feel a little bit more included.  The 30 minute discussion on whether she'll be wearing satin slippers or .....ok, I'm not good on footwear but you get the idea - it's totally unnecessary.

Seven Days to Go:  
1. I am now not only past caring, I am also too abject, numb and broken to have the energy to even whimper my apathy!

I was expecting the odd documentary - I'm not stupid, this was going to be easy pickings for all those news and features editors but I have been completely blown away by the sheer amount of unnecessary drivel.  Do they really think the majority require 24/7 Wills and Kate fanaticism to keep their interest simmering?

The Eve:
1. TFInearlyF (and therefore nearly over)
2. Please god don't let the post wedding critique be as painfully drawn out.

The canteen at work was adorned with flags, there was weird jelly and other shit (actually it was the usual shit with iced union jacks stuck on).  I had my usual sandwich.

Tomorrow I will be heading out to climb a hill/walk a beach/hug a tree/chase a pirate/stroke a cow.......

......for the sake of peace, diplomacy and the future of mankind, we can at least be united on hoping the weather is kind to both of us!

Ugly Facebook Kids

I'll keep it short and sweet.

Why, oh why oh why oh why the FRICK do people insist on putting pictures of their ugly ugly kids on facebook when.....no, actually that's not the question.

Ok so here's the scenario: picture of ugly kid goes up on facebook, proud parent obviously has slightly biased perception of kids attractiveness quotient - after all beauty is in the eye of the beholder so fair enough, I guess that's understandable.  However, and this IS the burning question; why do the friends of the ugly kids parents bust a gut to comment on how goddamn beautiful they are!  It's either suggesting they have equally or even uglier kids, or are in desperate need of an optician.  Why do they do this?  There's no need unless it's in the hope of the favour being reciprocated?

I have two kids.  One of which sometimes looks bloody gorgeous (when it's had a wash), other-times is as rank as a skunk, although I'll admit they're probably averaging about an 8 or 9.  The other is a different matter.  On first sight I insisted they take him back, was convinced they'd swapped him with somebody else's.  Did eventually start to feel positive in the early teens but lost all hope mid university.  Of course I love them both to pieces, always have and always will but I don't and never have and never will throw pictures of them at people in a desperate need for reassurance.

Fair do's, when you're ambushed in the office by some dimwit who thinks you give a shit, with a picture shoved under your nose, you can be forgiven for coming out with a standard response while fingers are hastily crossed behind your back.  But on facebook, there is no pressure!  There is no direct communication.  You have the option of pretending you haven't seen it.  There's no need to feel uncomfortable, no need to lie in the act of showing kindness, there is simply no need!

By all means feel free to say a silent prayer of condolence and thank god it's not one of yours but don't look a tit to everyone else that's looking at the picture of the ugly kid and wondering what you're benchmarking your comments on !

Just a Normal Day Rant

Four days off, just about managed to chill and then it's back to the grind to pay the mortgage, whoopy do!

Well aren't I the happy little soldier - how dare I be moaning about having a job, or even having a mortgage to pay, I should be bloody grateful, yada yada yada.

Well excuse me, but what the fuck am I doing with my life?  Why am I busting a gut - dosing myself up on painkillers to get through each day and getting shit hot reviews every year, just to be told there's a recession ''but we really do recognise your achievements''.  Well that's all right then isn't it! - In real terms, due to the lack of any pay rise over the last 5 years, I'm worse off than I was two promotions ago.  I'm now spending over 14% of my monthly salary of petrol just to get to bloody work, grumble, moan bitch....

Why don't I leave?  Shitting recession and shitting post op niggles are keeping me tethered to the safety of  a guaranteed bacs payment, that and the promise that I really am going to be rewarded, I'm their most valuable asset (I'll just get MUG tattooed on my forehead)!

So that's pretty much what goes through my head every day.  That and the self abuse I dole out to myself, by reminding me I've only got another 29 years left - just in case I'm not feeling shitty enough already.

I've come to the conclusion I must enjoy being a miserable old trout, any sane, normal, reasonably functioning person would be busting a gut to make changes - at the very least look for the positives.

The Journey to work for instance:
Yes, the trees look really pretty with the early morning sun streaming through their branches.  Yes, the blanket of mist gently hugging the patchwork fields, would be giving Wordsworth a hard-on.

My reality? Two tractors, a white van man, an articulated lorry and a Sunday driver.

I'm not even going to mention the three pit stops I made on the way home to pick up painkillers from the chemist - the first two didn't have any, and at the third I found I'd forgotten to get my credit card off the other half, following the impromptu Bank Holiday Shop, so left empty handed.

On the plus side, I discovered my Royal Wedding guest name would be Lady Marjory Little Orange Fish Number One Gorse.

On an even more positive note there is absolutely no chance whatsoever I will actually be going anywhere near anything nuptial on the day in question.

So it hasn't been a totally shit day after all!

Bank Holiday & not a Busy Lizzie in Sight

Why do people do it, why can't we abstain from the evils of consumerism for more than a couple of days?

I'm usually in the habit of feeling a bit smug during the bank holidays; sitting back and looking down my judgemental nose at all those panic ridden people queuing to get into the Garden Centres, DIY stores and even bloody supermarkets.

There they go, crawling along bumper to bumper, the gaps between each car so small quantum had to be invented!  Eyes to the front to avoid eye contact with the poor sod in the side street trying, like the rest, to purchase something they never knew they wanted until this morning.  Most of them grumbling, wanting to know why every other bugger has decided they need a tray of Busy Lizzies and a wind chime, and today of all bloody days!  The rest, resigned to the futility; veterans of the bank holiday shop.

But now I have to hold my hands up for I too have succumbed.  After just three days cabin fever set in, the urge came and I too joined the masses. Clutching the mighty card of credit off I trotted, I knew not where.  There was no plan,  no list of needs or even wants.

The first destination was quickly abandoned after I viewed in the distance, a row of windscreens glinting in the abnormal-for-a-bank-holiday sun.  Quick turn and off to destination two then; a stalwart for the bank holiday crowd, however, on the way I couldn't think of a single thing I wanted there and as didn't care for it much on a working day I carried on, off to join queue number three instead.

The rest of the day was spent planting the stuff I'd bought (which was totally justified as I'd lost a fair bit over the winter and just hadn't gotten round to replacing it yet - honest!) and wishing I'd bought that wind chime.

Next weekend I'll go back to feeling smug, it may not make me a nice person but I'll have clean nails.

Chicken or Bad Parenting?

Why cant I say what I think when something pisses me off?  Am I just chicken or is there a deep rooted reason for my inability to grow a pair when confronted with something that I find disagreeable.  I come home from work raging because I've had more work dumped on me, been blamed for something, asked to do something I feel is wrong and while screaming inside that this is all bollocks I just get on with it.

I'll scream and shout at the tosser who's just cut me up but if given the opportunity to speak to them directly wouldn't say a word.  I see people dropping litter, parking in disabled spaces when it's obvious from the speed they then run into the shop, they're at least fully functioning in the limb department, and I walk on.

Why is this?  Why do I hate confrontation?  Why, even when it has a direct impact on me, do my lips remain sealed?  When did I learn this behaviour and how can I break it?

The big question I guess is nature or nurture?  My urge is to go down the nurturing road, I have clear memories of being told not to make a fuss, it isn't worth it, it's not our place.  My parents were concious they'd only just achieved lower middle classdom and didn't want to rock the boat -besides it's an easy cop out to blame the parents.  But if nurture is the cause why do my three siblings find it so easy to stick up for themselves, not take any shit and as a result are all successful go getters?

Perhaps it's nature then - it's just the way I am - maybe I've got a bit of a squiffy chromosome somewhere in my coding? If this is the case am I a lost cause unless all those gene therapy institutes suddenly decide the most vital area for research is the wimp gene and promptly discard all their work on cancers and genetic diseases? Or is there a why to reprogramme myself?

Either way, whether it's nature or nurture, I need to break the cycle.

So where to start?

More later.......

A Drought of Pet Hates

Some things really get my goat, twist my spine or find me ranting* to an empty room.

Many of these 'pet hates' are universally recognised and acknowledged, a few may be unique to me, but all have an impact; whether it's a manageable blip or a catastrophic show stopper that ruins my day.

One of the reasons for starting this blog was as an outlet to the daily rage I experience through the idiocy or ignorance and subsequent behaviours of others whose paths I cross on a daily basis.

Unfortunately I seem to be going through a quiet patch at the moment so as I'm lacking material for a good old fashioned rant, I've decided to dedicate todays blog to listing the most regular offenders - who knows, maybe I'll find it a little cathartic!

Being a rather 'functional' person I was hoping there was a scale of severity I could apply but there isn't, so I can't. I do however need to define what falls into the remit of a pet hate. I've therefore decided that because some behaviours are more severe than others they can be dismissed for the purposes of this exercise. Some are so nasty-bad, laws have been introduced as preventative measures; classed as criminal acts these include the usual suspects; murder, stealing; bestiality etc. Then there's those that, while not having any illegality attached, would result in an ASBO or, at the very least, a stiff letter to the Daily Mail.

Using the Pareto principle I've therefore discarded 80% of the most unsavoury acts - those too severe to be called 'pet hates', the remaining 20% I've tried to further classify into sub groups - if only to demonstrate my anal tendencies!

Personal Hygiene & Bathroom Etiquette

1. If you're gonna piss on the toilet seat clean it off afterwards - strange as it may sound I don't enjoy sitting in your piss!

2. I don't know how wee wee got on the toilet roll but however it did, don't do it again!

3. Leave the toilet seat in the same configuration as you found it, I promise to return the courtesy.

4. Why are you under the assumption that finishing the toilet roll means no one will ever need the loo again? Just replace the roll!

Visitor Etiquette

1. Whether I turn lights off when exiting a room is for environmental or economical reasons doesn't matter, either way it IS for a good reason. Why then, when you're here, do you to make sure I've maximised my wattage output? Just turn the friggin' lights off after you!

2. Shoe's aren't meant to be worn in the house, if they were why would we bother with carpets? If I wanted you to tread crap through the house every time you visited I'd ask you to!

3. See that coaster - the one on that table? Guess what, it's there for a reason! You may think otherwise but I prefer my furniture ringless.

4. I don't care how cute your kid is wipe his f**king sticky fingers before you let him get down from the table. - This is the only kid one I'm putting on today's blog - it's already got my veins pulsing. I shall save the rest for another slow day.

Out & About

1. Do I look like the twatting doorman? If someone holds the door open for you just say thanks. It takes very little effort but has massive impact if omitted.

2. On the flip side - don't let the person following you through the door break a nose - it's very basic door manners!

Door Manners
It goes like this; you go through a door, but (and it's a crucially big but) but, before letting go of the door and proceeding on your way, you look behind you to see if there's someone else wishing to use the same portal. If there is you hold the door open for them so they may pass through. If, on walking through the door and off on their way they then fail to acknowledge your polite door manners you say, "no, really, that's quite all right. Don't mind me I'm just the sodding doorman!"

3. I'm standing in this line in order to purchase some goods. Standing in line ensures efficiency, fairness and order. It's called queueing and it's a great way to get rid of a shed load of vowels in scrabble. It may have started during the later stages of the neolithic era, it may not have really taken off until the World Wars when rationing was all the rage, I care not. What I would like our continental and overseas cousins to understand is that it really pisses me off when the unwritten rules aren't followed. Think of it as something quaint you did when visiting on your hols.

NOTE: Old ladies are, always have been and always will be, exempt from this practice. I'm not sure why, maybe it's because they have sharp elbows, mostly it's because they have a particular smell that sticks in your throat, but whatever the reason, we are all agreed they have earned the right to push in. You haven't!

Road Rage

It's late, I'm tired, you're probably losing the will to live.  This little section could take hours to complete with the accuracy to convey may rage and therefore I'm passing until I can give it the attention it deserves.  Instead I'll leave it with a few bullet points...
1. Middle lane drivers
2. Roundabout lane drifters
3. Guess where I'm going coz my blinking sticks wont tell you
4. Taxi drivers
5. Sunday drivers at 07:30 mon-fri

 * Unless committed by someone I love and then it's managed through the traditional practice of black silence - its one directional nature being felt physically from the pit of the stomach by the reproachful recipient, feared by all.

Prof Brian Cox: What I learnt today, why Shakespeare was wrong & why the Magic Roundabout killed a fantasy

There's been a lot of Prof Brian Cox on the telly machine over the last few months, much of which I've been watching and enjoying; whether it's his simple but enthusiastic series' introducing us to more complex science or his guest appearances on those slightly to the left field panel shows the BBC are so good at, he's always been good viewing.

However, watching him has led to many assumptive comments.  Apparently, being female, the only driver for my viewing should be his shaggability - which of course got me thinking.

If I was a feminist I should probably have been complaining about people assuming girls don't like/don't get/have no interest in science but I bypassed this and went straight to the burning and most important question which was (in laddish) 'would I do the Prof?'

It seems a bit of a no brainer really; he's not unattractive, it looks as if he's got all his own hair and teeth, he's obviously intelligent, and if he shows as much passion as he does on all things physics you're not going to be too quick to complain!

So what's stopping me?  (Yes, I know, this is all theoretical - the chances of me bumping into him in Waterstones as I happen to be thumbing through a suitably complex piece of text and our eyes meeting etc etc.  But, if quantum physics and /or string theory is correct -this is actually happening on one of those parallel universes out there!)

As I was saying, I was having a bit of a think.....which, if you're being pedantic, might be better described as 'having a bit of a fantasy'.....  it was all going understandably well (I'd obviously dropped a few pounds, lost a couple of years and a few other things were defying the laws of gravity and looking much perter), the opening scene was promising and all was looking pretty good but then I said his name and it all came to a jaw stopping halt.

And there we have it.  Today I have discovered I couldn't do Prof  Brian Cox (In this Universe anyway.) because it seems I find the idea of doing anything with a Brian slightly unsettling.

Of course this got me thinking a bit more - was it just Brians' or did I have an aversion to being physical with other names, and how could a name reduce what seems like a perfectly understandable fantasy with a recognisably accepted shaggable man into tatters?

On the plus side it turns out Brians shouldn't feel left out, Grahams, Alans, Si's, Nigels and Jasons also made it onto a reasonably lengthy list*.

So was Shakespeare wrong when he penned 'a rose by any other name'?  Maybe, maybe not.  Maybe this proves once and for all that it isn't love at first sight - that you can only get jiggy with it, without the aid of beer goggles, once you've got to know somebody and can therefore forgive them their unfortunate name.

But why are some names less attractive than others -is it as simple as name association; did I know another Brian who was a bit of a twat? Or can I blame my informative viewing years and the Magic Roundabout with that  miserable, moaning, arse kissing, slimy little gastropod for ruining what could have been a fairly enjoyable fantasy. (If I was a lesbian Ermintrude wouldn't get a look in either!)

So what have I learned today?  Today I've learned that unless I actually meet and get to know Prof Brian Cox I'm never going to be able to have virtual sex with him.  I've learned that Romeo and Juliet must have been pretty cool names or they'd already got to know each other before they ended up drinking poison/practising extreme self harm.  And I've learned that the Magic Roundabout had far more of an impact on my sex life*** than I or anyone else could have believed possible.

Here's to that parallel universe where I'm having much fun with Brian!

* this list started off a few** names longer but then I remembered I couldn't be averse to certain names as previous exploits had proved. 

** I suspect I maybe being stalked by 'the better half' who's under the impression my previous life was a lot less interesting than it actually was***

***If the other half has found me I'm probably putting his socks back on whilst explaining how none of this explains why he still doesn't get any - virtual or otherwise!


NB for those that know me, who are desperately wanting to point out the inclusion of Alan in the list, knowing there's an Alan in my shag pass (non laminated)- you need to understand that in all my fantasies I'd never dare call him by his name and therefore this rule doesn't apply.