I went to see Iron Maiden recently and to park up near the MEN in Manchester it cost us 10 quid. I also went to the Lakes recently and it cost me £6.90 to park at Grizedale Forest, £5.50 at Tarn Howes (for 4 hours) and (if I hadn’t found road parking it would have cost me) £7.00 to park in Coniston. This all makes me ask the question, Why The Hell is Parking so damn Dear in some places? And who comes up with such ridiculous charges for parking? Is there a panel of greedy bastards who sit around a table and think up the most expensive costs that they can get away with? Let’s face it, when you park up, you are only leaving your car for up to a day on a patch of land that it about 6 foot by 10. So why is it so dear?
You know, if I pay so much for parking, I feel I ought to get something extra, like maybe a free massage or a free map or lollipop. But oh no… You just get a parking spot and maybe free use of the toilet facilities, if you are lucky. And then there are clampers waiting in the bushes, waiting for you to leave without paying… shifty looking clampers… ready to clamp. They wait until you return as well, because if you are a minute over the time you have paid for, they pounce, they clamp…
A cheap day out in the countryside is marred by a high fee for parking.
A trip to the town/city centre for shopping is ruined when you have to pay a jaw breaking parking charge.
Do these people not realise that they will price themselves out of the market one day? Are they Stupid?
I know that it is dearer in other places, and I know it is cheaper in others. I bet you have a story to tell of a high cost in parking… we all have! But why do we stand for this robbery? Because, let’s face it, robbery is what it is and they have us over a barrel. You are not going to arrive at a car park in the middle of nowhere and decide to drive all the way back because the car park cost is a Rip Off. And what stupid prices too! £6.90!!! Who has 90p in change? Might as well just make it 7.00… But no, we let the bastards in there costing panels walk all over us and we say, ‘Ah well. Never mind,’ while they shaft us…
I don’t mind paying more for more, but this is just a rip off… and I hate it when I know I have been ripped off… take buying coke in a pub for example (but that is for another blog)… I don’t like to be ripped off…
Sunday, 31 July 2011
Friday, 22 July 2011
A Bit about Farting
I am off camping on Saturday for four nights, so I thought I would slip in this blog before i go, on a subject we all know about.
You know, quite a few of my blogs seem to be inspired/thought up during my walk into work from the car. This morning as I walked into work, a guy (who was on the other side of the road to me) stopped, looked in deep thought, then farted. I carried on walking, laughing to myself, as that’s the kind of thing I do, and he farted again. They weren’t accidental farts too, this guy was proud of them.
Tonight, therefore, I want to discuss farting. I really don’t think we embrace (as a nation) the art of farting enough. People who fart are mostly shunned and grimaced at, when – let’s be honest – it is something we all do.
Farts have other names, too, like ‘trumps,’ or ‘poops’ or to ‘have wind,’ or ‘let rip.’ They can be silent but deadly, denied and supplied… But why do people shun them so? Heck (or hark), even Chaucer wrote about them. Flatulence is what we do… I fart, therefore I am. Yet we can sometimes be too ashamed of our trumps, especially in public places. I have a friend who brews them up and creates the loudest and smelliest farts imaginable. But would I fart in the office at work? Not a chance. Would I fart in front of the kids? You Betcha… Would I trump in a fancy restaurant on a first date? Nope… Would I fart while out with the mates? Heck, I’d let it fester so that I managed a loud one.
We mostly leave our farts for the right occasion. Not a good idea to fart in the middle of a job interview, for example. Tell me about yourself… Well, I am a keen worker, punctual… burrrrphhh…
Is it more a ‘man’ thing? Are men more proud of their farts than women? Or is it that men talk about trumps more? I could have quite an in-depth talk about farts. I wonder if anyone has filed for divorce due to their spouse’s excessive wind. That’s it, you have farted your last fart as my wife! You will be hearing from my solicitor.
Now, no one really comments on my blogs, even though I know I do have the odd reader or two, so please feel free to leave a comment – perhaps you can let me know another name for a fart?
Remember… it’s good to fart.
Sunday, 17 July 2011
A Bit about Relationships...
I didn’t do a blog last week and this was mainly due to the ex, my daughter and living arrangements… I won’t go into great detail, but suffice to say that I was obviously to blame for it all, and more, and it was my entire fault etc…
But let's not go into all that, this blog is for fun, light-hearted stuff and hopefully) to make you smile a bit after a hard week… But as I was walking to work this morning, I did start to think of relationships and how they evolve… or should that be ‘transform,’ like a caterpillar to a butterfly, or maybe a mild-mannered person to a werewolf on full moon nights, or a cute little puppy into a raging, foam-mouth beast having caught rabies…
Not that having a relationship is akin to having rabies of course… not much anyway…
I saw a couple walking ahead of me… in fact I heard them first (her actually) giving him grief. They were only in their late teens as well. I thought: I bet they didn’t think their relationship would become like that when they first met that night at the disco… or wherever groovy young cats meet these days. And the same can be said about a lot of us. That dashing young bloke with the full head of hair, boyish looks, souped up Ford… how and when did he become that fat slob on the sofa drinking lager and wearing that white vest with dubious stains on the front?
That slim, cute brunette, with those sparkling eyes and great arse. Had aliens replaced her with that saggy old bag whose only purpose in life seemed to be to nag anything and everything she came into contact with?
I guess there will be more bits about relationships over the course of this blog as it is such a big subject, but I wanted to share this with you for now. I know we all don’t change like that, but it is not what we ‘signed up for’ is it. Perhaps that is why people get divorced. Is divorce not, then, another way of taking back your spouse to the shop and getting a full refund? ‘Sorry, my spouse isn’t working as well as he/she did when I acquired him… some of the parts don’t work, she is stuck in ‘nag mode…’ I want a full refund.’
Hmmm…
Those getting married soon, probably wise to keep a receipt… you know, just in case…
But let's not go into all that, this blog is for fun, light-hearted stuff and hopefully) to make you smile a bit after a hard week… But as I was walking to work this morning, I did start to think of relationships and how they evolve… or should that be ‘transform,’ like a caterpillar to a butterfly, or maybe a mild-mannered person to a werewolf on full moon nights, or a cute little puppy into a raging, foam-mouth beast having caught rabies…
Not that having a relationship is akin to having rabies of course… not much anyway…
I saw a couple walking ahead of me… in fact I heard them first (her actually) giving him grief. They were only in their late teens as well. I thought: I bet they didn’t think their relationship would become like that when they first met that night at the disco… or wherever groovy young cats meet these days. And the same can be said about a lot of us. That dashing young bloke with the full head of hair, boyish looks, souped up Ford… how and when did he become that fat slob on the sofa drinking lager and wearing that white vest with dubious stains on the front?
That slim, cute brunette, with those sparkling eyes and great arse. Had aliens replaced her with that saggy old bag whose only purpose in life seemed to be to nag anything and everything she came into contact with?
I guess there will be more bits about relationships over the course of this blog as it is such a big subject, but I wanted to share this with you for now. I know we all don’t change like that, but it is not what we ‘signed up for’ is it. Perhaps that is why people get divorced. Is divorce not, then, another way of taking back your spouse to the shop and getting a full refund? ‘Sorry, my spouse isn’t working as well as he/she did when I acquired him… some of the parts don’t work, she is stuck in ‘nag mode…’ I want a full refund.’
Hmmm…
Those getting married soon, probably wise to keep a receipt… you know, just in case…
Saturday, 2 July 2011
A bit about losing things...
Isn’t it annoying when you lose something? I mean losing something in the house, like your wedding ring or your phone. You search high and low, but to no avail… you retrace your steps, wrack your brains, ask yourself: where the heck did I leave it? I sometimes think it is gremlins, you know. That or mischievous ghosts, because the thing that went missing usually turns up out in the open in a spot you have looked over 100 times in your search for missing item.
Recently I had such an experience, but I am pretty sure it wasn’t gremlins or ghosts, and was probably just me being a bit of a plonker. I lost my watch. I looked around the house, wondering where it could be. I had been off work, and was planning a trip to Morries therefore wanted to find my watch before I set off. I thought, when do I usually take my watch off? When doing the washing up (I can’t afford a dishwasher). I checked in the kitchen.. nope, not there. When I am sat watching a DVD in the evening, chilling, might take it off and leave it one the chair… no, not there either. When I was going to bed… not there, not in my bedroom. It was not in the toilet, under the sofa, on the kitchen table, in the bin?
Then I had a thought. I took some washing upstairs the night before. I put some socks in my sock drawer… I went to my bedroom, and there it was in the sock drawer. I must have put the watch on my bed, and when I scooped my socks up to put them in the drawer had scooped the watch up as well. Either that or the gremlins and ghosts did it and wanted me to think I had done it.
So, the moral of this story is, if you lose something, then check the sock drawer… it might be there. This does not really apply if you lose a car in the car park… chances are that you parked it somewhere else. Or someone nicked it. You won’t find it in your sock drawer. But things like keys, phones, missile launchers, and of course watches might well be!
Recently I had such an experience, but I am pretty sure it wasn’t gremlins or ghosts, and was probably just me being a bit of a plonker. I lost my watch. I looked around the house, wondering where it could be. I had been off work, and was planning a trip to Morries therefore wanted to find my watch before I set off. I thought, when do I usually take my watch off? When doing the washing up (I can’t afford a dishwasher). I checked in the kitchen.. nope, not there. When I am sat watching a DVD in the evening, chilling, might take it off and leave it one the chair… no, not there either. When I was going to bed… not there, not in my bedroom. It was not in the toilet, under the sofa, on the kitchen table, in the bin?
Then I had a thought. I took some washing upstairs the night before. I put some socks in my sock drawer… I went to my bedroom, and there it was in the sock drawer. I must have put the watch on my bed, and when I scooped my socks up to put them in the drawer had scooped the watch up as well. Either that or the gremlins and ghosts did it and wanted me to think I had done it.
So, the moral of this story is, if you lose something, then check the sock drawer… it might be there. This does not really apply if you lose a car in the car park… chances are that you parked it somewhere else. Or someone nicked it. You won’t find it in your sock drawer. But things like keys, phones, missile launchers, and of course watches might well be!
Friday, 24 June 2011
A bit about the Walk into Work
Does anyone like their walk into work? I was thinking that today as I, well, walked into work. I decided that the walk into work can have a bearing on how you will be when you get to work itself, be that arriving on the ward, at the office, on the scaffold… whatever.
Work is a means to an end, and you work to live, not live to work, but each day at work for most of us requires a walk into work. Work is a chore we have to do, so the said walk into work should be as stress-free and incident-free as possible.
Five nice things to see on the way into work:
1. A pretty lady.
2. A nice warm sun in a cloudless sky.
3. A pretty lady who smiles at you.
4. A squirrel on a rooftop.
5. A squirrel who smiles at you.
These can obviously be changed into a man, all depending on which way you are inclined. Perhaps you don’t like squirrels? You can change that too. But such sights could make you feel uplifted and once you get to your place of work they can still be with you. In some cases your colleagues might think, Hey, Borg is in a good mood! Look at that gleam on his little face! Hey, I feel happy just looking at that happy fellow’s (chiselled and handsome) features…
Five things you DON’T want to see on the way into work.
1. A naked fat bloke (and again you can choose woman instead here) riding past on a bike.
2. A splash of dark orange sick on the pavement, which obviously arrived there the night before from the insides of someone who had too much to drink and decided to eat a pizza as well (there is an empty pizza box nearby).
3. A Doberman… on its own…
4. Grey sky, drizzle, chill…
5. A weirdo who you think is following you and wants to mug you. How do you know he is a weirdo? Because he is giggling to himself and keeps repeating the word ‘Butchery’ all the time.
How are you going to look when you arrive at work having seen any of those sights? Not very happy, and your colleagues will notice that too. Hey, Borg is a right sour puss today. Look at that glumness on his (chiselled and handsome) features!
So, when your colleague arrive at the office one day, just bear in mind that he or she might have had to walk past sick, devils dogs, madmen, drizzle, or naked fat people on bikes…
Work is a means to an end, and you work to live, not live to work, but each day at work for most of us requires a walk into work. Work is a chore we have to do, so the said walk into work should be as stress-free and incident-free as possible.
Five nice things to see on the way into work:
1. A pretty lady.
2. A nice warm sun in a cloudless sky.
3. A pretty lady who smiles at you.
4. A squirrel on a rooftop.
5. A squirrel who smiles at you.
These can obviously be changed into a man, all depending on which way you are inclined. Perhaps you don’t like squirrels? You can change that too. But such sights could make you feel uplifted and once you get to your place of work they can still be with you. In some cases your colleagues might think, Hey, Borg is in a good mood! Look at that gleam on his little face! Hey, I feel happy just looking at that happy fellow’s (chiselled and handsome) features…
Five things you DON’T want to see on the way into work.
1. A naked fat bloke (and again you can choose woman instead here) riding past on a bike.
2. A splash of dark orange sick on the pavement, which obviously arrived there the night before from the insides of someone who had too much to drink and decided to eat a pizza as well (there is an empty pizza box nearby).
3. A Doberman… on its own…
4. Grey sky, drizzle, chill…
5. A weirdo who you think is following you and wants to mug you. How do you know he is a weirdo? Because he is giggling to himself and keeps repeating the word ‘Butchery’ all the time.
How are you going to look when you arrive at work having seen any of those sights? Not very happy, and your colleagues will notice that too. Hey, Borg is a right sour puss today. Look at that glumness on his (chiselled and handsome) features!
So, when your colleague arrive at the office one day, just bear in mind that he or she might have had to walk past sick, devils dogs, madmen, drizzle, or naked fat people on bikes…
Saturday, 18 June 2011
A bit about Swearing
Today, I wish to talk about swearing. You might think swearing is good, you might think it is bad, or maybe you don’t give a shit… (sorry, that was just too predictable wasn’t it), what I mean is, perhaps you are kind of in the middle and think swearing is fine when required and not so fine when it is not.
I am not a prude by any means, and I can swear as well as the next man, but I think there is a time and place for swearing. Used for comic effect, a good old swear word is perfectly acceptable (no shit!). To relieve a moment of stress a swear word is good too (Oh cock it!), or when you are annoyed (Piss!) or if you can’t be bothered with something, or someone (Fu@k it/’em!). I have censored that bit in case my children read this one day…
So to recap, swearing is okay in both moderation and at the right time. What I can’t abide is when a person’s every other word is the ‘F’ word. This just shows a severe lack of intelligence to me. A person who cannot find the right word, because his, or her, vocabulary won’t allow this, due to the fact that said vocabulary is limited. ‘Can I have an effing can of effing coke, Mr effing newsagent bloke, ta, effing great to obtain such an effing purchase from you!’
Swearing in front of a child is not good at all. I hardly swear in front of mine, and it really irks me when I overhear some idiot swearing when they are with their children. A mild ‘bloody’ is okay, but not that ‘F’ word, or the T and C words… A bit of ‘arse’ is okay, or a little ‘crap.’ But the serious words are said so casually aren’t they. Come one, what are they going to grow up like, idiot? Yes, they are going to swear, are you proud of that fact? And when they swear within earshot of my children, well I just want to grab hold of them beat the crap out of them.
I don’t obviously do that – if I want to teach my kids that swearing isn’t cool (dude) I certainly don’t want to show them that violence solves stuff. No, at best I will give them a dirty look. To hear a child swear is quite sad too. It is a bit like hearing an angel fart, so out of place and just… wrong. No one should ever have to hear an angel fart or a child swear. But I guess they think it’s big, it makes them look all hard and mean – the kids not the angels that is…!
I am not a prude by any means, and I can swear as well as the next man, but I think there is a time and place for swearing. Used for comic effect, a good old swear word is perfectly acceptable (no shit!). To relieve a moment of stress a swear word is good too (Oh cock it!), or when you are annoyed (Piss!) or if you can’t be bothered with something, or someone (Fu@k it/’em!). I have censored that bit in case my children read this one day…
So to recap, swearing is okay in both moderation and at the right time. What I can’t abide is when a person’s every other word is the ‘F’ word. This just shows a severe lack of intelligence to me. A person who cannot find the right word, because his, or her, vocabulary won’t allow this, due to the fact that said vocabulary is limited. ‘Can I have an effing can of effing coke, Mr effing newsagent bloke, ta, effing great to obtain such an effing purchase from you!’
Swearing in front of a child is not good at all. I hardly swear in front of mine, and it really irks me when I overhear some idiot swearing when they are with their children. A mild ‘bloody’ is okay, but not that ‘F’ word, or the T and C words… A bit of ‘arse’ is okay, or a little ‘crap.’ But the serious words are said so casually aren’t they. Come one, what are they going to grow up like, idiot? Yes, they are going to swear, are you proud of that fact? And when they swear within earshot of my children, well I just want to grab hold of them beat the crap out of them.
I don’t obviously do that – if I want to teach my kids that swearing isn’t cool (dude) I certainly don’t want to show them that violence solves stuff. No, at best I will give them a dirty look. To hear a child swear is quite sad too. It is a bit like hearing an angel fart, so out of place and just… wrong. No one should ever have to hear an angel fart or a child swear. But I guess they think it’s big, it makes them look all hard and mean – the kids not the angels that is…!
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
A Bit about Queuing
I know it’s been said – many times, many ways, as the song goes – us British love to queue, don’t we! Don’t we? Well, no, actually as a British person I don’t like queuing at all. In fact I hate it. I would rather eat raw sewage than queue up (well, perhaps not, but you get the gist). I am pretty sure most people think the same way as I do. Love queuing? Love wasting time stood in a long line of people waiting to pay some sales assistant some cash? Nope!
I hate queuing and I hate the fact I have to queue! You know, I reckon whoever came up with the notion that us British love to queue was probably drunk at the time, or one drugs. I have never, ever in my life seen a British person in a queue who was happy. I have seen them try to jump a queue and face the wrath of the other queue-ees. I am talking serious tutting here and intense moaning. Hell hath no fury as a queue-ee scorned…
Most of us want to get served and out of the damn shop as soon as possible. But isn’t it always the case that whichever queue you go to is always the slowest? I feel like I have been cursed by the god of slow till operators. Take last night… I went to the supermarket, was in a bit of a rush, surveyed the tills and opted for the till with least people at. (I like to call this the till of least resistance). The lady behind the till did not stop talking to the woman who was before me and then as the woman was paying she questioned whether the tuna she had bought should have been on a buy one get one free offer. Till lady rang for assistance whilst looking at me with an ironic smile and a ‘sorry about this, love,’ and a fat co-worker came to help. It took him five minutes to check out the tuna situation. They should have, indeed, been BOGOF, here’s a refund. Why can’t you go to customer services for your refund! I almost cried at the woman. I want to buy my food and get home… I have had a busy day at work! Eventually I escaped the supermarket and off home I went. God I hate queuing almost as much as I hate shopping (but that is another story).
Isn’t it also frustrating when shops don’t have enough staff at the tills? You stand there with your goods in hand waiting while a pimple-faced teenager has to deal with the barrage of shoppers singlehandedly. This pisses me off. Why give them your custom for such poor service? In fact I have been known to leave the goods and go, make for the exits and fresh air outside.
Post Offices are bad too, and whose bright idea was it for staff to take their lunch hours at, well, lunch time? This is the only time I go to the post office, as I am at work during the day. It is also the time when most people go to the post office. Once there I see a huge queue and four people at the tills. I stand and wait with baited breath for the mechanical voice to say ‘Cashier number three…’
Ways to combat queuing:
1. Rush towards a queue holding a pass (can be any pass, library card will do) shouting, ‘I am on urgent police business, let me through to the till!’ Pros: you will get served quickly. Cons: you might be arrested for impersonating a policeman, or if someone actually believes you are a policeman, they might start asking you police related questions, such ‘where is the nearest place I can put on a Lottery ticket?’
2. Shout, ‘Wow, Katie Price is outside!’ The queue-ees (well, some of them), will immediately hurry outside and you will be able to get served straight away. Pros: you are served quickly, you get the satisfaction of watching a load of sad gits run outside only to be disappointed. Cons: they might come back, and some of them might be big…
3. Pretend there is a bomb threat?
4. Pretend you are a chicken. Pros: Many a shopper will want to get away from you as quickly as possible. Cons: you might like being a chicken and stay that way, strait jacket awaits…
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