It's A Bit Damp...

OK, I admit and pre-warn you, this is likely to end up as a rant... I've been clearing up all morning, so am now tired and sore and cranky as f$ck and have been thinking about a lot of this over and over and over...

That said. You may have noticed - and I don't know if it has been touched on by any international news outlets - but the UK is currently in the path of storms. Storm after storm after storm. It has been very wet and very windy.

The Jet-Stream, they say, is pushing damp air in one way, then hitting cold air, and the end result is rain. Or something.

Is it global warming? One group is pointing at it and screeching about Carbon Dioxide and Man-Made climate change, and shit being churned out... Another group is harping on that there is proof that this sort of thing happens and it's just part of the global cycle. We shan't touch on the lunatics blaming gay marriage, equal opportunities, free love, sin or anything falling under the umbrella of "Gods Wrath!" because, you know, they are mad.

So we shall leave that alone. Suffice to say, it's definitely not normal. Not here, and not in many other parts of the world. Parts of the US & Canada are getting ice storms and snow storms and all sorts of cold stuff. Australia is currently cooking and drying out like a worm on the pavement in the summer. Parts of the Middle East are suffering drought. Monsoons have failed. It's all pretty shit.

But to come back home, where our issue is some wind and rain and very large, deep puddles...

It just seems like everyone is blaming everyone else, yet NO ONE is taking responsibilities for their own actions or their own choices or decisions, and THAT is what is pissing me off.

Compared to the other weather-issues around the world, things are not that bad - not really. Would you rather have a foot of water in your lounge - that you were warned was coming - or a raging torrent wash your entire house away? More worried your fields are under water, or not have had rain for so many months nothing you plant is going to grow. And a lot of it is now involving finger pointing and politics, and all sorts of crap.

First off, all the farmers are raging mad because their livestock is wet, their fields are flooded, and they can't make a living. But hang on...

For years, farmers have been cutting down bushes, hedgerows, trees, woods, forests - anything in their way to prevent them making bigger and bigger fields, or clearing places for their sheep to have lunch or whatever.

You know - trees and stuff - those things that, say, drink a shit load of water on a daily basis. If they hadn't cleared land on a bigger and bigger and bigger scale, things might not be quite so bad.

Then there are the people that live on the coast where the storms have landed. Over the years, sea levels has risen, and sea defences have been built up higher and higher. Then, they got to a point where lots of people that live on the sea front realised that their "Scenic Coastal View" was going to be blocked by the new, higher sea wall. They wrote petitions, formed committees, took their problems to the local government and generally protested their little hearts out that the new wall was detrimental to their view, that tourists coming to see their seaside town would stop coming, and so the higher wall was a BAD thing.

Cue the higher, stronger sea going over the sea wall and flooding their little town. "Ooooh if only there were a better sea defence, if only we had a higher sea wall, we're now flooded, so no tourist is going to come here..."

Irony?

The people that have built their houses beside a cliff edge - they get an honourable mention because when the news teams are filming that lovely house going over the edge of the cliff after the waves have obliterated them - why does everyone look so surprised?

And there are the people screaming and shouting and hollering, saying the flooding would have been prevented had their river been dredged "like we have been telling them for years!" Cue then the news helicopter showing the dozens of square miles under three or four feet of water. Now, forgive my mathematics, which was never very good, but I don't think taking a few feet of mud out of a river would have made THAT much more space to prevent eight gazillion gallons of spilling onto the fields.

"BUT it wouldn't have been as bad!" people cry. No, you are right, it wouldn't have been so bad. Instead of twelve square miles being under four feet of water, it'd be twelve square miles under two feet of water.  Much better.

I sometimes think I was the only person in my Science lesson on the day we did the water cycle... Water evaporates off the sea. Clouds roll inland. Clouds reach a point and drop water. Water then goes in different directions - some across land and into the brooks, streams then rivers, to flow back to the sea; some is absorbed by the land, and drains into the water table and aquifers to be used as a water source; some is absorbed by trees and plants...

But there are issues with this now... The rivers have been changed and altered by humans, they've been made straighter and deeper, the sides have been increased. The area around these lower areas are called Flood Plains... Can you tell where that name comes from? And no, it's not because they are quite plain. And this flood plain, which is now walled off from the river becomes a housing estate. Then a village. Then a town. Tarmac, concrete, cement, bricks... This place where the water would usually be absorbed is now a brick-covered sponge, so the water runs straight into the river. For good measure, the towns drainage system now ALSO dumps into the river.

The moors and forests have been hacked, chopped, burnt and generally buggered, so the water that would usually be absorbed here has no where to go. With so much extra water, it just runs down hill, across the big flat open farmland, and dumps straight into the river.

Water + Water + Water + Rain = Lots and Lots of Water

It's not rocket science, and the big strong walls they built to hold the deeper, wider, man-buggered river are actually not that strong. So the Not-So big strong walls go pop and leak all over the flood plain.

Did I say flood plain, sorry, it's a TOWN now. Covered in tarmac and concrete and cement and bricks - so the water that would usually slowly ebb away has precisely zero places to go.

Let's put it another way that people might understand - less sciencey. Think of it in terms of supply and demand.

• The clouds are our supply;
• They piss water all over us because of the demand - the trees and plants and grassland and forests and all the brooks and streams and rivers and flood plain;
• The clouds aren't too smart, so they will supply regardless of the demand;
• Take away MORE demand - cut down trees and forests, build over everything that could absorb water, get rid of the waterways - and you have a surplus;
• That surplus is what us common folk refer to as "a f$cking great flood"

And so with swathes of our country under water, the next logical step is for everyone to blame everyone else. Take some bloody responsibility.

AND! Why is it that every politician and semi-important spod decides to put on their wellies and go take a look?! The Prime Minster has been, the other bloke from the opposite side of Parliament... Wallace, I think, from the Wallace & Grommit movies. The bloke next in line to the throne who will never get there at this rate - he turned up, on the back of a tractor trailer. They all look around, all with their "Grr serious" faces on, listening to the locals rant about their soggy sofa, damp sheep, waterlogged cows, overflowing pond, and whatever else they are screaming about...

Then there is "Social" Media, where people are sharing a photo with a caption like "Share this picture to show your support for the wet blokes down south" Aw that's nice, I am sure a picture of a flood being shared is doing SO much for everyone. "Click Like if you think more should be done to help those affected by Noahs Flood" Aw yes, over twelve thousand people have liked a picture.

Those people with a new pool where their downstairs used to be are SO lucky to have so many likes and shares...

So whats being done?

Well, the Army is involved now (though I think the Navy would SURELY have been a better help) and they are doing the same as the others, standing around, scratching their heads, pulling a boat of cold old ladies and their little shivering dogs.

Then there are the water pumps everywhere, pumping the water from one place to another... Very helpful. It must be that well trained water that knows it's not allowed back where it came from.

There are the councils that are now charging residents for sandbags. That's nice and properly in the spirit of things.

People are trying to work together to rebuild sea walls and river walls, using whatever they have to hand, but you have to wonder... If a properly-built wall didn't stand up to That Wet Weather A Few Days Back, I'm not convinced a wall of sandbags, bricks and mounds of rubble will do the job - especially as there are about a thousand more storms building in the Atlantic and heading our way.

My personal favourite is watching the bloke on the news stand in the middle of a town-come-lake with a somber face on, talking about how these devastating floods will have effects that last for many months, and how worried the residents are - followed by a group of worried residents to go rushing past in the background, laughing and shouting and playing in the water, body boarding, riding their bikes through it, and generally having a proper fun time of it.

Of course, I also can't help but think they should be aware that the flood waters are also churning out every flushed poo living in the sewers, mixing them in with all that water... Yum, enjoy your norovirus.

I hate to say it, but this is our doing. I don't mean me and mine - granted we might flush the toilet a lot, but I don't think you can blame us exactly. I mean "OUR" doing, as in, us people. We've cut, and built, and developed, and blocked, and removed, and diverted - all in the name of progress. But with all that progress, no one seemed to take into account what might happen if - like now - things got a little wetter than usual.

And even now, our councils and our governments continue to change their minds about protected land and greenbelt land, and regardless of what us, the people, have to say about it, woods become housing estates. Parks and lakes become housing estates. Forests and Nature Reserves become housing estates. And the water has no where to go.

Another day in science clearly everyone else missed. Water will pretty much go where ever the hell it wants. It's stronger than us, more powerful than us, has the ability to piss people off whether it's falling out the sky or bubbling out the ground or washing around our private parts. People hate it if it's too hot or too cold. Neither us, nor our local leaders, nor our government, nor out planet - none of us can tell water to get stuffed and stop being such a dick. If it wants to come and play in our towns, it bloody well will. If it wants to rearrange the coastline, it'll do that too. If it wants to piss off and dry out your entire country, hell, it'll do that as well. Whatever water does, it's in the wrong. Just think, it wasn't THAT long ago that everyone in the UK was crying out for more water to prevent a hosepipe ban and drought.

Water grants your wish, and you're not happy.

No more news or social media for me for a while.

/endrant

Your Call Is Important To Us...

If there is one thing that drives me bonkers (yes yes, one thing...) it's calling a "proper" organisation that, despite knowing that their phone lines are going to be mental, they refuse to take on additional staff.

Today, I had to call the Tax Credit office to renew our claim for another year. Usually we are done with it by now, but that pesky wedding and stuff interfered with my organisation mojo.

Now, most people in the UK will have had to call the tax office at some point, and will know what I mean when I say "ARRRGGGHHHHHH!" in relation to getting through to these people. Especially this time of the year, when every man and his dog is calling to renew their credits claim.

First off, you have to navigate the "Automated" system. Press 1 for this, press 4 for that, press π for something else, press Æ to launch Mars Rover...

At one point - and I shit yea not - it asked what colour envelope my forms arrived in - white or brown. I mean, really?! There's no way I can remember what colour my mail was this morning, yet alone back in June!

So, after sailing through the hell that was automation, I was exposed to what sounded like a broken music track, and a crackly voice that was either telling me "you're in a queue" or "the longer you hold, the closer you are to summoning the beast"

After five minutes, I was bored, and starting pottering around on my computer, cleaning it up and pottering around.

After ten minutes, I made some toast and munched on it while waiting.

After fifteen minutes, I put laundry on the line and folded clean clothes.

At twenty minutes, I needed a wee. I held and held, but it was no use, I needed to go to the toilet. With my bladder rather full, I decided that it'd been 20 minutes already, what are the odds of it being answered now...

So, I put the phone onto Speakerphone, sat it on the cistern, and started to let the stream flooooow. After a few seconds, the broken music track stopped, and a voice came on the line. "Thank you for holding, you're through to blah blah blah"

Now, I had two choices at this point.

1: I stop mid-stream and answer the man on the phone. Yes, I can stop mid-stream.
2: I carry on, finish up and THEN talk to the man on the phone.

Yes, I am happy to announce that I went for the second option. But with a twist. I picked up the phone, said "Two seconds, sorry" and finished peeing. Then flushed.

All on speakerphone.

When I started went back to the chap, I acted as though nothing was out of the ordinary, and washed my hands with the phone tucked under my ear while telling him what I needed to do.

Part of me was actually willing him to say something negative about the fact he just heard me pissing... Now this may be my customer service past, but there is nothing worse that having to keep someone waiting. I get they are busy at this time of the year, but it's A) nothing new, and B) something they should REALLY plan for surely? Having a customer wandering through the automated system for several minutes, then sticking them in a queue for almost 25 minutes is just not on.

Hopefully, the bloke hearing me having a massive piss was enough for him to get the message and pass it on...

Whoever You May Be...

OK folks, as I mentioned on Facebook today, someone, somewhere, seems to have it in for Kellie and I.

This morning, we got a letter from the Department for Work & Pensions (DWP) stating that as we had had a new baby, please fill in this shit-ton of forms and paperwork as it will affect my money.

So I looked it it, and looked at Kellie, and looked back at it, and thought "B-huh?" followed, a few moments later by me vocalising the very same "B-huh?"

Kellie, however, was not quite so literate...

So, I decide that instead of jumping through the hoops presented, I called the DWP and after seven minutes of "Press 1 for this department, please enter this information, please create a pin..." and so on and so on, and then another seven minutes on hold, I finally reach a human being!

After explaining to her what we've received, so has a lookie-poke through all the information, and low-and-behold, they have "received information" that we've recently had a baby.

"B-huh?" I start to say, before composing myself. "Errrrr -" much more articulate "-we haven't." Straight to the point, me.

She digs a big deeper, carries on looking, and all she can tell me is that they've received information from "somewhere" that we have had a baby, but not told them.

Which is strange, because by not telling them we've (apparently) had a baby, we're actually shooting ourselves in the foot and losing out on money.

So she takes my information (again) and fires off an urgent email to the actual Incapacity Department to get them to contact me, and to hold off on the forms as "hopefully it can be sorted over the phone"

Wonders of wonders, same day, I get a call back, and the very nice lady gets me to confirm who I am (answering my own phone!) and explains to me that they have received an "Anonymous tip" that we have had a baby.

Which, roughly translated, means "Someone is trying to cause us problems and mess with my money by reporting us for things we haven't done."

I should hasten to add, this is NOT the first time either. When Kellie first moved in, someone "advised" the DWP that Kellie was working FULL time, and not PART time, and that we were not declaring earnings.

The end result of this is that my claim is now marked as "receiving malicious third-party tips"

Which brings me to the closing point. Whoever you are that is making these "claims" against me, you're clearly not a very bright soul... At least make up shit that would mean we would be getting MORE money, not less. And if you've got some sort of issue with Kellie and myself, be a grown up, eh? At least be a big boy/girl and confront me directly instead of being pathetic.

Liam Neeson sums it up perfectly:

Oh, and I still have to complete 22 pages of f$cking forms! On the plus side, I could end up with MORE money a week - granted, it'll be less than twenty quid - but by being a twat, you may well have granted us more money!

Let It Snow (ish)

So, once again, Jolly Old Blighty has received a scattering of snow. Not a lot mind you, but considering it was clear at 3am this morning, to be written by Kellie at half seven with a girlie "oooooh look out the window" followed by the kids willing the schools to be shut...

I like the snow - I love it in fact - but for starters, I like SNOW! Not, for all intents and purposes, what can be conducted a thick frost. Which Kellies brain told her it was first thing.

I love it when, due to a foot or three of snow, everything slows down. Not when half an inch stops buses and shuts schools.

I have a love/hate relationship with how our country "copes" and "deals" with the white stuff. It both cracks me up and pisses me off to see the chaos it causes.

Am I any better than the people struggling to cope, apparently as it seems I am struggling to cope with The People. But if they can moan about the weather, I can moan about them.

To put it into perspective how bad this weather ISN'T... I am writing this blog post while walking into town...

However.

Those of you of a female persuasion: Those designer Ugg Boots you HAD to have and wear all summer... They had sod-all grip to start with. The fact you're slipping and falling on your arse proves this. Those of you with soaking wet backsides - either you have the same issue, or need to see a  doctor.

Fast.

Also: women wearing their pyjamas or WORSE, a Onesie, while in a school run... Stop it, please. Essex already had a bad name, you lot stood outside the school gate puffing away on your cancer sticks, huddling and shivering in you PYJAMAS in the SNOW... Get a sodding grip.

So, I've now arrived at the opticians, dry, intact, and the snow is almost gone.

Watch this space for the next time wild weather strikes and strangles the country.

St. Georges Day

Nothing like a bit of controversy on a Monday morning... But today over here (and in several different countries around the world) today is St. Georges Day. First off, I will be ignorant and state what I assumed today was about..

But St Georges Day is about being English, celebrating England, flying the flag and generally being proud of our heritage. I often ranted and raved at the schools on St Georges Day as they never taught the kids about it...

However.

On reading and educating myself this morning, the ONLY thing that makes St Georges Day anything relating to being English, is the St Georges Cross, that was adopted as our flag. NOTHING about St George is about celebrating being English...

First off, he wasn't English. Nor British. Not even from (what is now) the United Kingdom. In fact, he's not even European. Syria Palaestina. A Roman soldier no less, and a saint in three churches. And after reading and re-reading the historical background of his history, it would appear he never even came to England... The only reason we use the St George Cross for our flag is

The St. George's flag, a red cross on a white field, was adopted by England and the City of London in 1190 for their ships entering the Mediterranean to benefit from the protection of the Genoese fleet during the Crusades and the English Monarch paid an annual tribute to the Doge of Genoa for this privilege.

In short, we used it as a "We've paid the toll to come in here, please don't sink us" marker!

So why is he the patron saint of England, exactly?

I suspect it's because he is a venerated saint in the Anglican church, and that the royal family started using him as their patron saint in the 14th Century...

Which brings me to the next question... Do all the people that are Anti-Religion and Anti-Monachy know this? Do some of these fricking nutters like the English Defense League know this? These people are almost rabid racists, marching against whichever race they don't like each week... PLEASE let me be the one to tell the EDL that their flag belongs to someone from the Middle East that never set foot in our Country.

I am sure this entry will probably piss people off. I am sure people will pick holes in it. That's fine, go nuts. I'm not being anti English - I'm not being anti-ANYTHING in fact. If you want to make a point, go for it.

There's A Surprise

The last couple of days, I've noticed a story that many are surprised and/or shocked over. Strangely, I can't see WHY people are shocked or surprised...

A woman in New Zealand has fallen over dead because she drank two gallons/ten litres of Coca Cola a DAY. You can read the article here. The joke of it is, the coroner has stated it may have contributed to her death.

May.

Now, when I first read the headlines on my homepage, my first thought was "drinking ten litres of anything is going to kill you" and when I read it out, Kellies first words were pretty much along the same lines.

After reading the article, the coroner and Coca Cola have themselves said drinking excessive liquids in any form is going to shuffle you off this mortal coil. I think it's also referred to as Water Intoxication - athletes suffer from it if they drink too much in a short space of time. She also suffered from Caffeine Toxicity AND Cardiac Arrhythmia (which is, essentially, her heart wasn't beating properly).

Added to this, her family are quoted as saying they knew she was addicted by her symptoms, saying she would:

"go crazy if she ran out... she would get shakes, withdrawal symptoms, be angry, on edge and snappy"

Now, wouldn't you have thought they would have helped her out in the first place? If you see someones habit is adversely affecting their life, wouldn't you try helping them?

Then they go on as saying "maybe it needs warning signs"

No, it doesn't. There's no warning signs on packs of sausages stating that if you eat a hundred a day your heart will explode for the same reason:

Common Sense.

Yes, I know, it's a dying trait amongst the human race as a whole, and if it comes to it, we should put warning signs on everything in existence.

Do Not Jump Off Cliffs
Do Not Insert Genitals Into Lions Mouth
Do Not Poke Eyes With Knife

And on and on... If common sense doesn't prevail, maybe all humans need to learn a new phrase: Just Because You Can, Doesn't Mean You Should.

And I'm sorry, if you think it's fine drinking or eating THAT MUCH stuff on a regular basis, then don't be surprised when you too fall over dead.

Missing: Presumed Grumpy

I have, once again, been conspicuously quiet across the different social networks. For the most part, I have been quite busy, with the Easter Holidays now behind us (and the year whizzing by) it was hard to sit and bumble out blog posts with kids charging around.

Secondly, I am moody. I don't know why exactly but there is stuff on my mind that is pissing me off, I feel like shite and that is pissing me off, I have germs trying to come out and THAT is pissing me off... And when reading Twitter, or watching Facebook, more stuff pisses me off, to the point that I either close the window, or I rant and rave AT people.

So I close the window.

Even when I do chat in either place, I see something that I think "Ignore it, you're fine" but ten minutes later, I have to kill the window.

I'm not sure what's wrong with me, my usual sitting and stewing on things, worrying about other things, pissed off over other other things and so on - plus I seem to have a week or so that everything gets on top of me that I refer to as my PMS week. I really DO seem to have a time of the month...

Yes yes, I'm a woman...

Why don't I blog about my woes? Well, for starters I know that as soon as I do, people will start messaging me "Do you mean ME?" and asking if it's them I am referring to. Then other people will read what I have blogged, and either use it against me, or take it the wrong way and, well, use it against me. I just cannot be dealing with that amount of stress and drama I KNOW it will create. I'm not even going to say "If you think it may be you, it probably is" because that will just make people go at it more.

And this is why the blog has had less "Blah Blah Blah" on it, and more "Music and Random Images" than usual.

I had hoped the previous post would placate my rantiness for a bit, but it didn't. I'm tired, cranky, mood-swinging, in sodding pain and feeling generally icky - and there's nothing much I can do about it.

I'll survive, I'm sure. Hopefully everyone else will as well... I'm going to give it a few more days to slip out of my system, and failing that, I'm going to have to set up an anonymous blog just to scream and shout and rant and rave on.

Failing that... I may need to be taken out the back... Old Yeller style.

Nanny State

If there's one thing I DON'T do on 0ddness, it's politics. Generally, my reasons given are varied, but the most important reason is due to the fact that it causes many arguments. There's nothing that pisses me off more than seeing I have new comments, then clicking through to read people bitching and whining... Not at ME so much - I don't give a crap what people think about me or my views - but ripping the shit out of one another in a rude manner. Honestly, just because you're behind a monitor, doesn't mean the screen should filter out your politeness.

Hmm, tangent.

Anyways, in recent years, smokers have clearly been "The Big Bad" in the eyes of the government - regardless of the fact that smokers are plopping their nice, hard-earned cash into the coffers of whoever is running the country. The price of them has gone up and up, the warning labels have gotten bigger, the pictures of tumours, diseased lungs, ruptured throats or whatever have gotten more graphic, and in the last couple of weeks, they have now decided to HIDE the tobacco section - either under the counter or behind a screen... And NOW they are talking about stripping all branding from the packets.

It's at this juncture that I point out that I am not a die-hard, live-by-the-butt smoker. I have never puffed on a cigarette, not once in my life. Mum and Step-Dad used to puff away near-constantly, and for most of my childhood years, I stank of smoke. The ceilings had that nice yellow tinge. Clean clothes smelled of smoke. Hair smelled of smoke. And the mornings when the "grown ups" rose from bed, you could hear the hacking lungs and wheezing. I developed asthma...

No, smoking never ever appealed to me.

Now, that said, what I DO take offence to, is the way the government are so anti-smoking, yet depend on the taxes these things raise. I DO take offence to them thinking that the British public are so moronic, that we can't think for ourselves.

Now, the price of cigarettes I can kind of agree with. Sort of. Except that the way they are going, they are slowly pricing out the sale to people that generally struggle to make ends meet anyway. The higher the price, the more people can't afford it, and get pissed at the government. The price raises I can and can't see the point of to be honest. I'm on the fence.

What pisses me off the most is the warnings labels, images, hiding them, and the soon-to-be unbranding of them. Because, let's be honest, it will happen.

Yes, smoking kills. Yes, it causes cancer, impotence, breathing problems, circulatory problems... ALL of the nastiness smoking causes is well known. And yes, the warnings should be on there. But honestly, the size of these warnings is laughable.

My problem with them is, with people that have been smoking ten, twenty, thirty years... Do you honestly believe someone picks up their packet and suddenly sees this label.,, "Smoking kills?? What the..? Why did no one tell me that?! Did YOU know about this?! What!!! It cause cancer too!?! Holy shit, I need to quit NOW!"

As for the pictures, if someone sees a label that says "Smoking will make your bollocks drops off and you will die" do you honestly think that person will see a picture of aforementioned bollocks-dropped-off and decide to quit? No, probably not.

Now a few weeks back, they made "bigger shops" hide their cigarette displays. This, to me, completely cracked me up and pissed me off at the same time. Mainly, it pissed me off.

The official word on hiding them is to prevent the sale of them being glamorised, and to deter children from seeing the pretty displays, thus preventing the children from being drawn in to buying them.

For starters, children aren't allowed to buy them. You have to be 18, or 21 in some shops to buy them. YES, I am fully aware there are shops that serve kids. However, I am certain that little Billy doesn't go in the shop to get his comic, see the display, and instead decide to buy 20 Cancer Sticks over a copy of The Beano.

Children start smoking when they either experiment with other children (invariably with the ones they've stolen from home) or when some twat of a grown up gets them into smoking. If a kid wants to get them, he will. Most will either have someone of the legal age buy them, or have parents that cannot count, and take them from home. YES, some kids will get them from shops that sell to underage people... BUT - the display doesn't play a part in it. If a group of kids smoke, say B&H cigarettes, then they will go into the shop and regardless of what they can or cannot see, will order a box of B&H.

Let's look at it another way - if the government is correct, that hiding the displays will make people stop smoking, does that mean that there is not a single blind person on the planet that doesn't smoke?

Their next step now, is to remove all branding from the packets. They will have a name, and the very very useful warning labels *cough* but that's it. Because it removes further temptation from people to smoke them, as the boxes are clearly what draws people into it...

"Oooh what's that red and white box?"
"They're cigarettes, Dave"
"Wow, the box is sooo pretty... Let me try one..."

What a load of shit. Making the boxes black, white, green... Put barbed wire around them... Make each one create a puking sound when you take it out the packet... Make the filters from monkey penises... If someone wants to smoke, then so be it.

Can you stop people doing it? Ban it? Of course not - look at street drugs. They're banned, they're illegal, it's against the law to take them, to hold them, so sell them... That did the trick it getting people off crack. As soon as anything becomes illegal, you just have to work harder to get it, it disappears underground, and then you have a new battle on your hands.

Granted, I don't like smoking - and kicking smokers out onto the street was a plus for me. Nothing pissed me off more than sitting in a restaurant eating, with someone puffing near by. What's that you say? Having a smoking/non-smoking section? Yes, because smoke KNOWS where to stop... Going to a pub or club for an evening and coming home wheezing and stinking of smoke was not my idea of a good night out, and I don't want to have to breath their shite, so yes, kicking them outside - while still not perfect - was a good thing. And if you are a smoker, and want to puff you shit near my kids, don't glare at me when I make a comment about it.

And you have to wonder... Why just cigarettes? Why is alcohol not subject to such restrictions? It causes lots of deaths, is certainly responsible for most of the Ambulance/Paramedic calls, is responsible for so many problems on the streets - especially at Pub-Chucking-Out o' Clock. I've spoken to Police, I've spoken to Paramedics - all of them talk about the number of drunks they are having to deal with on a constant, regular basis.

So why is booze not hidden? Why is it not subject to plain labels, and stupid pricing?

Because for one, the government know they make shit-loads of money from it. Secondly, to remove alcohol from the reaches of the poor would cause proper rioting.

Yes, the prices of booze are going upwards - but it is still cheap, and I would argue, causes more problems than smoking. You don't often hear about a bloke having 15-20 cigarettes, then going home and beating the shit out of his wife. You don't hear about kids falling under buses because they had two cigarettes too many, and now the police have to knock on the parents door... Want to kerb booze-filled problems? Make people pay for the emergency service they need due to excessive alcohol consumption.

Gotten pissed, fallen down and smashed your head? You're a twat, and should pay for the ambulance and your hospital treatment. Gotten hammered and been arrested for fighting? Enjoy the bill from the boys in blue.

No, I know it will never happen. Again, the government know it will cause an uprising, and people will leave their lesser injuries till they have sobered up. And then you have to question, if you're drunk in a bar, minding your own business and someone starts hitting you and you hit back - are you liable to be charged for the police bill?

And on and on and on...

If people want to smoke or drink, then so be it. They will smoke and drink till their hearts are content. And filled with tumours. But please, don't treat the country like idiotic children that have been licking lead paint... Let the grown-ups decide if they want to do it or not - they know the consequences, leave it at that.

And no, this does not then correlate into "Then street drugs should be fine too" as they are a different kettle of doped fish all together. And a rant for another day ;)

Pick 'n' Mix

For the benefit of those deprived not of this Country, I should explain the basics of a Pick & Mix, on the off-chance they don't exist where-ever you might be.

Imagine a row of small boxes, containers, shelves-with-containers, all containing a different kind of sweet. Aniseed Balls, Cough Candy, Eclairs, Love Hearts, Candy Peanuts, Mint Imperials, White Mice, Jazzies, Dolly Mixtures, Jelly Strawberries, Cola Bottles, Fizzy Bottles, Jelly Babies, Dummies... The list is endless.

As a child, I used to go from item to item, two of those, three of those, one of those - and put them all into a little bag. At the end, you got the bag weighed, and paid whatever it came to. Back then, it was fingers, but more modern times you have a small scoopy-thing to use.

Before they decided to lose all their money, the place everyone went for their pick n mix was Woolworths - a big chain of shops that sold everything from toys to clothes to sweets, CDs, Tapes, Videos, DVDs...

But they went bust a few years back now.

So - we have the basics of a Pick & Mix. It's not what you would call "Rocket Science"

Now, fast forward a few years. Dan is now a grown up pre My-Spine-Is-Fooked, I worked with some friends doing Shop Fitting. Fitting, not lifting.

This involved going to work in the early evening - usually travelling far and wide - arriving at a shop after it closed, where the staff had cleared all the shelves. We then waded in, and effectively smashed the place up. Everything had to be broken down, stripped out, floor lifted, walls cleared and ready to be rebuilt by the next crew.

And the main customer was Woolworths. Now, pulling down shelving that has been up for well over fifteen, twenty - even twenty five years in some cases - was always good for a laugh. We found everything, from clothing, money, rubbish, and dust.  Dust bunnies the size of dogs. Spiders the size of big dogs. Rodents. Vile looking stains that had grown their own ecosystem of moulds, fungi and weather systems.

In short, underneath old, unmoved shelving was completely gross.

Slap bang in the middle of every shop, we invariably got to the pick and mix stand. After the first few times, we LOVED this, because every time, we were so grossed out it was hilarious.

And every time, the same shit happened.

Step one: we would heft the shelving out the way.
Step two: we would be greeted with a miasma of vileness.
Step three: the staff would swoop in before we cleared the crap out the way and collect all the sweets laying on the floor amongst the shit.

I kid you not, dear reader. Before we could start to shift out the disgusting mess, the staff had to collect every single item that was a sweetie underneath the shelves, and sift through them. Stuff that was no longer on sale was dropped back onto the floor. Stuff that was still "current" was blown off, and added BACK to the pile of stock.

Fill your mouth with air. Purse your lips. Blow.  THAT is the limit of cleaning the sweets received before being placed back into active service.

Now, I need to elaborate on the levels of vileness that these sweets had spent an un-named amount of time sitting in. Aside from thick black dust, cobwebs like rugs, dead spiders and random fluff, we saw dead rodents, spillages that had not been cleaned, dirty rags, general rubbish that had blown under, dried out or even wiggling maggots, mold, damp, water damage...

The list goes on and on.

After calling the staff on it, we were told that it is common practise, not just among Woolworths, but LOTS of shops that sell pick and mix do the same thing as the sweets are sold per weight, so losing/throwing them away affects profits.

I am hoping with every fibre of my body that this "practise" no longer happens. I am hoping that as this was at least ten years ago, things have changed, and it no longer happens. BUT, I am not holding my breath - especially for the sole-traders and little shops out there that NEED to turn a profit.

So there we have it - when your favourite blogger is offered pick & mix sweets, he politely declines. Turkish Delight with hint of Rat Fur is not on my list of om-nom-nommy things to munch on.

And if you ever get a chance to see a shop-fitting happen, you should - just to see what accumulates underneath shelving after a few decades.

Damn You, Biddies!

I'm currently stood on a bus. I WOULD have been sat, but in typical Me vs. Pensioners style, I just got beaten in one of their twisted games.

I dropped Tam off at school and headed to the bus stop to return home. Being that there was no one else there, I sat on the bench and waited knowing.g full well the bus would be late. As I air, others joined me, some sitting, some standing. Eventually, the bench was full.

Cue the coffin dodgers. Being that I have manners, whenever a old folk turns up, I let them sit. So a doddery old man turns up, he gets my seat. It's simple manners.

Now I am stood beside the old bloke. Cue more oldies, who want to chat to him, so I shift back so they can stand beside him. Now I'm at the end of the bench. Then more arrive and want to talk to the others, so I move again.

Now I'm at the far end of the bus stop. The bus arrives, and despite being first there, I'm now stood so far away, every other person barges on to the bus - old doddery man let's his cronies on first!

These old folk, they're happy to shout blue murder  if you even attempt to be rude to them, but they are easily one of the rudest groups around...

Location : 38-56 Long Riding, Basildon, Essex SS14 1,
Posted from my HTC Desire HD, so apologies for typos and strange formatting ;)

Grown Up Night Out

With the veritable shenanigans from last weeks evening out, the four of us had the back up parachute that was THIS weekend, when we would be going out for a nice evening out that, all things considered, was likely to finish later than midnight.

Woot.

The plan was to go and see Kerrys cousin play with his band at a club in Southend on Friday night. So, babysitters were advised to be ready, plans were made, details were hammered out... Luckily for some of us, yours truly is a smart-arse that likes to check things, and through a little bit of luck, I noticed that the flyer for the band showed they were playing SATURDAY night. Not Friday. So, another flurry of activity, and the babysitters and arrangements were juggled around so we could go out Saturday - not Friday.

FYI: it was the GIRLS that had planned the night out this time around... They are both claiming they were given bad information by the band, but I digress. I'm not one to blame others unless they are in the wrong.

*ahem*

So, Saturday night, the plan was pretty much, kids gone by four, we leave by five, meet Kerry & James on the train to Southend by about half five, get into Southend about six, have dinner in an Indian restaurant, have some drinks at the bar, watch the band, have some more drinks, head home.

The fact James called at four, running late in traffic, didn't bode well. We were ready to go just before five, but Kerry & James were having a nervous breakdown trying to get their shite together.  It should be added, that where women sulk that they "don't have a thing to wear" or "that's it, I look crap, I'm not going out" I need to point out that James is right up there with them. So with our group being comprised of three-quarters girly women that have to look just so, it's no wonder we were running late.

Blame where blame is due, after all.

So, with James crying down the phone that they were now at the station and cold, we were getting our arse into gear waiting for our cab and just missed one train. Back on the phone to James, we missed this train, but the next is due in fifteen minutes. Our train arrives, we get on, and let them know we're on the second carriage, at the second set of doors, and will be with them in a little bit.

A few minutes later, my phone rings, and once again, it's the six foot four woman.

James: You're not on this train?
Me: Er, yes we are...
James: No, you're not on THIS train...
Me: Did you get on the wrong train?

Now, technically, it's not the wrong train - it goes to Southend, but it wasn't the train WE were on. So, a few minutes ahead of us, they arrived in Southend, then we arrived too. Hi hi hello, you're late, you're fault, her fault, his fault, call a cab to the restaurant.

Miserable-arse taxi driver (number two of the night) drops us at the Indian place, and from that point on, the booze started flowing. Now, before we went out - and because we were ready and they were not, we had time to kill at home, so like any youngish couple that is child free with some spare time, we did what anyone would do.

We started drinking at home. Two or three Jagerbombs were already in our system.

So, at the restaurant, James decided it was Champagne o' Clock. I decided it would be a waste of time ME drinking champagne, as to me it's just fizzy wine. So I had a beer while they started on the champers. I know what you're thinking, champagne vs. beer is a no-brainer, but it doesn't do anything for me. At all. But, we were drinking, then out came the Sambuca, then we went to our table.

The food was gorgeous, absolutely wonderful, and while the girls were watching the clock worrying we'd miss the band, we enjoyed ourselves. Good food, good drinks, having a good evening, chatting and laughing. Another bottle of champagne, though this time with a measure of Amaretto in the glass (of which I partook!) while we were eating, and then out came the Long Island Iced Teas which, as it turned out, were gross, so they went back and were replaced by Woo-Woos for the girls, and Kentucky Jack for us boys. Cocktails are always a laugh...

With the meal all done with, we headed out along the seafront.  Now, a few years back, Southend-on-Sea was a busy spot for people going out, and was always heaving on a Saturday night. There are bars and clubs and pubs and amusement and a theme-park type thing too, not to mention the theatre up top and a couple of casinos, and loads of restaurants... THIS Saturday night, however, seemed, well... Quiet. There were people around, but it wasn't what I would consider busy by any stretch of the imagination.

By the time we got to the bar, we decided we needed more drinks. We met up with Chris and his band, said hellos and got some more drinks in. Dirty Vimtos (Port & WKD Blue) all around, followed by Jagerbombs. Once they were gone, it was Vodka & Coke for Kerry, JD & Coke for Kellie, and Rum & Coke for James and Myself. The bar was WARM so we had to keep our fluid intake up ;)

We left the bar and went to the venue next door and listened to a couple of bands play - all amateur, but pretty good. None of this Britains Got X Talent crap, proper bands with proper music. While we were waiting, we opted for more drink - JD & Coke, Vodka & Coke, I had a beer, James had something - oh, and more Jagerbombs.

Finally, despite flapping about being here or there late, people taking ages to get ready, people getting on the wrong train, eating dinner at a slow, leisurely pace, we were in the right place AND at the right time to see Chris and his band - FTL - come on and do their set. Before you go much further, go visit them on Facebook! Clicky clicky clicky!

They were brilliant - three guitars and a drum kit, you can't go wrong - and we all rocked out while drinking more drinks.  The did several songs, and afterwards, after giving our congrats and saying our goodbyes, the band left.

Yes folks, you read that right - the youngsters that are living a rock and roll life went home as they were tired. Us lot, however, well, even though we could have made the last train home (at a push), we decided to plunder Southend a little more. It was a little after 11pm, and upon leaving the venue, we were pretty much in awe at the lack of people on the seafront on a Saturday night. It wasn't particularly chilly despite being early November. There were no "sporting events" on that I could think of - besides, all the pubs had big-screen TVs for such occasions. Unless the world has gone MeNtAl and everyone stays in now to watch Reality TV (which, as I write this, is actually a fairly good assumption), Southend was deserted.

So, what do four people with babysitters, no kids, and time to kill do?

That's right, we sat down and ordered more drinks! We sat outside the bar for just over an hour, drinking, chatting, laughing - we had a REALLY good night, putting the world to rights, talking about complete an utter shit, talking about serious stuff... It was brilliant.

With it now gone midnight, and all still a little tipsy, we decided food was in order, so we plundered the local chippy, got a load of chips and had a munch out. James, being "manly" and all had a cup of tea.

*ahem*

With food in our bellies, and being on the Seafront, there is only really one other thing to do. We hit the arcades! Getting a pocketful of change, we started playing games. Kellie & myself had a rip-roaring games of Air Hockey. Granted, I kicked her pretty little backside 7-3, and I scored two of her points. I cheated, apparently, but unless my telekinetic powers have finally blossomed, I'm fairly sure that's another way of her saying "Shit, I'm pissed, I need an excuse..."

With her luck being what it was, she then tried her luck on a fruit machine, and swore at it after it stole her £1.70. Time Crisis next, and while I had NO idea what was going on with the plot, I racked up 70% of the kills with 86% accuracy. I think Kellie was the eye-candy in that movie.. Lastly, to give the government additional research into Drink Driving, we hopped on Mario Kart. We didn't play together - she pressed the wrong pedal - but while both WELL over the limit, we both won our games. However, it is fair to say the rules of the road do NOT apply to Mario Kart - I've not seen many Real World drivers firing mushrooms at people, and ramming a gorilla off the road - while amusing - is not an every-day occurrence.

Just before half one, Mr Taxi Driver arrived outside, so we all bundled in and dropped the first two weirdos off on Canvey - even if it was ME that had to point out where their road was to the driver. I think they were dozing.. Kellie and myself rolled in the front door just before 2am, and set to picking up the chaos of sweets that the cats had dragged everywhere - Galadriel has a thing for taking sweets off the side and unwrapping them - and possibly eating them - to play with the wrappers themselves.  Freaks.

Despite the drink, despite taking a handful of painkillers once I fell into bed, despite being shattered, I could NOT get to sleep properly. It was gone five last time I looked at the clock, and then, at half eight, the 0dd Mother-in-Law dropped off the kids.

Of the two of us, 50% of us did not have a hang over. Nor did 50% of us remain in bed dribbling till lunchtime. Nor did we keep drinking water, ask for the TV to be turned down, for voices to be lowered or pull the curtains to keep daylight out.

Or, to put it another way, I was fine. Kellie, however, was not. I even had to pop out to get her a Pot Noodle to get her some carbs.

A brilliant night was had by all. It was nice to not have to watch a clock, worry about the babysitters getting pissy, to talk about pretty much ANYTHING without causing offence, to have a good laugh and joke, and to let our proverbial hair down to good food, good drinks and good music.

Oh, and as a lasting memory - sitting in the cold has made Kellie poorly, who is now sucking furiously on throat medicines, and sounds like she's turning into Yoda.

Confessions of a Paper Boy

For the last few weeks and months, I have been doing a paper-round. Originally, it was Dominics, but he got hacked off with it, but I kept doing it anyway for the little (teeny tiny!) extra bit of money each week.

Over the weeks and months of doing it, I have been gritting my teeth, putting my head down and plugging away at it, but now, finally, something has snapped and I've told them enough is enough.  The reasoning?

Well...

First up, you need to keep in mind that this is a "kids" job. You also need to remember, this is the free papers, so people don't pay for them and every house gets one unless they specifically state "no free papers". Delivery is once a week, usually Thursday but I generally did it Friday morning.

Each week, 225 papers were delivered the front door, and usually multiple leaflets were added to the pile in multiples of 225 - two or three leaflets (450/675/etc) at a time. These leaflets had to be put together, and then added to the papers.

Time taken? Just putting leaflet in papers was about 60-90 minutes.

After that, the papers then had to be loaded into the trolley and then dragged around the streets. Generally, that many papers didn't fit in one load into the trolley, so 150 or so papers with 150/300/450 leaflets were then dragged around and delivered door to door to door. Once the trolley was empty, it was a case of walking all the way back home - remembering where you've gotten to - and then reloading the trolley and going BACK again, and finishing up.

This is generally a two hour job in itself, so between leaflet sorting, packing and delivering, I'd be looking at three and a half hours or so. 

The pay? VERY rarely more than £10. OK granted, this was "Kids Wage" but the reasoning behind the wage was that the job took an hour.

These time frames I've given are ME doing it, and I don't knob around or anything, I just get it done and dusted.

But you know what, it's not even the length of time versus the pay. I did it mainly for the exercise. But I draw the line at rude people.

And you know what, the world seems to be populated with people that moan and whine and bitch at someone for something either out of their control or something so minor, you would expect someone like that to have a coronary watching the news.

Cases in point...

My Paper Is Wet!
Yes, that's because rain or shine, I have to deliver a shit-ton of newspapers. So, when I take a paper off the top in the rain, it might be a little damp. By the time I've folded it and stuffed it through your letterbox, it will have gotten damper. Your paper, the paper before you, the paper after you - ALL damp. I've not done it intentionally, it's the RAIN. This also leads me on to;

My Paper Is Torn!
If your paper has gotten damp (see previous) then sliding through a metal or plastic letterbox is going to split some of the paper. Also, if your letterbox doesn't open properly, or if you are one of these bloody people that HAS to have a letterbox lined with stiff bristles, even DRY paper will get torn in that. The other cause of torn paper?

You Let My Dog Rip Up The Paper!
OK, I don't check each house or door for a mutt. If you DO have a dog that shreds things going into the house, put up a sodding sign. If you don't want your dog to shred it either A) Keep the dog away from the front door, or B) Put up a letterbox guard. I don't post the paper with the intention for your dog to shred it up. No sign, no notice, the paper goes in and Spot the Dog has a paper lunch

You Stepped On My Grass!
Yes, I did, and you know why? Because your letter box is so far off to the side it's either step on your grass or levitate above your lawn and deliver it.

You Looked In My Window!
Just because my head is facing your door - you know, where your letterbox is - it does not mean I am trying to peer in and see what is in your house. If I am peering in YOUR house, then the other 224 houses also need to be warned.

I Don't Want The Leaflets!
The leaflets are part of the paper. You want the paper, you have to have the leaflets. You're not obliged to receive the paper, just say "Please don't deliver it any more" and like magic, the paper and leaflets from the paper will stop.

I Don't Want The Paper!
Now, my previous point stated that if you don't want it, just say politely that you don't, in fact, want it any more. Leaving a shitty note? I'll carry on delivering it intentionally. Throw your paper outside your front door? Yep, still going to deliver it. I'm a spiteful shit. If you ask nicely that you would like me to stop delivering, then fair enough, I will make a note and stop.

In future, please consider your paper-person. He or She is delivering in sweltering heat, freezing cold, strong winds, ice, pissing rain... That trolley or that bag they are lugging is heavy and there's a good chance they have to make a second journey yet. Be nice, be polite, don't be rude. They get paid a pittance, and have to put up with a lot of rude, arrogant and generally grumpy people, just to deliver your free newspaper.

You Know When...

...your day is going to be shit when it starts being shit at 12.02am.

Last night, Kellie and myself went to bed at a reasonable hour.  Half ten, eleven maybe.  I took my meds, we snuggled down into bed and she dozed off fairly quickly (as she does) while I lay fiddling with my phone, playing Paradise Island (bloody addictive stupid game) when I noticed a green light fizzling around outside.

Not thinking "OMG Aliens!" I peered outside, wondering what it was when I saw them.  The knobheads across the road.  They've spent money on a green laser pointer. And were shining it into everyones bedroom windows across the road to them. 

Hi-fucking-larious.

I'm already cranky as my body is crying out with ouchies, but the meds are doing NOTHING.  Even the Amytriptyline decided to not show up this night.  Now I'm doing my best to ignore the light flaring in through the window and zapping around the room.

Then their music went on.  Boom-hiss-boom-hiss-boom-hiss... I like loud music, I like my music loud.  But not at half twelve at night.

Giving up on the island, I roll over and try to ignore the boom-hiss-boom noise and the random appearence of the green light.  Eventually, I stuff a pillow over my head.  I may have dozed off, I may have been drugged to sleep, I may have temporarily suffocated myself, but I did eventually fall asleep.

Next thing I know, it's 4am and the cat is meowing outside.  I stumble, half drugged half asleep down the stairs, open the door... It's not Arwen.  I bumble back upstairs and fall back into bed.

"Oh My God WHAT TIME IS IT?!" is the next thing I know.  I'm awake, unconsciously reaching for my phone and Kellie is sat bolt upright shaking her phone that, evidently, has died during the night.  It's not long after seven, so she's only overslept by ten minutes.  Not too bad.  I'm semi-awake and kinda sorta out of bed. My legs are wobbly and I am not with it, but I vaguely perform tasks such as "Find Clothes" and "Make Kellie Coffee" as well as "Mo Don't Forget Your Lunch"

By 8.15am I'm alone, so I decide to shower.  Getting out the shower I slip just a teeny bit, but somehow manage to smack my right shin on the edge of the bath.  F'kin OW.

I dry, I dress, I collect paperwork I need to get done today in town and head out.  At the end of the path, some massive heffer riding a mobility scooter almost runs me down.  "Watch where yer going fer Christ sake" she calls over her shoulder.

Clearly her disability is rude as arseholes, and unable to stop cramming shitty food into her flabby gob.

I start the walk into town and it seems like everyone walking in the opposite direction is texting, staring at their feet, or intentionally just walking face-first into me.  I go to the council offices with my paperwork, and finally, something goes right - I am seen straight away. Usually, you go in, take a number, sit down, die of old age, get resurrected, get seen.  But not today.

In a shocking new twist, the lady is actually friendly AND chatty.  Bonus.  She goes through all the stuff, takes copies, writes stuff down, tells me to bring in the bits we don't have yet ASAP, thanks bye.

Being that I am in town early, thinking I'd have ages between arriving and being seen, and having my lenses appointment, I have 45 minutes to kill.  Coffee and a muffin, don't mind if I do.  So, I go into Costa, get my coffee, sit down and start reading the news on my phone.  I've got my headphones in listening to music, but I keep it very low in case A) it annoys people, and B) people talk to me out of the blue.  I can hear someone elses music behind me, and it's pissing me off.

However, being that I am Big Fat Obvious Bloke, people are glaring at ME.  People are muttering about "Hope that fat guy can hear his music" and "Glad he's wearing headphones to keep it to himself"  Now, the fact I can hear them suggests IT'S NOT ME, and I stare at the woman that made the fat guy comment.  Her next move?  To tell her friends "Oh my god, he's staring at me... Maybe he's psychic!"

They all giggle, I lean forwards.  "I'm not psychic, but this fat guy doesn't have loud music on, it's the fella behind me"

No apology, no acknowledgement, just an "Oh" and she turns to her coffee.

Stuff this, I'd rather be early for my appointment.  I eat my muffin, finish my coffee, crank my music up loud, look at the stupid woman for a moment, then walk out oblivious to the world.  Six paces out of Costa, a bloke sidles up to me and talks to me.  NOW I have loud music on, so I hear nothing.  I pop the earphones out. 

"Have you got a moment to discuss your energy provider?" I sigh.  I do, but don't want to.  "They're rubbish, and I hate them" I reply and keep walking.  He keeps pace.  "May I ask who you're with? We can offer a much better deal at N-Power!" Brilliant.  "It's N-Power I'm with, but thanks anyway..." Back in go the earphones and I walk forwards.  I don't know if he replied.

Twenty yards.  That's all I have to cover.  Man in a suit with a name badge talking to me. Earphones out.  "...  discuss God with you?" is all I hear.  "Sorry, I have an appointment, no thanks." I reply. "What appointment do you have?" he asks. Erm, is he interested, or calling my bluff.  Fifteen yards.  That's how far it is to the opticians.  "I'm getting my eyes checked, sorry." He smiles and nods, and steps out from in front of me.  I KNOW he's watching me go to the opticians, so I'm glad I didn't lie.

Ten yards.  A man in a Virgin Media T-Shirt steps out.  I leave the earphones in, and reply with "Already have Virgin Plus, thanks!" I say.  I don't but can't be arsed with the sales pitch.

And SANCTUARY! I'm in the opticians, fight through the crowd, up the stairs, and get my lenses checked.  All is very good, the minor problems I am having are fine, nothing unexpected, I get my eye poked a bit, some dye put in, but otherwise, forty minutes later and twenty quid poorer, I head out the door again, head down, earphones in and turn left to avoid the throng of people trying to offer me something I neither want nor need.

Now it's important stuff, and no, I am not saying what, but I am now moving through town with purpose.

At least, I was.

Through some twist of fate, I bump into Diane and Dave - Diane of Gimme Gizmo Manager and All-Round-Crazy-Person - and we stand around having a natter for half an hour.  Clearly, today is my day for attracting the crazies, Diane included.  We chat, I take the piss, and I resume my Important Stuff hunting.

I go into one shop, and talk to someone that works there, when someone interrupts us.  "I WAS HERE FIRST!" claims this huge woman.  The sales assistant looks at her as confused as me.  Granted the woman WAS in the shop before me, but she was looking through stuff, whereas I, with purpose, went TO the saleswoman and asked my question.  "Sorry madam, this gentleman came to me first, I had already asked if you needed anything, but you said you were just looking."

The smell, I notice, is quite pungent.  And wafting from the woman.  "BUT I NEED YOUR SERVICE NOW!" she says in her loud voice.  Sales Assistant looks at me with a sorry, I smile, look at the Smelly Woman and let the sales assistant do her thing.  "DO YOU HAVE THIS IN THIS SIZE?" she asks, holding up a filthy item that she is clearly looking for a replacement for.  "I'm afraid not, we sold the last one an hour ago." says the assistant. "BUT I WANT A NEW ONE!" says the whale. "We don't have any - try our Lakeside store perhaps?" offers the assistant.  "I WANT A NEW ONE. TODAY!" exclaims the large woman, going red in the face. "LAKESIDE IS MILES AWAY!"

Now I turn my attention to the other items, but can't help but listen in.

"I'm sorry, maybe come back next week then?"
"BUT I WANT IT TODAY!"
"But we don't have one..."
"WHERE'S THE MANAGER? HE WILL GET ME ONE!"
"Our manager is a woman."
"NO IT ISN'T!"

At this point, a woman steps in from behind the counter.  A woman, wearing her name badge with "Manager" on it. "I'm sorry madam, but as you've been told, we don't have any of those in that size. You can either try our Lakeside store, or come back next week."

"YOU'RE NOT THE MANAGER!"
"I am, and I have been for over a year."
"THE LAST MANAGER I SPOKE TO WAS A MAN!"
"The previous manager was also a woman, in fact, she left to have a baby."
"NO SHE DIDN'T!"
"Madam, you really are going to have to leave, otherwise I will call security and-"
"I DIDN'T COME HERE TO BE INSULTED!"

And she stomped out.  Literally, actually, physically STOMPED out the shop. Manager and Assistant apologised profusely to me, really completely and utterly sorry.  Apparently, the woman is a "problem customer" with a few issues and is often in there causing a scene, but there's nothing they can do except ask her to leave.  And for my patience and troubles, and for being "caught up in it" here's a small discount for you.

At this point in time, I have officially had my fill for the day.  I have been afflicted with every weirdo, crazy, fruit-loop, and am hacked off with the world. So, I set about heading out of town, and being that I am now pissed off, I actually ignore the people I don't know I stride, with purpose past the sales reps, the people offering this or that, and even ignore the crazy old man that is standing in the middle of town with a piece of bamboo.  I have NO idea why he's there, and judging by the berth everyone else is giving him, I don't pay him any attention.

Finally, home.  I get in, phone my mum, potter around, and finally, exhausted, I flop down with my lunch and open my window beside me.

Thirty seconds later, boom-hiss-boom-hiss.... Full volume from across the road.

There's gonna be blood.

Overheard On The Bus

"I ain't gonna sleep wiv him for money, I 'ave got SOME morals. If I woz gettin sumfin cool outta it I would, but I ain't no slag..."

Ah society, how I fear for thee...

Location : 2-6 Plumberow, Basildon, Essex SS15 5,
Posted on my HTC Desire HD (so apologies for strange formatting or random Predictive Typing spelling mistakes!)

On The Doorstep

People, it would seem, are bloody nosey parkers. If something seems even the slightest bit out of place, they stare...

Yes folks, I am currently sitting on my front doorstep writing this.. Somehow while flying out the door first thing this morning, my routine of "Phone, Keys, Wallet, Tamsyn" skipped the keys part. Added to this, with Kellie feeling like shit and asleep in bed, I don't want to knock, and because my legs and back are screaming at me today, the thought of jumping over a neighbours fence just does NOT appeal.

Not that I mind - once again it's a beautiful day and I'm sat in the sun playing with my phone. Well, Blogging now...

So, my point of people being nosey. I'm sat, watching the world go by, and people see my tall, ominous form loitering at a door, and they just stare... Not even sneaky corner-of-the-eye staring but openly gawping at me.

You might argue that I am doing the same and, in fact, make a hobby of People Watching in order to have more blog fodder, but one, I don't openly stare, and two, I'm a blogger so it's acceptable ;)

You might think that they are concerned neighbours, but I know most of my close-proximity neighbours if only by sight. They might be people thinking I'm about to break in, but in that case, I'd expect the police to arrive and ask what I'm up to.

So, my only conclusion is that people are inherently nosey, prolly watching for my clothes to start sailing out an upstairs window, followed by records and a guitar, a woman shouting to go stay with the bitch... Or something.

So, here I sit in the now very-warm-on-my-legs sun, watching people watching me, listening to the birds and cars, waiting patiently because I'm a plank that forgot my keys.

Location : 2-27 Chittock Mead, Basildon, Essex SS14 1,
Posted on my HTC Desire HD (so apologies for strange formatting or random Predictive Typing spelling mistakes!)