Define "Direct"

If you have been reading this blog for any period of time then, dear reader, you will know that I do not "do" fashion, and I do not "do" fashionable shopping. I buy stuff that is comfy, that I like, and will last me a while.

A couple of months back, my trusty Karrimor walking boots started to die on me. And by die, I mean, holes in the sole, bits falling off, the support being less than supportive and so on... In all, they were one of the best pairs of boots I ever owned and made it almost to the ripe old age of two years old.

Because I walk funny, and sometimes drag my feet, trip or stumble, my footwear needs to be supportive (not like Old Persons Shoes, but "Not Going To Twist Your Ankle" supportive) and because of how I walk, they need to be hard wearing. In the past, I've generally worn Dr Martens, or Para Boots or similar, but they always end up falling apart.

So. Dead Karrimor.

We made a fatal mistake, and went to SportsDirect in town to get me a new pair of boots. With money being tight, I opted for a cheaper pair of walking boots. I loved them, they were comfy and snug and supportive.

For a week.

Then the nice secure padding all vanished. Then the soles were cutting into my feet - the inner sole had worn down and my feet were on the bare support bits inside the shoe itself by the end of the fourth week.

Disgusted, I chucked them in the garden.

So I dug out a pair of old combat boots, but a strange thing seems to have happened. My feet appear to have shrunk a little. These nice big comfy boots suddenly rattled around on my feet. And, they weren't waterproof. AND they were very heavy and I was dragging my feet more than normal.

I had to get new shoes. So back to SportsDirect, the only place in town that sells decent boots. I umm'd and arr'd and found a nice pair.

"Can I get these in a size 12 please?" I asked the chap in the shoe department. He gets on the radio to get the stockroom chap to bring him a pair. Now, bear in mind, this shoe is on display. Ten seconds later, he comes back to me. "Sorry, we've not got any of those in stock in any size."

Oh... So I spent another ten minutes fiddling with shoes and low-and-behold, I find another nice pair. Back to the chap, size 12 please. Now again, bear in mind this is on display with "Available in sizes 6 to 13!"

Brilliant.

Ten seconds later, he comes back. "We've got them in size six only?" and yes, he poses it as a question... So I ask for a size 12, he's got size six, do I want them. Unless there's some trick to adding shoe sizes to make YOUR size, I'm not sure what he's getting at.

"Um, no thanks..."

"Try the online store!" he suggests. I nod.

And I stomp out.

I get home - wearing big heavy clumpy boots still - and go to their website. Special offers and big flashy pictures so offer after offer, but I don't care. I go to the Karrimor section and go to the boots I liked in the store. Click Add to Basket. Oh, forgot to select size...

Size 8 only.

FUUUUUUUUU.....

So I go to my second-choice pair. Click Add to Basket, size 12? Result! Click Check Out.

Sign Up? Sign In? Use your Amazon Account?

Oooh I hate signing up to sites to buy ONE thing, so I use my Amazon site login. It has a think. The page reloads aaaaand... Welcome to SportsDirect! What you wanna buy? Basket? empty.

Back to the boots, click buy, size, checkout, sign up... Go all through the rigmarole of signing up, click Submit... Wait a bit... Waaaaaiting... Welcome to SportsDirect! You buy stuff now?

ARGH GAH RAAAANT!

Last chance, I go to Ebay. On here, they have LOADS of different ones, and I struggle to choose between three different pairs. All available in my size too! 

YIPPEEEE!

I get Kellie to help out with which ones look best, click Buy It Now, checkout, delivery options? For an extra £7 I can get them within 24-48 working hours! Woot! I work through it, it's 10am Wednesday morning NOW, so 10am Thursday morning (not likely) or 10am Friday morning? OK, it's an all-day delivery appointment, but I figure Friday is good, otherwise it'll be a week.

I need these boots NOW. Actually, I needed them when my first pair died on me, but hindsight sucks ass.

So, Buy It Now, 48hr delivery, PayPal, clickity clicky, SOLD! to the fat man sobbing with joy at having finally purchased a pair of shoes.

Now we fast-forward to Friday. I check the delivery ticket on the courier tracking place and see the words "In Transit" at 8am today from Chelmsford. Yippee, they're only 30 miles from me! But, it's an all day appointment, 7am till 9pm. Patience, young one.

I do the morning school run, leaving a note on the door to give any deliveries to my neighbour. I get back, no delivery. I WANT to do the back garden (aka, Jungle) but can't go out as I won't see or hear the door while strimming/mowing. I potter around the house - I AM quite knackered, but take it easy while I clear up and plod through housework. I don't put music on so I don't miss the delivery.

The day ticks by - at one point, I see one of their vans down the road and think "YAY!" but he sits there for almost an hour drinking tea and reading the paper then buggers off. Phooey.

Second school run is HELLISH, but I leave a note again to deliver next door. I get in, nothing. Now I am a sad panda.

I wait and wait, I do dinner, and I wait some more.

7pm arrives, the delivery status still says "In Transit" so I figure I will call them, just to make sure they've not done a Royal Mail and claimed to have attempted delivery... Using the number on the website, I call through and after being told they are charging me 10p a minute, I spend a quarter of an hour on hold. Finally, someone answers, asks for the tracking number...

"Oh, this is HDNL, you want to call Yodel"
"I AM calling Yodel, this is the number on the Yodel Contact Us page"
"Oh, well, we are merging companies, but you need to call someone else."

I take a breath, it's not her fault, it's not the fault of the couriers, this is ALL SportsDirect doing. "I will put you through myself" she tells me, probably because I am exuding waves of snarly noises. Another ten minutes on hold. The lady asks for the number, I give it, say I can see it's in transit, how much longer do I have to wait?

"Oh, that isn't being delivered today sir" she tells me. "That's not due to come out till at least Monday."

You. What?

So I explain the fees I have paid and everything, and that pretty please I can see it is only down the road. But no, Monday is my delivery day. She'll "Make Sure Of It"

Now I am properly pissed off. I've just spent another few quid being told "LOL no boots for you!" so I figure I will contact them through Ebay. I click the "Where's My Order" button, and Ebay says "This delivery will be with you on or by 25th May" just to rub salt in the wound. "Did This Help" No, it did NOT. So I click the Contact Seller button and use almost all the spare characters writing to them and telling them what I think of them.

Send.

Sort it you bunch of mup... I got a mail already?!

"Thanks for contacting SportsDirect! We're now out of the office till Monday...."

The red haze blanked the rest of the email...

So to sum up...

• My original "Replacement Shoe" purchase fell apart in just a month.
• The store has sod all in stock despite signs to the contrary.
• The website is shite on a stick and probably coded by a courgette.
• The "Pay With Amazon" thing on there is akin to pressing "Delete My Order LOL!"
• Signing Up on their site is on par with selling kidneys on the black market.
• Their Ebay site advertises Fast Courier Delivery which means "Almost A Week"
• When you try contacting them, you might as well be trying to phone The Pope.

SportsDirect, you wonder why you get so much bad press? THIS is why. Your own boss called city investors "a bunch of cry babies" when they invested in your opposition.

Get a grip. Answer my mail. Refund my postage costs. Or you can shove your boots straight back into your rank little stock room out back.

Yes. There.

The Department Store

As is thoroughly well documented in the Annuls of 0ddness, I neither "do" nor "get" most fashions, trends or similar behaviours exhibited by my fellow man. Man, as in mankind, that is.

So imagine my deep joy when, while accompanying the 0dd Sister, Gemma, on a trip into town, she said we had to go into Big Department Store down there. Aside from trendy shops, I don't "do" Department Stores. One, I am not cool enough, Two, I don't get the whole Shop-Within-A-Shop rubbish, and Three, the people that work there can see I do not belong.

Put it this way - the last time I set foot in one was Christmas-before-Last, and I was accompanying Kellie to buy the 0dd Mother-in-Law some Xmas Smellies.

Gemma needed makeup.

That is, she needed to buy some - I am not going to comment on her needing to wear makeup. But I digress.

We wander into the shop, and go to one of the shops-within-the-shop (Seriously...?!) and have to wait around for a few minutes because the girls that work in the other shops aren't allowed to help customers at other shops.

The lady turns up and Gemma explains - with the aid of a torn packet - that this is what she wants. Being that my sister can make most things last years - makeup, diesel, the guilt of scarring her forehead - it was no surprise when the lady said "Hmmm, we don't make that one any more" and proceeded to question Gemma on what she needed.

Well, fellow MEN, if you have never witnessed this female behaviour, I strongly suggest you do so. Colour Matching and Blending... She held up a bit of clear plastic with various colours splattered over it, and "found Gemmas colour" on it, and proceeded to apply it.

Now, her skin colour is, erm... Let's say Colour X. So the lady found Colour X, and with a mini paint brush, applied it to Gemmas chin. So, what she did, was take Gemmas Colour X, and put it on top of... Colour X?

There MAY have been one or two mocking comments from yours truly. I may have caused a nervous breakdown for the woman. So, happy with the fact this woman was covering her own skin colour with, er, her own skin colour, Gemma proceeded to buy it. H

However.

They happened to be out of stock.

So, they had to go "a shade darker" so the lady cleaned off the paint brush and applied Colour Y. The difference? None What So Ever!

I may have pointed this out. I may have continued my mocking, and I may have told Gemma that she's being ripped off - the brush had nothing on it, the woman was just tickling her face with it.

She didn't believe me! I know, shocking isn't it.

Gemma, happy with buying Colour Y, agrees that that is what she wants, and proceeds to the counter. The woman then rummages around her cupboard, and the next stage is the type of finish. The options were a matt finish, a glossy finish, a silk finish, a lasting finish, a thicker finish...

Anyone else see types of PAINT here?! Matt, Gloss, Silk, Exterior and One Coat?

I MAY have pointed this out to the woman. She had never seen it that way, but I bet she does now.

So Gemma chose the exterior paint and there's me thinking that was that. No no. NOW we have to make our way to a Payment Area - accompanied by the woman - and before she could even pay, she decided to do some form-completing on the computer!

I was mocking, the whole time. I stood there, looking at the other products. The complete and utter shit you women think you need to make your face look nice is beyond me. Properly out of my mind. Cleansers and Toners, Oils, Anti Ageing, Exfoliaters and Masks, Serums, Night Cream, Day Cream, Hydration Treatments... And you know what - it doesn't matter WHAT stupid "formula" name they slap on it - ProEvolutiul x10 or something shit - it means BUGGER ALL!

This little tube Gemma bought yesterday cost close to £30. Granted, it lasts her a few years, but then, she only uses a tiny bit two or three times a week. There are those of you out there - and I can hear you shuffling uncomfortably - that would go through the tube on a regular basis.

Thirty quid. For foundation?

And don't tell me "Oh but I NEED it!" or "But it DOES make a difference!" because I refuse to believe it. If you lot just realised, you're going to get old, throwing money at your face won't change that, that money could be spent on other things you could ENJOY, products sporting "newly discovered proteins" and "Micro Bead Release Technology" would soon vanish.

Let's put it another way. If Hubby came home and had spent a metric Shit Ton of money on a new beer because it contained "Micro Activated Yeast & Hop Particles Transfused in a Laboratory" you lot would go mental. Proper garrity and off the rails. If you moan that "Hubby spent £80 in the pub this week" go look at all your lotions and potions, tally up all the treatments you have for your skin, your nails and your hair, and then tell me who had the more fun and cost the least.

And before any of you start jumping up and down and spitting your dummies out at the fact there are now male ranges of all this sort of shit, you're right. The men that fall for all that crap are idiots too. But I don't know a single bloke that buys it.

Comedy Pricing

Forgot to post this the other day - Gemma and myself saw it in Asda!

Just shows that women - even little kids - will pay anything for shoes!!

Bargain!

Nice to see Asda are doing their usual brilliant "Saving you money everyday" or whatever their crappy slogan is...

And I can confirm, the pricing on the shelf beneath IS for the bagged fruit above it...

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.

Technology!

I am a geek.  Everyone knows this, it's not something I keep secret from anyone, and usually if we're out somewhere and I get a whiff of there being something technological or full-on geekery, I am there.

Of course, this doesn't mean I love all technology - far from it.  I look at Blackberry phones for example and think "urgh" and the iPhone does nothing for me.  None the less, I can appreciate the tech behind them.

So imagine my surprise last week when I was shopping to see my usual brand of toilet paper baring a massive slogan: "New Easy Start Roll Techology"

Oooh thinks my boy-brain.  Now, I didn't buy it specifically for the technology behind it, and the price appeared to be the same as usual, so I slapped it in my basket and carried on.

As it turned out, I didn't actually need-need loo roll, so it's taken all this time to open it.  No, I will not open a new packet unless the previous purchases are finished.  Every time I've gone into the loo I've been keeping an eye on the existing stock in a hope I would get to see this "New Easy Start Roll Technology"

Ladies and Gents, today was that day.  Today, I opened the packaging expecting... Well, with hindsight, I am not entirely sure what I was expecting.  I can't say I've ever had much need improving my roll-starting technique.  Sure, I usually shred a few sheets due to the fact they glue it down, but none the less, this was New Easy Start Roll Technology.

Do you know what this "technology" comprised of.  No longer do they glue the first inch of paper down - hence the usual shredding - no siree.  No, the "new technology" involves leaving the first inch UNglued, and putting the glue a little further on the roll.

That's. It.

And you know what else?  I STILL shredded the first couple of sheets because they put sodding glue on tissue paper!!

Asda, hang your head in shame.  This is not "New Technology" this is just you putting the glue an inch further on the paper.

Yes, I am ranting about loo paper and my gullibility.  Stupid sodding paper.

Mortified

mor·ti·fy   
–verb (used with object)
1. to humiliate or shame, as by injury to one's pride or self-respect.
Also, Mortified

Today in Asda, I experienced being Mortified.  As a rule, I don't like attention, I don't like doing silly things in front of people, and especially, I don't like attention because of silly things I do in front of people I don't know.

Today, however, was THAT day.

Jaysen is at Summer School, so me and Tam toddled into town and did some shopping.  Everything was going fine and dandy, right up to THAT POINT.  That Point was, in case you're interested, the moment I put a large bottle of blue bubble bath into the shopping trolley.

Being as how I forgot my shopping list again, I was aimlessly wandering up and down the aisles, looking for things I needed.  Smellies Section, Deodrant.  Hair Section, Shampoo.  Veg section, Salad bits. Fruit Section, apples and bananas...

"DADDY!" exclaimed Tamsyn, pointing at the front of the trolley while I was deciding on my apples.  Gala vs. Pink Lady... Choices choices...

I look to see what Peanut is pointing at, and see the pretty blue drool hanging from the trolley.  Down the front of it, over the wheels, into a nice pool where I've sat parked.  Oops.  "Asda Aces (Cleaners) To Aisle 10..." comes over the PA system.  I look up, and see I am in number seven.  I look behind me and see the trail of blue blobs, a testament to the route I have taken.

Oh please no...

A member of staff sees my trolley bleeding blue blood, and grabs some wads of tissues and helps me clean my pool.  "Asda Aces to Aisle 9.." echoes around me.  "I think that's you!" says the lady helping me.  A few minutes pass, people are passing me muttering about not being able to get to where they need to get.  Asda Aces to Aisle 8..."

Oh please please no no no....

The woman finishes up stemming the bleeding from the trolley, I am apologising profusely, and head away from the scene.  Into what can only be described as a scene of carnage.  Aisles 8, 9 and 10 are closed.  There are people in high vis jackets rushing around with mops, tissues, on their knees wiping and swirling.  "Attention all Asda Aces, please report to Aisle 9.  Machine Cleaner required..."  I look down the aisles, which are all now closed....  Boxes and yellow signs "Cleaning in Progress" blocking both ends, people moaning they need to get this or that...

Oh god please no no bloody no....

THEN someone I know bumps into me.  "Alright Dan, what's happening?"

I shrug and run.  I'm out of that shop SO fast Tam didn't know what was happening.

Then, as we stepped off the bus at my stop, three of my bags ruptured and cascaded my shopping all over the pavement...

I am now not leaving the house for fear of Lynch Mobs.

Mission: Incomprehensible

There are some things I simply don't get.  Buying bottles to put ketchup in, for example, just seems like an exercise in futility.  If ketchup came in a bag or something, then fair enough, but it doesn't - it comes in a bottle.

It's like packing a box of things up - and putting that box in a box.

But I digress.  We all know I'm easily irked, and this is nothing new ;)  The last couple of weeks, the weather has, shall we say, gone somewhat downhill.  And you Aussie sorts can shush right now - I don't want to know how glorious you have it or anything else.

For the last few weeks, I've been putting off getting Jaysen a new coat.  Last years winter coat is, shall we say, a little worse for wear.  After all, it's been worn by a 9-10 year old boy that believes coats are indestructable.  Still, September was rather nice, so I figured "It can wait a bit"

Of course, last week, Mother Nature - being the evil sadistic cow she is - decided to turn the thermostat down, turn on the wind machine and for added measure, set the clouds to "constant drizzle" which I detest.  So, with the boy wearing little more than a large fleece, I sent him into school, and aided by Ickle 0dd Sister, we went coat shopping.

Now, neither me nor Jaysen are fussy when it comes to coats.  All we ask is that it's A) Warm, B) Waterproof, and C) Doesn't make you look like a complete knob.  Not such a hard criteria.  The only other thing I needed was that the coat was for 12-13 year olds as he's growing like a weed and I'd like the coat to last more than half the winter...  Gemma set to driving, and off we set.  Little did I realise how rubbish that day would be.

PS: Looking on the Matalan site, they also have the magical "13 years old, now vanish!" thing going on!!
Our first port of call was Matalan.  We went to the Boys section, and looked at their range of coats.  All THREE of them.  Four, if you count the sleeveless bodywarmer-type thing in there too.  One coat was quite nice, but Gemma said we could look elsewhere.  So I decided to do just that.  I'm not one to just buy the first thing I see.  So, across the road, we headed to Sainsburys.  Into the kids section, into the boys section...

Now, according to the wisdom that is whoever runs the kids section in this bloody shop, once a kid reaches 12 years old, he ceases to exist.  There are NO coats in there for kids aged 13+.  From dinky-size, through the early years, double digits, eleven, twelve... Then nothing.  The smallest adult coat would have smothered any normal 13 year old child.

We spoke to a member of staff in there, and she was as stunned as we were - she hadn't even realised.  Of course, she was helpful - she told us to go to Matalan (where we'd just come from) or try Tesco.

So, back into the car, and across Basildonia, into Tesco.  Now, I should point out, this store is huge.  Me and Kellie shopped in there last week, and from end to end, it took nearly two hours to fill our trolley.  They sell pretty much anything you might ever need.

UNLESS that thing is a coat.  Not only did the age thing happen again (thirteen year olds don't exist!), but the entire selection was just three coats.  Three ugly coats.  And that was that.

We tried Choice, which is a Next outlet store, but they had ONE style, and that style was "shite" and looked like someone had waxed a dressing gown.  I even went into the Sports Direct, thinking people into sports would need warm clothes for standing around watching people do whatever sporty things they are watching...  Most were ugly, and the one that wasn't too ugly was more than I would spend on a coat for ME.

You know what.  We ended up going back to the first bloody shop and getting the coat that wasn't quite so bad.  Sure, we could have gone into the town centre, into the shopping centre and going through every single clothing-related store, but I really wanted to go home.

And before anyone suggests Primark, that was where I got his other coat last year - which lasted approximately three weeks.

So why is it that boys cease to exist at 13 years of age?  The girls sections had coats through the teen years, but boys...  I could have gotten him something out of a catalogue, but that would have been so stupidly priced, it wouldn't have been worth it - plus he needed it a week ago!

So to all the big chains, the places that most people look when they need something - pull your bloody fingers out chaps.  Give us a better selection, in the sizes we need - not the proverbial middle finger with a sign saying "If you don't like it, lump it" Seriously, it cannot be THAT hard.

And you know what, next year, I will have to get one that falls into that mystical age category that doesn't exist...  That should be a fun day...  Incidentally, that coat picture is the one I ended up buying too.  Thick, waterproof and warm - and doesn't make him look like a complete dick.

Crack Security Force

Today I spent my time mostly sitting with Kellie.  Yes, I'm a sap.  Gemma turned up after school with her wee ones, and the two girls spent their time gassing while Kellie had cuddles with Zoe - sorry, Zoé, which became feeding Zoé, burping Zoé and more cuddles with Zoé.

Jaysen, in the meantime, was running around with Amy, sorting out toys and having a laugh with his wee ickle cousin.

Gemma decided to drive Kellie home to save her getting the bus (Awww) which probably doesn't bode well for me.  Females being Females, and all that...

When they left, I decided to take Jaysen into town and get him a McDonalds - it's not often we have take away food, and while I had a strawberry milkshake, he had food.  And it's there that I get to the point of this post...

See, we were sitting in a rather sparsely-populated food court.  Various resturants and fast-food joints and cafés and suchlike.  However, with it being 5pm, most people were going home and NOT sitting in the food court. 

While we were sitting and eating, I noticed that the table diagonally across from us had a friend, in the form of a bulging backpack.  The table was clean - so either it had been cleaned and the bag ignored, or it had been put at the table after cleaning.

Regardless, there was an unattended bag.

Now, you probably know where my mind is at this point.  I really wasn't expecting it to go blammo, but the whole "you never know" factor was there.  In this day and age, with hightened security levels and threats from all and sundry, the risk was there.

Being a Good Citizen, I get up and alert the girls that look after the tables.  "Excuse me, sorry, but I thought I'd let you know there's a bag with no owner sitting at that table."  The woman looked at me and huffed.

Yes, she huffed. 

"Oh IS there?" she asked me.  Now, the backpack wasn't big, but it was sticking up from the chair and quite visible.  I turned and pointed.  She huffed again.  "Oh OK then" and she wandered off.  No thanks, no acknowledgement, no bravery award.

I sit back down with Jaysen and watch the old girl toddle over and pick up the pack almost gingerly.  With one meaty hand, she wandered over to the other staff who were watching and performed a careful check.

She shook it.

*shake-shake-shake-jiggle-jiggle*

There was no firey ball of death, no cloud of death-flavoured gas.  Thankfully.

So, from the height of four feet, she dropped it to the ground, and with one meaty "I'm On My Feet All Day" foot, kicked it under the cleaning station.

Again, no Blammo, No Hisssss-gag-choke.

A few minutes later, a Proper Security Guard arrives.  He looked very very bored, and leaned over the cleaning station to chat up the younger girl working there.  My Lady pointed out the backpack, so he skirfed it out with his Size 12 Security Shoe, picked it up and shook it.

No Blammo.  No Hissssss-die.

So, with all the precautions taken, his Keen Security Training moved to the next level.  He opened it.  The first thing I noticed were wires.  Not to be put off, he turned the back upside down and shook out all the stuff inside into the sink.  I think one of the items that crashed into the metal bowl was a multimeter or something similar.  Wires, some tools..

As me and Jaysen made our escape, he was casually stuffing it all back into the pack.  I didn't look back.  I'd make an awful witness...

Now, it's not just me, is it?  I mean, heaven forbid it HAD been someone that was sick of the infidels - the British, the Shopping Center, McDonalds, Men, Women, whatever - my last thought would have been "What is that silly cow do- *BLAMMO*"  The headlines would have reported the terrorist attack on Eastgate, and some poor sap would be scooping my intestines from the Happy Meals.  It wouldn't have read "Security Team: What A Bunch Of Knobs" or anything else.

Sitting around that table was myself with Jaysen, a mum with six kids, a mum and dad with two kids, a mum with three kids, plus various staff for the various places, and whoever happened to be in the shops above and below.

All because of Miss *shake-shake-shake-jiggle-jiggle*

It's All Go

I'm not sure what it is, but the last five or six days have been manic. Well, manic in some aspects, lazy in others but none the less, it's all caught up with me this afternoon.

I spent the day out with Ruth and Alyce - harassing the wildlife that inhabits the local post office, being unruly on the bus, and embarassing the masses around the town centre. Like any wandering butt-head, I needed a recharge, and it was more Chinese food at a local buffet that was in order.

Seriously, yum.

Then it was back to walking up and down the length, breadth and depth of town, Asda and then finally home. THEN it was the school run, then back to Ruths, then home where I collapsed and set about running around the Government.

See - when the pooey stuff hit the fan at the start of March, I called all the departments and set about sorting stuff out for me. Well, one department "lost" my claim, so I've had to kick them in the butt. The second department asked for evidence of me having a child - which would have been the completed claim from the first department. So I called them, and instead they want Jaysens Birth Certificate, and brownie points for his Passport. Done and done.

Then a third department are now after me because I have left someone else to raise my child. Eh? Yes folks, the Child Support Agency who are now MANDATORY for all new claims... So I called them, and the woman was as bemused as me. See, I have to fill out the claim and file a counter claim which means the government will over see me paying Jo £5 a week towards Tam, and Jo will pay ME £5 per week towards Jaysen. All that paperwork, man hours, filing, inputting...

Just so me and Jo can swap a fiver a week...

I know, I know, it's all crap, but there's not a lot we can do about it.

Moving on, after being so busy the last few days, I am paying for it today. I woke up and felt a bit achey and headachey, and rapidly went downhill from there. By about midday I was hurting, and once I got it, well, sod anything that resembles movement. Plus, on top of it, I'm so not with it, I decided that crashing my head into a low ceiling at Ruths was just what I needed, jarred my neck, spanked the skull, clattered my teeth...

So, now it's a big cuppa, pain killers, feet up and... NOTHING.

Stupid body.

A Sort-Of-First

Today was the first time since the poop hit the fan that the cupboards needed restocking. Even the mice and roaches left, there was so little in the house. Now, before, I could quite merrily go out, buy what we needed and come back, but for some reason, this was a big new thing to me.

Luckily, Jo was on hand to assist.

We met up in town, wandered around the estate agents looking at places to rent and putting her name down for when places come up. Then we went to a little resturant (obviously the kids were with us too) and had lunch, and tackled the shop.

As per the previous blog entry, the shop was Hellish with people wrestling through crowds to get everything they needed. We wandered up and down, going through the things I needed, looking for deals and what-have-you to save money.

All in all, I did rather well, and have restocked the cupboards and fridge/freezer with actual food. Granted, I forgot the dog food, but I went to the local pet shop and bought their over-priced stuff to tide me over, and a rawhide bone as an apology for forgetting her.

But I did it, I shopped, got what was neccesary and didn't go over my budget. Go me.

The fact Jo was there guiding me is not the point though ;)

An Easter Warning

With Easter finally arriving, despite the fact the stores have been pointing out since the start of the year, it's nice to see people in the shops actually realise this fact. Asda today was packed with people stocking up on Easter Eggs. But, ho ho, being that Friday and Monday are both Bank Holidays, people were buying stacks of bread, milk, groceries...

It was manic.

People, Asda is open as normal Friday, Saturday, Sunday trading hours on Sunday and Monday...

But this isn't about me ranting about shoppers for a change. This is about news people. You need to pay attention to this tale for your Easter Break.

MANILA (AFP) - Philippine health officials Wednesday warned people taking part in Easter crucifixions and self-flagellation rituals to get a tetanus shot first and sterilise the nails to avoid infections.

Every Good Friday in this predominately Roman Catholic Southeast Asian nation dozens of men re-enact the crucifixion of Jesus Christ by having themselves nailed to wooden crosses.

At the same time hundreds of others, mostly men, strip to the waist and whip themselves until their backs are cut and bloody as a way of atoning for their sins over the past year.

The Catholic church frowns upon the crucifixions and self flagellations which have become a tourist attraction in a number of towns around the country.

The department of health issued a health warning advising people taking part in the rituals this Friday to have tetanus shots and to check the condition of the whip they will use before lashing their backs.

It warned that dirty whips could lead to tetanus and other infections.

Health Secretary Francisco Duque said that as was hard to discourage "flagellants from whipping their own flesh, the best penitents can do is ensure that their whips are well-maintained."

According to the Manila Times, in San Fernando City, Pampanga, some 23 people, including two women, plan to reenact the crucifixion on Friday.

"We are not trying to go against the Lenten tradition here because whipping has somewhat already become some form of 'atonement for sins' for some of us," Duque said.

"But this advice is important to make sure that no one will land in the hospital due to tetanus or other infections that penitents might get in the process," he said.

The health department has also warned that the six-inch (15-centimetre) nails used in crucifixions should be sterilised.

So there you have it. Please don't forget your little needles before you insert the big nails.

Bane Of My Life

Like any half-decent Superhero, I have my weakness, my bane, my Achilles Heel. Superman goes all squiffy with Kryptonite. Batman is only a normal person. Spiderman has his whole "Unstable Mutation". The Hulk can't control himself. Daredevil is blind. The Flash has a stupidly-high metabolism. Sportacus is weakened by sugar... Added to this, each Superhero has a arch enemy... Lex Luthor, The Joker, The Kingpin, The US Army, Bullseye, Gorilla Grodd, Robbie Rotten.

Anyway, while proving me and Jo are in fact Big Fat Nerds, I do have a point. And that point is that the bane of my life is the Mobility Scooter, and my arch enemy is "Anyone Old".

So today, we decided we needed to go shopping, and upon arrival in Asda, Jo decides how she is going to shop...


Yes, that is Jo - and Tam - in a mobility scooter. And she also falls into the "Anyone Old" category. So I spent the better part of the morning hobbling around after her while we shopped and filled the basket. Amazingly she didn't kill anyone, though Tam did figure how to work the controls and zoom around randomly. I, however, did get "accidentally struck" a few times.

So, not only was I shopping (*shudder*), not only was every old fart and their partner shopping in their mobility scooters, but I was also dealing with all the Xmas crap everywhere. HOW I didn't murder anyone is beyond me.

I also managed to catch a movie of The Ramming Wonder "zooming" around, and get to play with the Video feature of Blogger ;)

Anyone else spot the irony that there's a pensioner blocking the way and Jo is in the scooter - but unlike "Old Fart in the Scooter" Jo refrained from running her out of the way.

Another Edit: For the perverts of you out there, watch the woman to the far-right bend down to pick up something: Thong Alert!! hehe

In A Shock Move...

Many many years ago, this thingie was invented called the Compact Disc. The tapes I owned were dusty, old and hey, new technology! I had to have it, and from the day I got a CD Player, I started buying CDs. Albums, Singles, Rare Releases... All mine!!

Even today, I have a cupboard that is literally overflowing with music of all kinds, all types, some great, some not-so-great, some... well, some really not good. Music has always been a part of who I am.

And then, many years later, someone created this cool thing called "File Sharing". Every song I ever wanted but never bought, available at the whim of a search engine. My music collection went from a few hundred Albums to a few thousand tracks. Yes, I was a bad person. However, over the days, weeks, months and even years, my downloading has petered off to almost nothing.

Why?

Because (and at the risk of sounding like an old codger) music today sucks ass. Every now and then, I might borrow a CD from someone and copy it, or burn some of my own music onto my computer, but in general, not much music of today catches my eye. Or my ear.

Then last night, a friend of mine mentioned the William Shatner album. I laughed. I actually have one of his tracks, a cover of Pulps Common People which I love, but the thought of him doing an actual album of music... So, I wandered the web, listening to some samples, some clips, and I realised something scary.

I was enjoying this 70-something year old guy talking his way through records. OK, he actually sang one song, but still...

Now, apparently waaay back, he released a load of Beatles covers - this is NOT that album, this is the album Has Been.

And, in a shock move, I bought it.

Yes folks, for the first time in five or six years, I parted with money for something because I appreciated it that much. A couple of the tracks are amusing, a couple are almost cringeworthy, and there is even one track on there that chocked me up so much I almost burst into tears because the lyrics hit so close to home.

So, next time you're looking for some music, hunting for something just that little bit different, have a go at the album. It's probably a "Love It Or Hate It" deal, but I love it!

Edit1 - Jo listened to the William Shatner tracks and hated them. Guess she's going to be unhappy for a while ;)
Edit2 - Updated my MP3 Collection list on the right-hand Linkage section, but for ease of updating/publication, I've put the list on my Last.fm page. You can view the list Here.

GAH!

I'm in town, tired, aching and still fighting off a headache, but i SWEAR if one more pensioner pushes me, bumps over my foot or glares at me for playing with Tam...... Suffice to say, I will become famous and be splashed on every paper in the country!

Crappy Days

With Jaysen being back at school, I have noticed something has cropped back up. Pain and Tiredness.

Trying to get back into the routine of "Get Up, Get Sorted, Get Out, Get In, Get Tidy, Get Fed, Get Re-Sorted, Get Out, Get In, Get Dinner..." It's bloody never ending, and I'm finding less and less time to do anything. This morning I struggled to peel myself out of bed, hardly had the energy to shower, let alone wash and dry my hair.

THEN once I was sorted, and Jaysen was sorted, it was a case of fight the old buggers in town milling around every fricking aisle I needed. The old idiots walk even slower than me and act like they own the world. Yes I sound ageist, but none the less, please, when someone appears to be in a bit of a rush, don't stand there and glare at "the rude young man" just get out his bloody way!

Don't even remind me how close Xmas is...

And now, I've managed to eat some lunch, take my meds (late) and am trying not to fall asleep on this ever-so-comfortable sofa. I'm hurting, the pills aren't taking the edge off anything, but I can't fall asleep as Tam is maurading and Jo is asleep. Plus I am smelling evil stinky something, while no one else can, so it's time for headache pills as well!

So don't be surprised that posting is sporadic over the next day or three ;)

Oh, and in reply to the previous comments, I didn't put the spoon in the socket on purpose, I didn't decide to do it on a spur of a moment kinda thing, it just "happened". No Darwin Award for me, but that's no great loss. The post Tim mentioned in regards to the broken glass is Here. And that was only February!

Slowly But Surely...

Christmas is creeping towards us. Of course, the people in town today seem to think that the world is ending tomorrow, and will be desolate for what appears to be a month. People buying twenty pints of milk, a dozen loaves of bread, the worlds supply of loo roll - and so on.

We didn't want to go into town, but had to - there was nothing we could do to avoid it, though if a certain person was a REAL friend she would have done as I asked her this morning, but noooo I had to go. So nuts. On the bright side, Jo got me another pressie. The last couple of weeks I've been complaining about my wooden cockpit (minds out the gutter) - takes up room, too much space, too much dust, blocks the window. I am, of course, referring to my desk. As much as I love it, it's just... excessive. So we hunted the web, saw some nice ones, and collected my new one today.

Of course, I don't get to set it up yet, no no. Firstly I have been doing computer repairs ALL DAY LONG. Person X - remember him - well his computer decided to just give up the ghost, but not one for being beaten, I set it up on it's on while I fixed the other two. Install, reinstall, fiddle around, windows update, no worries - however.

There's always a but. It would seem Person X has been the victim of what I can only describe as a lightning strike. Aside from his graphics card, every single item of the computer is dead, fried, and knackered. I have no idea what has happened to it, what he has done to it or how it happened, but I have spent the ENTIRE poxy day dismantling, rebuilding, re-dismantling, re-rebuilding, re-re-dismantling, and then testing every single component one by one on Jo's computer. It was literally "dead", "dead", "dead", "oooh workin-no, dead"...

So, I just got off the phone to him. It's worse than that, it's dead Jim, all over again. He was not best pleased, but you know what, I wasn't too bothered. I'm good, but not THAT good. So, I gently suggest "Go to a shop and get a proper computer!" He then said something that made me think I don't feel even remotely bad, screw you! He said to me "Ah well, it's OK, I've got a couple of grand in the bank"

Tosser.

So my entire day twatting around on his computer, achieving NOTHING could have been avoided if I had told him it was dead, piss off. After all, it's nice to be loaded.

*grumble*

Anyway, things are slowly going from messy to manic, and the social calendar is filling. I don't think I have a free day till New Year. 2008. If you're a hitman, might I suggest you pay a visit to Person X. Tis the season, after all...

Monday Already?

Days are not like buses, as they turn up, one after the other, without fail, and three do not arrive at the same time... However, I am sure that some days are long or shorter than others. Take last week for example. Monday rolled around, then 30 hours later it was Tuesday, two days later it was Wednesday, eventually it was Thursday, and finally, along with much rejoicing it was Friday, Friday evening and the weekend arrived. Last week dragged, and seemed to take forever to go anywhere. The upside of this was that the weekend too should in fact drag.

And yet all of a sudden, I am back to Monday. It's like I'm stuck in that stupid fricking Bill Murray movie, Groundhog Day.

The weekend was spent indoors (mostly), in the quiet (not mostly) without a care in the world (not at all). Saturday I was up early (duh), but Sunday I actually slept in till a massive 9am, where, once dressed, we face The Town (Bum-Bum-Buuuuum). More Xmas shopping, more food shopping, busy in general. And we blew up one of the automated checkouts in Asda, but still...

I've been pottering around on EvE Online mostly this weekend for a change, but also jumped on Warcraft last night to poodle around with Jo, and chatted to a friend on there most of the evening.

And then it's Monday.

Anyway, for those of you that know what it's like, a good friend of mine has had to take her son into hospital for the next stage of his heart surgery. Keep everything crossed for David - I know his mum, Rosie, is dreading it.

So, back to the grind I suppose. Maybe I'll keep entertained by sending and receiving text messages all day!

Dagnabbit

So, I made the post about shopping this morning, took Jaysen to school, went back to Ruths for my usual coffee+gossip while Jo woke up, and got a message from sleeping beauty - "We need to go into town".

Which means I didn't quite get away as scot-free as I might like. And in my manflu-state as well I should add. As usual, people are busy bustling, oblivious to the world around them, pushing through gaps they really can't fit through, rushing to newly-opened checkouts, and generally being ignorant to those around them.

It's the season of giving, alright. Giving me a headache.

And He's Off The Hook!

It may come as a surprise to you, Mr or Mrs Reader, that I am not a shopper. My genes have me pegged as a geek, a love of all things tech, a roleplayer and maybe even a damn fine looking man, but they do not have me down as a shopper. It's mostly a female trait. So, when Jo said to me yesterday "I'm going to sort most of the Christmas Shopping", the chivalrous part of me was stomped to death by the anti-shopper in me. When she said "I'll take the kids too!" the chivalrous part of me twitched, but the size 14's of the arsehole in me put a swift stop to that.

So last night Jo took two kids and a taxi, into town. The Taxi didn't want to go shopping, but none the less... And she returned a few hours later, laden down like Santa himself, with bags bulging gifts of various size. I dutifully helped her into the house with them, and stood by with a smile on my face as she explained "And this is for nan, this is for mum, this is for someone else, this is blah-blah." But inside my sad sad little mind I was thinking "Yahoo, most of the shopping is done, whoohoo yay cheer!"

Which means no fighting through the crowds of grannies stocking up for the long winter, no hordes of wrinkled wonders to run over my toes with walking frames, shopping trollies or motorised wheelchairs, and most importantly, not standing in the line headed by the old dear paying for her stacks of shopping One. Coin. At. A. Time.

Of course, I don't for a second think I am going to get off scot-free. Oh No. We've still got to get the pressies for the kids, not to mention Jaysen decided to put his earthly appearance in on the 11th of December - two weeks before Xmas. So he gets nothing for a year, then within two weeks gets piles of gifts. Cheeky little bugger.

And of course, I still need to get Jo something. Of course, she's the perfect person to buy for as she's a geek as well - a lesser geek, but none the less. Her ideas list almost hit girlie... Earrings, necklace, smellies, lingere (which, let's face it, I am sure I can cope with!) - but then her list took a dive towards Geekdom. Keyboard, Mouse, Graphics card... Bless. If Freud were still alive, he'd look at my computer setup, look at her computer setup, and stamp her patient form with "Tech-Envy".

Of course, the upside to geeky-gifts for her - I can order online and not leave the house ;)

The status of my Chivalrous side remains unknown at this time. If you're a female and walking behind me and a door slams in your face, don't be surprised!