Talk to the hand

I was enjoying my normal Saturday afternoon pint last, er, Saturday afternoon. We were watching Gillette Soccer Special on Sky. On BBC, Wales were playing South Africa in a rugby international. All through the match I was getting texts from two friends about the match; one South African, one Welsh. These men live in different hemispheres and have never met each other. Both were moaning about the ref and giving me updates as they happened. Being the good friend I am, I responded to each of the texts. Not wishing to upset my friends, I do find it wonderful that you support your respected teams so avidly and thank you for sharing your afternoon's plight with me, but honestly, I really don't give a fuck about Wales vs South Africa. Why on earth would I be interested in a rugby match that didn't involve the team I support?

I get this a lot. On Mondays I get all the match reports for various colleague's football teams. Recently I was chatting to a colleague in the work's kitchen. Previous to this, our converesations have never gone past a brief nod and perhaps the odd 'alright?'. He opened up to me and told me he was about to resign and that his best friend's mother had just died. Dude, I really don't need or want to know all this. Some years ago I was in a nightclub and I bumped into an ex-girlfriend. After exchanging pleasantries, she asked if I fancied going for a walk. 'Aye-up' I thought, 'We're under starter's orders'. She spent the next 2 hours telling me about all the troubles she was having with her current boyfriend.

People, people. In future, if I want to know, I'll ask, ok?

Things I've noticed...

... on my travels recently

When travelling in the inside lane on a dual carrageway and they car in front indicates to turn left into a side road, the car behind will always try and pull into the outside lane. Why not just decelerate, wait for the car in front to get out of the way and then proceed as normal instead of causing a pileup?

Cars joining the motorway from a sliproad always try and get into the middle lane immediately, as if the inside lane is suddenly going to explode. Motorists that do this tend to stay in the middle lane for the duration of their journey, before violently hurling the car into the inside lane at the last second as they exit the motorway.

If you see a car with the back windscreen wiper constantly on, it will invariably be driven by the fairer sex.

If you want to buy a secondhand car, try and buy one off a pensioner. Guaranteed it will have never gone over 35 mph and will have only ever been driven on a Sunday.

Ads

I hate advertising, all forms of it. Like those adverts you get facing you when you are on a tube platform. 'Get a free holiday*' in 4 foot high letters. And at the bottom in small print '*if you spent £3k a month on our insurance' which is so small you have to risk being twatted in the head by the northbound from Elephant & Castle to read. Television adverts are the worst. There's one that is for some investment fund (I think) when a guy comes home from his job at the call centre to find his child has arrange some alphabet on the floor that spells out 'Palaeontology'. Firstly, no set of alphabet blocks has 3 o's in them. Secondly no offspring from this fucknut would be that intelligent. Thirdly, if it was, he wouldn't be doing crap adverts to make ends meet, he'd have sold the brat to the circus.

I was in the Carp a few weeks ago and the landlord got the remote out to flick from one channel to the next, and that advert with the griller playing drums came on. 'Don't change channel' one of the punters yelled 'this is brilliant. Watch. watch. Wait. This is brilliant. Wait' and when the drumming started, the whole pub guffawed like they had just heard the best-joke-in-the-world-ever™ for the first time.

The plagiarism annoys me too. There are always rip offs of the same idea, for the same product type, different product. Car adverts for example. We had a spell where every car advert was all about longing. There's some skinny prick working at a country club, putting up with all the shit given to him by the rich and clueless. At the end of the day, he gets into his 1 litre Corsa GTi with a stunning prostitute and all the members looking on longingly. Change car model, lowlife job, setting and repeat ad nauseam. There was a load of adverts that had groups of kids singing some rock song over them a while back. Now we are treated to Tom Baker/Little Britain'esque voiceovers for every goddamn product on the market. I would love to know how the ad companies sell these ideas to clients. Like this no doubt.

Double whammy

I got a settlement from the insurance on my bike. They wrote the thing off can you believe. A 10mph bump on the road and they write it off. I'm not overly concerned, I had it valued recently at £1800 and I got a cheque for £2625, so I think I've scored a bit. The settlement included the deduction of £200 excess, as the accident was deemed to be my fault. Nice. Some dicklicker pulls out in front of me, I fall off, write my bike off, damage my shoulder, ribs, wrist and knees, knacker all my riding gear and I am liable. Anyway, like I said, it was a generous pay off so I guess I should be grateful.

The day after I received the cheque, I get a phone call from the missus. 'Honey, who are we insured with?' she asks. A few minutes into the conversation she informs me that a couple of days prior, she reversed into a car. She got out and inspected it, couldn't see any damage so drove off. Unfortunately, someone saw her do it, as did the owner of the car. Now I guess she should have left her details, but seeing as no damage was done, she didn't. I think I probably would have done the same. In fact, I have done so many times before. Cars bumped into each other, it happens. So, the women rings up and says that her car is badly damaged and it's an insurance job. Great, in a couple of weeks I will have lost a total of 9 years no-claims bonuses, forked out £400 in excess fees and no doubt doubled my insurance premiums. Oh well.

The wife was upset by it all, so me being the good guy I am, I went onto the Interflora website and sent her flowers (same day delivery, extra £10, ta). This seemed to un-upset her briefly. I didn't think at the time, but, she drives into a car, I pay for it, and I send her flowers to make her feel better! I'm such a soft touch. (I checked my bank statement a few days later and they charged me twice as well). To make matters worse, I went to Sainsburys to get my lunch (tuna sweetcorn back on the menu, huzzah) and there was a bint collecting for some charity at the door. Acid Casualties of the 60's or something. I only had an Ayrton on me so told her I'd give her something on the way out. My lunch came to exactly £2, I was given 3 nuggets and a deep sea diver in change, so I had to give the bitch a pound.

I'm not going to have much money left to buy a replacement bike at this rate.

Scandal

I've been reading in the news all week about the scandal surrounding secret donations to the Labour Party. Terrible isn't it? Now there are calls for HRH Gordon to step down as PM over this affair. Well, we all know it's going on, it's like downloading MP3's or going 5 mph over the speed limit as far as I am concerned. I think of the state South African politics is in at the moment. Their politicians have always been a little off centre when it comes to honesty, but the new regime take it to a new level. The President denies AIDS exists (although I think he might have had a change of heart now after seeing so many of his staff drop dead from 'being a bit thin'). The deputy President has just fought a rape charge, and the Chief Of Police has been suspended due to corruption and having personal attachments to known criminals. If this were a school report Mr Brown, under 'Villainy' I would have to write 'Must try harder.'

Unfoodlike foodstuffs

For three days in a row, Sainsbury's haven't had any tuna and sweetcorn sandwiches on the shelves. Gagging for a bit of tuna, I bought one of those gourmet type things (same as normal, just in a fancy wrapper). This one happened to be tuna and cucumber. It was revolting. I have a problem with cucumber. In my humble opinion, food should taste like, well, food. Cucumber tastes like water that has been left in the sun too long. But crunchy. Very disconcerting. Mozarella is also on my shitlist. Cheese should taste like it has been left to fester in a sock for a year, not like skimmed milk that has been left to go hard. Food with no taste is like a piece of silent music, or an odourless smell. My worst case scenario is cucumber and mozarella on rice crackers. Sort it out Sainsbury's or continue to feel my wrath.

Why do these things happen to me?

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to own a drum machine. I started a band in Coventry some years ago with the concept of having two guitars and a drum machine. The fact that I couldn't afford one, and Carter USM beat me to it kind of pissed on my fire. So we became bad Nirvana clones instead.

Anyway, skip the present, I've got into eBay a bit and have bought loads of useless stuff off it. Every time I see a drum machine, I stick a bid in, but my tenner usually looks a bit pikey by the time the item is sold. I noticed one I was bidding on was getting quite close to ending, and my max bid of £20 was winning. A few minutes before the close, someone else bid against me. I was pushed hard but managed to secure it for £30. More than I wanted to spend, I grant you, but after scores of unsuccesful attempts to procure said musical item, I had to get one by fair means or foul. Considering most of these things sell for well over £100, I convinced myself it was a good deal, and I would be rocking the world in a few days. I immediately paid the £42 (postage a bit steep, but there you go) through PayPal and waited. And waited. I promised myself to be patient.

A week later I get an email from the guy I bought from asking me when I was going to pay. I explained I had, and forwarded all the confirmation emails to him. Then I get an email full of aplogy, saying he had buggered up and used an old PayPal account and he couldn't get to the money, could I cancel the payment and resubmit. I explained I couldn't because I had used my credit card and the money had already gone from my account. Emails went back and forth, and, I admit, the guy seemed genuine and was trying to sort it out. The last I heard from him he said that he'd been in touch with PP and I had to phone them to sort it out. I tried to ring them a few times, but could never get through.

Having had enough of this, I sent him a sharp email accusing him of being a thief, a liar and if I didn't get my money back or product from him, I will tell everyone, rubbish his name in public, sue him, curse him, then do it all again. With a few expletives thrown in. Feeling better for it, I left it at that and waited for his response. I went back to my eBay emails to see if anyone else had sent me one. It was then that I saw one from this guy, sent BEFORE the one I had just sent telling me that he had sorted everything out, the drum machine was in the post and he can't apologise enough for the trouble caused. I feel bad.

Wedding attire

What is it about men/weddings/kilts? It seems that every second set of wedding photos I see, the male contingent of the bridal party look like William Wallace. Now before you shoot me down in flames, I understand that there are a lot of Scotsmen in the world that do happen to get married, and I understand that they like to wear kilts on their wedding day. And all credit to them for doing so. But I do think that some folk use their wedding day as an excuse to wear a skirt. It's like the female equivalent of any opportunity to wear a hat.

Example 1. I went to a wedding in Durban a couple of years ago. Bridegroom and mates all donning the whole kilt malarky. At the reception, I mentioned to the broad South African accented BG that I didn't realise he was Scottish, to which he replied that he wasn't, but his wife's father was. I stopped short of asking if his father-in-law was an Apache, would he have turned up with feathered headdress on a hoss.

Example 2. I recall my own wedding preparations fondly. Conversely to the wife purchasing her ensemble from 15 different countries across the course of two years, I staggered into a dress-suit hire shop the day before my wedding, with a stinking hangover. I had no idea what to wear on my big day, so asked for some advice. I was offered various outfits, one of which included a kilt. Bearing in mind I was married in South Africa, I asked 'Why on earth would I wear a kilt?' and the guy (selecting my vowel carefully) replied 'Well you are English aren't you, I think it would be appropriate'. Hmm. In the end I chose a tuxedo, which on reflection did make me look like the world's weediest bouncer.

A request...

... to the guy that filmed 'Eastern Promises' from the projection booth and posted it on the internet. Next time you take a cam into a movie theatre to illegally video a film, can you clear your bowels before doing so? A serious film being interupted every 5 minutes with a load fart is kind of distracting. Cheers.

Bird flu

I see there has been another outbreak of bird flu. I reckon it's a rumour spread by turkeys to stop us eating them at Xmas.

Busted

I went to a mate's 40th birthday on Saturday night. It was in Salisbury, so I motored down with another mate (yes, I have 2) and checked into a hotel. The pub where the party was being held was about 10 miles from the hotel, so we sorted out a taxi to take us there. The party was supposed to start at 7pm, but we thought we'd get there earlier (5:30pm) and have a few warm up pints. The taxi dropped us off in the car park and sped off. I walked up to the entrance and pulled the door. It didn't budge. I pushed it with the same result. I peeked through the window and there were no lights on. Ah shit. I noticed on the way there, that there wasn't another pub for at least 2 miles on the route we came in. So we started walking in the other direction. It was a long country road and it looked like it there wasn't anything in that direction either. Ah double shit.

We resigned ourselves to the fact that it was going to be a long wait, so took up a seat at one of the benches in the beer garden. From there I could see the lights on the beer pumps on the bar counter. You can't imagine how frustrating that is when you are gagging. Anyway, having waited for about half an hour, the cup of tea I had consumed at the hotel decided it was time to be expelled. As there was no-one about, and considering there was a distinct lack of a public convenience, I wasn't shy about unzipping and depositing the tea against a willow tree in the car park.

I was halfway through my tinkle when suddenly the car park lit up like a football pitch. I spun round in surprise to find the landlady of the pub standing at the now opened entrance door, staring at me, and my friend pissing himself (not literally) on the bench. She was good about it and never mentioned it when I finally summoned the courage to enter the pub, but I bet she had a good chuckle everytime I went to the bar.

Mobile phone

Note mobile PHONE, not mobile phone USER. What is it about people that whenever their moby goes off, they stand up and start wandering around? (Rhetorical question, please don't reply). I was at the airport t'other day, Terminal 3, very busy. I managed to find a seat in the arrivals hall. I was very grateful for this as I had been standing by the corridor where the passengers walk through looking for their loved ones before waving wildly and saying 'yes, it was a good flight thank you'. Where was I? Oh yes, standing alongside the fence waiting for the misus and His Majesty to come through. This women and her friend wedged themselves in next to me. She was talking very loudly to her friend and then proceeded to eat a Ben's Cookie which was the size of a soup bowl. I spotted a vacant seat and made my escape. I sat next to a guy who's phone went off not long after I parked. He answered, then shot to his feet and started pacing around. I watched him for a good 5 minutes, he was up and down, in and out the crowd, in a world of his own. Now you would think that in a busy airport terminal, you would find a quiet corner and finish your conversation. Not this fella, he did about 2 miles during the course of his call. When it was finished, he pocketed his phone, found a seat not far from me and sat down again.

As is the norm, my missus was the last one off the flight. By that time, the cookie eater had dissapeared along with most of the fence dwellers. I went back to my original position. While I was waiting, a passenger came through the doors, talking on his phone. He walked down the corridor a bit, then left his trolley against the side and continued pacing up and down whilst he was on his call. When it was finished, he retrieved his trolley and went on his merry way.

So why do people wander so when on a mobile? Are they trying to get a better reception? Are they revelling in the fact that there are no wires and find the freedom too much to resist? Is there some microwave that makes legs restless? One will never know, but check it out, no one uses a mobile and remains seated.

Sick joke

The kid is ill again. I must have spent half my bloody wages on Calpol and Medised since his birth. I took him to the doctor yesterday and got told that he (the kid) is ill and needs to be dosed up with Calpol and Medised. I reckon I could do this doctor lark, sounds very easy. No matter, as I was leaving, the doctor said 'See you soon' to which I replied 'I hope not'. He shot me a glare.

Either:
a) I'm not as funny as I think
b} The doctor doesn't have a sense of humour
c} The doctor has heard this joke more times than the kid has had doses of Calpol and Medised
d} All of the above

By the way, I typed this whole post with my left hand, surely a first in bloggage history.

Filtering obstacles

It's not been so long since I came off the bike, so I am still a little wary on the roads. I know I am, because I get overtaken by other bikes and scooters (spit) a lot more regularly than I used to. I've tried to avoiding filtering whenever I can. Last night coming home, there was a huge queue just short of the Hammersmith Flyover. There wasn't much choice but to filter. As I was passing the stationery cars, I looked for drivers switching lanes quickly, people opening their doors and such like. What I was not expecting was some fucknut pikey to step out in front of me selling roses. I should have ploughed into her out of principle.

National Insurance fireworks

In the 2 years that he has been been in his house, my neighbour hasn't done an honest day's work. This is not an assumption, he freely admits that he lives off benefits. This sticks in my throat, but he is an ok kind of guy, a single dad who's kids are nice enough and don't cause any trouble. So I stick this fact I know about him to the back of my mind.

On Monday night, I was startled by an explosion next door, followed by another. Fireworks. I'm not sure if modern day fireworks are all equipped to send flares 2km into the sky and pop your eardrums, but the ones he had made loud enough bangs to make a US Army General stiff. This went on for a full two hours, scaring the Felix out of my poor moggies. For every one that went off, I thought 'I paid for that'. Glad to see that the money this Welfare State dishes out so freely is getting used for good purposes.

Annual review

I had my annual review last week. They take it quite seriously at my company. Before anyone's review, the reviewer sends out a form to all the reviewee's team members and those in the company that work or have worked closely with them. It's quite an invloved form and does ask for quite a few specifics. I've filled out quite a few in the past. I think it is one's duty to inform the boss what you think of the individual. There is plenty of scope within the form to let your feelings be known.

Anyway, in the past, the boss hasn't taken the review that seriously with me. Comments like 'everyone thinks you are doing a good job', 'most feedback was very positive, but people think you should socialise a bit more' and 'ok, that's that, fancy another beer?' I'm happy with that. But this year, he handed me a wad a papers.

'What's this?' I enquired cautiously.
'These are the printouts of all the peer review forms we've received' he replied.
'So, why are you giving them to me'.
'It's new company policy. Freedom of Information Act and all that. You have the right to read anything with your name on'.

I spent the rest of the review worrying what horrible things I've said on the PRF's about my colleagues, who has suddenly started to ignore me, got sacked or whatever. It's just wrong. If I slag off someone, I want to do it behind their back thank you.

Dream holiday

Now why can't I dream that I am Maria Sharapova's physio or something? I always dream the oddest things. Last night. I dreamt I was holidaying in (what wasn't made clear, but I can only deduce) Scotland. I decided that I would go to Forfar. I went to the train station, bought a ticket (£2.20, very reasonable) and boarded the train waiting to depart on platform 3. Forfar was the first stop. As I disembarked, there was a bus waiting at the station, which I got on. I seemed to know where I was going. A women on the bus told me that the return bus leaves at 27 minutes past the hour. I got off at what seemed an office car park. Next thing I was sitting on a pub bench with my dad, eating fish and chips. I'm not sure where he went, but I looked at the newspaper to see if Forfar Athletic were playing at home. Obviously they weren't, because I ended up at a very small petrol station on my motorbike. As I was filling the tank, I noticed my front tyre was deflated. I went to put some air in it, and the very helpful guy at the petrol station did it for me. Next I was having a drink with my Mum back at the station where I bought the £2.20 ticket. She shat on me because she was upset I made her take the train, even though we had a hire car. I think I mumbled something about global warming, but she wasn't convinced and was very, very angry. Back home, everyone was in bed, except for me and some baby I have never seen before. I was trying to get him/her to sleep but he/she was having none of it. I went to the fridge to get a bottle, but something was wrong with the fridge, and all the liquids inside were boiling and bubbling. Then I woke up.

All very odd, but why Forfar?

Stupid people part (I've lost count)

I got an email from the brother of an old school friend on Friday.

Dear Skybluesnowy,
My brother would like to get hold of you, could you let me know your email address?

Thanks
Brother of friend of Skybluesnowy

I repeat, he EMAILED me this question.

Helpful information

I hate riding into work on Monday mornings. Traffic is always bad, I'm normally still suffering from alcohol abuse, and, well, Monday's are crap days anyway. When I went outside to start up the bike this morning I was greeted with a very thick fog. Fog is bad on many accounts. Firstly, the visiblity. Secondly it leaves a thin film of vapour on the roads that makes them quite slippery. Thirdly, fog in the UK tends to be made up of tens, perhaps even hundreds of tiny water particles that are like frozen arrows trying (successfully) to penetrate my riding gear through the gaps in the fibres, then into my bloodstream through the pores in my skin. Not having much choice, I saddled up a rode off. I was frozen to the bone before I even made it to Sainsburys to fill up the tank.

When I got to the motorway, I realised how thick the fog was, you could hardly see the lane alongside you. Since my accident, I have developed an X-Men type superpower called patience. I slipped into the outside lane and stayed behind the car ahead. We chugged along at about 40 mph. Visibilty improved and worsened, as it does, but when it wasn't so bad I could see flashing motorway lights in the distance. I assumed that there must be an accident up ahead. Oh well, would mean a bit of filtering. Eventually I got close enough to see what the warning was. It helpfully advised me, in big amber flashing letters 'FOG'. Gee thanks.