Posting from work
This is quite good. Having a split site job does have its advantages; I can post to my blog from here because its not blocked by the IT Police. Moreover, if I write the post in Word, it looks like I’m doing some work when people walk by my office.

Today I’m in Fartsville, Fart County, where the entire working population are Farts (see the post below). Having been away for a couple of weeks, I came in to about 70 e-mails with the following subjects:

• Has anybody got a spare desk?
• Come and meet Noddy (yes, that Noddy)
• Customer care course availability
• Complementary therapies session
• More courses
• IT courses
• Does anybody want a spare desk?
• Has anybody seen my keys?

And they wonder why people can’t get to see a doctor.

I spent the rest of this morning trying to get rid of my boss who’d decided to drop in (he’s based at the partner hospital in the Trust). As a result, I’ve lost my train of thought.

Dehydrated lunches
I don’t eat real food for my lunch while I’m at work and I tend to bring in dehydrated stuff that transforms miraculously into something salty and delish after the addition of boiling water (the same can be said for Coffeemate with the exception that it’s not salty).

Today’s offering was a rather nice Ko-Lee chicken curry flavour cup noodle snack thing. I’d recommend Ko-Lee’s hot and spicy packet noodles to anybody who enjoys having their mouth being burnt. Let’s examine their range of products:

Of course, I’m a huge fan of Batchelors minestrone cup-a-soups and, as far as de/rehydrated luncheon snacks go, they simply can’t be beaten. You’ll find that this particular product actually contains 5 portions of vegetables. Well, 5 bits. But that’s more than good enough for health-conscious Mancunians who shirk the high-fat savoury pastry alternative favoured by other, less-healthy Mancs. There’s even a cafe in the local shopping centre here where you can buy a cup-a-soup for your lunch. How good is that?

Quality workforce

The Ferrari Formula 1 team fired their entire pit crew yesterday. The announcement followed Ferrari’s decision to take advantage of the UK government’s youth opportunity scheme and employ young people from Liverpool.

The decision to hire them was brought about after a recent documentary on how unemployed youths from Liverpool were able to remove a set of wheels in less than 6 seconds without proper equipment, whereas Ferrari’s existing crew can only do it in 8 seconds with millions of euro’s worth of high-tech equipment.

Prime Minister Tony Blair went on record as saying this was a bold move by Ferrari management which demonstrated the international recognition of the UK under New Labour.

As most races are won and lost in the pits, Ferrari now have the advantage over every other team. However, Ferrari may have got more than they bargained for. At the crew’s first practice session the Liverpool pit crew successfully changed the tyres in under 6 seconds, but within 12 seconds they had resprayed, re-badged and sold the vehicle to the Mclaren team for 8 bottles of Stella, a kilo of speed, and some photos of Coulthard’s bird in the shower.

Oooh, I say!

If you were given the opportunity to question anybody, who would you like to question and what would your question be? Since it’s election time at the moment, I’m going to keep with my theme of ridiculing the Labour Party and choose good old Gordon “Gasps like a Goldfish” Brown. I’d have chosen John Prescott, but you don’t need to do anything to him make him look ridiculous, he’s perfectly capable himself.

Anyway, the next unelected Prime Minister in this dictatorship called the UK. My question to Mr Brown would be:

“Do you ever wash your hair, you greasy bastard?” Look at him, for fuck’s sake. Bloody mess, always in that same tie and unironed shirt. And he’s a lying thief.

This stuff makes the most delicious instant coffee imaginable.

Recipe for success
Take:
2tsp Nescafe
1tsp Silverspoon “Half Spoon” sugar
3tsp Coffeemate

Add boiled water and enjoy! Seriously, if you ever get the chance, give it a go.

Tomorrow, I’ll be defending Batchelors Cup-a-soups and Pot Noodles (it used to be Golden Wonder, but I think it’s something weird like Proctor and Gamble now).

Tony Blair in “Get out of my fucking way, I’m more important than anybody else!” scandal
One of my colleagues was almost run over by President Blair’s motorcade as it sped through the streets of Manchester this lunchtime. I understand his plane was hit by lightning on its way back to Heathrow, but it only caused a slight judder. Pity. He really is a fucking tosser. I bet he doesn’t even know what Coffeemate is, the uncouth lout.

Fart is a great word. Apart from being used to describe a “trump”, or “passing wind” if you’re polite, the word fart can perfectly describe a particular type of person. It dovetails nicely with “farting around” and describes fussing, or faffing without the intensity of mithering.

People who are farts are usually also “life-storiers”, i.e., those who must go into every minute fucking detail of their pathetic existence and the latest bloody illness of themselves, their families and their pets – and they go on, and on and on. These people have also done everything you’ve ever done, only better/worse. They’re usually the type of people who insist that you contribute to flowers for somebody’s birthday or something shit, or they make a fuss about observing minutes’ silence for every fucking memorial service that happens to make the news.

They spend their “getting ready for work time” worrying about how “hot, stuff and stifling” the office will be; so much so that the first words they utter before they even step foot over the office threshold are: “It’s going to reach 75 today (always Farenheit and never centigrade) it’s so hot already, I don’t know how I’ll cope, I need to open the window, I can’t breathe, it’s so stuffy already, the air’s too still, I’m sweating cobs, I can’t cope, I CAN’T COPE!!!”. I love summer, but dread it when these women (it’s only ever women) kick off as soon as the temperature gets above freezing. They come huffing and puffing into work with their horrible feet and arms/armpits exposed (they always have massive, blotchy, horrible arms). And they go on relentlessly about “Now, I like it hot, but this is too hot. It’s not like the heat you get on the continent – it’s dry heat there. Over here it’s that muggy heat that you can’t breathe. It does my asthma no good.” They wear you down.

Once they’ve worked their way through the “it’s too hot” script and calmed down, they then go on for two hours about how much work they’ve got to do. They talk and talk and talk, complaining how they can’t manage their workload and how they know loads of people who are on long-term sick with stress because of their workloads – “They were always complaining about how much work they had on, and now look, they’ve had to go off with stress!”

My answer to this poor breed’s plight is: lose some fucking weight, stop fucking going on and do some fucking work and then it might take your fucking mind off how shit you feel, you twat!

They make fantastic bitching fodder in the workplace though. You wonder why the NHS is so shit? It’s because women like these are the filter between the members of the public and the healthcare professionals. The classic one that we all encounter is the “Doctor’s receptionist bitch from hell”, but they dominate the entire service – in fact, they make up the majority of the workforce throughout the public sector services. No matter how much money you throw at the NHS and other public services, you’ll never make it any better until you get rid of these pathetic bitches (who insist on printing off every fucking e-mail that arrives!).

Forget the election, we’re surrounded by real political drama every day in the good old workplace.

Following the release of charismatic leader Tina from a Labour Party “anti-terrorism” control order, The Cakesniffers (UK) Party (we’re an international operation) is set to release its election manifesto tomorrow. It’s not really a manifesto, it’s more of a hit-list that includes:

• The entire Labour Party
• Charles “where the fuck are my teeth?” Kennedy
• Anne Widdecombe
• Rover and people-carrier drivers
• Spongers
• Lazy, greedy bastards who expect everything for nothing at the expense of everyone else
• Unruly brattish fucking horrible kids and/or their parents, guardians or carers
• People who don’t give me a job despite asking me to apply and making assurances that it was mine if I wanted it

Who said genocide wasn’t fair?

For anybody who missed the breakdown of the British National Party’s manifesto, apart from the obvious desire to repatriate everybody who’s an “immigrant” (that’s most of the population), they also want compulsory national service and the requirement for anybody who’s undergone national service to keep a hunting rifle in the house at all times. Well, I’ll certainly sleep soundly at night if that bunch of charmers ever get elected for anything.

The Lincolnshire Poacher

Avid listeners of shortwave radio (that’s “spies” to you an me) will, on occasion, pick up a weird transmission that usually starts with a tune and is then followed by a computerised voice that reads out sequences of numbers. Each transmission can go on for about ten minutes and it’s thought that the transmissions are used to send code to agents in the field, who then decode the message to receive instructions or whatever. One such “number station” is the Lincolnshire Poacher and this transmits from Cyprus at 2pm (14:00 hrs) each day. To listen to such a broadcast, download the mp3 or wav here. More spying info, particularly with respect to number stations can be found at Numbers & Oddities, but don’t bother asking MI6 because it’s thought that they operate Lincolnshire Poacher and they’d have to kill you if they told you. These things may be a legacy of the Second World War that has lived on throught the Cold War, right through to today. The advantage is that an agent would need is a shortwave receiver and the code book that can be edible, or soluble.

Enough espionage tricks, Hell’s Kitchen’s on!

My election slogan?

Keep it sniffy!

Fucking bastard Labour party Nazis have got me under a control order. I’m finding it very difficult to get to a PC to post at the moment. Bunch of wankers. And the shithead voters in this country are too stupid to vote them out despite:

• Unaffordable housing due to Gordon Brown pilfering the pension funds.
• Sky-high council tax.
• A complete waste of money thrown at public services – it’s all well and good invested in public services, but throwing good money after bad is no solution. For all its billions, has the NHS really improved over the last 8 years? Don’t think so. I work in the NHS, I know.
• Crap transport.
• Rubbish schools, filled with horrible kids and disillusioned teachers, churning out thick as pigshit kids with 20 A* GCSEs yet who still can’t read or add up.
• The general state of shitbag society because of an out of control welfare system.
• Erosion of democracy and free speech because of a threat of terrorism that that twat Blair brought on the nation himself.
• No more free education while youngsters are forced into university because of a lack of vocational training.
• Throwing money at families (hard working or not, but mainly not) – if you can’t afford kids, don’t fucking have them, you stupid twats. I don’t expect anybody to fund my lifestyle choices, so why the hell should I pay for yours, you greedy lazy bastards!
• Fucking political fucking correctness that means that people are scared to say anything because they’re fearful of being branded a somethingist.

It’s a shit country under Labour; they’re a bunch of lying bastards who waste YOUR money to spend on shitbags and illegal wars.

Better go before I get sent to Belmarsh.

Hey, this Technorati thing is pretty smart. I just happened to be having a squiz to see who was linking to Cakesniffers and I found 4 other sites. FOUR? Angry Chimp + Half an Identity were the obvious ones, but I was very flattered to see that connielingus in Canada has linked to me. So Connie, if you’re reading, many thanks, I’m really flattered.

Oh, and the librarians *wink* must be doing the same as me in searching for people who are blogging them because they’ve got a post about my “Get a life” entry from Saturday. I’ve just apologised to them for taking the piss.

Angry Chimp induces “Paula Radcliffe Moment”
I’ve just been having another look at Angry Chimp’s synopsis of the Radio Four schedule for Monday. I nearly wet myself (but in no way did I come close to a number two!). If you’re reading this blog, but you’ve never visited the Chimp site, just go and have a look NOW. It’s one of the funniest things on the interweb. It’s also balanced precariously and deliciously on the edge of decency – but who ever said that real life was pretty? Certainly not Pope Benedict XVI.

I’m amazed! As many confectionary fans are aware, I have a strong desire to leapfrog millions by becoming the first ever female Pope. But look at what’s happened today, Anne Widdecombe has beaten me to it! Fucking bitch.

Credit to her though, Anne has come from being a liberal and caring Conservative MP…

…to being the leader of world’s 1.1bn Roman Catholics…

“Fuck me, I was only here on a sight-seeing tour and got locked in the Sistine Chapel with all these old blokes. The next thing I knew, they were pushing me out here in front of all you lot!” Widdecome (Benedict XVI) on her first address to the assembled crowd in St Peter’s Square.

Well, the election of Cardinal Nazinger as the new Pope will certainly send shivers down many who have been victim to Rome’s hard-line views and doctrines.

As an atheist, I don’t know why I feel I should even be bothered by this. But I find it alarming that organisations and faiths that rule the lives of so many people around the world can have such views in this day and age. It’s very worrying that your colleague, or a person in the street, somebody at Tesco, wherever, might have their head filled with utter rubbish because of will of somebody who has no idea about real life. People are taught prejudices and hatred through religions, they become indoctrinated with the idea that it’s right to forgive a murderer, but that somebody who’s gay will live in eternal sin. It’s OK for people in Africa to be dying of AIDS by the million, so long as they have lived to God’s will while on earth. Utter bollocks.

Jesus wept, as they say.

I tell you what, you’d be really pissed off if you’d booked this week to go to Rome and see all the sites, including the Sistine Chapel and stuff; those Cardinals could be in there for ages! Inconsiderate bastards. I bet they choose some hard-line Nazi who opposes women’s rights, use of contraceptives and acceptance of homosexuality. Just like the last one.

More worrying is the bums on seats value of the death of PJPII in terms of an upturn in congregations in Catholic churches around the UK. Fantastic. They’ll be rising up and starting a 21st century crusade or inquisition next. I’d better go into hiding.

The funny thing is, many muslims are asking for a pope who is accepting of other faiths. That’s rich.

I’m still working on my plan to infiltrate the Vatican during my trip to Rome in the autumn. Looking at the guide books, it seems that most of the Vatican buildings are open to the public so you just pay you money and go in. It should be a doddle. All I need to do is find the suggestion box to drop them a note. I wonder if I could get away with hiring a comedy nun outfit (with accompanying comedy teeth and specs) to go round St Peter’s in?

Potholes
Why is it that there’s always a pothole or raised manhole cover, you know, some sort of uneven road surface, just at the point when you’re changing through the gears when setting off from lights, turning into a road or moving out of a junction? Just enough to throw your foot off the clutch and/or accelerator and make you look like a spak driver.


Lost in translation
I’m quite aware that my blog might not be completely understandable to certain sections of the interweb community. Because if this, I’m considering translating it into two new editions: a politically correct one and an American English one. The politically correct one will be simplicity in itself – I’ll just delete all my posts (and not mention things like Joey Deacon dropping his shoe from that boat on Blue Peter).

I’ll be enlisting the help of an American colleague of mine to produce the Yankie Doodle Cakesniffers Beware, or “Hey, watch out muffin-smellers!” as it’ll become known. Of course, the American spelling will be hard to do – how do you go from writing in a perfectly normal way to something that looks dyslexic? Retarded, stupid, lazy nobheads.

Library Supporter
Bloody hell, could you imagine writing a blog dedicated to your job? Of course, Librarian is a comedy euphemism that I like to use for ladylovers. Perhaps then, the Library Supporter blog is dating site for gay women? Get it bookmarked, folks!