Words of wisdom from the most powerful man on the planet:

“I’m driven with a mission from God. God would tell me: George, go and fight those terrorists in Afghanistan.

“And I did, and then God would tell me, George, go and end the tyranny in Iraq…and I did.

“And now, again, I feel God’s words coming to me – go get the Palestinians their state and get the Israelis their security, and get peace in the Middle East. And by God I’m gonna do it.”

I’m sure we’ll all be sleeping soundly in our beds tonight.

Deary, deary me.

It’s sometimes rubbish being female.

Unless you’re lucky and have a job where you can wear what you like, or if a uniform is provided, women have to wear “smart casual” or even suits to work. This isn’t always a bad thing; it’s nice to come home and change from school clothes to playing out clothes, it sort of draws a line of closure to the end of the working day and let’s you know you’re in “you” time.

However, proper girl clothes rarely have pockets, or they’re cut so that you can’t really carry things on your person because of the fit of the garment and the pathetic size of any token pockets.

On leaving the house, the minimum I tend to have to carry: car keys; house keys; cash; cards; mobile phone. Such items wouldn’t even warrant a second thought from your average bloke, they being blessed with an abundance of pockets in just about every item of clothing they own. For a girl on her way to work however, such items can be the cause of much strategic planning:

What can I do without? Nothing, I need it all
What will go in my jacket pocket? None of it, except mabybe the phone and a bit of cash
Where do I put my car keys while I’m ootenaboot? No idea, and just what are all those keys on that fucking keyring anyway?
Can I leave my housekeys in the car? Bit risky that, you sure you want to do that?

So, you give in and acquire a handbag. Fucking things. Once you’ve got one, you’re well and truly lumbered. Worse still, these bloody things mean that you end up carrying far too much shit around with you and also the shit of other cunts who haven’t lowered themselves by joining the handbag-wielding sorority. But you still carry your phone and some cash in your jacket pockets for convenience*.

Anyway (Piggy’s fave word), you’ve been out, you’ve parked up and retrieved all the crap from your car (shopping and shit that you’ve bought during lunchtime, stolen stationery, spiderplants that you’ve kidnapped). Your arms are full of crap, your carkeys are in one hand, your handbag is over your shoulder, but can you get to the bloody pocket that contains your house key? No. So you knock on the door by using all your strength to lift one of the shopping bag-carrying hands. No answer from your parents (their hearing isn’t what it was, but they don’t admit it). You knock again. And again. And again. You admit defeat, put the bags down and fanny around in the fucking handbag, find the house keys just at the point that the door is finally opened for you. An argument ensues, the accusations fly, the cats add to the tension by getting under everyone’s feet. The tension remains in the house for the entire evening.

And all because crappy girly clothes don’t have proper pockets.

*My denim jacket only has breast pockets: they aren’t particularly big or useful, but at least it gives me the excuse to secretly fiddle with my bosoms while I’m fishing for cash.

An edit: Popbtich brings us “Black people love us”
Yes, this particular couple are so pleased that some black people like them that they’ve declared it on the interweb. Good for them!

I’ll be able to post a similar “The kids love me” thing after my new found membership of the Red Hand Gang.

1. Brocolli
Well, it depends. On the whole yes, but I prefer the stalks to the florets. I couldn’t eat it raw, it has to be cooked to the point where the stalk still has bite, but is not crunchy. I like my cooked brocolli served tossed in olive oil with plenty of white pepper.

2. Kate Bush
Oh God, yes! This woman is unbelievable. Wonderfully weird, she has produced some works of genius (The Dreaming, Hounds of Love) counterbalanced by some utter shit (Lionheart). Influencing many artists for nearly thirty years (albeit only working for about 8 of those), you have to give Kate the big thumbs up. King of the Mountain is out on 24th of October, with Aerial being released on the 7th of November. Can’t wait.

3. Only one brand of soft drink in the chiller at Tesco
Fucking twats. Get it sorted. We pay your wages, we pay for your house, you car, your bonuses. Give us what we want and don’t dictate because the Coke boys have paid you off.

4. Caravans
Take your home on the road! What an excellent idea. Why waste money, spending two or three hundred pounds on hotel acommodation each year when you can have a one-off payment of up to £20,000 and drag your holiday home with you? You’ll have covered the cost in just 50 years. What’s more, think of all that fun you can have slowing down the traffic, or even better, closing the motorway completely when you flip the fucking thing at rush hour on a Friday evening when everybody else just wants to get home.

5. Sprouts
Yes, definitely. Again, they need to be cooked so that they’re cooked and not crunchy, but not sloppy – a cross in the bottom is absolutely essential to ensure this (Jesus said so, apparently). Serve tossed in olive oil and plenty of white pepper.

6. Christmas
Yes! Love Christmas, absolutely. Buying nice pressies for people you care about. All the prepration for Christmas dinner (best meal of the year), making the Christmas cake and stuff. Plus having your house look completely fucking insane for a month? Yes, Christmas is the business. Oh yeah, and Jesus’s birthday if you’re a Christian and all that.

7. New Year
No. Absolutely not. No way. Hate it. Nothing on TV and you can’t go out to escape it. If you do find yourself out on New Year’s Eve, you find yourself getting grabbed and snogged by middle aged men shortly after midnight… yeeeeuuucchhh! And then there’s the “Happy New Year. Let’s hope it’s better than last year. Let’s hope we’re here this time next year” that you’ve heard from your mother since you were 7.

Of course, because it’s New Year, you’re forced to stay out till at least 1am. You can’t go to a restaurant, have a meal, then go home. You have to stick around and wait for Big fucking Ben. Not so bad if you’re intent on getting shitfaced (just about the only way to make it through), but when you’re tee-total, it’s a fucking nightmare.

Hate it, it’s completely shit.

8. Chewing gum
Yes – so long as it’s wrapped and binned once finished with. Vulgar though it is, chud is excellent for freshening the breath, although people do look fucking stupid while chewing it. Bubble gum is a bit childish. I can’t blow bubbles.

9. Gays and/or abortionists being the cause of natural disasters
No, don’t be silly.

10. Cauliflower
Yes, but only if it’s raw and pickled; any other way is pretty revolting. And it makes the house stink of farts.

Running with the Red Hand Gang
I’ve found somebody go out for bike rides with. I’d been pissing about with my bike (no I haven’t fallen off it yet) and was taking it out to test it. Imagine my utter GLEE when I was joined by three young boys who were out playing on theirs.

Oh goody, I’m part of the Red Hand Gang at the tender age of 35. They were going to show me good places to go and do jumps, but Mum told me I had to be in for my tea.

1. Brocolli
2. Kate Bush
3. Only one brand of soft drink in the chiller at Tesco
4. Caravans
5. Sprouts
6. Christmas
7. New Year
8. Chewing gum
9. Gays and/or abortionists being the cause of natural disasters
10. Cauliflower

Very lazy of me, I know, but I’m tired having worked 14 hours yesterday and 12 today. And I had to wear a suit, a black one at that.

Still, blogging goes on.

The new season of fashion from Tarantino
Of all the colours for suits- apart from the obvious one of plum, mint green, sky blue, pink and orange – black has to be my least favourite. To me, black suits should be reserved for funerals and for restaurant staff. Black suits have no place in every day life apart from this.

But many women (it’s generally women and not men) feel quite comfortable wearing a black suit to work. Are they harbouring secret desires to become funeral directors? Or perhaps the maitre d’ at a top restaurant.

There were so many woman clad in their black suits at the event I was helping organise that it sometimes felt like I was taking part in some perverse re-enactment of the Crazy 88s assault on Beatrix Kiddo in Kill Bill. Perverse in that there was no sign of Uma Thurman – ahhhh Uma Thurman.

Fighting to the front of the queue to the buffet, with food finally in sight, you find yourself confronted by the serving waitress: “You didn’t think it was going to be that easy did you?”

“You know, for a second there, yes, I kinda did. Now, just tell me what the fuck this non-descript crap is that’s laid out before me and where are the spicy chicken drumsticks, bitch?”

Victorious, you retreat, plate stacked full with high-fat, high-salt badness. They don’t fuck about with you when you return for pudding, oh no, they’re licking their wounds now. “Bakewell pudding and custard, madam? Please help yourself.”

“Too fucking right, I’ll help myself – I’ve just chopped your bastard arms off!”

Spamcunt frenzy
I wonder if all the spam gets diverted to those who don’t use word verfication when everybody else turns it on in their blogs. I’m sure there’s a scientific analogy somewhere – like diffusion or gel electrophoresis – but I can’t be arsed to think of a good one.

It’s no secret that I’m almost addicted to Pepsi Max; the high-caffeine, no sugar cola drink. Moreover, I prefer it when Pepsi Max comes in cans, rather than plastic bottles. I detest Coca Cola. I hate being patronised.

I was a bit narked that the Italians didn’t really do Pepsi, being monopolised by Coca Cola instead. They’re very good at monopolies in Italy, it helps keep prices up. Therefore, you can only buy cigarettes from a tobacconist (tobogonist), certain grocery stores shut on particular days or at certain times of day to allow their competitors chance to open, petrol stations do the same. Everybody wins, especially the Coca Cola company.

Here in the UK, we have a very open market where anybody’s business is fair game to the huge supermarkets. Corner shops are disappearing, local high-streets no longer have green grocers, butchers or fish mongers because the small independent retailers can’t compete with the big boys.

You’d expect, therefore, that the big boys would be better. You know that they sting the producers and buy things as cheaply as possible because they can, but you don’t mind so long as what you buy is of decent quality and is cheap.

However, when they fuck about with the availability of my favourite soft drinks, they’re looking for trouble with a capital T.

The following is an e-mail I sent to customer services at that giant of retail, Tesco.

Dear Tesco,

My query is about favouring particular products over others.

I’d just like to know why Tesco clearly promotes Coca Cola over other soft drink brands in its stores. This ranges from product placement and dominating entire aisles with bottles of Coke, to stocking only Coke in its refrigerators. I recently visited the Tesco Extra in Horwich, Bolton; it was a very hot day and I’d have loved a can of icy cold Pepsi Max, but the only cola products available in the chiller were Coke brands. Don’t you think you’re being a little unfair on your customers who’d like a choice of brand of cold drink from the chiller?

This was the reply I got:

Thank you for your email.

I am sorry you feel that the store are only chilling Coca Cola drinks, however they also have fanta, and other makers drinks in the chilling compartments.

Next time you are in the store please contact the customer service desk to see if they will put some pepsi in the chilling compartment.

If you have any further queries please do not hesitate to contact us at customer.service@tesco.co.uk quoting TES1189387X.

Regards

Jean McKinlay

Tesco Customer Service

I’m sorry, Jean, but that was the INCORRECT answer to my query. Your answer should’ve been:

Dear Tina,

You’re absolutely right. As a result of your query, we’re reviewing our product placement policy and will be putting an end to our biased chilling of shit-tasting Coca Cola products in favour of delicious Pepsi Max. Moreover, we shall start to offer chilled bottles of plain fizzy water in addition to that still and flavoured shit. In fact, we will start a programme of introducing vending machines for both Coca Cola and Pepsico products, thereby introducing true choice to our customers and to show that we’re fair and that we’re not in the pocket of the Atlanta megalomaniacs.

You have made us see the light and we recognise that we’re a bunch of fuckhead bully boys who think we can get away with anything.

Please accept 2 million Clubcard Points and a place on the Board.

Yours with head bowed in shame,

Jean

Tesco Customer Services

What’s the point of asking somebody to put a can of pop in the fridge for you while you do your shopping when a) it won’t be cold in time and b) some other person, desperate for refreshment will buy it from under your nose? Stupid fucking suggestion. Go back to remedial customer care training and don’t come back until you know how to REALLY care for your customers, or at least offer them a proper service.

I wonder if Jean ever Googles herself? Hello Jean.

An edit: Unnamed and shamed
I love it when anonymous commenters have a go at me. I got this as a comment on my post about pelican crossings and people being fuckwits on the road…

At 02 October, 2005 14:53, Anonymous said…
The green man on the nearside is to anable poor sighted people to see it and hopefully cross in safety. No chance of that with drivers like you!

At 02 October, 2005 15:12, Tina said…
Fuck off, wanker. How dare you pass judgement on my driving ability or consideration for other road users, you complete fucking tosser. The old pelican crossings used to beep so that visually impaired people knew when it was safe to cross.

Now fuck off and don’t come back.

Oh, and it’s “enable”, not anable, you thick twat.

I wonder if that was Toilet trader again??

A little something for Pig and Taz
“Apart from the getting up early and the stress involved in getting to work, Fridays are essentially a freebie day off for a lot of people.”

An edit for the masochists

…proceed with caution

Ho, ho, ho!
After yesterday’s whinge about being on mail distribution lists for loads of crap jokes and shit, I got this today…

E-mail distribution lists are great ways of sharing stuff that’s not too personal with a number of friends or acquaintances (past and present). Things that usually get sent round are jokes, funny photos or video clips, Powerpoint slideshows – stuff like that. The e-mails have subject headings like “Really hilarious” or “It’s for real, pass it on”.

Funny stuff is sometimes good, although it gets tiresome when you end up getting sent the same thing by every person who has you in their mailing list. And you’re expected to find it funny the eighteenth time you receive it.

However, I really cannot stand it when I get sent something that starts off:

“To The People In My Life…..

I am sending this to you to see how many actually read their email. Your response will be interesting. Pay attention to what you read. After you have finished reading it, you will know the reason it was sent to you. Here goes:

People come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime…”

I’m quite certain that I don’t need to continue.

Why do people send this crap out? If you were truly somebody’s friend, but circumstances meant that you didn’t see much of them, you’d send them an e-mail or even pick up the phone and you’d tell them what’d been going on, ask the same of them. Perhaps you’d arrange to meet up or something. Could you imagine if you phoned a distant friend and said:

“People come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime. When you know which one it is, you will know what to do for that person. When someone is in your life for a REASON, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed. They have come to assist you through a difficulty, to provide you with guidance and support, to aid you physically, emotionally or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend and they are. They are there for the reason you need them to be …blah, blah, blah

Some people come into your life for a SEASON, because your turn has come to share, grow or learn. They bring you an experience of peace or make you laugh. They may teach you something you have never done. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. believe it, it is real. But only for a season.

LIFETIME relationships teach you lifetime lessons, things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas of your life. It is said that love is blind but friendship is clairvoyant.

Thank you for being a part of my life, whether you were a reason, a season or a lifetime.

When I hang up, please phone all your friends in your address book and tell you how much you value their friendship, then get them to do the same.”

Stunned silence on the other end of the line…. Click

What an utter pile of wank. This is on a par with that fucking e-mail of the cartoon baby dancing about with Groove Armada’s “I see you baby” playing in the background. The people who send this stuff are the types who have customised stationery for Outlook html e-mail messages (you know, pictures of Ivy trailing down the side of the message window). The people who send these things never delete the previous messages so there’s usually a list of 20 badly formatted

>>>>>>Try this,
>>>>>>> it was
>>>>>>>>>really funny
>>>>>>keep scrolling
>>>>>>right to the end

e-mails before you finally get tot the joke.

The stuff in these shitty e-mails is spam; it is designed to clog up networks and waste resources. I am convinced that spam of this nature is created by international terrorists who are determined to disrupt our everyday lives in the Western World.

People who call themselves your friend, but then send you this shit deserve to die, horribly. They are in cahoots with terrorists and should be hunted down and shot. The thing is though, they have you stuck between a rock (called Dwayne) and a hard place because you daren’t block them because of the funny things they also send you. BASTARDS!

Mothers!

You can’t live with ’em, you wouldn’t be alive without ’em.

As much as the vast majority of people adore their mums, mums are still one of the most frustrating and annoying creatures to walk this planet.

Take Connie. Please, somebody take Connie! Connie is my mum. She has two other offspring, a husband and four cats. She’s now in her seventies and I would describe her as a lady rather than as a woman, simply because of her morals and values. I’d be tempted to describe her in other ways if discussing her “mum farts”.

Anyway, Connie is ace, but she’s a complete fucking pain in the arse whenever there’s something wrong with her. She simply refuses to seek medical help and would rather suffer in agony than go to the doctor.

For the past 36 hours, Connie has been suffering in agony with abdominal pains. Last night, the locum doctor service told us to call an ambulance but she refused, wouldn’t let us. I could’ve throttled her. I was looking for something to drug her with so we could bundle her in the back of an ambulance a la Mr T: “I ain’t goin’ in no ambulance, fool!”

However, she did promise to call her own GP this morning if she felt no better.

After a sleepless night, I went to work and cancelled the training course I was supposed to be delivering this morning so I could get home and stand over her while she phoned for the doctor. Anyway, she did and he came and diagnosed severe gastritis and prescribed something to hopefully sort it out.

Great! Let’s hope that’s the correct diagnosis and that she makes a full recovery.

Let’s hope she makes a full recovery so that, when she’s better, I can shout at her for not going to the hospital last night and, instead, putting me a situation where I had to stand face to face and have a conversation with a doctor who has seen and felt my tits!

The embarrassment!

A lively discussion ensued after Blog Goddess, April Pissoff, revealed that her shag of the week for this week was none other than some bloke called Dwayne, aka “The Rock”.

Being a dutiful partner in the Hands across the sea Canadian/Cakesniffer Cultural Exchange Programme, I thought it only right to warn April what she was letting herself in for with Dwayne: