Friday, February 16, 2007
Holy day of obligation
Ok, quiz time. So what do we think about when we hear the name St Valentine then? Do we think of the massacre in Chicago back in 1929, when Al Capone’s thugs saw off business rival Bugs Malone (now that sounds familiar…) before making off with his bootleg whiskey? Do we think of the “Traditional” saint type figure, strung up on a cross and killed for failing to renounce Christianity? Or do we think of card manufacturers and chocolate, pink champagne and expensive meals out, and the festival that brings every red blooded male cringing to his knees, knowing he is going to be ripped off, and get it so completely wrong to boot….
Actually, other than knowing that he may be possibly one of three ancient figures - nobody can agree exactly which - it seems not a lot is known about the real (or not, as the case may be) St Val. All I know is that due to the stupid festival that has grown up in his name I am pissed off, confused as to its purpose and fifty six pounds and thirty three pence out of pocket. Yes, this week, I will be mostly be having only £1.17 left from my giro and I’m not a happy bunny. In the immortal words of that legendary lover Johnny Rotten “Ever got the feeling you’ve been had?”……
My first gripe is this. Isn’t it the tradition that on this 14th day of February, we can take the opportunity in the name of this saint, to make an anonymous (and quite often inappropriate I might add) declaration of love for some other individual who, under normal circumstances, would run a mile if you so much as talked to them? Please note the important word in that previous sentence – ANONYMOUS. Surely therfore it’s so spotty 17 year olds in accounts with braces, windscreen sized glasses and poor personal hygiene can declare their undying horniness for Trisha in the typing pool – you know the one in the white stilettos and Greyhound skirt? No? Girls Aloud tan and penchant for Malibu? More info still? Too much make up and a prescription treatment for Chlamydia? Ah, got there in the end.
So how come I’m in Clinton Cards looking at a whole rack of cards which say “To my boyfriend on…” to my Husband on…” or indeed, the one that suckered me in at £6 a pop “To my Wife on….” How the fuck are they going to be anonymous??? Even when you sign the silly fuckers with an “X” (yes, I did – what a berk….) the recipient, unless they’re a bigamist or something, is going to have a pretty good clue as to who the bloody thing is from. Actually, my card could well have been designed for a bigamist. It declares on the front “To my special wife” possibly to allow for the purchase of an additional one saying, for instance, “To my ordinary wife” and therefore allowing the long distance lorry driver not to get the cards for Valerie and Siobhan mixed up. He’s pretty safe though, it’s all anonymous of course, and only signed by an “X” so they won’t know who it's from even if he did mix them up…;-)
My second gripe is of course that a card just isn’t good enough. Oh no, present is required as well. Buy chocolate at your peril, just coz Thornton’s window is full of the stuff you’ll be damned if you do……perhaps not straight away, but once that top button won’t do up on their favourite one-size-smaller-jeans you’ll be solely to blame. What’s the choice then? A bottle of champers then. But it has to be pink. And expensive, otherwise you don’t love them enough. So its £50.33 spunked on a bottle of Laurent Perrier Rose in a posh box and the giro’s virtually all gone. I’ve now go to rush back to the car to make sure I’m under an hour coz I don’t have £1.80 left for the parking.
And then there is dinner. Have you ever had a decent meal out on SV? Of course not. Even the best greasy spoons get greedy and it’s cram ‘em in and a "special" menu and shit, cold or overcooked rubbish and fuck off to 120 smackers. Thank you very fucking much and 15% on top or you’re a tight bastard. No, a lovely candlelit meal in will do just fine…….
And so to my third gripe. I’m out of pocket to a whole week’s sovs but I’m the one up to my elbows in scallops and lyonnaise potatoes and bloody Béarnaise sauce. And why? No matter how much effort you put in it just never goes right. I try a new way of doing the Béarnaise and it goes to scrambled egg. For convenience I’ve got frozen scallops and they taste like - and have the consistency of - rubber bungs. But don’t worry, the "Lazy Chilli", garlic and white wine reduction has coated them in a brown goo which masks the chance of any other flavour coming through. The potatoes seem to have been sliced too thin and have ended up as burnt crisps covered in cremated onions. Fortunately they’ve had the good grace to stick fast to the baking tray they’re on to spare us from having to eat them. And that was the good bit. What a bunch of arse, sausage and mash would have been much better.
And so to my final gripe. Why the flip does any man’s wife expect all this? Christ, we married them for god’s sake; isn’t that enough? We’ve done that thing that no man does other than under duress, and we sleep in the same bed, and don’t comment on the extra pounds or wrinkles or grey hair and even usually manage to remember their birthdays, but no, that’s not good enough.
So what can we do about all of this chaps?…………………………
Well, unless celibacy is on the cards the answer would appear to be Sweet Fanny Adams. What a total and utter bunch of arse.
Actually, other than knowing that he may be possibly one of three ancient figures - nobody can agree exactly which - it seems not a lot is known about the real (or not, as the case may be) St Val. All I know is that due to the stupid festival that has grown up in his name I am pissed off, confused as to its purpose and fifty six pounds and thirty three pence out of pocket. Yes, this week, I will be mostly be having only £1.17 left from my giro and I’m not a happy bunny. In the immortal words of that legendary lover Johnny Rotten “Ever got the feeling you’ve been had?”……
My first gripe is this. Isn’t it the tradition that on this 14th day of February, we can take the opportunity in the name of this saint, to make an anonymous (and quite often inappropriate I might add) declaration of love for some other individual who, under normal circumstances, would run a mile if you so much as talked to them? Please note the important word in that previous sentence – ANONYMOUS. Surely therfore it’s so spotty 17 year olds in accounts with braces, windscreen sized glasses and poor personal hygiene can declare their undying horniness for Trisha in the typing pool – you know the one in the white stilettos and Greyhound skirt? No? Girls Aloud tan and penchant for Malibu? More info still? Too much make up and a prescription treatment for Chlamydia? Ah, got there in the end.
So how come I’m in Clinton Cards looking at a whole rack of cards which say “To my boyfriend on…” to my Husband on…” or indeed, the one that suckered me in at £6 a pop “To my Wife on….” How the fuck are they going to be anonymous??? Even when you sign the silly fuckers with an “X” (yes, I did – what a berk….) the recipient, unless they’re a bigamist or something, is going to have a pretty good clue as to who the bloody thing is from. Actually, my card could well have been designed for a bigamist. It declares on the front “To my special wife” possibly to allow for the purchase of an additional one saying, for instance, “To my ordinary wife” and therefore allowing the long distance lorry driver not to get the cards for Valerie and Siobhan mixed up. He’s pretty safe though, it’s all anonymous of course, and only signed by an “X” so they won’t know who it's from even if he did mix them up…;-)
My second gripe is of course that a card just isn’t good enough. Oh no, present is required as well. Buy chocolate at your peril, just coz Thornton’s window is full of the stuff you’ll be damned if you do……perhaps not straight away, but once that top button won’t do up on their favourite one-size-smaller-jeans you’ll be solely to blame. What’s the choice then? A bottle of champers then. But it has to be pink. And expensive, otherwise you don’t love them enough. So its £50.33 spunked on a bottle of Laurent Perrier Rose in a posh box and the giro’s virtually all gone. I’ve now go to rush back to the car to make sure I’m under an hour coz I don’t have £1.80 left for the parking.
And then there is dinner. Have you ever had a decent meal out on SV? Of course not. Even the best greasy spoons get greedy and it’s cram ‘em in and a "special" menu and shit, cold or overcooked rubbish and fuck off to 120 smackers. Thank you very fucking much and 15% on top or you’re a tight bastard. No, a lovely candlelit meal in will do just fine…….
And so to my third gripe. I’m out of pocket to a whole week’s sovs but I’m the one up to my elbows in scallops and lyonnaise potatoes and bloody Béarnaise sauce. And why? No matter how much effort you put in it just never goes right. I try a new way of doing the Béarnaise and it goes to scrambled egg. For convenience I’ve got frozen scallops and they taste like - and have the consistency of - rubber bungs. But don’t worry, the "Lazy Chilli", garlic and white wine reduction has coated them in a brown goo which masks the chance of any other flavour coming through. The potatoes seem to have been sliced too thin and have ended up as burnt crisps covered in cremated onions. Fortunately they’ve had the good grace to stick fast to the baking tray they’re on to spare us from having to eat them. And that was the good bit. What a bunch of arse, sausage and mash would have been much better.
And so to my final gripe. Why the flip does any man’s wife expect all this? Christ, we married them for god’s sake; isn’t that enough? We’ve done that thing that no man does other than under duress, and we sleep in the same bed, and don’t comment on the extra pounds or wrinkles or grey hair and even usually manage to remember their birthdays, but no, that’s not good enough.
So what can we do about all of this chaps?…………………………
Well, unless celibacy is on the cards the answer would appear to be Sweet Fanny Adams. What a total and utter bunch of arse.
Friday, February 09, 2007
Spam Scam?
Oh ye of little faith….
As you all know, we have been following Dave’s trials and tribulations with orphan Elizabeth with baited breath and begging letters at the ready, all hoping for a share of the USD15M that should, a few small details aside, be winging itself post haste to his bank account. It really is marvellous to see the generosity of some people, faced with the most adverse of circumstances, and the willingness of others to assist them. It fair brings a tear to the eye and no mistake!
One never knows quite what will be thrown in one’s path on this bumpy road called life, be it the letter through your door offering you riches from a new and exciting scheme, the phone call out of the blue from and old acquaintance leading to a rekindled romance, or even a “once in a lifetime opportunity that is too good to miss” phone call from an Indian call centre. All are part of life’s rich tapestry and could just be that left turn off from the straight ahead of our lives that we all dream about.
The cynics amongst you may scoff, but once Dave has his bank account bulging with used fivers perhaps we’ll all realise we should be more trusting of the generosity of others. I hadn’t been as lucky as Dave up till now to be selected for one of these fantastic opportunities, so you’ll no doubt be as surprised and delighted as I was to finally receive “offers too good to miss” from not just a rich African orphan, who let’s face it, we might be slightly suspicious of, but some people whose credentials are beyond reproach…
Yes this morning, much to my drop-jawed disbelief, I received emails from the legendary Bruce Willis, the enigmatic Gabriel Byrne and the shagtastic Daryl Hannah, all offering me “OPPORTUNITY TOO GOOD TO MISS” Excellent, what could it be?
I opened Bruce’s first and boy did it start well. “Hi Ian my old friend…” well, I have seen him in a vest, so that’s ok – “have I got an offer for you!” – Woo-hoo!! Fame and fortune are only moments away! Perhaps he saw my part as “Non-speaking Centurion” in the school play and wants me to star in a film with him? I read on with great anticipation. “Follow the special link below direct to me for teeny hand job!” WTF??? I really don’t know what surprised me more. The fact that his career has gone so far down the pan that he needs to sells such services, or the revelation that he has incredibly small hands. So no big movie career beckons then. Disappointed, I moved on to Gabriel’s message…..
“Hi Ian my old friend….” Gosh that does sound rather familiar……. “I’m here to offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity that is too good to miss!!!” Oh good, this sounds more like it! No doubt he’s seen my blog and wants me to write him a script, with his part being a rugged, good looking, but maverick Irish Priest who is secretly a member of Opus Dei, has a drinking problem, and is struggling with the whole celibacy issue. All whilst battling the satanic minions of the Dark Lord. Great, now that is right up my street. I’ll just quickly watch every film he’s ever been in playing that exact same part, and it’ll be ready by lunchtime. However, he then puts a low punch into my balls, “Selling timeshares in Spain can make you a millionaire in just 18 months…” Oh, Gabby, how could you? My hopes of resurrecting your career are over. I now have no chance of anyone seeing my brilliantly scripted scene in which, having been captured by Satan’s minions, your character is tied up by two Succubae. Brilliantly played by Kelly Brook and Keeley Hazell (both bush-naked of course), they try to force you, by various despicable means, to break your vow of celibacy, and therefore be cast into the burning fires of Hell for all eternity. Oh, and obviously revealing the location of Jesus’ descendants in the process as well, natch. It would have been a cracker. Oh well, perhaps Daryl will be more in line with my expectations of her…
“Hi Ian, do you fancy bum-sex with me……” FCUKIN’ HELL!! I’ve seen Dancing at the Blue Iguana and while she really is as fit as a butcher’s dog perhaps we could just see if we get on together first……..Oh, hold there appears to be a pattern here…………
And that, I believe, is right where we should leave that……..Suffice it to say, if an offer from a Hollywood star really is too good to be true, it’s too good to be true. And perhaps, with cynicism re-born after it all appeared to be going so well with her, from African orphans as well.
As you all know, we have been following Dave’s trials and tribulations with orphan Elizabeth with baited breath and begging letters at the ready, all hoping for a share of the USD15M that should, a few small details aside, be winging itself post haste to his bank account. It really is marvellous to see the generosity of some people, faced with the most adverse of circumstances, and the willingness of others to assist them. It fair brings a tear to the eye and no mistake!
One never knows quite what will be thrown in one’s path on this bumpy road called life, be it the letter through your door offering you riches from a new and exciting scheme, the phone call out of the blue from and old acquaintance leading to a rekindled romance, or even a “once in a lifetime opportunity that is too good to miss” phone call from an Indian call centre. All are part of life’s rich tapestry and could just be that left turn off from the straight ahead of our lives that we all dream about.
The cynics amongst you may scoff, but once Dave has his bank account bulging with used fivers perhaps we’ll all realise we should be more trusting of the generosity of others. I hadn’t been as lucky as Dave up till now to be selected for one of these fantastic opportunities, so you’ll no doubt be as surprised and delighted as I was to finally receive “offers too good to miss” from not just a rich African orphan, who let’s face it, we might be slightly suspicious of, but some people whose credentials are beyond reproach…
Yes this morning, much to my drop-jawed disbelief, I received emails from the legendary Bruce Willis, the enigmatic Gabriel Byrne and the shagtastic Daryl Hannah, all offering me “OPPORTUNITY TOO GOOD TO MISS” Excellent, what could it be?
I opened Bruce’s first and boy did it start well. “Hi Ian my old friend…” well, I have seen him in a vest, so that’s ok – “have I got an offer for you!” – Woo-hoo!! Fame and fortune are only moments away! Perhaps he saw my part as “Non-speaking Centurion” in the school play and wants me to star in a film with him? I read on with great anticipation. “Follow the special link below direct to me for teeny hand job!” WTF??? I really don’t know what surprised me more. The fact that his career has gone so far down the pan that he needs to sells such services, or the revelation that he has incredibly small hands. So no big movie career beckons then. Disappointed, I moved on to Gabriel’s message…..
“Hi Ian my old friend….” Gosh that does sound rather familiar……. “I’m here to offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity that is too good to miss!!!” Oh good, this sounds more like it! No doubt he’s seen my blog and wants me to write him a script, with his part being a rugged, good looking, but maverick Irish Priest who is secretly a member of Opus Dei, has a drinking problem, and is struggling with the whole celibacy issue. All whilst battling the satanic minions of the Dark Lord. Great, now that is right up my street. I’ll just quickly watch every film he’s ever been in playing that exact same part, and it’ll be ready by lunchtime. However, he then puts a low punch into my balls, “Selling timeshares in Spain can make you a millionaire in just 18 months…” Oh, Gabby, how could you? My hopes of resurrecting your career are over. I now have no chance of anyone seeing my brilliantly scripted scene in which, having been captured by Satan’s minions, your character is tied up by two Succubae. Brilliantly played by Kelly Brook and Keeley Hazell (both bush-naked of course), they try to force you, by various despicable means, to break your vow of celibacy, and therefore be cast into the burning fires of Hell for all eternity. Oh, and obviously revealing the location of Jesus’ descendants in the process as well, natch. It would have been a cracker. Oh well, perhaps Daryl will be more in line with my expectations of her…
“Hi Ian, do you fancy bum-sex with me……” FCUKIN’ HELL!! I’ve seen Dancing at the Blue Iguana and while she really is as fit as a butcher’s dog perhaps we could just see if we get on together first……..Oh, hold there appears to be a pattern here…………
And that, I believe, is right where we should leave that……..Suffice it to say, if an offer from a Hollywood star really is too good to be true, it’s too good to be true. And perhaps, with cynicism re-born after it all appeared to be going so well with her, from African orphans as well.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Vicious Circles
When I’m bored, I like to write. Unfortunately the state of being bored doesn’t, in fact, lend itself to the creative process. Unless something interesting is happening to you, there’s nothing to write about, and if there is, you haven’t got time to do it. The chicken and the egg, so to speak. So. although over the last 3 months I’ve had as much time on my hands as one could wish for to do whatever one pleases, I simply haven’t done it. When you have all day tomorrow to do something, why spoil it by doing it today? It sure is a conundrum.
So what do I do? Well, it seems, yet again, the only thing that I have been bothered to do, is collect number plates. Yes, the fascination with people egos, and the lengths they go to to get noticed, still holds me in it thrall. If you think these are bad, you should have seen the ones I failed to get…….
Ok – let’s assume a 6 is a B shall we? So what does this make this driver?
And the best I can get from this one is loser. Well, you did decide to buy a new beetle you tosser
And now we can meet Tomie
And Alan
And Kris
And Dippy (his other cars say “La La” and Po”
All these are people you wouldn’t wish to get talking to in a pub no doubt – thery’re probably all estate agents
This chap of course would give you the right hump……..sorry
But now to my favourite three, where the owners have gone completely out of their way to send a message to whomsoever is following them – as far as illegal manipulation no less…….
Yes, we can all think of someone for whom this would be the perfect plate, just why would you want it yourself? Clever use of the screw cap to turn the 0 to a “C”….
And this gem – yes we know what the owner is trying to do here, but whichever way you cut it he's driving around in a car saying “SOBBY” – what a twat.
And finally this one. Now usually the personalised number plate can be considered as an ornament, the ring through the Prince Albert of the penis substitute if you will. But this attempt to say “Richard” is on a fucking benny bus for christ’s sake, it probably cost more than the car.
But hold on what is this? Not only a lame attempt to tell us his name but a subliminal message there too in the small print? Ah yes, there underneath you may just make out “Romans 10:13” I don’t think that’s the time he’s meeting the Chelsea chairman do you? No, of course not. It’s a bible verse no less. .”Everyone who calls on the name of the name of the Lord shall be saved” Good grief, Bible quotes on a personalised number plate on a fucking Suzuki Ignis “Sport” (they should probably be done under the trades description act for that one). Now I’ve seen everything…..
So what do I do? Well, it seems, yet again, the only thing that I have been bothered to do, is collect number plates. Yes, the fascination with people egos, and the lengths they go to to get noticed, still holds me in it thrall. If you think these are bad, you should have seen the ones I failed to get…….
Ok – let’s assume a 6 is a B shall we? So what does this make this driver?
And the best I can get from this one is loser. Well, you did decide to buy a new beetle you tosser
And now we can meet Tomie
And Alan
And Kris
And Dippy (his other cars say “La La” and Po”
All these are people you wouldn’t wish to get talking to in a pub no doubt – thery’re probably all estate agents
This chap of course would give you the right hump……..sorry
But now to my favourite three, where the owners have gone completely out of their way to send a message to whomsoever is following them – as far as illegal manipulation no less…….
Yes, we can all think of someone for whom this would be the perfect plate, just why would you want it yourself? Clever use of the screw cap to turn the 0 to a “C”….
And this gem – yes we know what the owner is trying to do here, but whichever way you cut it he's driving around in a car saying “SOBBY” – what a twat.
And finally this one. Now usually the personalised number plate can be considered as an ornament, the ring through the Prince Albert of the penis substitute if you will. But this attempt to say “Richard” is on a fucking benny bus for christ’s sake, it probably cost more than the car.
But hold on what is this? Not only a lame attempt to tell us his name but a subliminal message there too in the small print? Ah yes, there underneath you may just make out “Romans 10:13” I don’t think that’s the time he’s meeting the Chelsea chairman do you? No, of course not. It’s a bible verse no less. .”Everyone who calls on the name of the name of the Lord shall be saved” Good grief, Bible quotes on a personalised number plate on a fucking Suzuki Ignis “Sport” (they should probably be done under the trades description act for that one). Now I’ve seen everything…..