Earlier this week I was perusing the sandwiches in Sainsbury's and felt that the girl loading the shelves was getting uncomfortably close. I looked down at her and noticed that (aside from being quite short) she had down’s syndrome. Boldly resisting the urge to point and laugh (I am an oak of restraint) I looked back to the shelf then felt a tug on my sleeve and heard [adopts 'down’s voice'...now don't be like that, you know exactly what I mean] "scuse me, can you move the sandwiches on the top shelf so they are all together? Ican’treachemhankyou". I knew what she was asking, and having read 'Of Mice and Men', I didn't want to anger her.
So I did it.
Badly, as it happens, because she then tugged my sleeve again saying, "no put them behind each other" (I was grouping the fillings together, like some kind of idiot).
So I started again, conscious of her [judge]mental gaze.
I then plucked a pastrami sandwich from the shelf, paid and left. Walking back up to the office I nearly fell over when I suddenly thought, 'hang on a moment...'. My question is this: which is more bizarre, having my sandwich grouping skills criticised by someone that can’t tie their own shoelaces, or Sainsbury's expecting a dwarf to stack the top shelf?
Friday 26 February 2010
Friday 19 February 2010
Does it seem crowded in here?
A friend who has another friend (as if I'm not enough) who has recently had a baby held her phone out to me saying "do you want to see her baby after birth?"*. This is my problem with new parents, they take photos of everything.
Currently pregnancy seems to be everywhere. If people aren't actually pregnant, they are tying to get pregnant, or indeed have just given birth. It's like living in a country populated by inverted Pez dispensers. Even this woman, whom fate had seemingly decided was unfit to contribute to the gene pool, has now given birth. Let us applaud loudly enough to drown out the groaning of the bulging walls of our nearest adoption agency.
Actually, I will admit that's probably a little unfair. Well done her [pat, pat]. I'm deeply impressed that she kept trying after 18 miscarriages. My heart goes out to her husband though as any hope he has of getting a Playstaion 3 for his birthday are very slim since she's obviously rubbish at taking hints.
The problem with new parents is that you can feel that you have lost the friend that you had before they became a parent. Certainly you do initially. Out go the drinking sessions. Out go the boys'/girls' nights. Most upsettingly, out go converstaions about anything...other...than...babies. This is the hardest thing for new parents to understand, their baby occupies every moment of their lives, and it's very very hard for them to understand how anyone can not be as excited (or indeed as interested) as they are. To them it is a cutely gurgling bundle of joy, but to others it is an androgynous, screaming, leaking bundle of smells. They only think it's wonderful because they made it, it is their bundle. People tell me "oh, your ideas will change when you have children of your own", but is that really the sensible way to find out? Do they also recommend people hop into a car and speed off down the motorway on the off-chance they turn out to be good drivers?
Besides, I can't make one alone unless I fashion it from wax. And that would look ridiculous.
Experience has taught me something though, and that is that the novelty does wear off. The first one is treated like it is Jesus Christ himself (only not fictional), the second with slightly less enthusiasm and so on and so on until eventually feral children are seen scurrying about the streets like rats hunting for scraps. At which point we summon the Pied Piper of Social Services.
Not that this will happen with you. If you haven't already, when you have children it will be amazing. You will of course have performed a miracle and awed congratulations will be bestowed upon you as appropriate. Just don't ask me to babysit because I take things far too literally.
*You will no doubt be almost as pleased as I was to learn that the photo was actually of the baby shortly after it was born. Which is just as well, because I doubt her mobile phone insurance covered vomit damage. Although how you damage vomit is anyone's guess.
Currently pregnancy seems to be everywhere. If people aren't actually pregnant, they are tying to get pregnant, or indeed have just given birth. It's like living in a country populated by inverted Pez dispensers. Even this woman, whom fate had seemingly decided was unfit to contribute to the gene pool, has now given birth. Let us applaud loudly enough to drown out the groaning of the bulging walls of our nearest adoption agency.
Actually, I will admit that's probably a little unfair. Well done her [pat, pat]. I'm deeply impressed that she kept trying after 18 miscarriages. My heart goes out to her husband though as any hope he has of getting a Playstaion 3 for his birthday are very slim since she's obviously rubbish at taking hints.
The problem with new parents is that you can feel that you have lost the friend that you had before they became a parent. Certainly you do initially. Out go the drinking sessions. Out go the boys'/girls' nights. Most upsettingly, out go converstaions about anything...other...than...babies. This is the hardest thing for new parents to understand, their baby occupies every moment of their lives, and it's very very hard for them to understand how anyone can not be as excited (or indeed as interested) as they are. To them it is a cutely gurgling bundle of joy, but to others it is an androgynous, screaming, leaking bundle of smells. They only think it's wonderful because they made it, it is their bundle. People tell me "oh, your ideas will change when you have children of your own", but is that really the sensible way to find out? Do they also recommend people hop into a car and speed off down the motorway on the off-chance they turn out to be good drivers?
Besides, I can't make one alone unless I fashion it from wax. And that would look ridiculous.
Experience has taught me something though, and that is that the novelty does wear off. The first one is treated like it is Jesus Christ himself (only not fictional), the second with slightly less enthusiasm and so on and so on until eventually feral children are seen scurrying about the streets like rats hunting for scraps. At which point we summon the Pied Piper of Social Services.
Not that this will happen with you. If you haven't already, when you have children it will be amazing. You will of course have performed a miracle and awed congratulations will be bestowed upon you as appropriate. Just don't ask me to babysit because I take things far too literally.
*You will no doubt be almost as pleased as I was to learn that the photo was actually of the baby shortly after it was born. Which is just as well, because I doubt her mobile phone insurance covered vomit damage. Although how you damage vomit is anyone's guess.
Tuesday 16 February 2010
Cuisine to die for
"She spiked lethal curry with Queen of poisons" wails The Sun (annoyingly the headline is different on the website than it was in the actual newspaper). Ah, a Black Widow story. One reported by The Sun too, a (literally) flashing icon of journalistic brilliance. A newspaper fit for Kings. Not Queens of course, they got no place here, not in our blokey, stubble-chinned, pint-swilling, tit-loving ol' mate The Sun. Fancy France for a pound? No? Ok, let's talk news.
So, woman has an affair. Man ends affair. Woman leaves poisoned curry in man's fridge. Man eats it with his girlfriend. Man dies, girlfriend ends up in coma. Girlfriend wakes up, calls The Sun. You would no-doubt do the same. But how come he died and she didn't? Because according to the report she didn't have second helpings. It seems that gluttony really is the number one killer in England after all.
"He had more than I did, he had it with three chapatis and I had it with two, then he had a second helping". He then complains of feeling ill (I'm not surprised, the fat fuck) so he went for a shower. Assuming that's not a euphemism, it's a curious thought process he had. "I'm not feeling well, perhaps if I wash my hair...".
The couple then started to go blind and lose control of their legs (pissheads), he ended up having to support himself. The penny now drops. That's why he is given such sympathetic treatment (don't forget, he was having an affair), The Sun is simply applauding him for not being on benefits.
Panicking, they call an ambulance and then his sister, who arrives ahead of the ambulance, piles them into her 'motor' (yes that's right, the most widely read newspaper in England refers to cars as 'motors', like the editor's Guy Ritchie) and takes them to the hospital. Presumably the ambulance then turned up, paramedics leap out and start scratching their heads at why an empty flat would need their help. The man dies, the girlfriend has a kip, and the killer is apprehended.
The murderess was found with the poison on her and despite her protestations of using the poison as a mosturiser when mixed with cow urine (I expect she was on her way to an appointment at Nivea), she was arrested. Confessions then poured out of her like moisturiser from a cow. It appears that she resented the affair ending due to all the sacrifices she made for it. One of which was offering to get a divorce. Offering! Now, really, are you sacrificing anything by offering to do something? Indeed are you even doing anything by offering? Think of the phrase 'do you want a hand?'. Has this ever been uttered and actually been followed up with an act of assistance? Rarely, and when it has the assistance has been accompanied by a pained expression and a sigh since the person offering never considered he'd actually need to do anything. If the divorce offer had been picked up the woman would have fallen over faster than the dead guy fell off his perch.
The poison she used was 'Wolfsbane' by the way (yes, the one you mix with cow piss to fill in your wrinkles). You may have heard of it, it looks a bit like a bluebell and isn't very good for you. Want to know more? The Sun is there with the important facts:
"[the plant is] often known in England as Wolfsbane and has featured in the Harry Potter books - used in a potion by Professor Snape, played by Alan Rickman" (there is an accompanying picture of Rickman as Snape).
Well that clears that up then. What The Sun doesn't tell you just isn't worth knowing.
The thing that I really struggle with in this story though, relates to the headline: "She spiked lethal curry with Queen of poisons". If the curry was lethal, why did she bother putting poison in it?
So, woman has an affair. Man ends affair. Woman leaves poisoned curry in man's fridge. Man eats it with his girlfriend. Man dies, girlfriend ends up in coma. Girlfriend wakes up, calls The Sun. You would no-doubt do the same. But how come he died and she didn't? Because according to the report she didn't have second helpings. It seems that gluttony really is the number one killer in England after all.
"He had more than I did, he had it with three chapatis and I had it with two, then he had a second helping". He then complains of feeling ill (I'm not surprised, the fat fuck) so he went for a shower. Assuming that's not a euphemism, it's a curious thought process he had. "I'm not feeling well, perhaps if I wash my hair...".
The couple then started to go blind and lose control of their legs (pissheads), he ended up having to support himself. The penny now drops. That's why he is given such sympathetic treatment (don't forget, he was having an affair), The Sun is simply applauding him for not being on benefits.
Panicking, they call an ambulance and then his sister, who arrives ahead of the ambulance, piles them into her 'motor' (yes that's right, the most widely read newspaper in England refers to cars as 'motors', like the editor's Guy Ritchie) and takes them to the hospital. Presumably the ambulance then turned up, paramedics leap out and start scratching their heads at why an empty flat would need their help. The man dies, the girlfriend has a kip, and the killer is apprehended.
The murderess was found with the poison on her and despite her protestations of using the poison as a mosturiser when mixed with cow urine (I expect she was on her way to an appointment at Nivea), she was arrested. Confessions then poured out of her like moisturiser from a cow. It appears that she resented the affair ending due to all the sacrifices she made for it. One of which was offering to get a divorce. Offering! Now, really, are you sacrificing anything by offering to do something? Indeed are you even doing anything by offering? Think of the phrase 'do you want a hand?'. Has this ever been uttered and actually been followed up with an act of assistance? Rarely, and when it has the assistance has been accompanied by a pained expression and a sigh since the person offering never considered he'd actually need to do anything. If the divorce offer had been picked up the woman would have fallen over faster than the dead guy fell off his perch.
The poison she used was 'Wolfsbane' by the way (yes, the one you mix with cow piss to fill in your wrinkles). You may have heard of it, it looks a bit like a bluebell and isn't very good for you. Want to know more? The Sun is there with the important facts:
"[the plant is] often known in England as Wolfsbane and has featured in the Harry Potter books - used in a potion by Professor Snape, played by Alan Rickman" (there is an accompanying picture of Rickman as Snape).
Well that clears that up then. What The Sun doesn't tell you just isn't worth knowing.
The thing that I really struggle with in this story though, relates to the headline: "She spiked lethal curry with Queen of poisons". If the curry was lethal, why did she bother putting poison in it?
Friday 12 February 2010
Eat up
The inventiveness of Ben and Jerry's ice cream flavours never fails to impress me. One of them is called 'Caramel Chew Chew'. Now, does this or does this not sound like a euphemism employed by a black paedophile to encourage a stubborn child?
Good. Not just me then.
Good. Not just me then.
Tuesday 9 February 2010
SyCo/Psycho
I noticed in the Metro that Simon Cowell has apparently offered weediest hunk in the world, Robert Pattinson (who plays Edward thingy in The Twiglet Saga), a record deal but he has turned it down since he believes his acting comes first. This is interesting for two reasons, firstly that he considered two hours of bland sleepwalking "acting", and secondly that Simon Cowell can smell a musical gravy train from a mile away. In case you need more evidence of this, a headline elsewhere in the paper reads 'Manslaughter rap for [Michael] Jackson's doc[tor]'.
You may also like the story under the heading 'Lover tried to behead his ex'. Here a man believed his ex-girlfriend was planning to kill him. So, rather unsportingly, he killed her. There is no evidence that she was in fact planning to kill him outside of his own 'psychotic delusions'. He is pleading guilty on the grounds of 'diminished responsibility'. Essentially saying "I couldn't help it, I'm mad". I've never really liked this defence, solely on the basis that there might be a judge somewhere that simply tuts, shakes his head and sends the nutcase on his way chortling at some murderers having no self-control ([sigh] "I don't know, what are you like"). In my mind, this defence means a killer could basically be given the same treatment as a dieter that has succumbed to a donut and held their hands up going "whoops, sorry".
He is definitely mad though, there's no doubt about that. For a start he tried to cut her head off with a pen-knife, and anyone could tell you that would take f***ing ages. Mental.
You may also like the story under the heading 'Lover tried to behead his ex'. Here a man believed his ex-girlfriend was planning to kill him. So, rather unsportingly, he killed her. There is no evidence that she was in fact planning to kill him outside of his own 'psychotic delusions'. He is pleading guilty on the grounds of 'diminished responsibility'. Essentially saying "I couldn't help it, I'm mad". I've never really liked this defence, solely on the basis that there might be a judge somewhere that simply tuts, shakes his head and sends the nutcase on his way chortling at some murderers having no self-control ([sigh] "I don't know, what are you like"). In my mind, this defence means a killer could basically be given the same treatment as a dieter that has succumbed to a donut and held their hands up going "whoops, sorry".
He is definitely mad though, there's no doubt about that. For a start he tried to cut her head off with a pen-knife, and anyone could tell you that would take f***ing ages. Mental.
Tuesday 2 February 2010
Something beginning with 'C'...
On Friday last, the gates of the Big Brother house closed for the penultimate time. This was the last gasp of the 'Celebrity' version, the nation's knee has yet to fully press down upon the wheezing chest of the prole equivalent, terminally ill though it is. Not that the death of the father of streaming reality TV will mean the death of reality TV as a whole, rest assured that Ant and Dec will continue feeding witchetty grubs to people we vaguely recognise for a few years yet.
This year the two series had a vague crossover, with novelty weather-balloon Jordan appearing in 'I'm a Celebrity...Get Me Out of Here' and her boyfriend, cage-fighter/actor/perma-tanned waxed chimp Alex Reid appearing in Celebrity Big Brother. Jordan's ex, bizarrely willied (Google the sex tape) Dane Bowers was also present in the house. Presumabaly Peter Andre was busy, which is a shame because the three of them could have formed a Barber-Shop trio specialising in songs about boobs. They could have called themselves 'The Three Tits'. Sadly, not to be.
Now when Jordan was in the jungle she complained about the public vicitmising her by voting for her to perform the various grim food challenges. Poor lamb. Who would have thought that viewers would like to watch an awful person having shit thrown at her. I really didn't see that coming, and presumably neither did she or she would have ducked.
As with many celebrities, Jordan went in ostensibly to prove that she is more than just a big pair of tits, and is not the bitch that the press painted her out to be. So we were treated to a variety of deep conversations.
"What did you think of me? What were your expectations?"
"I thought you'd be a bitch"
[blank face]
The conversation would then move on to talk about her tits.
Also whilst in the jungle, Jordan dumped her boyfriend (cage-fighter/actor/perma-tanned waxed chimp Alex Reid ) because she didn't love him. Upon exiting the show, she then left Australia in a hurry as she heard that he had arrived in the country to see her, no doubt slightly perplexed. Fortunately in the lead-up to Celebrity Big Brother, as media interest in him grew, Jordan remembered that she did in fact love him and so they got back together. Then he won the show! And she remembered she didn't just love him, she really loved him.
Ain't...(non-media induced) love...grand.
This year the two series had a vague crossover, with novelty weather-balloon Jordan appearing in 'I'm a Celebrity...Get Me Out of Here' and her boyfriend, cage-fighter/actor/perma-tanned waxed chimp Alex Reid appearing in Celebrity Big Brother. Jordan's ex, bizarrely willied (Google the sex tape) Dane Bowers was also present in the house. Presumabaly Peter Andre was busy, which is a shame because the three of them could have formed a Barber-Shop trio specialising in songs about boobs. They could have called themselves 'The Three Tits'. Sadly, not to be.
Now when Jordan was in the jungle she complained about the public vicitmising her by voting for her to perform the various grim food challenges. Poor lamb. Who would have thought that viewers would like to watch an awful person having shit thrown at her. I really didn't see that coming, and presumably neither did she or she would have ducked.
As with many celebrities, Jordan went in ostensibly to prove that she is more than just a big pair of tits, and is not the bitch that the press painted her out to be. So we were treated to a variety of deep conversations.
"What did you think of me? What were your expectations?"
"I thought you'd be a bitch"
[blank face]
The conversation would then move on to talk about her tits.
Also whilst in the jungle, Jordan dumped her boyfriend (cage-fighter/actor/perma-tanned waxed chimp Alex Reid ) because she didn't love him. Upon exiting the show, she then left Australia in a hurry as she heard that he had arrived in the country to see her, no doubt slightly perplexed. Fortunately in the lead-up to Celebrity Big Brother, as media interest in him grew, Jordan remembered that she did in fact love him and so they got back together. Then he won the show! And she remembered she didn't just love him, she really loved him.
Ain't...(non-media induced) love...grand.
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