Warbling foetus

There's somthing immensely creepy about Justin Bieber, the latest musical hot potato to stare at us from MTV with eyes like gooey dinner-plates, warbling 'baby, baby baby, ooh'. I'm not sure what proves most upsetting. The haircut, like a tea-cosy missing a bobble. Possibly it's the jacket with sleeves hitched up his forearms in doubtless homage to Cutting Crew. Or maybe it's the shuffly dancing he's taught every chatshow host into whose lair he has inadvertantly shuffled, dancing that looks like Skat the Cat in Paula Abdul's 'Opposites Attract' video channeling the spirit of Michael Jackson.

No, I'm not going to say anything about MJ's spirit entering a young boy. That would be wrong. Shame on you.

Actually, I do know what it is. It's the advertisment for his little album (I don't know why I feel the urge to refer to it as his 'little album', I just do. Maybe I'd ruffle his hair if he was within ruffling range. I'd wash my hands afterwards, obviously. I'm not an animal.) where we are informed that we should "get Bieber fever!". Bieber fever. Bieber fever sounds like something you would inoculate a child against, not something you should actively encourage.

So that's why I think he's creepy. He's the aural equivalent of whooping cough.

Tellers about the bank

I don't pretend to know anything about money, or indeed have any skills in keeping hold of it. Where funds are concerned, I can always find an ill-judged investment window to throw my cash through. Money to me is as easy to keep hold of as a fish in vaseline pyjamas. Which is why, when possible, I keep it in a bank. You may be familiar with banks, they are institutions who you ask to look after your money and who then spend it as soon as you turn your back. We don't usually worry about them doing this so long as they give us something that looks a bit like our money when we ask for it. As I understand it, that's why the credit crunch annoyed so many people. They went to their bank and asked for some of their money and the bank put its hands in its pockets, looked guiltily at the floor, shifted its weight from one foot to the other and said 'sorry, I spent it'. The bank's customers then walked away grumbling about how they should have put it in a sports bag and asked a homeless junkie (whom we shall call 'Heroin Harry', in the hope that he gets his own chatshow) to look after, since there's at least a chance he'll overdose before he spends it all.
Of course I rarely read the money supplement, so I may have misunderstood the whole thing.

I was in the bank today queuing behind a middle-aged woman. As you know, each bank teller is numbered. This is because if they were identified by name then the tannoy would say "Steve is now free" or "please move to Christine", and the customers would be milling around scratching their heads trying to decide if someone had a Christiney quality or not. The subjective nature of whether or not someone is Christiney would result in terrible delays and an inability to recall why you are standing in front of a man who might be called Christine in the first place. To avoid this situation a simple numeric system is in place so that a disembodied voice (who also works for the post office) can say "[bing] cashier X is now available". Well, I say simple, the system proved a little complicated for the lady in front of me.

"[Bing] cashier three is now available" [flashing light]. The lady looked up. She knew something had just happened, but she wasn't sure what.
"[Bing] cashier three is now available" [flashing light]. The cashier waved. The lady looked around like her skull was sat on a rotating metronome.
"[Bing] cashier three is now available" [flashing light]. The cashier then stood up, waved like someone on a desert island attempting to get the attention of a passing ship and said "I'm over here".
This had the desired effect, the lady made an exaggerated 'oh, THERE you are!' gesture and toddled off to the desk. Yes. THERE she was. Number three. Next to number two. Before number four. If you find yourself standing next to a stranger at number five, you've gone too far.

I didn't get to hear what she asked the clerk for as I was then summoned to number one, but I like to think that she then tried to deposit some buttons.