Jesus Christ!
I wasn't singing the opening bars to a Lloyd-Webber musical there; I was merely trying to vent a little frustration before I began writing this blog, to prevent me using the kind of language which would make the Gallaghers blush.
Hot on the heels of my previous blog (regarding being blamed by somebody who ate my breakfast for her gaining weight) comes the story of an American (surprise, surprise) who has apparently got a condition which makes her eat in the night.
It's got a real medical name as well, apparently. Something like Kippinglardarseitis or something, and is actually recognised as a condition. Surely you can understand my earlier outburst now.
Basically, the story unfolded thus. She had a foot injury which wasn't healing despite the fact she was laid up during the day. She also started noticing crumbs and food wrappers in the bed, and put on the thick end of 9 stone despite dieting and exercising daily. It hardly takes Columbo to figure this one out does it?
Now, my complaint is not with the condition itself (although in my opinion it's not really worthy of medical attention). Instead, my gripe is with the fact that she is totally helpless in resolving the matter herself. They had her on the radio and all she did was bleat about how she couldn't help raiding the fridge in her sleep, that her husband was a heavy sleeper so he didn't notice and that she had clothes in 3 different sizes (not sure why - she doesn't exactly fluctuate weight-wise). Throughout the whole interview, the female interviewer was very sympathetic, agreeing that it must be a living hell.
I have one, small question, however:
WHY DON'T YOU LOCK THE FECKING FRIDGE THEN?
Put a lock on the fridge, get her husband to lock it when she's not there then hide the key. Unless she's a psychic Houdini type of sleepwalker, how the bloody hell is she going to find the food then? Either that or fill the fridge with fruit and other low-fat treats (if such a thing exists). If her story was that she'd been taken hostage and force-fed lard for 6 months you'd have some sympathy, but this is so easily resolvable that it barely warrants any media attention whatsoever.
Mind you, Lady Gaga is a successful music artist, so what do I know about what should and shouldn't be in the media?
Thursday, 18 June 2009
Friday, 12 June 2009
Weight Gain: Blame-free
It's been ages since I used conversations and occurrences from work to write blogs, but every so often you're given a chance to highlight just how misguided and, yes, idiotic some of the other inhabitants of our fair isle actually are.
Due to a work-related problem, I had to visit a different site yesterday morning. It was a last-minute thing and as such certain people weren't aware that I wasn't in my normal office that morning. Our canteen staff fall into this group.
Now, I'm what you might call a creature of habit. I have the same breakfast every morning (when else would you have it?) - 2 pieces of dry brown toast and beans. Simple, healthy and above all, cheap. Such is the regularity of me having this, that all I need to do is ask for 'the usual' and it will be done. It is important that you bear in mind the fact I have to visit the canteen and physically ask for this.
When I returned to my normal office today, I visited the canteen and ordered 'the usual'. I was then accused of causing one of the canteen staff members to gain weight. Her logic was thus:
- She had made my usual rounds of toast yesterday morning
- I obviously didn't turn up, so
- She ate them instead
Slightly taken aback at the ridiculousness of the statement (even by their standards), I then countered with three questions of my own:
- Why did you write down my order when I didn't actually ask for it?
- Given that I hadn't turned up to order it, and the quick nature of making toast, why didn't you just hang on on the off-chance that I'd forgotten to order and turned up anyway?
- How did you manage to put weight on by eating 2 slices of dry brown toast?
I must confess I didn't ask the first two questions, simply because I've had arguments in the past about pre-empting my order (to the extent that I've sometimes deliberately ordered something else to prove myself right - what a wag). I did however ask the final question.
Her response was succinct.
"Well, I didn't want to eat them dry, so I put butter on them"
Oh, so that's why it's my fault. You buttered the toast I would have eaten dry to suit your own taste, and therefore it's my fault you may put weight on. Maybe I should have suggested that the next time this happens (cos I know for a fact it will eventually), she actually covers the toast in dog dirt. The resulting stomach problems will cause her to lose weight (through vomiting, the trots, etc) and can only presume I will be held up as some kind of a hero for bringing about miracle weight loss.
At my place of work, stranger things have literally happened.
Due to a work-related problem, I had to visit a different site yesterday morning. It was a last-minute thing and as such certain people weren't aware that I wasn't in my normal office that morning. Our canteen staff fall into this group.
Now, I'm what you might call a creature of habit. I have the same breakfast every morning (when else would you have it?) - 2 pieces of dry brown toast and beans. Simple, healthy and above all, cheap. Such is the regularity of me having this, that all I need to do is ask for 'the usual' and it will be done. It is important that you bear in mind the fact I have to visit the canteen and physically ask for this.
When I returned to my normal office today, I visited the canteen and ordered 'the usual'. I was then accused of causing one of the canteen staff members to gain weight. Her logic was thus:
- She had made my usual rounds of toast yesterday morning
- I obviously didn't turn up, so
- She ate them instead
Slightly taken aback at the ridiculousness of the statement (even by their standards), I then countered with three questions of my own:
- Why did you write down my order when I didn't actually ask for it?
- Given that I hadn't turned up to order it, and the quick nature of making toast, why didn't you just hang on on the off-chance that I'd forgotten to order and turned up anyway?
- How did you manage to put weight on by eating 2 slices of dry brown toast?
I must confess I didn't ask the first two questions, simply because I've had arguments in the past about pre-empting my order (to the extent that I've sometimes deliberately ordered something else to prove myself right - what a wag). I did however ask the final question.
Her response was succinct.
"Well, I didn't want to eat them dry, so I put butter on them"
Oh, so that's why it's my fault. You buttered the toast I would have eaten dry to suit your own taste, and therefore it's my fault you may put weight on. Maybe I should have suggested that the next time this happens (cos I know for a fact it will eventually), she actually covers the toast in dog dirt. The resulting stomach problems will cause her to lose weight (through vomiting, the trots, etc) and can only presume I will be held up as some kind of a hero for bringing about miracle weight loss.
At my place of work, stranger things have literally happened.
Tuesday, 9 June 2009
Setanta: The ITV Digital of football coverage
Many football fans will remember a few years ago, when ITV Digital went tits up, meaning a load of football clubs who had shelled out for new players and stadia based on their expected revenue from the deal went a bit sideways. Much shaking of heads and wringing of hands ensued, as the FA promised such a situation would never arise again.
Which makes the pending doom of Setanta all the more surprising.
As I write, they're expected to call the administrators in shortly, as they owe £3m to the SPL and a further £30m to the Prem. Apparently they've fallen behind on payments and are unlikely to be able to meet them, so that's that. I'd be surprised if the Premiership suffers too much as a result, but the Jocks may have some trouble filling that void, and besides which, that's not the point.
I'm all for fair competition in the marketplace, to ensure no one company has complete control over something. Sky pretty much put regular live football on the map (although they do seem to think that top-flight footy began in 1992) and have been nothing but a success in delivering quality footage, drama and the worse pundits this site of MoTD ever since. A couple of years ago, the Monopolies and Mergers Commission (or whoever deals with this kind of thing these days) decided enough was enough and broke up their monopoly on the packages. Setanta threw their hat in the ring and got some games, so Sky wound Prem Plus up and Setanta began showing Saturday tea-time games against a gaudy yellow background.
There are 2 reasons why this eventually went wrong.
Firstly, other than these odd games and some international matches, all Setanta can offer are pay-per-view boxing and a bit of golf. These are specialist interest sports in my opinion, meaning they would only ever attract a fraction of the viewing public. Had they offered a wider range of sports and/or less pay-per-view options, I think more people would've signed up to it. Contrast with Sky, who offer entertainment, news, movies and some right twaddle alongside their sports package, meaning the vast majority of people will opt for Sky (rightly or wrongly) knowing they can add/remove the sport at their behest. Sky's multi-avenue coverage of televisual entertainment ensures they're the punter's choice for a satellite provider.
The second (and easily most important) reason that Setanta are on their arse is because, not to put too fine a point on it, they're utter, utter, UTTER shite at customer service. At the request of a friend who wanted to attend my birthday and watch the Calzaghe fight later that night, I signed up for a 3-month stint one April. They couldn't have been more helpful in setting it up and taking my brass (from my credit card, mind; a Direct Debit was not allowed). Once the 3 months was up I was surprised to learn I was still able to see games. That's because they'd decided to carry on charging me anyway, God bless 'em. By the October I'd decided enough was enough, so begun the cancellation process. A few points relating to this procedure:
- There's literally no way to cancel your subscription either on their website or over the phone. Upon searching Google, the only hits were for users in a similar situation who were either asking for help cancelling or offering an email address to contact.
- Having rung them to cancel, the 'assistant' gave me the wrong email address (in my opinion wrongly, to get another month's pay out of me). I got the correct one during my second call.
- The only way I managed to speak to someone was when my credit card changed, so they could no longer collect payments. I left it ages before I answered one of their calls because it came up as "withheld" on caller ID.
- I agreed to pay the difference on the account on the understanding I could have my subscription cancelled. I gave them my details and that was that. 2 days later I got another call demanding payment. Upon explaining the situation, it became clear that apparently some temporary staff had been processing payments but not completing them, meaning they could claim the commission but leave it unpaid to try again at a later date.
- Their policy is to take a further month's payment from you before cancelling, meaning I didn't actually get it cancelled until the start of December, a full 6 weeks from when they started.
- There is no known complaints procedure.
All in all, they're a shower of shambolic schysters. I wouldn't go back to them for all the tea in China after the way they treated me (and others, it has subsequently transpired. My story seems eerily familiar to other people I've spoken to). As far as I'm concerned, they've got exactly what they deserved.
** Insert knob gag here **
Which makes the pending doom of Setanta all the more surprising.
As I write, they're expected to call the administrators in shortly, as they owe £3m to the SPL and a further £30m to the Prem. Apparently they've fallen behind on payments and are unlikely to be able to meet them, so that's that. I'd be surprised if the Premiership suffers too much as a result, but the Jocks may have some trouble filling that void, and besides which, that's not the point.
I'm all for fair competition in the marketplace, to ensure no one company has complete control over something. Sky pretty much put regular live football on the map (although they do seem to think that top-flight footy began in 1992) and have been nothing but a success in delivering quality footage, drama and the worse pundits this site of MoTD ever since. A couple of years ago, the Monopolies and Mergers Commission (or whoever deals with this kind of thing these days) decided enough was enough and broke up their monopoly on the packages. Setanta threw their hat in the ring and got some games, so Sky wound Prem Plus up and Setanta began showing Saturday tea-time games against a gaudy yellow background.
There are 2 reasons why this eventually went wrong.
Firstly, other than these odd games and some international matches, all Setanta can offer are pay-per-view boxing and a bit of golf. These are specialist interest sports in my opinion, meaning they would only ever attract a fraction of the viewing public. Had they offered a wider range of sports and/or less pay-per-view options, I think more people would've signed up to it. Contrast with Sky, who offer entertainment, news, movies and some right twaddle alongside their sports package, meaning the vast majority of people will opt for Sky (rightly or wrongly) knowing they can add/remove the sport at their behest. Sky's multi-avenue coverage of televisual entertainment ensures they're the punter's choice for a satellite provider.
The second (and easily most important) reason that Setanta are on their arse is because, not to put too fine a point on it, they're utter, utter, UTTER shite at customer service. At the request of a friend who wanted to attend my birthday and watch the Calzaghe fight later that night, I signed up for a 3-month stint one April. They couldn't have been more helpful in setting it up and taking my brass (from my credit card, mind; a Direct Debit was not allowed). Once the 3 months was up I was surprised to learn I was still able to see games. That's because they'd decided to carry on charging me anyway, God bless 'em. By the October I'd decided enough was enough, so begun the cancellation process. A few points relating to this procedure:
- There's literally no way to cancel your subscription either on their website or over the phone. Upon searching Google, the only hits were for users in a similar situation who were either asking for help cancelling or offering an email address to contact.
- Having rung them to cancel, the 'assistant' gave me the wrong email address (in my opinion wrongly, to get another month's pay out of me). I got the correct one during my second call.
- The only way I managed to speak to someone was when my credit card changed, so they could no longer collect payments. I left it ages before I answered one of their calls because it came up as "withheld" on caller ID.
- I agreed to pay the difference on the account on the understanding I could have my subscription cancelled. I gave them my details and that was that. 2 days later I got another call demanding payment. Upon explaining the situation, it became clear that apparently some temporary staff had been processing payments but not completing them, meaning they could claim the commission but leave it unpaid to try again at a later date.
- Their policy is to take a further month's payment from you before cancelling, meaning I didn't actually get it cancelled until the start of December, a full 6 weeks from when they started.
- There is no known complaints procedure.
All in all, they're a shower of shambolic schysters. I wouldn't go back to them for all the tea in China after the way they treated me (and others, it has subsequently transpired. My story seems eerily familiar to other people I've spoken to). As far as I'm concerned, they've got exactly what they deserved.
** Insert knob gag here **
Thursday, 4 June 2009
Monday, 18 May 2009
Bad Language: Prompt
I consider myself a genial kind of guy. Apart from a reasonably high-profile falling out with a friend of a friend recently, my record for getting on with people is practically blemish-free. In addition, I tend to find that I get on with people from all walks of life very quickly, and often find myself talking about all manner of personal and unusual subjects with people I’ve only known a few minutes.
However, it also appears that I have the kind of face and/or personality which says to people “This guy clearly loves to hear lots of incredibly aggressive swear words shortly after meeting someone, so let’s say some. Immediately”
You’ll be surprised to learn that bad language doesn’t exactly upset me. I’m not the most frequent exponent of its use in my group of friends, but I’m all for a bit of ‘industrial’ language to get my point across rather than that flowery nonsense most people go for. Indeed, if I could guarantee that such prose wouldn’t upset readers, I would in all likelihood sprinkle massively inappropriate words throughout my blogs, simply because I can. However, given that I can’t guarantee non-friends won’t read this, I have to keep it clean and ultimately avoid any potential legal wranglings.
The reason I mention this skill of drawing bad language out of people came about after a recent trip to Dublin. To and from the airport I unsurprisingly used local taxi drivers. Both were chirpy salt-of-the-earth types who had opinions on everything from traffic police to the state of the economy. I was happy to join in with my opinions and thoughts on many subjects, but out of respect and a lack of knowledge of the drivers’ tolerances to swearing, kept it clean.
The same cannot be said of the drivers.
Bear in mind I was in the company of both drivers for less that 20 minutes combined, yet I heard 30-plus f-words, multiple ‘bastards’ and even a couple of the ‘bad’ swear word. You know, the one that starts with ‘c’ and isn’t ‘cock’ or ‘compass’. Yeah, that one.
Now, like I said, such language doesn’t bother me (in fact, given the Irish accent, the word ‘cont’ actually made me laugh, which may or may not be racist), but surely these guys must come into contact with people from all parts of the social spectrum on a daily basis, so liberal use of the c-bomb shouldn’t be encouraged? Assuming these guys are aware of the fact they’re being paid for their driving service, they have to be very careful not to offend people and jeopardise their pay day. I can therefore only assume that within a few seconds of meeting me, people think “This guy clearly likes a bit of blue language. It would be rude to disappoint”. Either that or such language is as clean as the proverbial baby’s bottom in Ireland, so it isn’t deemed offensive to lob it into every other sentence.
I’m still not sure if I’m proud or not. I probably am though.
However, it also appears that I have the kind of face and/or personality which says to people “This guy clearly loves to hear lots of incredibly aggressive swear words shortly after meeting someone, so let’s say some. Immediately”
You’ll be surprised to learn that bad language doesn’t exactly upset me. I’m not the most frequent exponent of its use in my group of friends, but I’m all for a bit of ‘industrial’ language to get my point across rather than that flowery nonsense most people go for. Indeed, if I could guarantee that such prose wouldn’t upset readers, I would in all likelihood sprinkle massively inappropriate words throughout my blogs, simply because I can. However, given that I can’t guarantee non-friends won’t read this, I have to keep it clean and ultimately avoid any potential legal wranglings.
The reason I mention this skill of drawing bad language out of people came about after a recent trip to Dublin. To and from the airport I unsurprisingly used local taxi drivers. Both were chirpy salt-of-the-earth types who had opinions on everything from traffic police to the state of the economy. I was happy to join in with my opinions and thoughts on many subjects, but out of respect and a lack of knowledge of the drivers’ tolerances to swearing, kept it clean.
The same cannot be said of the drivers.
Bear in mind I was in the company of both drivers for less that 20 minutes combined, yet I heard 30-plus f-words, multiple ‘bastards’ and even a couple of the ‘bad’ swear word. You know, the one that starts with ‘c’ and isn’t ‘cock’ or ‘compass’. Yeah, that one.
Now, like I said, such language doesn’t bother me (in fact, given the Irish accent, the word ‘cont’ actually made me laugh, which may or may not be racist), but surely these guys must come into contact with people from all parts of the social spectrum on a daily basis, so liberal use of the c-bomb shouldn’t be encouraged? Assuming these guys are aware of the fact they’re being paid for their driving service, they have to be very careful not to offend people and jeopardise their pay day. I can therefore only assume that within a few seconds of meeting me, people think “This guy clearly likes a bit of blue language. It would be rude to disappoint”. Either that or such language is as clean as the proverbial baby’s bottom in Ireland, so it isn’t deemed offensive to lob it into every other sentence.
I’m still not sure if I’m proud or not. I probably am though.
Thursday, 14 May 2009
£150 for a glass dildo?!
Let’s have a quick show of hands; who actually, genuinely cares about the expenses ‘scandal’ currently engulfing anyone who’s ever set foot inside Westminster?
If you do, then kudos to you for having the time and inclination to get worked up about something that literally has no effect on us. We don’t have to pay any extra for their claims, so it doesn’t matter one iota what they get up to.
Don’t get me wrong, I think they’re taking the piss. £100 to get some blokes to change a few light bulbs or having the audacity to claim for the repair of a pipe under your tennis court is OTT in anyone’s book. The expenses system was implemented because it was deemed bad form to be giving MP’s pay rises, so they give them a basic wage and let them claim for other, legitimate expenses that occur in their normal political business. I didn’t realise tennis featured so highly on their political agenda.
When I accrue expenditure as part of my job, I claim it back as any normal person would. However, I only claim for the food/fuel/prostitutes I’ve used carrying out the work. You won’t see car washes or a round of tequilas at Hooters mentioned on the form, because it had nothing to do with it. To me that’s the point; if it emerged that an MP had claimed shitloads, but they countered with a pile of receipts that explained every penny spent was for their job, you’d hold your hands up and say ‘fair enough, guv’. Quite why you’d say that, I’m not sure, but you get my point.
The thing is, anybody put in the same position would do exactly the same thing. I would; I don’t because I know I can’t get away with it. It’s not actually against the rules for them to claim for all the guff they do end up claiming for, so there’s not really a scandal after all. They’re just a shower of greedy bastards manipulating a pathetically-governed scheme.
As you would imagine, the leaders have been falling over themselves to apologise and promise change (and my favourite – order an independent review) but the simple fact is anything they do is a direct result of being caught. If somebody had come out a few months ago and said that they thought it was a bid naughty to claim for a housemaid and they were going to sort it out now, fair play to them. In the event, The Telegraph has pulled everyone’s pants down and the public have been treated to the display of general-election-later-this-year panic from anyone with ‘MP’ in their name. Like I said earlier, it has cost us nothing more than we would already have paid, so I’m quite enjoying the playground level one-upmanship being served up by Brown and Cameron as they each pretend they thought of sorting this out first. If they just said “you know what – fair’s fair. We’ve been taking the piss for yonks now, but it’s about time we knocked it on the head” at least we’d think there was an element of humility within them. But they didn’t, and we don’t.
Right, the company’s paying – who wants an Castlemaine XXXX?
If you do, then kudos to you for having the time and inclination to get worked up about something that literally has no effect on us. We don’t have to pay any extra for their claims, so it doesn’t matter one iota what they get up to.
Don’t get me wrong, I think they’re taking the piss. £100 to get some blokes to change a few light bulbs or having the audacity to claim for the repair of a pipe under your tennis court is OTT in anyone’s book. The expenses system was implemented because it was deemed bad form to be giving MP’s pay rises, so they give them a basic wage and let them claim for other, legitimate expenses that occur in their normal political business. I didn’t realise tennis featured so highly on their political agenda.
When I accrue expenditure as part of my job, I claim it back as any normal person would. However, I only claim for the food/fuel/prostitutes I’ve used carrying out the work. You won’t see car washes or a round of tequilas at Hooters mentioned on the form, because it had nothing to do with it. To me that’s the point; if it emerged that an MP had claimed shitloads, but they countered with a pile of receipts that explained every penny spent was for their job, you’d hold your hands up and say ‘fair enough, guv’. Quite why you’d say that, I’m not sure, but you get my point.
The thing is, anybody put in the same position would do exactly the same thing. I would; I don’t because I know I can’t get away with it. It’s not actually against the rules for them to claim for all the guff they do end up claiming for, so there’s not really a scandal after all. They’re just a shower of greedy bastards manipulating a pathetically-governed scheme.
As you would imagine, the leaders have been falling over themselves to apologise and promise change (and my favourite – order an independent review) but the simple fact is anything they do is a direct result of being caught. If somebody had come out a few months ago and said that they thought it was a bid naughty to claim for a housemaid and they were going to sort it out now, fair play to them. In the event, The Telegraph has pulled everyone’s pants down and the public have been treated to the display of general-election-later-this-year panic from anyone with ‘MP’ in their name. Like I said earlier, it has cost us nothing more than we would already have paid, so I’m quite enjoying the playground level one-upmanship being served up by Brown and Cameron as they each pretend they thought of sorting this out first. If they just said “you know what – fair’s fair. We’ve been taking the piss for yonks now, but it’s about time we knocked it on the head” at least we’d think there was an element of humility within them. But they didn’t, and we don’t.
Right, the company’s paying – who wants an Castlemaine XXXX?
A tale of 4 tits
Many moons ago, when I still held onto the thought that people actually read this, I wrote about the pending divorce of him from The Ordinary Boys and her off Big Brother. You know, the blonde one who reckoned she was like Paris Hilton. Got her cans out in a swimming pool. Yeah, that’s her.
Anyway, that blog was notable for 2 reasons; I was poking well-thought out fun at another celebrity-driven defamation of the sanctity of marriage, but more importantly because I used the c-word uncensored for the first time online. I felt that strongly about it at the time, as I surmised that it was nothing more than a cheap publicity stunt to keep them in the public eye, and they would be back together quicker than you could say “centre-spread”.
Alas, I were wrong.
I recall my younger, swearier self here because this week, the nation’s favourite celebrity chavs, Andre and Price, have decided time’s time and are to divorce after 4-and-a-half years or wedded bliss.
Perhaps blunted by the sheer volume of stories of this ilk you read these days, I find myself more amused than angry. I think a lot of that has to do with the simple fact that they’re both massively cretinous and unlikely to be taken seriously apart from by those orange lasses who wear pink tracksuits and furry boots. The right-thinking of this nation ceased to give a shite – shiny or otherwise – about these two ages ago.
Now, I don’t begrudge them a minute of their fame or a penny of their fortune. It is widely noted that Price is a businesswoman of some repute; cashing in on the ‘Jordan’ persona to feather her nest. The way she’s brought up her lad is an inspiration to parents in the same situation as well. And let’s face it, not many red-blooded males would have passed up the chance for half an hour in her pre-silicone company, surely? Either way, she’s a bit of a dick, but she’s harmless and if people want to read about her, why shouldn’t she make as much brass out of it as she can? I know I would. Compare and contrast to Captain CarCrash herself, Jodie Marsh. Same sort of idea to Jordan, but now looks like Pete Burns and has the bedroom morals of a French whore. Well played there.
Andre on the other hand is a different kettle of shrimp. Reasonably popular in his pomp, he used “I’m a celebrity” the same way the other Timmy Malletts of this world do; to get their mug on telly when people think they’re dead. The only difference here was that he bagged himself a glamour model at the same time, and if memory serves me correctly, he re-released “Mysterious Girl” into the bargain. A good era for Great Britain, I’m sure you’ll agree.
I never doubted for a minute that it wouldn’t go tits-skywards from the word go. Given the way they lived their lives through the pages of ‘glossy’ magazines, it’s clear their agenda is far from being man and wife. The genuine tragedy is the poor kids stuck in this. They’ve had 2 together I believe who don’t need this, and poor Harvey’s got enough on his plate without being the victim of a broken home.
As you would expect, they’ve managed to overshadow this entire sorry charade with a beautiful piece of comedy. Having spent their entire married life in the public eye, with more programmes about them that there is about property, one of the first lines of their divorce statement read thus:
“We would appreciate it if the press left us alone during this difficult time”
For once, words fail me.
Anyway, that blog was notable for 2 reasons; I was poking well-thought out fun at another celebrity-driven defamation of the sanctity of marriage, but more importantly because I used the c-word uncensored for the first time online. I felt that strongly about it at the time, as I surmised that it was nothing more than a cheap publicity stunt to keep them in the public eye, and they would be back together quicker than you could say “centre-spread”.
Alas, I were wrong.
I recall my younger, swearier self here because this week, the nation’s favourite celebrity chavs, Andre and Price, have decided time’s time and are to divorce after 4-and-a-half years or wedded bliss.
Perhaps blunted by the sheer volume of stories of this ilk you read these days, I find myself more amused than angry. I think a lot of that has to do with the simple fact that they’re both massively cretinous and unlikely to be taken seriously apart from by those orange lasses who wear pink tracksuits and furry boots. The right-thinking of this nation ceased to give a shite – shiny or otherwise – about these two ages ago.
Now, I don’t begrudge them a minute of their fame or a penny of their fortune. It is widely noted that Price is a businesswoman of some repute; cashing in on the ‘Jordan’ persona to feather her nest. The way she’s brought up her lad is an inspiration to parents in the same situation as well. And let’s face it, not many red-blooded males would have passed up the chance for half an hour in her pre-silicone company, surely? Either way, she’s a bit of a dick, but she’s harmless and if people want to read about her, why shouldn’t she make as much brass out of it as she can? I know I would. Compare and contrast to Captain CarCrash herself, Jodie Marsh. Same sort of idea to Jordan, but now looks like Pete Burns and has the bedroom morals of a French whore. Well played there.
Andre on the other hand is a different kettle of shrimp. Reasonably popular in his pomp, he used “I’m a celebrity” the same way the other Timmy Malletts of this world do; to get their mug on telly when people think they’re dead. The only difference here was that he bagged himself a glamour model at the same time, and if memory serves me correctly, he re-released “Mysterious Girl” into the bargain. A good era for Great Britain, I’m sure you’ll agree.
I never doubted for a minute that it wouldn’t go tits-skywards from the word go. Given the way they lived their lives through the pages of ‘glossy’ magazines, it’s clear their agenda is far from being man and wife. The genuine tragedy is the poor kids stuck in this. They’ve had 2 together I believe who don’t need this, and poor Harvey’s got enough on his plate without being the victim of a broken home.
As you would expect, they’ve managed to overshadow this entire sorry charade with a beautiful piece of comedy. Having spent their entire married life in the public eye, with more programmes about them that there is about property, one of the first lines of their divorce statement read thus:
“We would appreciate it if the press left us alone during this difficult time”
For once, words fail me.
Wednesday, 6 May 2009
Forgive me Jebus for I have sinned...
God bless Karen Matthews. Where would we be without her?
For a kick-off, she makes every parent in the country look like some kind of SuperMum or Dad, given her vomit-inducing attempt to blag money from well-wishers by conspiring to kidnap, sedate and tether her own daughter for an extended length of time in a relative's house. If there's a worse act that doesn't involve killing or interefering with a child, I don't want to know about it.
Lest we forget the service she provided to her special boyfriend Craig "I dunno, officer - the PC was like that when I bought it" Meehan. Let's face it, he's not exactly dealing from the top of the deck looks- or brains-wise, so the fact that Matthews was prepared to have carnal knowledge of him, let alone tolerate his dinner-plate glasses gawping at her all day is a cause for credit in anyone's book.
She's trumped the lot this week though, with an article in the press giving the nation a chance to catch up with its favourite dole scum, where she puts herself across as a humble, apologetic reformed character, trying to repair the emotional damage she's done to her daughter, whilst convincing the public that she's a changed woman. Read her testimony; it details how she came to terms with her own actions and vowed not to rest until she's proven that she's turned over a new leaf, and gets her children back where they rightfully belong - with their loving mother.
She also talks of finding religion, and how The Good Book has taught her more about herself than she ever thought possible. She reveals how since finding God, she's cleansed her soul, cleaned up her act and realised the sheer debt she owes to her family and to herself. "With the Lord's guidance", she said, "I WILL become a better person"
Not really - this is what she actually said:
"It wasn't me guv - it were a fit up"
and
"The things I miss most in jail are sex and shopping"
What a prick.
For a kick-off, she makes every parent in the country look like some kind of SuperMum or Dad, given her vomit-inducing attempt to blag money from well-wishers by conspiring to kidnap, sedate and tether her own daughter for an extended length of time in a relative's house. If there's a worse act that doesn't involve killing or interefering with a child, I don't want to know about it.
Lest we forget the service she provided to her special boyfriend Craig "I dunno, officer - the PC was like that when I bought it" Meehan. Let's face it, he's not exactly dealing from the top of the deck looks- or brains-wise, so the fact that Matthews was prepared to have carnal knowledge of him, let alone tolerate his dinner-plate glasses gawping at her all day is a cause for credit in anyone's book.
She's trumped the lot this week though, with an article in the press giving the nation a chance to catch up with its favourite dole scum, where she puts herself across as a humble, apologetic reformed character, trying to repair the emotional damage she's done to her daughter, whilst convincing the public that she's a changed woman. Read her testimony; it details how she came to terms with her own actions and vowed not to rest until she's proven that she's turned over a new leaf, and gets her children back where they rightfully belong - with their loving mother.
She also talks of finding religion, and how The Good Book has taught her more about herself than she ever thought possible. She reveals how since finding God, she's cleansed her soul, cleaned up her act and realised the sheer debt she owes to her family and to herself. "With the Lord's guidance", she said, "I WILL become a better person"
Not really - this is what she actually said:
"It wasn't me guv - it were a fit up"
and
"The things I miss most in jail are sex and shopping"
What a prick.
Thursday, 30 April 2009
Disclaimer: We make sh*t up
I can appreciate that advertising is a difficult job. In today's cost-conscious society, people will invariably gravitate towards the cheaper end of the market for their stuff. To that end, companies have to think smart and come up with slogans and statistics which prove their product is the best choice for the consumer.
Of course the flip-side is that companies must also put a certain spin on their research and data, to ensure their product is shown in the best possible light. I'm sure many millions are spent each year proving the quality of their product, so if the results they get aren't exactly what they hoped for, they'll need to massage the data slightly to get what they want out of it.
There's an advert on at the mo for ink cartridges, specifically a particular company (can't remember which one) and how their products are much more efficient and use less ink that their competitors. They fanfare this fact with a "You could save up to £75 a year on ink" slogan on the advert, suffixed with the obligatory asterisk. Usually, such asterisks lead you to some tiny text elsewhere on the screen detailing how many people were asked, how many printers were used, etc, to give you a better indication of the scope of the research.
However...the disclaimer on this advert basically said "Based on 1500 pages of text and photos. Results may vary"
Er, "Results may vary"? Isn't that just another way of saying "You could end up with any old results. We haven't got a Scooby Doo what'll happen"?
How this had got through whatever watchdog or governing body manages these matters is beyond me. It's like an advert saying "If you drink this product, you'll live 'til you're a million*" then putting elsewhere "* Your lifespan may vary". They've literally made up the results, yet qualified it by saying "Well, it might not pan out exactly the same for you, in which case, tough shit"
If this is tolerable in our great British media, I see no reason why the general public can't use it on CV's or personal ads:
"Male, 35yo, ripped like a prize fighter, hung like a baby elephant, seeks pneumatic, improbably-breasted librarian for rutting *"
* Actual rippedness and cock length may vary.
Of course the flip-side is that companies must also put a certain spin on their research and data, to ensure their product is shown in the best possible light. I'm sure many millions are spent each year proving the quality of their product, so if the results they get aren't exactly what they hoped for, they'll need to massage the data slightly to get what they want out of it.
There's an advert on at the mo for ink cartridges, specifically a particular company (can't remember which one) and how their products are much more efficient and use less ink that their competitors. They fanfare this fact with a "You could save up to £75 a year on ink" slogan on the advert, suffixed with the obligatory asterisk. Usually, such asterisks lead you to some tiny text elsewhere on the screen detailing how many people were asked, how many printers were used, etc, to give you a better indication of the scope of the research.
However...the disclaimer on this advert basically said "Based on 1500 pages of text and photos. Results may vary"
Er, "Results may vary"? Isn't that just another way of saying "You could end up with any old results. We haven't got a Scooby Doo what'll happen"?
How this had got through whatever watchdog or governing body manages these matters is beyond me. It's like an advert saying "If you drink this product, you'll live 'til you're a million*" then putting elsewhere "* Your lifespan may vary". They've literally made up the results, yet qualified it by saying "Well, it might not pan out exactly the same for you, in which case, tough shit"
If this is tolerable in our great British media, I see no reason why the general public can't use it on CV's or personal ads:
"Male, 35yo, ripped like a prize fighter, hung like a baby elephant, seeks pneumatic, improbably-breasted librarian for rutting *"
* Actual rippedness and cock length may vary.
Wednesday, 29 April 2009
I don't ask cos I don't care
"In a roll, lose control, but we're alright" sang hat-wearing walking sideburn Gaz from UK supergroup "Supergrass" on their debut hit "Alright". It was welcome news to those of us who were concerned about his well being at the time, as anybody who remembers those halcyon days will recall the nation being beside itself with worry about Gaz's plight.
The point I'm spectacularly labouring is the propensity for the British public to enquire about someones well being as an opening gambit, when we clearly couldn't give a shiny shite whether the questionee is in fine fettle or about to shuffle off this mortal coil.
I don't ask people because I don't care. Call it harsh if you will, but in general, the health of the people I come into contact with on a daily basis has little to no effect on my life or work. If somebody I had time for had just returned to work after a bout of the old swine flu, I might enquire "How are you?", if only to determine how big a gap I should maintain between us until the virus dies down.
It's one of those unusual traits of our society that we're all guilty to some extent of using "How are you?" or "Are you alright?" as a conversational pleasantry, but if I was trying to describe an objectionable person to you and said "They're the type of person who if you ask them 'Are you alright?', they say 'No'", you would nod knowingly and thank your lucky stars that you hadn't had to tolerate the cretin in question.
I guess it harks back to the old 'stiff upper lip' days, when our forefathers buried their ills deep down and enjoyed a pint of mild instead, whilst their very being came apart at the seams. Everyone was in the same boat so it did no good moaning about it. "Only pussies say 'no'. Another pint please, landlord".
I might be doing everyone a disservice; maybe it's me who couldn't care less and the rest of the nation does. However, I'm willing to bet a sizable sum that if someone replied "Well no, actually", the asker's internal monologue will shift from pleasant interest to murderous impatience quicker than you can say "Well go to a doctor then, arsehat".
Anyway, enough about me - how are you getting on?
The point I'm spectacularly labouring is the propensity for the British public to enquire about someones well being as an opening gambit, when we clearly couldn't give a shiny shite whether the questionee is in fine fettle or about to shuffle off this mortal coil.
I don't ask people because I don't care. Call it harsh if you will, but in general, the health of the people I come into contact with on a daily basis has little to no effect on my life or work. If somebody I had time for had just returned to work after a bout of the old swine flu, I might enquire "How are you?", if only to determine how big a gap I should maintain between us until the virus dies down.
It's one of those unusual traits of our society that we're all guilty to some extent of using "How are you?" or "Are you alright?" as a conversational pleasantry, but if I was trying to describe an objectionable person to you and said "They're the type of person who if you ask them 'Are you alright?', they say 'No'", you would nod knowingly and thank your lucky stars that you hadn't had to tolerate the cretin in question.
I guess it harks back to the old 'stiff upper lip' days, when our forefathers buried their ills deep down and enjoyed a pint of mild instead, whilst their very being came apart at the seams. Everyone was in the same boat so it did no good moaning about it. "Only pussies say 'no'. Another pint please, landlord".
I might be doing everyone a disservice; maybe it's me who couldn't care less and the rest of the nation does. However, I'm willing to bet a sizable sum that if someone replied "Well no, actually", the asker's internal monologue will shift from pleasant interest to murderous impatience quicker than you can say "Well go to a doctor then, arsehat".
Anyway, enough about me - how are you getting on?
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