Roger the Ozzie Builder

17 Jun

What a twat..

Roger is an Ozzie builder, that is to say for the uninitiated amongst you, an antipodean constructor of housing. He lives here in the U.K. where he is (mainly) a bricklayer… and he is a plonker, a nob end and a twat.

Basically Roger has been in to the store where I work a number of times complaining that the tape measure we sold him a year ago has ceased to work with little or no use.

He has to date had 4 tape measures and each one has been brought back looking as if it was the unluckiest piece of measuring equipment carried in the rucksack of the unluckiest, dirtiest and most negligent soldier at the battle of the Somme…who left it in his will to a grandson, who played football with it, left it to rust in a toilet cistern, that was then removed by a plumber, stamped on, beaten to death and given to fucking roger to bring back in to us…!!!!

I will here use a few well known words to describe how the ‘virtually unused’ to quote Roger tape measures returned to us over this annual period have looked… fucked, knackered, buggered, destroyed, ruined, and just for good measure, completely (not just plain) fucked (again…)

What an arse

Each time an equally stupid work colleague has given him a replacement and off he’s toddled to go and fuck another one up only to return it shortly thereafter with some pathetic excuse as to how, with little or no use, it has become (seemingly) altogether fucked all on it’s own. The last time he did this I was on the point of telling him to fuck off and die when a colleague stepped in only to give him a new one… moron that they were..

Anyway at this point Roger proceeded to tell all of us how he looks after his tools well and how maintaining them well is what he does, it’s his thing, the way he looks at life, tool care is important to him .. blah blah blah blah blah.. (not by the look of his effing tape measures he doesn’t), and he says to us how he’s had some of his tools for 30 years and is still using them and they’re as good as the day he bought them…

‘Yes’ I said openly and in front of the assembled shop, ‘of course your tools are in good condition, because you’ve fucking well returned them every year for a new one free of charge, and that chisel, brick bolster or hammer you’re holding isn’t thirty fucking years old, it’s the replacement for the replacement for the replacement that you bought 30 years ago for a tenth of what a new one would cost you now’ and I wanted to add ‘you freeloading Ozzie twat’!

Ozzie’s moan that the English are a bunch of whingeing pommes, but frankly I’d rather be a whinger than a fuckwit anyday.

Roger, you’re an areshole.


Laughing At The Mongs & The Spastics, Channel 4 and Circus Freakery by the back door?

18 Apr

How to allow the public to laugh at ‘the freaks’ and feel good

A short lesson

In the last decade there has been, to my mind, a worrying development in the world of info-tainment. The ‘sensitive’ television project.

Seemingly aimed at widening and questioning the general publics’ views on disability Television channels, particularly The U.K.’s Channel 4 have developed a type and style of television programme that features the travails of people with disability. The most recent ‘The Undateables’ being one such programme. It follows a number of people with ‘disability’ ranging, for example, from disfigurement, and Down’s and Tourettes Syndromes, as they look for love.

My wife and I saw the previews and invitations to watch and commented to each other that (we felt) yet again Channel Four had, in the guise of thinking man’s telly created an opportunity to gawk and chortle at what the general public would we felt be unable to consider as anything else but a modern freak show.

The last episode got 2.7 Million viewers, 11% market share, and you’re telling me that the viewers aren’t ‘gawping’?

NO I am not saying that disabled people are freaks, but that in my opinion my fellow men (and women) are largely incapable of approaching this from any other viewpoint.

Proved Right?

My worry that this would be so was confirmed today at work as I listened to my colleagues describe the hilarious ‘Undateables’ and the ‘Mong’ who drew a picture of the girl he was looking for, a drawing of a stick woman with a big head and tits.

The closest my colleagues got to an understanding of the deeper issues involved was to be able to state that ‘not everyone with Tourettes says Fuck a lot’.

At the very least and in it’s most passive form, the cooing sympathies of a shit thick as a brick work colleague should be enough to tell anyone that a mode of patronizing paternalism isn’t the route to equal disability rights and justice!

The T.V. knows this.

My biggest worry is that the programme makers know that this style of programming gets the liberal middle class mealy mouthed all mouth and no trouser vote for sensitive and thought provoking programming AND at the same time gets the eager viewership of that thick dumb bigoted core of general public that used to go laugh at the Bearded lady when the Circus came to town. I feel that this fence-sitting programming is the same bigoted trashy thought process in motion as we have seen for centuries, by the back door. And that the Television companies know EXACTLY what they are doing and how attracting viewer numbers works in this day and age. An age, as I have already suggested of extracting the piss from those least able to afford it.

No I’m not saying stop disabled people having their version of Blind Date and their day on telly, I’m saying that if this was being done right, then no one would watch it and T.V. companies would never have made it; because they know, and I know, that the general public in the U.K. still call black people Niggers and tell extreme racist jokes in text messages to their other safely shit-brained friends AND they still talk to each other about the Mongs on Telly last night!


Thick and stupid people, uncultured people and the average joe…

10 May

No imagination

How I long to tell 90% of the people I unhappily co-exist with that their presence in my world does nothing but annoy me, and little but bore me poop’less.

Talking behind my back

Just recently while in conversation with a current work colleague who had enjoyed an evening in the company of another truly thick and dimensionless ex work colleague of mine the ‘new’ work colleague proffered an opinion based on information gleaned while drinking cheap beer in a local ‘Social Club’ (for that replace with ‘people with nothing on their minds but where to find the cheapest pint in town Club’) that there was … and I quote ‘no way I could have had enough time to do all the things I ‘claim’ to have done in my life.

What do you do all day?

I have always felt that I have done very little of worth with the time I have spent thus far on our planet; though I have written for and led as the frontman a well received rock band, collected music to the point of being invited to lecture a University course on popular music, danced in one of England’s greatest revival Morris Dancing sides, have got a degree in fine art, had countless jobs of varying descriptions, managed to breed and teach myself how to design websites virtually at the same time. I have toured the UK on one occasion with another band that was signed to top record labels and appeared at Glastonbury a number of times, that Paul McCartney championed.

I had the joy to grow up in an North American city and have met some famous musicians related to the music from that city. I have organised and run a three-day ‘Hippie’ festival. I have suggested songs for inclusion in popular films. I have a friend who won an Oscar only a couple of years ago. My wife worked on some of the top Soaps and long running Dramas in the UK and continues to keep in contact with many of those involved…. the list of incursions into ‘doing stuff’ and ‘being mildly interesting’ goes on.

The thing is…. why does this piss me off so heartily?

They’re thick, dumb, plain, boring and capable of little else but the imagination it takes to watch the Television every night, so why does it piss me off to be so judged by one (or two) of their ilk.

Because…  it takes someone as truly ignorant as they to have the balls and the confidence to make such a statement; that they are so self secure in their knowledge in the world and the truth that it holds (for them) that they can form opinions such as these and spout them out as truths makes me bloody angry.


And what really gets to me is how scared it makes me feel, when I stop to think that it is they that are the majority, the average, the common man and the inheritors of this world’s future!

Ignorance is bliss

Ignorance must truly be bliss, because having the intelligence to know what a bunch of assholes 90% of those I have the misfortune to rub up against in my daily travails are is something even I might trade with ‘mildly entertaining’ for ‘ossifyingly boring and stunningly ignorant’, just in order that I might go through life believing that I am not surrounded by twats. An option to be taken as infinitely preferable should you wish to remain un-irritated by their presence in your life.

God I despair.

TNT – incompetence bomb explodes in my face

12 Dec

A friend wrote to me today, in frustration regarding his experiences of dealing with TNT a UK courier company, both generally and recently during the light frosting of snow that England received:

I run the parts department of the local depot of a large Swedish truck manufacturer. We rely on an overnight delivery service to get urgent parts to keep the wheels of industry turning. TNT provides this service. Or rather doesn’t bother their arse to provide this service…

Twats in the snow

Two Thursdays ago we had some inclement weather, it snowed a bit. Ok it was a bit heavy, it took me 15 minuets longer than usual to drive the 16 miles to work, mainly due to the fucking incompetent twats who had no business getting their cars off the drive in conditions that they did not have the skills to drive in.

TNT are contracted and paid rather well to deliver our parts overnight from our UK warehouse in Milton Keynes to all local depots by 9am 6 days a week. Actually we pay for a before 8am service but incredibly the incompetent fucks can’t print a before 8 sticker!!!!! (Worse still OUR head office let them do this).

After 8s

It is rare that we ever get what should be, a before nine service, but we are used to this and take it in our stride. I usually call the nearest TNT branch, 25 miles away by speedy dual carriageway at around 9:15 to ask where our deliveries are. The litany of excuses is, as always, unbelievable.

No Chance Mate – the oft heard call of the ‘common lesser acne spotted jobsworth’.

Any ho on this particular Thursday when yet again they hadn’t delivered, in a kind of snow laden Blitz spirit, I gave them the benefit of my considerable doubt and waited till 10:30 to call and ask politely if we would be getting a delivery. “No chance mate” came the response from the customer unfocused grunt on the other end of the phone.
As it happened on this particular Thursday it wasn’t too big a deal to not get our parts as none of our customers came in that day and out of 15 staff only myself and four others made it in. Some of them driving past areas were those that “couldn’t” make it in lived! But that’s a whole other rant….

Get yer fucking finger out TNT

On the Friday the weather conditions had improved a bit but TNTs attitude had not…”No mate we can’t even get out of the yard”. So one of our guys got into a perfectly ordinary van and drove to the local TNT depot, collected our parts and returned without any issues.

Oh Monday morning, you gave me no warning of what was to be (Mamas and the Papas)

By Monday morning weekend rainstorms had removed all trace of the snow completely…


Saturday’s deliveries arrived… hooray.


Friday’s deliveries arrived… What the fuck! Where are Monday’s orders??? I decided to cut out the lazy wankers at the local branch and went straight to our national account manager at TNT. An hour or so too-ing and fro-ing on the phone and he was “going to get it sorted”… Useless fuck couldn’t sort a deck of cards with an instruction manual…


Tuesday’s overnight orders arrive… still no sign of Monday’s… oh and a delivery for another of our branches arrives with us! We can tell it is for them because there are two fucking labels on it saying so…back on the phone to our account “manager” This is getting boring.


Mondays deliveries finally arrive… hoo fucking ray. Ahhhhh… but where the fuck are Wednesday’s overnight deliveries?? I’ve got Mr Useless Fucker’s number on speed dial now. This conversation makes my week… Apparently according to this guy who runs a multi million pound national contract and probably gets paid three times my salary –  ‘it was very snowy in Scotland and the north of England which is why their branch in Surrey didn’t function’. I asked him to clarify this given that there had been no snow on the ground since the weekend and the outside temperature was currently 8°C. Needless to say his answer didn’t satisfy me.


We get three separate deliveries from TNT everything that is outstanding arrives…almost……..  just two items from one of the new consignments are missing, which, as I have painfully learned is fucking outstanding from such incompetents.

Southern Rail, and a whole shower of shit.

11 Dec

These lame fuckers couldn’t run a bun fight in a Hovis factory.

Only 4 and a bit miles away,… but….

I just recently gained employment with a company that is only 4 or so miles away from the village I live in, where fortuitously there is a train station, linking directly with another only just round the corner from where I live. I was looking forward to travelling to work by the train, having never done so before. At one point it took over 2 hours to get into work on the train (remember that’s only 4 and a bit miles away!).

50% Success rate or 50% Failure, whichever way you look at it, it’s crap.

In the last 14 days there has of course been a lot of snow, and there was certainly enough snow and ice to cause major disruption for a day, or maybe two. However in 10 days of work, the trains haven’t run at all for three days, have been late or missing for three other mornings and have been cancelled for one of the return journeys. If you count two journeys for each day, that works out roughly as a 50% FAILURE RATE.

Various excuses were given, congestion at stations, points failure, trouble with frozen points, faults on trains and of course the now non existent snow.

Check the Web for the most up to date information???

At one point I checked the website giving information to be told that the trains were running, I went to the station only to find out that they weren’t, I revisited the website, and on it found reference to the trains both running, and actually, not running. It seems that they don’t know their own arse from their own elbow these fools. Anyone else would be sacked and laughed out of operation.

They keep you in the dark and feed you on shit….. The Management are Mushrooms…

On one occasion I turned up at the station at around 6am to see a board with these lines scribbled on it.

‘The trains are cancelled, a relief bus will arrive here shortly’

I asked when the sign was written and what ‘shortly’ meant. The very nice station guy explained that he had only just written it and that the bus would visit the preceding station first and pick up anyone there, knowing that the station down the line was likely to have twice the people who could fit in any bus awaiting its arrival I gave up hope of getting on a bus that once full would go directly to the town I wanted to get to.

A Frosty Reception

Just as our frostbitten informal group of fellow wanderers were discussing this a guy came bowling up, stating ‘I’ve got to get up to St. Pancras by 8am, this parcel has GOT to be there’, I explained the likelihood of that becoming a reality given the information just received from the train guy, and though he had already tried to get up another line via Frant in Kent and also to drive into the next town up the line to get a train he’d been told would run, the courier chap said that we could join him as he attempted driving for a second time to my destination.

A couple of businessmen attached themselves to this impromptu Sub Arctic expedition and we were pouring into this guys Range Rover, when the FUCKING TRAIN PULLED IN!

As we ran to the platform from the car park I heard the Station master say ‘Wankers’ under his breath.

Fucking idiots the lot of them.

No one seems to know what the fuck to do and then once they’ve finally taken some action, what the fuck is then going on. For God’s sake we did better with Semaphore in the 18th century, delivering messages across the nation in minutes than we can do from station to station with modern technology. How do they cope in Manitoba, or Reykjavik? They do though don’t they. And every time this happens we in England say ‘Oh I wish we could cope when it snows a little better’, but no one ever does. No one seems to be able to drive in the white stuff either. Pulling away in first, turning the snow under their wheels into hard packed ice. Parking on hills with hazards on with people trying to get up past them, and traffic coming the other way. Fucking idiots, the lot of them.

If a bus can run on Ice covered roads, why the fuck can’t a train ride the rails?

One relief bus operator told me last night (the latest failure) that when Southern Trains can’t run, they have to pay the track operator a fine, and when the line can’t cope with the ‘running’ trains, the line operator has to pay a fine to the train operator, all this while paying a Coach company to ‘relieve them’ …. I’d like to relieve them… of the connection between their heads and their shoulders!

Haribo Sweets they’re Shit!

4 Nov

Halal Wummis - Kosher Kandy

Years ago you could get a quality sweet from your local store. It would probably have been manufactured by a local company, offering all the old faves: Lemon Drops, Barley Twists, Mint Imperials, Peanut Brittle, Chocolate Limes, Cough Candy, Toffees and Flying Saucers. They were hanging on to old traditions of teeth destroying confectionary creation par excellence when a crummy European upstart invaded their turf, took their towns, stole their stores and swarmed into their shops and somehow no one saw it coming, that company was – HARIBO.

Haribo Supergloboworlddom Ltd.

You only have to look at their website to realise that they’ve pretty much got sweeties sewn up Europe and USA wide with the site being offered in 22 different languages, …. that’s some pretty heavy sweet candy’assed action.

Read what they have to say about their own operation:

In addition to five production works in Germany, today HARIBO has 13 other factories in Europe. There are also sales offices in almost every European country and in the USA.

‘Borders do not Hem in Haribo products’, that’s a bit aggressive isn’t it?

Borders do not hem in HARIBO products. Nowadays they enjoy growing popularity throughout the world. HARIBO currently exports to more than 105 countries all over the globe. Whether you’re in the Falkland Islands or the Philippines, the HARIBO products like Goldbears & Liquorice Wheels are loved by kids and grown-ups in most of the world.

Pocket Money

I think most 30-80 year old somethings in the UK have counted our pocket-money on a Friday or Saturday morning as we walked to the corner shop for some serious sugar addicts hyper buzz tongue and tooth trashing sherbet, or some lung saving broken sweet cigarettes.

Where have the real sweets gone?

Gone but not forgotten

The real sweets have gone the way of a good deal else that was once wonderful and of quality character that England had to offer; namely down the crapper as cheap mass-produced tasteless plastic crap made in some far away European state out of a Chemical plant’s left over potato starch and petroleum bi-produced effluent invaded our sacred and spiritually significant high altars to indulgence, the sweet shops and corner shops of jolly England.

How and Why?

It’s simple, the answer is –  money, gravy, greenbacks, the mighty moolah. This tasteless shite is quite simply cheaper to buy than our old traditional local or nationally made sweet. The old stalwarts of the sweet shop, Mrs Miggins or old Mr Jacobson have long gone and frankly these days new owners just don’t seem to care about a quality sweet and little Jimmy’s happiness. They’re probably making too much money out of ‘the kids’ on fags and the cheap cider they stock. Or perhaps there are just bigger money spinners to be had from offering another shelf of Porn, rather than the bulky sweet jars that once took the place of Asian Babes magazine.

Let’s face it, they taste shit

Of course Haribo offers a number of interesting an innovative products, like Halal Wummis and Gold Bears and Haribo’s Slovenian Capsulas. But let’s face it, next to real sweets they’re tasteless rubbish, bland and boring, they’re chewy, but not in a good way, more in a ‘is this actually rubber’ way. And they don’t do the basic standard stuff well either. Compare their Licorice and their Marshmallows to other better known brands like Bassetts and you will immediately know that corners are being cut and that the English palette isn’t being catered for.

Somewhere along the line the Belgian taste for a milder marshmallow got in the way of our own nations enjoyment. Why? Because you can’t be all things to all people and because today, in the present, Haribo is about all you can get; it’s everywhere and it’s not worth a jot. Haribo is trying to satisfy too large a sweet munching community and has lost track of the quirky local, or even national market. These guys are focussed on world domination, not on the individually styled taste buds of South East England, or North Yorkshire. It’s obvious, another man’s sweet is another man’s poison, bring back the local sweet maker, catering for local sweet tooth’s and local tastes.

You can get it if you really want…

You can still get a traditional sweet, but you have to travel to some epicentre of tourism and go through the ignominy of purchasing at a ‘destination’ sweet shop. Somewhere that offers floor to ceiling nostalgia and charges for it too!

No longer are sweet jars lining the shelves of British culture as an ongoing, living and growing cultural concern, instead they have been confined to the dusty shelf of ‘Heritage’. England is great at preserving heritage, it just isn’t so great at realising what it’s got when it’s actually got it.


Perhaps we could have kept our wonderful sweets if we had only realised that Germany was invading again, this time in little garish packets of tasteless confectionary.

Fat Bastards – Everyone’s getting fat, have you noticed?

3 Nov

Everyone’s getting fat, have you noticed?

Have you noticed the incidence of fat people and the related complaints of shelf butt, gargantuan gut and chafing thighs increase exponentially in the last few years? If you haven’t are you blind?

In the last 5 years or so people in the UK have been growing, and not upwards,… actually they’ve been taking off sideways. Of course there’s been a superior level of fat hanging off the limbs of North Americans for over 3 decades, but finally the fatty epidemic has reached Britain’s shores.

Blame the Yanks – The Yanks blame TV…

The Americans have long blamed their lazy sedentary lifestyles for their superior lard’ass’d’ness. Typically, instead of getting off the couch and getting some exercise they’ve sought to shelve guilt and self loathing by exporting their fast food drive everywhere sit and eat and watch the box culture overseas. Perhaps this has been done in a desperate attempt to not to look so damn fat when they come over here to see Tralfalger Squar and Lessester Shire when they stand next to an English person, or at least this WAS the case, all that’s changed now.

Why is it that we are asked to be polite about fat people?

I’m not about to be rude about people who have a genuine weight problem, caused for example by something metabolic, diabetes, family history etc., and I’m not here to be ‘weightest’ or add to the pressure of society’s requirement that we all have some rake thin fashionista’s concept of the perfect body; I am here though to leave my worries over political correctness and judgmentalism aside and say forthrightly to those fat people out there that are only fat because they eat lard burgers, chicken grease buckets, heart doner kebaps, fat baps and do nothing but sit and text, sit and surf, sit and game and sit and shit, that they really ought to sort it out before we all suffocate under a flap of their wayward flab.

The Gym is just another excuse, not a cure.

People spend countless millions every year on diet supplements, consultations with medical practitioners, books on dieting and the latest fad foods, all in an attempt to avoid the truth and that is: You have to expend some energy, burn some calories by going and getting some fucking excercise.

I know it’s not the news you wanted to hear, because you’re a lazy bastard, like me, but you really do need to put down the joystick, the burger or the latest copy of Hello magazine and get out for a walk. NO you don’t need to go to an expensive Gym, no you don’t need any further excuses, places to spend your money, ways to conveniently fail; you just need to get some balls and go cycling or walking. Hell if you’re too fat to walk, then garden from the relaxed leather and chrome ambience of your mobility scooter. It’s time to stop bullshitting yourself, no one is going to help you, there is no lazy ass’d way out, no excuses, no one you can pay to take away the effort involved in getting healthy.

Parents your kids are FAT

I’m certainly noticing more and more fat kids around, but, their parents must be fucking blind; because their kids are wobbling alongside their Manatee like parents at Asda (particularly) and at Tescos (to a lesser extent), and when you slyly view the contents of the family’s shopping trolly it’s no surprise. It’s full of shit. No vegetables, lots of convenience food, lots of sugar, lots of fat.

Surely a fat Dad should be able to easily recognise a fat son, and realising that he was still thin at 14 take note and make plans to decrease his son’s size pre independence in an attempt to stave off early death for his younger loved one.

Right I’m off for a Pepsi

Right I’m off for a soft drink and a handful of lard…. all this writing is exhausting.

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