Tag Archives: england

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.

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.

Invasion

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.

Townies Trophy Mums 4x4s Red Moleskin Trousers

13 Oct

I’ve lived in the South of England for 35 years and in the last couple of decades an invasion of ‘Townies’ has led to countless off-road moments on the back lanes around my own little corner of England’s ‘Green and now Unpleasant Land’.

This unpleasantness has been largely due to the increased prevalence of 4×4 Land Rover, Porsche, Audi and Mercedes’ drivers of the female gender taking one child to school in a vehicle large enough to conquer Eastern Europe in.

These are the same middle class turds who give lip service to environmentalism by having solar heating and recycling their dead bottles of Chablis, but nevertheless drive one small child around in a vehicle that has a bigger carbon footprint than Mauritania.

This problem is not strictly gender specific, but unfortunately for those of us aware of our misogynistic tendencies, it does tend rather to be Women who seem to have poorer spatial awareness and too many times I have stared at a trophy wife’s good looks as she has sailed past me oblivious to the space she is taking up on the road. Again and again I’ve been forced into the hedge like the country bumpkin these haughty shits no doubt consider me to be.

These are the same haughty shits who have upped the housing prices (to the point where I can’t afford to do anything but to throw rental money down the sink) by moving or having a holiday home here in the first place; and they’re forcing me off the road, the property ladder and out of MY countryside. I feel trodden all over.

To the Townie I say:

On the weekends when you’re not running me off the road, you’re turning up at the now über expensive Gastro Pub that was once just simply my local and talking loudly about Noah’s fucking Montessori education and Arabella’s Summer study break in Switzerland.

You take over the whole once idyllic pub beer garden with your twat’ish self-righteous views that no one but you and the BNP are interested in and with your loud super confident plum filled gob you dominate, the beer garden, the road, and the property market. And while you’re doing this I have to take out a loan for a pint of Guinness just because you lot moved into the area and the pub thought it would take the piss out of you by charging £14.50 for Burger and Chips.

 

Fill with one or two twats

 

And finally, Men; when you’ve got home from your job in the City and you’ve popped out to the local shop, the shop that once sold essentials but has now gone all ‘Deli’ with it’s Wholemeal Rye and Kibbled Wheat with Gravalax of Salmon sandwich price tags, why do you wear those fucking daft Red Moleskin Trousers, what is that all about?

Not content with annoying us all at the pub with your loud views and the sports car you left awkwardly positioned for EVERYONE else out in the car park you make sure to wear the ‘laid back, but really actually I’m monied’ badge of moronic mutual recognition and twatish self-congratulation. This makes you visually stand out in much the same way you do when you open your mouth in your Country Cousin’s company.

Then again, come the revolution, at least those red trousers will make you easy to spot. Much like the spotless 4x4s, the new shiny clean Hunter Wellies, the woven country baskets, the Aga servicer’s van outside your house and the fact that your kids dissapeared off of the face of the Earth after they left the jolly little local C of E Primary school. As always, it’s take take take with you people.

We know who you are, and we’re watching.

 

'Excuse me my good man, do you know where this road goes? - Well lady I've been livin' round y'ere for 50 years and it ain't never gone nowheres yet..

 

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