World Cup

On my journey southwards on Friday I witnessed several pranged cars, idiots undertaking, buffoons changing lanes late and several near misses. It got me wondering why, in an early Friday evening, people seemed to be in a rush to get places. It also struck me that most of the drivers, if not all of the drivers, were men.

Then I realised….

Football.

They were all in a rush to get home/to the pub/to their mates in time for kick off.

I cannot understand the urgency. I mean if it’s that bad…record it on your PVR or whatnot. It’s like people who queue all night for devices. People that queue for sports/music/signing events overnight. WTF?

“It’s all part of the experience” they say. Arse I say.

Innovation – Thought of the week.

Imagine nobody had a garden. Then one day somebody says “Hey look! I’ve got a garden!” people would come looking at the garden and go “Wow! This is cool, I would like a garden too”. Then gradually people started making gardens. Eventually, the majority of people had a garden. The impressiveness of the first garden would wane and you’d go “You’ve got a garden? So what!?”

Well the internet is like that. When new innovations come out people go “oooh that’s good” and try to imitate the innovation until such a point as the idea becomes common place. Think blogs. When blogs started out few people had the means or inclination to do a blog. It was innovative. But over time EVERYONE got a blog. The blogosphere became flooded with blogs and now it seems the world and his wife has a blog.

The same with websites. Twitter accounts. Podcasts. So on and so forth.

Eventually the lone voice becomes buried under the cacophony of noise and unless you become innovative and remain fresh you no longer stand out from the crowd, you can build it, but they won’t come if they have their own.

This is just something I have been thinking about lately.

Man

I have been thinking about this for some time now but I’ve come to the conclusion that I have an inherent need for something.

I need a man.

Not in a gay way you understand, but in a rugged male companion kind of way.

I have been lacking in male company. Sure there are a few of the lads from Uni but they’re young, carefree and untarnished by the rigours of life. What I need is a male figure for bonding, beer, discussions of minor trite and the occasional trip away doing man things. Like frowning, looking gruff and sitting in the sun admiring Mayspheres.

These things are lacking.

Women have it so easy. All they need to do is take up some craft or join the local WI or something then find a local group. Us men…well yeah we could do a sport, but let me tell you something…..not all men like sport. And I fall into that demographic. Besides, groups run by men end up becoming too political or committee led organs that just end up being really annoying. Maybe I’m wrong but in my experience and observation (and I’m pretty good at observation) that is what happens.

Of course being an anathema and not being sporty or owt means that I also find it difficult to discuss things with other men. It’s like sport becomes this fail safe conversational thing and often conversation falls flat.

Him – So yeah did you see the game last night?
stegzy – yes I see it every night, it sits on top of my wardrobe, never played. People don’t seem to want to play Monopoly these days….
Him – Oh…right….is that the time? I must go….I’ve left the outside on……

Ok yeah, there are those that like music, but I find that the males I know who are musicians tend to be a bit too “boisterous” and so I compensate by having more female friends, which itself leads to complications.

Him – So yeah man, I was playing this gig and I ended up with these chicks and they were like all over me and so I shagged them and it was like ace
stegzy – But don’t you find that sort of behaviour is just degrading to women?
Him – Are you gay?
stegzy – No. Honest.

Then there are the nerdy computer geeks who constantly vie for some sort of superiority. Constantly arguing about which operating system is better or how many gigs of RAM they managed to cram into a desktop last week, they’re usually either gay, obsessive or have that strange musty “just wanked” fragrance pervading their CAT5 cable crammed home. Which they share. With their mum. Still. At 40.

Him – So yes I think that Windows 3.1 is far superior to Ubuntu but I managed to put 5 gig back onto my dual partitioned Linux box by removing the kernal and replacing it with one of my own coding.
stegzy – Really? Well….is that the time? I must have left the outside on…….

It really doesn’t get any better. It doesn’t get any easier. As age develops it becomes harder and harder to break into social circles and so there must be bedsits, apartments and houses full of men like me out there. Men like me that have a low idiocy tolerance threshold, a high distrust of sport and it’s homosexual connotations and an urge to just sit in some pub somewhere, talk shite for a couple of hours each week and maybe share some sort of non-sexual male bonding experiences that don’t involve running up and down a field in underpants chasing after a ball.

Men like me, scared of speaking to other men in case they are seen as some sort of weirdo, uncool person or sexual predator. Or worse, some sort of fascist meat head who once involved would do unspeakable things to sisters and other female relatives.

Think I’ll just stay at home.

Who dat man?

Today something happened that made me hate being a man.

Before I begin my tirade, let me stipulate some things:-

  • I am male
  • I am often outside unaccompanied
  • I am tall
  • I am stocky
  • I don’t have children
  • I have an unusual hair style
  • I have never committed rape
  • I have never molested a child

And yet today I was made to feel like I was a male child-molesting rapist. How? Quite simply by walking down my street during school hometime.

Yes I know I’m probably reading things into situations but it is difficult not to. I’m sure many males will agree with me that there has definite shift toward distrust of single childless males, especially in the UK.

This hurts me. The suspicion. The prejudice. The assumption that I have singled out a random stranger’s precious snot ridden children to take to a location, lock up and do unspeakable things to.

Let me illustrate with the incidents (Yes in the plural) that occured today.

I was walking back from my afternoon in the pub. I wasn’t drunk. I can’t drink much these days. 1 pint and I start feeling ill. As I say, walking. Not swaggering or staggering like a wino.  Ahead I observed, walking toward me at varying distances, several mothers walking their children home from the local school.

The first mother had a pram and a young boy of about 6 or 7. The boy was running ahead from the mother as children do. Not vast distances but obviously a learned distance drummed into him by his protective parent. As he saw me approach, he froze and eyed me with the most suspicious look. Kind of the look you might give a man carrying a box marked BOMB. He looked back at his mother who looked at him and then looked at me. At this point I was a little nearer and I smiled a friendly smile at the boy as I was, at the time, remembering fondly how when I was 7, I walked home from school on my own. The look the mother gave me was one of greater suspicion than the child. Like I’d some how asked her if she could nip out and check the length of the nettles while I inspect her purse for fake tenners. A look that said “Don’t you dare smile at my child you dirty single man”

I smiled at her.

She grimaced back.

The second mother was a bit further down the road. Maybe about 200 yards or so. This time she was walking her daughter home. The same thing happened. Child would stop. Eye me with suspicion. Wait the arrival of the parent. Grimace. Carry on walking past me.

By this time I was thinking maybe my fly was down.

If you’re a man you’ll know that gone are the days of checking your fly is zipped up without automatically being labelled some sort of perv by passing people. If you are not a man, the next time you observe a man briefly touching his crotch, he is probably making sure that his fly isn’t down. Or he’s taking his cock out to wave at you.

Anyway, I digress.

The third parent was a grandparent. The children he was with were walking behind him mucking about. As I passed he stopped, turned, checked where his grandchildren were and didn’t continue moving until I was about 20 yards past them.

By this point I was feeling a bit miffed. Why is it automatically assumed that single males walking down the street are somehow going to grab and assault children when their parents are with them? Like you’d wait until the fucking parents were watching Eastenders and creep into the childrens room with some puppies and sweets….wouldn’t you?

Let me make this clear. I have no interest, sexually or otherwise in children what so ever. None.

Why was I being looked at with suspicion? Surely if I stared at them with suspicion I’d get a mouth full of abuse. After all, it is them with the children not me. How do I  know they are the rightful parents or guardians of these snot nosed scruffy brats? I don’t. So I promised myself I would eye the fourth family collective with suspicion and see how they fucking liked it.

As I passed they smiled at me and said hello.

They were definitely up to no good.

Questions questions

Are you one of those people that attach yourself to a member of staff and can not possibly go a day without asking some inane question?

Do think REALLY hard about a suitable question to ask?

If you asked two questions does that mean you have reached some sort of nirvana? If you don’t ask a question will your head explode?

Through out my customer service career I have been able to identify at least twenty individuals who cannot go a day without contacting either myself, the helpdesk, the inquiry desk or a shop counter to ask some needless question.

Some of these people do it like clockwork. They come in at the same time every day and ask a question. Others do it completely at random often catching you off guard.

Let me give you some examples:-

HALFORDS – when I worked in Halfords we used to have this guy who would come in to the shop every Saturday and look at the bicycles. He would accost one of the members of staff and enter a dialogue with them about why Raleigh were not as good as Peugeot and how Carrera were poor compared to Dawes. He was clearly a lonely person, I believe he eventually got a job there in the end.

THE SOLICITORS – At the solicitors there was a family which everyone that worked there knew. Nothing was ever their fault and the council had some how singled them out for persecution. They made a living out of compensation claims and kept the firm comfy in legal aid commissions well into the mid nineties. If a day went by when one of them didn’t come in to enquire about an on going case of theirs they would probably be being visited by the duty solicitor at the local police station in regard to some packets of bacon that somehow got planted on them by vindictive shop staff. Theory was that they did this to save on fuel costs at home.

THE OFF LICENCE – Every night. Rain, wind or snow, Mikey would come in. Yes Mikey. He would introduce himself to new members of staff and would frequently stay behind the protective shop screens (some offlicences in the UK have protective screens to protect the stock and staff from violent piss heads and druggies) and talk about cabbages or how the foreigners were taking over or how Thatcher was the slag bitch from hell or some such. Mikey was very lonely. I suspect he is even lonelier now as the Offy on Allerton Road (not far from where the long lamented Livejournaller celticblissy lives) closed long ago.

THE CHURCH CLUB – Now here I met lots of people like that, but as the place was a drinking establishment I suppose it goes without saying you’d get regular people coming in at the same time every night (usually about 10:45pm) having the same drinks (usually Guinness) and then going home drunk at the same time (usually 3 in the morning). Usually in their cars.

THE CIVIL SERVICE – When I was a civil servant there was an inspector who would ring at the same time every day to ask if he had any post or if there was some staples he could have or if I could order him something from stores. The same time. Every day. Without fail. Even when he was off on holiday or at a conference. He was lonely too come to think of it.

THE UNIVERSITY #01 – Simon Blackman. Business School. Every day. Without fail. Something would go wrong. Or he would have to check if there was anything wrong. Or if we could do something on his behalf. One time he tricked us by pretending he’d called the wrong department by accident. There was no fooling me. I knew. I knew he was a sad lonely sod. I had the opportunity to visit his office one day when I was doing my virus disabling service. He conveniently wasn’t in his office when I called. Almost as if he was just simply a disembodied voice trapped in the archaic telephonic network.

THE UNIVERSITY #01 – Joy Ball. Anaesthesia. Possibly the most annoying person in the world. Every day. No matter what job I was doing in the office (for those that don’t know/remember/care the job rotated between dealing with telephone queries, dealing with email queries and dealing with desk queries) she would somehow get through to me. Her voice was so recognisable. I remember being ULTRA rude to her in an effort to get her to cease calling with her stupid stupid questions like “Oh my monitor doesn’t work” (have you tried turning on the power?), “Oh noes my mouse is on the wrong side of the desk” (No I won’t send out an engineer) and “Aieee, there’s something wrong all my emails have gone from my deleted items folder” (Well that’s what happens when you delete things duck). But she would call every day. Even when I wasn’t in. With stupid questions. Stupid stupid questions. It got to a point where she would just say “Department of Anaesthesia here” and I’d just say “Oh hello Joy”. When I left the job I thought I’d seen the last of her, but she came back…as a different person….as you will read later.

THE UNIVERSITY #01 – Student X. Student X would come to the helpdesk at the library every day to enquire about books. I think he thrived on the confirmation that it was a Computer helpdesk he was enquiring at and not a library support desk. Four years this went on for. He was a medic. He’s probably some sort of Surgeon now.

6th FORM COLLEGE – It must have been written into their job description to pester me with something inane every day. Even if it was just to enquire about what I’d got up to over the weekend. The difference was she fancied me. **sigh**

6th FORM COLLEGE – I must be disabled because my in built people tracking device does not work. You have a functioning one don’t you? It is just me that doesn’t isn’t it? Well had mine been working I would have been able to furnish Martin with the location of my boss while I was having lunch. The answer phone message, the sign on the door and the signatures of the emails stated clearly that the helpdesk was closed every day between 12 and 12.30. Every day. But that didn’t stop him from calling, emailing or knocking at the door when nobody answered the telephone/replied to enquire if my boss was in. I suspect that Martin and my boss were having illicit bum sex in the media building.

6th FORM COLLEGE – Joy Ball. Joy Fucking Ball. No…not Joy Ball from University #01. A different Joy Ball. A Joy Ball by marriage so probably completely unrelated. She was my bosses bosses boss. Because of this status she would ring. Every day. With a thankless task/job/non-urgent-but-urgent thing to do for me. My boss wished she would FOAD. I wished she would FOAD while my boss was FingOADing too. One day I just told her straight. She was a clueless over paid fucktard. In a nice way though. So I kept my job. She persisted less.

THE UNIVERSITY #02 – I thought I’d escaped it. But no. Here there are at least ten different people that all cannot allow an opportunity to ask a question pass by. I know them by name. They have me on their facebook. They are probably reading this. Are they lonely? I don’t know. Are they having illicit bumsex with my boss? I doubt it. Are they just weird? I couldn’t possibly comment. Are they you? Maybe.

 

So if you are one of those types of people that have to ask the same people the same or similar questions on a regular basis. Do you ask because if you don’t you will explode? Are you just lonely? Are you weird? Or do you think that people that do my type of job are put on this earth to make sure you’ve washed behind your ears and that you’re wearing the right undergarments for the day?

Dog’s dinner.

Caught the bus into Uni this morning with the intent of having a few pints after classes this afternoon. When you catch the peasant wagon not only are you crammed into a oblong metal box with the great unwashed, but you get to hear the various conversations that go on around. They’re like social snap shots at times.

This morning I was torn between two gents discussing their various civil penalties (magistrate court fines, community service etc) and a group of girls bitching about some Cassanova who has been putting it about unbeknownst to his current squeeze.

However, as usual the best conversation is always left until last.

**phone rings**
Girl One Hiya…….yeah….no I’ll be there in two minutes. Am just on the bus….ok see you in a bit **hangs up phone** Fucking two faced bitch
Girl Two No. That was two faced.
Girl Three LOLZ0RZZZ

Morning

I am fairly certain Friday started twice this morning. I distinctly remember turning off my alarm and getting out of bed to get ready for work…but then the alarm went off and I was in bed again. Hmmm…..

I don’t feel sufficiently cured enough nor strong enough to go to the pub after work tonight. I’ve not smoked since Sunday and I know if I go to the pub I’ll want a ciggy. So I wont go. Instead I’ll just sit at home and potter about.

Tomorrow the Nickster is visiting with Sarah which I’m quite excited about.

Sunday I need to drill things. Which means I need a drill. Which means going to B&Q. But I can’t be arsed.

No.

Seriously.

My skin crawls at the thought of it.

Kitchen: More Saga than an old peoples holiday resort

Plasterer – Hello. I was going to come and finish the plastering tomorrow but I am having to work in Wigan this week.
Wife – Oh
Plasterer – I can come at the weekend
Wife – We’re away
Plasterer – Oh
Wife – But we can arrange for someone to be here
Plasterer – Yayy
Wife – Woo
Plasterer – I’m really sorry for messing you around. If you get the tiles and stuff I’ll tile your kitchen for 40 quid.
Wife – Woo yayy hoopla!

Ah well….another week of take aways and microwave meals. At this rate I’ll be dead by the time the kitchen is finished.

I blame fj_warren.

Fun with Strychnine Volume 1

Chav palace
Should have been a quiet pint.
Last night I was in the pub. This you already know.

What I didn’t tell you is about the little darling with the football. Awww bless. NOT.

There I was sat enjoying the sounds of nature in the deserted enclosed beer garden reading my newspaper and drinking my beer. Eventually a family of undesirables arrived and sat at the table by the door to the beer garden. The Not-Waltons arrived

Buses

Buses in Liverpool have had a No Smoking policy for sometime, although I think that rule only applies to the passengers and not the engines of old dilapidated buses that some of the bus companies run. However, that doesnt stop the majority of under 21’s sitting on the back seat chuffing away hiding their burning butts in their cupped hands.

Today was no exception.

If I do have to get the bus I try to sit as near to the front as possible, normally because the intimidating types tend to congregate at the back; gob, urinate, leave curries or deface the seats and also because Liverpool bus drivers think they’re a cross between Benny Goodman and Ayrton Sennacot, speed past your stop and unless you have lightning reflexes and the balance of an acrobat you end up at the Pier Head when you want to get off at Brownlow Hell. Unfortunatley, all the seats at the front where empty so reluctantly I had to join the rough types at the back. School kids mainly, you know the sort, the ones that just loafed about at school, no ambition to succeed, as far as they’re concerned “why bother?”. Sure enough they were smoking ciggies and being generally obnoxious.

Their conversation brought a grin to my face (although I internalized the grin for fear of getting my head kicked in so it probably looked like I had wind or toothache).

Scally 1: yeah an’ like i was ded chonged like lahhh *
Scally 2: waz ya? I was chongin’ from like 7 till 4:15 last night
Scally 1: yeah well I once chonged from like 4 till 4:30

Obviously a bollocks “one-up-manship” competition was going on. This amuzing competition continued with

Scally 2: I had 21 packets of cigs the other day…smoked the lot of them
Scally 1: yeah well I once smoked 10 packs before 12 then when we went out we had another 17 packs….it was great

It was a wonder they were still alive!!

Anyway, further adventures on the bus involved :-

  • a woman with the same model phone as me
  • a child wiping its nose on the seat, Mum didnt give a shit
  • emotionless people crammed like sardines
  • drivers still using mobile phones when driving
  • a woman driving her kids to school in her dressing gown and nightie
  • a woman bottle feeding her child while driving at 30 mph (towards traffic lights)

Its a wonder any of us are still alive!

*Translation Corner*

Chonged – Stoned, normally through use of pot/ganja
Chongin – smoking pot/ganja
lahhh abrv. Lad , similar to mate, buddy, pal, chum

I hate buses.