Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Flob

As the following article reveals, a recent survey says that British people are getting ruder. I've read through some of the points raised by the readers and it serves up some interesting views.

Personally, I think that as a country...and I'm keeping it to England because I may just be a little biased when it comes to the other parts of Great Britain...we're fairly polite. It's what we're "famed" for really. However, I think that London is seriously letting the side down. I come across rude and aggressive people all the time when out and about in town. I was taught to give your seat to someone more in need, let others through a door first, say please and thank you, help someone if they asked you. Sadly, this isn't the case for everyone. Even today I stood aside for a "woman" that was pushing a pushchair and she didn't even acknowledge my presence, let alone say thanks. And she gets the same reaction as anyone I come across that does the same...a loud "Hey, that's NO problem". Mostly they realise what's happening and apologise. But you get a few, like this heifer today, that totally misses the point. It's like they think it's their god given right to have people get out of their way. Well lady, fuck you. Manners cost nothing & you have to earn respect. Take a course on how to not be a pikey.

Read the article & views here.

Part of the same survey revealed that spitting was the worst behavioural trait. Having taken a look at what else is on there, I'm inclined to agree. I utterly loathe people that spit. I've had a few fallings out with people I know when they've done it in front of me. But, they've always conceded the point that it is disgusting and no longer do it when I'm around.

There's something else that I find incredibly rude, and equally disgusting. And I happen to have the unfortunate privilege of working with someone that does this...and that's picking your nose and eating....yes, EATING...the freshly removed contents. For the purposes of blogging I shall call this person Wee Man. Wee Man has been doing this picking and eating thing a lot recently and yesterday he picked the scab on his forearm and ate that too. No longer able to contain myself I had to say something. I chose my words carefully, he IS my "boss" after all, and said that I thought it was a filthy habit and one that I didn't appreciate him doing in front of me. He admitted that it was, even stating that his girlfriend had told him that it was gross and said that he'd "work on it".

I'll leave that actual opinion of him out....just in case.

Have you been to London or the UK? What do you think of people living here? Any particular experiences with rudeness?

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Events From The Cage...

**UPDATE - This post has been continued further up the blog. Click the title picture to reveal the rest of the blog! Yes, this is aimed at you Plymouth dude!**




The gerbil tentatively popped his head up from behind the toilet roll tube and surveyed the scene in front of him. Smoke still whisped up from the flame scorched furniture, barely anything was recognisable, not even the wicker basket he had so affectionately chewed not 10 minutes before. He slid back down onto the soft warm wood shavings of his cage, sighing inwardly. They're not going to be impressed, he thought. This was definitely worse than the last time, even then he was lucky to get away with his life intact. Maybe he was aiming too high, setting himself unreachable goals? Or maybe the expectations on him were just a figment of his imagination.

As he sat there his paw reached down and into the hidden pocket in his fur, pulling out the packet of Marlboro Lights he kept there for emergencies. This was definitely an emergency, he thought. His tiny digit flicked the zippo lighter and sparked the flame. Sucking deeply on his smoke he pondered what he was going to do next.



Ok people...here's a little experiment. I've written the first 2 paragraphs and I'm hoping that you will carry on the story. You can write as little or as much as you'd like, and there are no limits on how many times you write as long as there is at least 1 entry between them from someone else. I really want to see how far this can go, so please feel free to advertise on your own blogs for this post to try and get as many bloggers involved. It could be a brilliant success, although it could fall flat on its face...only time will tell!

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Ah, Patterns...

With certain aspects of my life I love consistency. Some things I like to have "just so", other things I'm not so bothered with.

Like my clothes. I can't abide wearing anything that's remotely dirty. If I've just washed something and then I spill food on it (often happens when you get to my age), it has to go straight back into the wash. Not because I've got some weird thing about germs, but I just like to have clean clothes. However, I'm not so fussed about hanging anything up and I often have a "clean pile" of clothes, mostly located on my floor as my bedroom isn't big enough for a wardrobe. Now that I think about it, it might be considered a contradiction.

I'm also a creature of habit. Kind of makes me feel safe in a way. Once I get used to something, it's hard to break the cycle. Don't get me wrong, I love trying new stuff but I do like having my things around me. I like knowing where I am, having a bit of a routine, talking to people in shops that I've known for the last 7 years that I've lived in town, having my friends around.

But all this is going to be totally different later this year. Moving to Canada has been a dream of mine for quite some time. I've always had those wistful thoughts about what life will be like, who I'll meet, where I will work. But at the back of my mind I think that I've viewed it through the eyes of someone that has an established life without thinking about the fact that I'm effectively starting totally from scratch. I'll know pretty much nobody, I won't know about the way "things" work, unless I can sort a job out before I leave I'll have no income to start with...basically, I'll have nothing, no pattern to rely on. And it scares the crap out of me. I've no doubt that I'll meet new people, get a job, go places, work things out...but it is still a little daunting.

But, nothing ventured nothing gained. I'll be seizing the opportunity with both hands, lapping up everything that I can from a new country. Who knows, maybe I won't feel that I need those patterns or routines as much as I think I do. It could just be the making of All Mod Cons.

On the subject of different countries...I'm off to Germany next week to meet up with Linda. For those of you that don't remember, she's the girl that I met when I went to Berlin and saw Paul Weller last year. Good times!

And on the subject of Paul Weller...a couple of weeks ago I saw him at the Royal Albert Hall for the Teenage Cancer Trust. Duffy was also there, and she was fab. But the Weller rocked ARSE! I'm also off to see him on the 21st of May, only this time it's with Ted (old housemate, hello dude) and The Viking. Really looking forward to that one. I'm hoping to get a proper outfit, but cash is an issue. Might have to trawl the charity shops before hand and try my luck at that needle and thread thingy that my nan is so good at. Not holding my breath though!

Anyways...my stomach is grumbling that it's empty, so I'm off.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

M F G

I confess, it's very good to be back. Over the last few days my head has been exploding with a billion blog post ideas...it's like being a blogging virgin all over again. However, I am currently having a Grade A bollocks week. In times like these I rely on a song to pull my arse up off the floor, no matter what is going on around me. And it works. Especially if you play it LOUD.

It is Columbia by Oasis from their debut album, Definitely Maybe. If I was stranded on an Island and only had 1 song to play for the rest of time, it would be this. I found this live clip on YouTube and love it. The attitude that Liam has when singing is perfect for this tune...hope you enjoy it!




I firmly consider my arse dragged off the floor.