Lozenge

Today, it’s a TV advert that has me teetering on the edge of a meltdown.

Nick (the tosser) is quitting with Niquitin.. Yep, see what they’ve done there - Nick…. Quitting. Real fucking rib tickler that one!
It’s set up to look like he’s done all this as a home movie (strokes chin sagely and utters, “ReckON”) Yeah Yeah, you want to give up. Well Done. Just don’t inflict your fake cheeriness on me. Have a look at his face people, he’s not happy. He has this manic grin on his face that doesn’t quite make it to his eyes.
I’d also like to suggest that with the money he saves on smokes, he should invest in some serious dentistry.
Oddly, this is not what pisses me off, in fact it makes me light up a cigarette.
He goes on and on about how easy it is just to pop the lozenge in your mouth. EXCEPT he calls it a lozengER. It’s a fucking lozenge, the end rhymes with hinge. You wankER.

I find people pronouncing ‘something’ as ‘somethink’ deeply irritating too. Even educated people are guilty of that one (You know who you are!) I’m led to believe that this is a ‘Midlands’ thing but I think it’s laziness.
How on earth do you make a G sound like a K? Either and Neither you can pronounce however you like, doesn’t bother me. Somethink leaves me fit to be tied.

Last night I thought Mrs Next Door had finally done what, Crisp-e and I have predicted for a while, and gone psycho.
Some of the screams from the children had me contemplating phoning Esther. I ended up thinking, Fuck It, I’ll videophone her being dragged out and stick it on the internet.
I met her outside today and she asked if I had heard any of the screaming. I did the, “Oh no, not a peep” thing. It turns out that she had set about her kids with a nit comb (Huge step back) and they hadn’t particularly taken to the experience.
Pompey nits, like their some of their hosts, are really difficult to get rid of. They are immune to all known cures, even tea tree oil.
I can remember how mortified my Nan had been, when my sister and I had been sent home from school with nits. She may as well have been told we had Syphilis. Nits and TB were conditions she associated with being poor, common and not looked after.

My scalp still carries the memory of that comb and the subsequent trip to the hairdressers to have our hair cut short. Although, I must admit having my hair cut short was bliss to a 7 year old tomboy! I never had to have my hair long again, claiming fear of nits. It was the venom with which my Nan wielded the comb I feared the most.