This morning I was rudely awoken by the postman, who for some reason couldn’t be arsed to use the letterbox.
I staggered out of bed and dragged on some trousers and patted my big hair down. I opened the door and stared at him with the one eye I could open. He looked at me as if I had just got HIM out of bed and more or less threw my post at me. All done without a word or a smile.
Fuck you too.
This is the time of year when everybody who delivers to, or takes stuff away from your house starts ringing the doorbell to wish you a ‘Merry Christmas‘.
This is bollocks. They want money.
And if you don’t pay up?
For the next year your dustmen will leave a fair proportion of your rubbish scattered around the forecourt. Your Green Bin will be 3 millimetres too far from the gate, will have a huge red warning sticker attached and won’t get emptied for a fortnight.
Your daily newspaper will look like it’s been through a shredder rather than just the letterbox. Or you will get the top paper of the bundle left in the rain. If it turns up at all.
Got to be worth a fiver for an easy life. But I fucking resent having to do it.
At last! Tony Blair has said what everybody (including those who believe they are a liberal) has been thinking for a long time.
“Conform, or don’t come”.
Fair enough. What’s wrong with saying that?
I can’t go to Saudi and walk along the street swigging from a bottle of Vodka.
I can’t walk through certain areas of Jerusalem in shorts and a tee shirt. There are buildings I can’t go in at all, no matter how I am dressed, because I am a woman.
I can’t trundle around the Vatican in a crop top and cut-offs. Or snog a woman beneath the ceiling of The Sistine Chapel.
If I want to go to these places I have to conform or fuck off.
What’s the problem?
Sassy and I have been out and about with our Threshers vouchers. I got six really nice bottles of white wine for £25. Pouilly Fume, Sancerre, Chablis, Macon etc. Not bad! The trick will be staying away from them until Christmas. In all honesty, I can’t see it happening.
I have some ‘deferred gratification’ issues with certain things.
To the twat in the BMW in St Ronan’s Road. Don’t fucking bib your horn at me, when you are performing an illegal manoeuvre, I WILL ignore you. Tosser.
The same to anyone who tries to get my attention by whistling.. I am not your fucking dog!.
8 comments:
Dear Lord, I had forgotten about that 'Christmas Box' stuff, what bollocks in this day and age. The only person I ever used to bung any dosh to was the paperboy/girl, but I remember my mum being quite fastidious about it.
Quite right about the 'Like it or bugger off stuff' except if anyone expects it to apply to me. I am desperately trying to improve things here, you know, grammar, baths, lack of Sainsburys, politics and education. Just little things.
They say it's wise to start small. Keep up the good work!
I'm hoping nobody informs the paper 'fugee of the custom.
Aaargh, the 'Christmas Box'. I run and hide hoping that they will think that I am at work!
Where the conform or sod off message is concerned, yup - now definitely with that. I think that various individuals have taken the piss. Maybe we should start getting a little more picky as to who we let in. I ain't against immigration,I just want us to have people living with us who really want to be here and to belong. I love going down Albert Rd and hearing different languages. It's fantastic. But I'd also like to hope that indicators of ENglishness will abound like manners, respect for others, courtesy and kindness, responsible approaches to life...and we can start with our own indigenous population. Oooh, don't get me started on the pikey factor...
I see there is still some Sassy in there!
Doesn't Wayne Rooney look like every bloke with an Irish accent, who has offered to tarmac your drive?
Wayne Rooney is a little **** and his pal Cristiano Ronaldo is even worse. Where DOES Fergie find these little twats? Or does Gary Neville do their induction???
Oh yes St.Peter's Basilica. It was a warm October 2003 afternoon and I had on pants but a sleeveless top. Cover that up I was told. Thank god I had my jacket with me.
But but - Jesus was shirtless all of the time. And aren't the priests at least partially naked when they do the little boys?
- Karen
Euuuuwww....
Karen.. the best way to see the Sistine ceiling is to lay on the floor. My Grandfather made me do it.
Everybody thought he'd collapsed. Much commotion.
Don't get me started on the clergy! Although I have had fun with Nuns!
La Stu.. Innit!
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