Category: Annoyed

Avatar Disappointment squared

What does disappointment look like to you? Is it a flaccid (easy now) aubergine that hasn’t managed to grow fully in your allotment? Is it a shiny new 50p coin with a huge dent in the edge? Is it learning that Claire Richards from Steps is coming back with a new solo album? It comes in many shapes and forms and sadly there is no escaping the silky, wet glove that is disappointment.

I recently went on a ship and sailed to a different part of the world. It was excellent all the time (whispers, “all the time”) and even though I must have eaten twice my weight in steak and burgers a good holiday was had by all. The ship was swimming in luxury. If you wanted to sit in a hot tub all day sipping champagne and eating tiny desserts you could. If you wanted to go to their cinema and watch four films back to back you could. If you wanted to watch a questionable stage production by one time flatmate of Robbie Williams, Jonathan Wilkes, then you could (the only time we went to the theatre was on the last day when we were leaving and there was no more time for japes).

Families with children were also catered for on a higher level. In addition to the various play rooms and activities there were pools, swimming pools, pools with pizza stations next to them and some kind of sports facility on the very top deck. I would have investigated however we all know I am allergic to 85% of sports in the general population. Did I mention the pools? They even had a night time nursery service so if you wanted to leave little Billy with a responsible adult so you could go get shit-faced in the bar and then return around 1am to pick him up then you could. You really, really could.

As two adults with no small people there was little chance that we could take advantage of any of these facilities. Not that we wanted to but, hey, nobody likes being left out. When the holiday was being booked there was the hint made by the company that some celebrities who would be onboard for a meet and greet. I heard ‘Wallace’ and ‘Gromit’ and I knew that I had to get involved in this kind of action. For four days there was no mention of them anywhere in the leaflets they left outside your day to inform you about the daily activities going on. Nothing whatsoever. Finally on Wednesday morning, cowering towards the bottom and wedged between something called ‘Jukebox Hero’ and ‘Pilates’, was the following:

“Wallace & Gromit Special Appearance – A special appearance from Wallace and Gromit. Come and say hello to the cheese-loving inventor and his faithful four-legged friend.”

We had to go. There was no way we could miss such an event as this. The queue was very long and started snaking through the whole of the atrium; clearly this was a big event for all. We decided to keep back and watch from afar rather than getting too close. Our location meant we could see everything. Like a couple of divas they were ten minutes late. What then happened can only be… well it needs… look at the damn photo:

Not even two people in suits. We’ve got a fully-sized Wallace and a tiny Gromit that he can fully pick up with one hand, no doubt sewn to his hand because he never put him down. I don’t know if the organisers of this even have ever seen ‘Wallace and Gromit’ but they’re fairly even in height due to the latter walking on his hind legs for a lot of the time. The kids that were hugging and posing for photos were fine with the arrangement; not a single one asked to speak to the manager or had some quiet words with a member of staff. It was clear that we were in the minority so we slipped away and discussed our respective disappointment over coffee and cake.

Avatar Newsboost – Marauding mash mutilation mandate

Conservative politician Tub Barsley unexpectedly hit out at mash today in an unprovoked attach critics are calling, “spineless”.

In this morning’s edition of the ‘Daily Porker’, in conversation with political correspondent Felicia Nonstop, Mr Barsley steered very clear of the fence and sat on a rock at least a hundred miles away when expressing his overwhelming disdain for the squashed potato wonderstuff.

“Mash is nobody’s first choice at a pub or restaurant,” explained Mr Barsley, “if you’re given the options you’ll always go with chips because they’re infinitely better. If you’re choosing mash then you need to get your head examined.” It should be pointed out that later on in the article he also compared the act of mashing a potato with dusting your living room in that both activities are completely pointless. Barsley has never been one to mince his words especially when it concerns either food or politics; we all remember his controversial housing plan from September 2020 which was universally panned and vetoed by the House of Commons.

Second in command at the British Mash Council, Christopher Marshall, fought back after reading the egregious comments.

“What kind of a world do we live in when people are allowed to say fragrant lies in the press? I personally have nothing against Tub Barsley,” quipped Mr Marshall, “but he needs to keep his attitude in check. Mash is a beloved addition to any meal and we have statistical data to show that it is a clear 50/50 split between chips and mash at the dinner table. We are hoping that this will slide in our favour given the recent advertising campaign however we are quite happy with where we are right now. Damaging, childish words should be kept under wraps and if Mr Barsley continues with this line then we will be forced to take legal action.”

Tub Barsley, who once set fire to his own mother when lighting candles on her 60th birthday cake, has not commented any further.

Avatar Leave me be

Didn’t we already go through this, Chris?

I feel as though I’m repeating myself. It would take too long to go through the website to find the post I’m referring to but I specifically remember when you did this previously asking you to stop with this nonsense and yet when I was looking through my junk emails last week, what do you think I found?

There you were, nestled lovingly between some other guff of the highest order. Do I want my free Elvis Presley ’68 coin? No thanks. Do I want a loan of £5,000.00 from someone who couldn’t even get past the spam filter in my inbox? Definitely not. You’ve got something very important to tell me. Something very important is going to happen to…

To you, Siobhan. You can’t even get my name right. How long have we been friends? It’s not the longest name to remember. Three letters and you’re done unlike your full name which is a whopping eleven letters. Do you see me complaining every time I have to write out a card to you? That is, quite frankly, ridiculous. I am not a petty man though so I am willing to let these matters slide. Let me put all of my grief to one side and view with a fresh pair of eyes (and I do have a fresh pair of viewing eyes, they were needed after viewing so much this year so far, the most viewing I’ve done since 2020) the wonders that you have in store for me. It states that something very important is going to happen to me in this…

Autumn 2022. Are you joking? What do you think you’re playing at, sunshine? Are you telling me that your email sent in April 2023 about the magic of Autumn 2022 is supposed to be legit? I gave you the benefit of the doubt and now I’m not sure what kind of sick person you really are. On the surface it’s all wood smothering and horse bothering, a quaint village life with cups of tea and otter sharpening, but underneath that is the kind of repugnant filth that only the Daily Mail would care for.

You make me sick, sir.

Avatar Sink “Saga”

I don’t have a saga.

I checked, all over in fact and there’s nothing there that constitutes as or has the brevity to be classed as anything close to a saga. With this in mind then I have injected a brief sojourn into annoyance with 100% pure drama to jushe… to shudje… to make it much more appealing.

I turned the tap on and the hot water wouldn’t go down the plughole. Nightmare. It wasn’t so long ago that I’d poured a bottle of something or other down there to clear the pipes and now the pipes weren’t playing ball. I needed to turn up the heat on this and I wasn’t going down without a fight. This fight, however, would have to wait until morning.

The next day I took a short trip over to the B&Q website to secure some supplies. All I wanted was a sink plunger and some more sink un-blocker, preferably a different make from the one I’d already used (you ain’t countin’ me out as a fool twice in the same year, sucker). The plunger I wanted, however, was an online purchase item only, delivery in five days; that ain’t helping anyone because this mother needed unblocking today. Nightmare. I’d have to go with my second choice. Wham, bosch, straight to the checkout and my click and collect would be ready in an hour.

Ten minutes later though my dog and bone was ringing off the hook from a local number. I pick it up and the more important of the two items, the plunger, is out of stock at the store I chose. Nightmare. Did I want the other thing? Nah pet, cancel the whole thing. Cancel it all. If I’m sorting this mother out then I guess I’m doing it on my own.

What about my £12.65 though? I had to wait a whole some hours before it arrived back in my bank account the same day. I don’t have time to waste, I’ve got a blocked sink here!

Time to use my initiative, which is dangerous at the desk of times. The only tool I had at my disposal which was likely to get through the holes in the plug strainer thing was a cable tie. With trepidation I lowered the tie down the hole not expecting anything to happen. Wham, bosch, suddenly the blockage was gone and the water drained away like a champ. Whatever was down there could not take the strain of my force and it was gone daddy gone. Wham.

I’d wasted a good 45 minutes on this whole affair and I am glad that it’s chuffing over. Nightmare.

Avatar Youtube promo fail

I received the birthday parcel. I recorded a video of me opening the parcel. I tried half a dozen times to upload the video and the bon of a sitch website wouldn’t let me. It kept getting to either 80% or 93% and then it would stop.

I am going to keep trying however for now you will have to make do with the “amazing” thumbnail I have made.

What a marvel.

Avatar Quack Shoes (shoes that go quack)

It’s a well-known fact
When your shoes start to quack
You need to buy a new pair.
Are there ducks in your shoes?
No, it’s time to peruse
Before people point and stare.
You can ignore the noise
Go back to your toys
Pretend it’s someone else’s feet.
Stick your head in the sand,
But heed my command, those
Ducks are bound to speak.

It’s a little-known fact
(Speculation to be exact)
That ducks have a hatred of shoes.
They can’t find a set
Whether dry or quite wet
To fit without making a bruise.
Their feet are so queer
No matter how they steer
They won’t fit any slipper or high heel.
So, they’ve all had enough
Thrown away all the stuff
And pretend it’s not a big deal.

Avatar The smart man cometh

Welcome to a story that starts off well, gets a bit bad and then goes all grand mal on your ass before you realise what’s happening.

I’m a nerd. I’m sorry to hit you with that reality but I’m not the cool guy you thought I was. I know that I dazzle you all with my endless tales of motorcycles, bar fights, chicks and umm cool stuff however in reality it is the complete opposite. My nerdity stretches to almost all levels of nerdom (although I’ve yet to play a proper game of D & D and I’m not ready to quite drop my trousers and start collecting Magic: The Gathering cards) although recently, and for the last few years, it has settled in v. game town.

I collect for a huge range of systems. The Sony PSP, the slightly older, less attractive handheld cousin of the PS Vita, has a large library and currently most of the games are dirt cheap. We’re talking cup of coffee and a toffee crisp prices here, people. We’re talking a day ticket on the bus with all the trimmings (you know, some have TVs that don’t work and some have a USB port so you can charge your phone because it’s an electric bus and it’s the FUTURE). There will always be rarer titles as there is for every console and it is here we find me with an idea.

The PSP isn’t region locked meaning you can buy a game from the other side of the world and it will run on your machine. There’s a game I’ve had my eye on that only ever keeps going up in price in the UK so, in a flash of brilliance, I check a used video game website in the US that I’ve used previously. Lo and behold there it is, in stock and about twenty quid cheaper overall. I know there’ll be postage and import tax to pay yet it’s too enticing to ignore. Surely this is a good idea and nothing can go wrong. This is the loophole that will see me through to the good side of the fence. I go to the basket only to be told that the website doesn’t post to the UK anymore.

Sniff sniff, can you smell that? If you can, it’s probably Brexit.

Foiled and a little crestfallen I mull over this for a day or two. Then it hits me, a second brainwave. Twice in one lifetime? When you’re hot, you’re hot! There’s a website where you can order anything from the US and have it sent to a shipping depot in the US, they’ll then reroute it to your address in the UK and sort out the tax and everything else at the same time. This is too good to be true, right? Right?

My fingers are already going, it’s ordered and paid for. I get the notification that my parcel is on its way to the depot. I am the Thriftmaster. Thrifting is my middle name. Bow before me, peasants, for I am both the king of the Co-op and king of the thrift.

I go to create the shipping request. Duties and tax are reasonable, of course there’s VAT and… the shipping method. The cheapest option available is a little over thirty dollars. Taking into account the aforementioned other charges, this will now put the total cost of getting the fucker to my address in the UK ten dollars more than I actually paid for the game.

I wanted to believe that this was a good idea. This will be the last time I try to be clever. For now, I will be sitting in the corner wearing the dunce hat and counting up to ten only missing the seven out every single time I try. I await your lambasting.

Avatar Get out of my mind

Pop music, it’s dumb right?

Not all of it. A lot of it very intelligently made and well put together. There are those out there though that abuse it’s magic and only concoct the worst of the worst to make a cheap buck. Pop music is the house of the lazy songwriter. It has committed more crimes then I’d care to mention (I’m looking at you, ‘Boys of Summer’ by DJ Sammy).

I have recently been re-listening to ‘This Year’s Model’ by Elvis Costello and the Attractions, a lovely bouncy set of new wave poppy rocky songs from 1978. It features two stellar singles; (I Don’t Want to Go to) Chelsea’, a sentiment I think we all share, and the ludicrously good ‘Pump it Up’. Costello is reported to have written the song on a fire escape during a stop in Newcastle of all places. What if he wrote it on my fire escape? Wait, I don’t have a fire escape.

The song ‘Pump it Up’ was later sampled by a sack of arse called Rogue Traders. In classic lazy pop fashion they took some bint they could find (in this case the Australian actress Natalie Bassingthwaite – she used to be in Neighbours because of course she did, she’s from Australia), got her to knock out some half-based vocals and called it ‘Voodoo Child’.

Rogue Traders – Voodoo Child (Video) – YouTube

It features lyrics so banal if you closed your eyes and pointed to random words in a dictionary you would come up with a better one. Would you like an example? Take a sweet glance at the chorus:

“Baby baby baby
You are my voodoo child, my voodoo child
Don’t say maybe maybe
It’s supernatural, I’m coming undone.”

Awful, yes. Catchy, yes. I do believe it has more to do with Elvis Costello and the Attractions more than anything else. If you took away the pounding organs and guitars you’d be left with an empty pickle of a song, a limp biscuit if you will. I only mention this because my brain, in its infinite wisdom, continues to remind me of things like this rather than remembering useful things. When the aliens come and take us all away I will be filed on a shelf of knowledge called ‘Why bother?’ and only called up when they need a particularly spicy pub quiz question.

Whenever I hear ‘Pump it Up’ there is the quiet unsightly ghost of Rogue Traders hiding in the background.

Absolute bastards.