I arrive at my vehicle to find that the accursed flock of seagulls have, once again,
decorated it in their inimitable fashion. Splattered in concentric circles,
windscreen, bonnet and BOTH front doors.
The diuretic bastards with their
machine gun arses, achieving in moments what would take mere pigeons, hours. Mind you
the clue Is in 'flock', there's shed loads of them, all circling the street squawking
like banshees, no doubt taking arse aim at the merest hint of a green motor vehicle.
From heights of 30 feet and more they manange to splatterdash my beloved green machine whilst missing my neighbours car parked slap bang next to it! I'm taking this personally, very personally indeed.
I want to know where on earth has this urban plague developed from?We'd
come accustomed to the omnipresent filthy pigeons, they're a nuisance, but by and
large, small, quiet and unobstrusive. Smaller arses for one thing.
Not
seagulls! Have you seen them up close? They're bloody huge. They make a infernal
racket and, when they are swooping about above you, nothing is safe from the
aforementioned poop!except perhaps my neighbours vauxhall as mentioned.
I'd read a piece recently whereby bird charities
were pleading with cat owners to keep tiddles in at night in an effort to
mitigate the losses to the bird populations....I'm sending my cat OUT at night
armed with pre-sharpened claws and a picture of a seagull...kill puss
kill....
Not that I'd have a hope in hell, she's not daft our cat, she'll
chase squirrels and the male cat next door but seagulls? Not on your
nelly.
Perhaps they mistake my car for a trawler? I'd imagine these particular seagulls have neevr even seen the bloody sea so its quite conceivable.Somewhere in their feathery genes they know they're supposed to swoop and holler over something that moves below them at a somewhat stately pace.....trawlers at sea, the green machine in downtown Birmingham, nature will then invariably take its course, hatches will be opened and dive bombing commenced.
I'm annoyed enough now to write to my good friend Kim, asking her to send me a gun, what works for
Grackles ......
thrown by ladies
I really, REALLY enjoyed the Olympics, Particularly revisiting the sports I'd
forgotten existed in the interim four years.
Fencing is definitely one of those sports, I find it utterly bewildering, lots of prancing and lunging with rapid scoring that I, literally never spot.
To the commentators I'm witnessing fencing excellence with moves of great skill, to me I'm seeing them take turns to run at one another whilst holding a bendy sword.
I had a bendy sword as a child, (no jokes!)great fun it was, I guess there in lies the attraction. I wonder if the olympian fencers are also pretending to be pirates?
Then there's the judo. I love judo, I did it as a child albeit briefly. I got thrown all over the place, all the while laughing like a drain. You see, I went with my friend Eddie, a large lad who's ma had sent along to help lose weight. The 3 packets of crisps he'd eat afterwards somewhat mitigating her hopes.
Now Eddie was a grumpy child who loved the strength his bulk gave him and particularly using it on his friends, so, to see him being thrown round the mat by a girl, was hilarious.
He ALWAYS got paired with a tall teenage girl, some 4 or 5 years older than us.
I could'nt concentrate on myself for laughing at Eddie. This is MY excuse for being thrown around by a ginger lad. I mention his hair only as a point of reference, I love ginger folk....
For me now, some years later, the thought of being thrown by a sporty lady has its appeal...as long as its onto a bed.....for the soft landing you understand.
Well now, thanks to Olympic focus I once again know what an Ippon is, I forget in the interim periods and have to have it explained to me again every 4 years. I feel almost guilty that I pay so little attention otherwise but, really the difference between that and the other moves is negligible to my untrained eye.
Its the same with a multitude of other sports, if you told me I'd be gripped by the womens weightlifting I'd have said you were off your head!
Its big ladies lifting stuff, where's the attraction?. Well, the attractions there and I'll tell you what, the women these days are often fine looking ladies! Not that that is important, I mention it only to emphasise my surprise. I remember the days of East German weightlifting 'ladies' with a shudder.
A confusion for me in the judo is the constant state of undress. They spend an inordinate amount of time and energy repeatedly having to readjust disaassembled clothing, I'm like that myself, my trousers forever needing adjustement but, in a high paced sport shouldn't they wear something a bit more sensible?
Those huge jackets are like dressing gowns. I could turn up at the venue wearing a hotel dressing gown and they'd probably let me compete! Not that I'd want to appear on television in my dressing gown, its forever flopping open, what would the BBC think!
As for BMX, I want one! I want one now, I want to ride that mad course up and down those humps and bumps. Granted the last time I rode one....1984 ish...I flipped off a ramp and damaged my groin of all things, but I'll give it a go!
I might feel a little daft to be fair, grown man and all riding a dinky little bike but, with Rio only 4 years away....now what can I use to build me a ramp?.
Fencing is definitely one of those sports, I find it utterly bewildering, lots of prancing and lunging with rapid scoring that I, literally never spot.
To the commentators I'm witnessing fencing excellence with moves of great skill, to me I'm seeing them take turns to run at one another whilst holding a bendy sword.
I had a bendy sword as a child, (no jokes!)great fun it was, I guess there in lies the attraction. I wonder if the olympian fencers are also pretending to be pirates?
Then there's the judo. I love judo, I did it as a child albeit briefly. I got thrown all over the place, all the while laughing like a drain. You see, I went with my friend Eddie, a large lad who's ma had sent along to help lose weight. The 3 packets of crisps he'd eat afterwards somewhat mitigating her hopes.
Now Eddie was a grumpy child who loved the strength his bulk gave him and particularly using it on his friends, so, to see him being thrown round the mat by a girl, was hilarious.
He ALWAYS got paired with a tall teenage girl, some 4 or 5 years older than us.
I could'nt concentrate on myself for laughing at Eddie. This is MY excuse for being thrown around by a ginger lad. I mention his hair only as a point of reference, I love ginger folk....
For me now, some years later, the thought of being thrown by a sporty lady has its appeal...as long as its onto a bed.....for the soft landing you understand.
Well now, thanks to Olympic focus I once again know what an Ippon is, I forget in the interim periods and have to have it explained to me again every 4 years. I feel almost guilty that I pay so little attention otherwise but, really the difference between that and the other moves is negligible to my untrained eye.
Its the same with a multitude of other sports, if you told me I'd be gripped by the womens weightlifting I'd have said you were off your head!
Its big ladies lifting stuff, where's the attraction?. Well, the attractions there and I'll tell you what, the women these days are often fine looking ladies! Not that that is important, I mention it only to emphasise my surprise. I remember the days of East German weightlifting 'ladies' with a shudder.
A confusion for me in the judo is the constant state of undress. They spend an inordinate amount of time and energy repeatedly having to readjust disaassembled clothing, I'm like that myself, my trousers forever needing adjustement but, in a high paced sport shouldn't they wear something a bit more sensible?
Those huge jackets are like dressing gowns. I could turn up at the venue wearing a hotel dressing gown and they'd probably let me compete! Not that I'd want to appear on television in my dressing gown, its forever flopping open, what would the BBC think!
As for BMX, I want one! I want one now, I want to ride that mad course up and down those humps and bumps. Granted the last time I rode one....1984 ish...I flipped off a ramp and damaged my groin of all things, but I'll give it a go!
I might feel a little daft to be fair, grown man and all riding a dinky little bike but, with Rio only 4 years away....now what can I use to build me a ramp?.
A sporting tale.
In the midst of the Olympic extravaganza, I caught a local news item whereby, they reported on a protest by users of a, community sports arena designated for closure.
Now, when i say protest there were 7 actual people outside the arena with a smattering of small, handwritten placards among them. The(less than)magnificent 7 included a baby and at least two other people who appeared to be actually waiting for a bus, probably wandering across with the shopping bags to see what the camera was about.
Anyway, when the piece cut inside, the reporter did his report in front of the badminton court where, easily the worst ever badminton players ever allowed on a court, were enacting an(alleged)game of badminton. The news item was only a few minutes long and the 'game' only filled a couple of those but I seen enough to validate my statement. Easily the worst ever.
The two ladies in question did not get the shuttlecock over the actual net once! Not once, the player 'serving' and i really hesitate to call it that,would drop the cock(!), take a mad desperate swing at it with the poor misfortunate racket and, if they did connect at all, it 'flew' upward for about two miserable feet before decending with the grace of a fallen swan to land unceremoniously at the same players feet. The whole fiasco would be repeated while player b tried to look 'sporty' down the other end.A look she might have greater luck with if she hadn't been wearing jeans and a jacket.
The poor baby( protester no7 from outside...keep up!)had to watch all this from her pushchair parked courtside. Sadly for her they parked her facing the court but at least, being more than 3 feet away, she had no chance whatsoever of being hit.
With the theme of this Olympics being the legacy for sport afterward, our local news team obviously saw the chance to shoehorn a topical piece into the evening news, a classic filler item which they actually led the whole bulletin with! A seriously slow news day obviously, I believe the reported rounded up the 'protesters' from the local mom and baby club, theres no way on earth those two women had seen a shuttlecock before let alone hit one. Come to think of it they're probably still there 3 days later trying to hit that one!
Still, I hope they are sucessful in their protest, sports venues should be saved, I might even phone up and offer assistance, oh not with the placarding but to show the two ladies at least which way up a racket should be!
Now, when i say protest there were 7 actual people outside the arena with a smattering of small, handwritten placards among them. The(less than)magnificent 7 included a baby and at least two other people who appeared to be actually waiting for a bus, probably wandering across with the shopping bags to see what the camera was about.
Anyway, when the piece cut inside, the reporter did his report in front of the badminton court where, easily the worst ever badminton players ever allowed on a court, were enacting an(alleged)game of badminton. The news item was only a few minutes long and the 'game' only filled a couple of those but I seen enough to validate my statement. Easily the worst ever.
The two ladies in question did not get the shuttlecock over the actual net once! Not once, the player 'serving' and i really hesitate to call it that,would drop the cock(!), take a mad desperate swing at it with the poor misfortunate racket and, if they did connect at all, it 'flew' upward for about two miserable feet before decending with the grace of a fallen swan to land unceremoniously at the same players feet. The whole fiasco would be repeated while player b tried to look 'sporty' down the other end.A look she might have greater luck with if she hadn't been wearing jeans and a jacket.
The poor baby( protester no7 from outside...keep up!)had to watch all this from her pushchair parked courtside. Sadly for her they parked her facing the court but at least, being more than 3 feet away, she had no chance whatsoever of being hit.
With the theme of this Olympics being the legacy for sport afterward, our local news team obviously saw the chance to shoehorn a topical piece into the evening news, a classic filler item which they actually led the whole bulletin with! A seriously slow news day obviously, I believe the reported rounded up the 'protesters' from the local mom and baby club, theres no way on earth those two women had seen a shuttlecock before let alone hit one. Come to think of it they're probably still there 3 days later trying to hit that one!
Still, I hope they are sucessful in their protest, sports venues should be saved, I might even phone up and offer assistance, oh not with the placarding but to show the two ladies at least which way up a racket should be!
Shades of conference grey.
Anal Fisting. Its not a subject that gets spoken of very often but we did...on the way to a certain retail conference,mssrs Wheeldon, Ellis and myself.
Don't get me wrong we were not discussing the pros and cons of said sexual activity but, rather the fact that it features strongly in Fifty Shades of Grey. The mommy porn trilogy now available everybloodywhere.
(Incidentally, I wonder if 'mommy porn' will now become a genre at bookstores perhaps even an entire section of the library? Our librarian is a very staid lady, probably perfect fodder for mommy porn actually.....I'm now picturing her being spanked, oh sweet Jesus)
Anyway it was young Liam who proffered the information, he hasn't read the book but was reliably informed by someone who has. We, it has to be said, were somewhat abashed by the conversational bombshell and a little mind boggled that soooo many women have subscribed to it....the book that is, I have no inside data on the anal fisting figures.
Of course as mature sensible adults we got great mileage out of this titbit of info and discussed it at length. We determined that, clearly we are not the only perverts around here! Umm, by that I mean the male of the species and not Liam, Barry or I.
It does now tend to colour ones view of woman kind, you see them now and wonder what's going through their mind, are they mentally stripping naked before tying me to the bedstead, probably not its fair to say but you see our thought process.
On another note I'm actually looking at my own fist here and now and its bloody sizable, I can see no occasion at all when it should be inserted into something as small and delicate as...welll, as an arse quite frankly.
And, as they bored us stupid at the conference I thought of it a lot. I don't think any of the women I've known would be partakers of the activity no matter how many of the book series they'd read. Not that I would be offering...oh God I wish I hadn't gone down this strand.......
As yer man up on stage went about his topic.....I remember a conundrum of when to switch from pastels to shades!.... I was thinking about anal fisting. When they delivered us their own sandwiches as lunch, I was definitely thinking of anal fisting and, when they then herded us out of the main room into a glorified mini conferenece of our own, well you KNOW what I was thinking.
Don't get me wrong we were not discussing the pros and cons of said sexual activity but, rather the fact that it features strongly in Fifty Shades of Grey. The mommy porn trilogy now available everybloodywhere.
(Incidentally, I wonder if 'mommy porn' will now become a genre at bookstores perhaps even an entire section of the library? Our librarian is a very staid lady, probably perfect fodder for mommy porn actually.....I'm now picturing her being spanked, oh sweet Jesus)
Anyway it was young Liam who proffered the information, he hasn't read the book but was reliably informed by someone who has. We, it has to be said, were somewhat abashed by the conversational bombshell and a little mind boggled that soooo many women have subscribed to it....the book that is, I have no inside data on the anal fisting figures.
Of course as mature sensible adults we got great mileage out of this titbit of info and discussed it at length. We determined that, clearly we are not the only perverts around here! Umm, by that I mean the male of the species and not Liam, Barry or I.
It does now tend to colour ones view of woman kind, you see them now and wonder what's going through their mind, are they mentally stripping naked before tying me to the bedstead, probably not its fair to say but you see our thought process.
On another note I'm actually looking at my own fist here and now and its bloody sizable, I can see no occasion at all when it should be inserted into something as small and delicate as...welll, as an arse quite frankly.
And, as they bored us stupid at the conference I thought of it a lot. I don't think any of the women I've known would be partakers of the activity no matter how many of the book series they'd read. Not that I would be offering...oh God I wish I hadn't gone down this strand.......
As yer man up on stage went about his topic.....I remember a conundrum of when to switch from pastels to shades!.... I was thinking about anal fisting. When they delivered us their own sandwiches as lunch, I was definitely thinking of anal fisting and, when they then herded us out of the main room into a glorified mini conferenece of our own, well you KNOW what I was thinking.
new bowl for a well trained cat
Dragged into pet smart again....not kicking and screaming just sulking mildly..... I came across the most awful product in the world ever!
They had a cat loo! No not a cat litter tray but an actual toilet shaped cat litter that, in theory, introduces a cat to the toilet before weaning them onto our actual real toilet!
I kid you not, pet smart (or world or whatever the stupid place is called) are actually trying to promote cats on the toilet!
This bemuses me greatly I mean, how many poor cats have fallen in after attempting their first number two? And don't their claws get stuck on the andrex using up an entire roll to wipe very small arses? The mind boggles, I mean, what do they read on the toilet?
Bloody Pet Smart. Our one doesn't even have any animals or fish, whcih would at least make it interesting. They pipe bird noises through the speakers! Your perusing the cat treats feeling like you've stumbled I the Amazon....jungle not online retailer.
I hate the place with a passion. Its souless and clinical, staffed invariably by lifeless automatons whom they forgot to program with smiles, or indeed manners.
Mind you, I don't suppose I'd be happy cheery bundle of joy I am(what?) if I'd had to listen to birds warblin and squawking day in day out. In fact I can safely say I wouldn't!
For all those people who bought the stupid contraption I sincerely hope the cat leaves a floater.
They had a cat loo! No not a cat litter tray but an actual toilet shaped cat litter that, in theory, introduces a cat to the toilet before weaning them onto our actual real toilet!
I kid you not, pet smart (or world or whatever the stupid place is called) are actually trying to promote cats on the toilet!
This bemuses me greatly I mean, how many poor cats have fallen in after attempting their first number two? And don't their claws get stuck on the andrex using up an entire roll to wipe very small arses? The mind boggles, I mean, what do they read on the toilet?
Bloody Pet Smart. Our one doesn't even have any animals or fish, whcih would at least make it interesting. They pipe bird noises through the speakers! Your perusing the cat treats feeling like you've stumbled I the Amazon....jungle not online retailer.
I hate the place with a passion. Its souless and clinical, staffed invariably by lifeless automatons whom they forgot to program with smiles, or indeed manners.
Mind you, I don't suppose I'd be happy cheery bundle of joy I am(what?) if I'd had to listen to birds warblin and squawking day in day out. In fact I can safely say I wouldn't!
For all those people who bought the stupid contraption I sincerely hope the cat leaves a floater.
last of the holy men
My promise at 6 or 7 years old to my Grandad, that I would definitely be a priest when I grew up, is obviously one of many I've broken... mostly to women it has to be said and none of it priest related.....the chances of me making it too priest hood were slim even back then.
You see, despite being brought up in a hugely Catholic country, I had a somewhat lazy attitude to church attendance, something my dear ol' Ma didn't enforce either, she herself having a rather distant relationship with religion. The pub didn't have an altar and priests were boring company.
Don't get me wrong she was mad keen on the pageantry and tradition and had me do the communions and the confirmations and what have you, but the day to day nitty gritty of pious obedience was beyond her remit. I had freetime while everyone elses parents made them go to church. This presented somewhat of a problem for the local priest who feared for my mortal soul. He would diligently try to cajole my Ma' into raising a good catholic boy and would take great umbrage when she told him where to go.... often quite literally!
Now, when it came to confirmation at around 10 years old, it was just my luck that this same priest took us for the weeks of nonsense leading upto the day, he'd teach us how to prepare for good catholicism and take us to church for confirmation practice and so on. He had a distinct problem with yours truly! Partly because of my ma and partly because I played him up something rotten!
One of the deeds of preparation for confirmation was an increase in confession. We seemed to be prostrate in the confession box very 5 minutes! Always ready to palm the confessional priest....and we never knew who they were of course .... off, with corny sins such as lying to the teacher etc etc, I'd instead get quizzed about ..bad thoughts...did I have them?...Fast approaching puberty and being a cocky 10year old I wasn't about to admit to not having a clue what he was talking about, I instead replied in the affirmative and wondered the nature of these bad thoughts.
Suffice to say when I'd been issued with my 10 hail mary's and a diatribe on the deadly sin of self abuse I was still none the wiser nor indeed chastened. If there were bad thoughts to be had that upset priests this greatly, then i was up for that!
Outside the confession box you would be expected to take a pew and sit there saying your 25 hail marys and 14 our fathers, me, I'd get bored after 4 and sidle off when no one was looking, a sin in itself I was told, you see? I couldn't win no matter what.....
I wonder now though, if there was something in my bearing that suggested to them that I was a dead cert for rampant wanking? They were seemingly obsessed with keeping me and my peers away from the perils of masturbation. We were certainly getting curious and girls now had interesting shapes for us to consider, but any thoughts in this direction seemed like good ones to me. The very thought of them being impure and sinful seemed absurd. As did the term 'self abuse', did they think I was going to shout at myself, call myself names and abuse myself in general? Maybe a session in front of the mirror pointing and shouting MASTURBATOR!
In later years when all became clear, I did wonder about the priesthood...not about joining!,good God no!......I wondered if young priests were given a rule book, obviously banning sex of any description and all thoughts of women, but I wondered if it included, RULE 37 ..you must not self abuse.....seriously confusing the innocent young priests? Perhaps a sign in the dormitory,
LIGHTS OUT AT 9.30 AND ABSOLUTELY NO MASTURBATING UNDER THE COVERS.
I'd almost like to return to the confession box and query the notion, “father, what is so wrong with masturbation anyway?”
You see, despite being brought up in a hugely Catholic country, I had a somewhat lazy attitude to church attendance, something my dear ol' Ma didn't enforce either, she herself having a rather distant relationship with religion. The pub didn't have an altar and priests were boring company.
Don't get me wrong she was mad keen on the pageantry and tradition and had me do the communions and the confirmations and what have you, but the day to day nitty gritty of pious obedience was beyond her remit. I had freetime while everyone elses parents made them go to church. This presented somewhat of a problem for the local priest who feared for my mortal soul. He would diligently try to cajole my Ma' into raising a good catholic boy and would take great umbrage when she told him where to go.... often quite literally!
Now, when it came to confirmation at around 10 years old, it was just my luck that this same priest took us for the weeks of nonsense leading upto the day, he'd teach us how to prepare for good catholicism and take us to church for confirmation practice and so on. He had a distinct problem with yours truly! Partly because of my ma and partly because I played him up something rotten!
One of the deeds of preparation for confirmation was an increase in confession. We seemed to be prostrate in the confession box very 5 minutes! Always ready to palm the confessional priest....and we never knew who they were of course .... off, with corny sins such as lying to the teacher etc etc, I'd instead get quizzed about ..bad thoughts...did I have them?...Fast approaching puberty and being a cocky 10year old I wasn't about to admit to not having a clue what he was talking about, I instead replied in the affirmative and wondered the nature of these bad thoughts.
Suffice to say when I'd been issued with my 10 hail mary's and a diatribe on the deadly sin of self abuse I was still none the wiser nor indeed chastened. If there were bad thoughts to be had that upset priests this greatly, then i was up for that!
Outside the confession box you would be expected to take a pew and sit there saying your 25 hail marys and 14 our fathers, me, I'd get bored after 4 and sidle off when no one was looking, a sin in itself I was told, you see? I couldn't win no matter what.....
I wonder now though, if there was something in my bearing that suggested to them that I was a dead cert for rampant wanking? They were seemingly obsessed with keeping me and my peers away from the perils of masturbation. We were certainly getting curious and girls now had interesting shapes for us to consider, but any thoughts in this direction seemed like good ones to me. The very thought of them being impure and sinful seemed absurd. As did the term 'self abuse', did they think I was going to shout at myself, call myself names and abuse myself in general? Maybe a session in front of the mirror pointing and shouting MASTURBATOR!
In later years when all became clear, I did wonder about the priesthood...not about joining!,good God no!......I wondered if young priests were given a rule book, obviously banning sex of any description and all thoughts of women, but I wondered if it included, RULE 37 ..you must not self abuse.....seriously confusing the innocent young priests? Perhaps a sign in the dormitory,
LIGHTS OUT AT 9.30 AND ABSOLUTELY NO MASTURBATING UNDER THE COVERS.
I'd almost like to return to the confession box and query the notion, “father, what is so wrong with masturbation anyway?”
Dear QE2
The queue is an interminable length, 4 people ....but then this is the doctors surgery reception and 4 people will take an eternity, as always..... I'm person 4 and can only stand and daydream as the usual nonsense plays out before me.
Its guaranteed that of the 3 receptionists only one will be actually dealing with patients. The other two will be doing indefinable things with folders and telephones perfecting that look of extreme busyness while accomplishing nothing. I've worked with people who're masters at this, broom pushers, trolley amblers and cleaning spray carriers, they don't actually do anything but transport said items to different locations until their time runs down. Oxygen thieves was the way a colleague referred to them. Cruel but somewhat apt.
So, I'm standing in the queue, as usual ruminating over exactly wtf was holding things up. (My heart sinks every single time I walk in to find myself behind an old person! Worse if its more than one.)
This time the old person at the front was discussing where he needed to be, 2 (2!) Of the receptionists were now consulting his paperwork, umming and ahhing over it with a typical lack of urgency, meanwhile his wife added to the confused rapport by loudly discussing what to do for dinner.
Seemingly no one, apart from me, was listening to the poor old dear and I nearly shouted out, 'ffs do the sausages' in answer to her plea but thought better of it. Meanwhile the greek tragedy that was the old mans appointment, played out before us. Again I, briefly, held the urge to interject loudly,' look just send him to the effing nurse' but once again, rather cowardly kept schtum.
Anyway, when they'd finally deciphered between the four of them (5 if u include the food obsessed wife )that, a)he was indeed booked to see a nurse and, b) he would be having the sausages, the queue finally moved on. Receptionist a went back to serving and rec.b returned to advanced file carrying, never for one moment considering helping with the queue of course. Normality resumed and I began to feel that maybe sometime this month it would be my turn.
But oh no, fate decided to play a different hand as an elderly guy, not in the queue, suddenly marched up and started talking to the receptionist as she were mid serving, she held him off, showing him the hand, while finishing with her current client. However, when this finished and to my utter amazement, she then dealt with the queue jumping interloper! I was apoplectic with indignation but still 2 people back, the person who was rightfully next just stood there like a pleb!( Maybe the illusion was swan like and underneath the calm exterior she was actually a raging inferno of balled up fury?)
Anyway, it turned out the interloper was looney tunes and he'd queue jumped only to ask the receptionist if she knew the queens address, yes THE queen. He'd had a hefty electricity bill and wanted to complain to her maj in the hope that she'd agree it was unwarranted! I heard all this from my place in the queue and then 3 more times as the recptionist regaled the rest of her queue, me included, with the sorry tale. He wanted to write to the queen' she chortled to me, 'just gimme my effing prescription' I replied....or at least I wished I'd replied I actually affected an amused expression and wittered something like, 'some people eh?'
Its guaranteed that of the 3 receptionists only one will be actually dealing with patients. The other two will be doing indefinable things with folders and telephones perfecting that look of extreme busyness while accomplishing nothing. I've worked with people who're masters at this, broom pushers, trolley amblers and cleaning spray carriers, they don't actually do anything but transport said items to different locations until their time runs down. Oxygen thieves was the way a colleague referred to them. Cruel but somewhat apt.
So, I'm standing in the queue, as usual ruminating over exactly wtf was holding things up. (My heart sinks every single time I walk in to find myself behind an old person! Worse if its more than one.)
This time the old person at the front was discussing where he needed to be, 2 (2!) Of the receptionists were now consulting his paperwork, umming and ahhing over it with a typical lack of urgency, meanwhile his wife added to the confused rapport by loudly discussing what to do for dinner.
Seemingly no one, apart from me, was listening to the poor old dear and I nearly shouted out, 'ffs do the sausages' in answer to her plea but thought better of it. Meanwhile the greek tragedy that was the old mans appointment, played out before us. Again I, briefly, held the urge to interject loudly,' look just send him to the effing nurse' but once again, rather cowardly kept schtum.
Anyway, when they'd finally deciphered between the four of them (5 if u include the food obsessed wife )that, a)he was indeed booked to see a nurse and, b) he would be having the sausages, the queue finally moved on. Receptionist a went back to serving and rec.b returned to advanced file carrying, never for one moment considering helping with the queue of course. Normality resumed and I began to feel that maybe sometime this month it would be my turn.
But oh no, fate decided to play a different hand as an elderly guy, not in the queue, suddenly marched up and started talking to the receptionist as she were mid serving, she held him off, showing him the hand, while finishing with her current client. However, when this finished and to my utter amazement, she then dealt with the queue jumping interloper! I was apoplectic with indignation but still 2 people back, the person who was rightfully next just stood there like a pleb!( Maybe the illusion was swan like and underneath the calm exterior she was actually a raging inferno of balled up fury?)
Anyway, it turned out the interloper was looney tunes and he'd queue jumped only to ask the receptionist if she knew the queens address, yes THE queen. He'd had a hefty electricity bill and wanted to complain to her maj in the hope that she'd agree it was unwarranted! I heard all this from my place in the queue and then 3 more times as the recptionist regaled the rest of her queue, me included, with the sorry tale. He wanted to write to the queen' she chortled to me, 'just gimme my effing prescription' I replied....or at least I wished I'd replied I actually affected an amused expression and wittered something like, 'some people eh?'
Regulated Urinals
I've had a spate of urinal related curiosities of late.......panic not propriety fans, i hav,nt pee'd on the guy next to me, a life long dread, imagine a noise startled you at the wrong moment and you jerked around in fright, thereby inadvertently spraying the poor guy next to you, ruining for ever his beige chinos?.......what i mean is, a couple of weeks ago at a venue for our territory manangement meeting, we lads encountered the worlds highest urinals.
People of average leg length, such as myself, had to aim upward as it were, luckily mine comes fully flex....umm, unless aroused that is, although i have to state that is NEVER an issue at the urinals..
This week i'm at a hotel for a food safety course, only to find the worlds lowest urinals! Clearly sited for small boys, of which there are none on the course!
Again with the flexing i made good the difference and, downward in any case is pretty natural but i'm perplexed as to the vagries in urinal design, i would have thought there'd be a universal design size.
Possibly even a european union regulation?
People of average leg length, such as myself, had to aim upward as it were, luckily mine comes fully flex....umm, unless aroused that is, although i have to state that is NEVER an issue at the urinals..
This week i'm at a hotel for a food safety course, only to find the worlds lowest urinals! Clearly sited for small boys, of which there are none on the course!
Again with the flexing i made good the difference and, downward in any case is pretty natural but i'm perplexed as to the vagries in urinal design, i would have thought there'd be a universal design size.
Possibly even a european union regulation?
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