Talk Talk; The company that cut you off for 5 weeks and don't apologise = SHIT SHIT!

Tonight while I was writing some blog about just how tired I was feeling about the 1st day back to work blues and that any distraction from today’s hassles would be a help to take my mind off of the rest of the week, Steph was Yes-sing and No-ing on the phone to our current phone provider. Then a short while later as I served up the finest Angus meatballs (possibly the best thing to come out of an ACDC guitarist since A whole lot of Rosie) Steph takes another call from Talk Talk. The gist of this conversation became apparent after a while that they wished to sell us another package, but despite Steph’s insistence that a smorgboard of meatballs and rice was now ready the Talk, Talkers kept talking until she was able to put the phone down. After a few moments of minutes they called back and asked again to speak to Steph, so I told them that ‘it was not possible’ due to the small indiscretion of cutting us off for 5 weeks last year for their clerical error and then being about as apologetic and concerned as a Bankers Bonus Committee in the tax haven island of Far Queue! The Talk Talk representative then explained that our real beef was not with them but Tiscali. (Who for the record is part of the whole Shit Shit Talk Talk Group?) Obviously whilst he understood that it was completely unacceptable to cut off someone’s phone line for 5 weeks the incredible deal he was offering was a NO BRAINER. I had a tendency to agree with the fact that Talk Talk is a no brainer generally, and employs only people who are ‘fit for purpose.’ Whilst he rambled on about the savings, my blood pressure and voice disappeared into the realms of dog whistle territory and all the stresses of today disappeared into nothing when I realised how angry someone with this much stupidity really makes me feel. I think we agreed to disagree all of the issues and I advised that this matter is now in the hands of Ofcom.

We've got a burner

Yesterday I worked like a dog. Well, probably more like a beaver really. Fetching and carrying wood and fashioning it into a sort of dam between us and out next door neighbours. One of the fantastic things about having to replace any fencing is the fact that there will usually be copious amounts of old fencing that will need to be disposed of. If you are mindful of your carbon footprint then this produces one of those big dilemmas that could stump even the most hard lined ‘Swampy’ eco warriors of; do you drive to the tip or burn? If you choose the tip you will be using natural resources, releasing wildlife into your car, then having to explain to your insurance company why after the obligatory emergency stop when a death watch beetle drops into your lap at The Bowl roundabout and the 5 foot, 3 by 3 fence post relocates via your windscreen into a family of passing Slovaks.
OR, as is my want.... Have a big bonfire. Yes this must be the preferred route for the modern man in touch with his cavemen roots. A big burn up, roasting and toasting the old until it is nothing more than ash and some rusty nails. So as the shadow lengthened and the light dimmed I sat contemplating life, staring into the embers of our previous ‘overlap’ fence with a beer in my hand and a thought to simpler times. This took me back to a number of fine evenings when in the company of my other band members we would shoot beer bottles off the roof of the Kitson shed whilst harmonising until dawn (Sorry, that last bit was a line from Simon and Garfunkel tune) Anyway there is few finer pleasures than being slightly intoxicated and char grilling your boots under a crescent moon. You can quote me on that!

Three Peaks (well Nearly)

Having laid some loft boards I have now cleverly sidestepped my parents fallout shed construction by a cunningly devious plan that involved a rain dance. The unfortunate downside to that is that no real fence erecting happened until Thursday morning and ended last night when once again, rain stopped play. I did however attempt a new record over these last two days which was very similar to the three peaks challenge where I attempted to visit Homebase, B&Q and Wickes within the shortest time. Unfortunately due to my pleasant disposition and their lack of customers, I was faced with rather overzealous customer focused staff in each of these establishments who after only being asked “can you tell me where the feather board is” or “arris rails perchance” wanted to tell me their life story and show me pictures of their pets. The last of these was in Wickes where I am sure the fascist dictators have forced the staff to enquire about every shoppers health and well being, so when the 17 year old cashier enquired 'what sort of day I was having' she got the full on story of ripping down fencing and digging out post which I am sure she possibly could have guessed at due to my general appearance of Worzal Gummage on a bad hair day. I felt a little bad after this outpouring so enquired about her day, to which she said it was rubbish. “Still” I said “It’s nearly the weekend.” So it was with a cheery scowl and “I’m working” that she sent me on my way home.

Hair Products (to be continued)

Hair products don’t get me started. In no other industry could you get away with such claims. One that currently balances precariously on the top of the bathroom cabinet is Aussie Aussome (awesome) shampoo. It has a motif of a leaping kangaroo and states that its unique formula has extracts of Australian Hops. Who writes this nonsense?

Holiday Blues

Anticipation is sometimes greater than reality. I am sure that this must ring true for more than the shaking of dogs leads and ”walkies,” fishermen’s sizes of landing nets, or even a promise from the one you love? It is certainly true for holidays that you wait all year for, that seem to sneak up on you like a Michael Jackson GP on an O2 booking agent and announce at the last minute that you might not only have to give the money back, but it is going to cost you something (anything... well quite a lot) Like the many disappointed booking agents I also had not anticipated for my Parent s wanting their loft boarded, a small garden fallout shelter constructed that claims on the box to be a shed and plethora of assorted boards, posts and rails to be painted, primed and fashioned into a sturdy fence between the us and Jones (try and keep up) who live next door. No I had anticipated a week of leisurely bohemia, flouncing around with a paintbrush and watercolours quaffing bottles of Waxed Bat and talking nonsense. Unfortunately it is the former for me and my colour by numbers kit and bat based wine has remained firmly closed for the time being. Of course the weathers not helped either, offering up that ‘will it, won’t it’ rain that Carol Kirkwood never tells you about. You venture out with an overriding guilt because it’s not really raining into the cold and damp to start some fence painting to be only coming back in within 20 mins because most of your water repellent timber care paint has been washed off by the persistent ‘Yes it will’ rain. After the last few days of this I have now taken to grinding my teeth.

Sham-A-Ling-Dong-Ding - Jesse Winchester Spectacle

The Big Society

The Big Society
Dear Mr Cameron
After being woken surprisingly early by the cat hanging on my un-duvet outstretched foot I got to thinking about the mess the Coalition has got itself in with regards to the non funding of volunteers and charities.
At this early hour it was clear to me that a simple money generating plan would be needed. After a short time of cat-less thinking I had come up with the following;-
Lucky Heather. A business plan
We ALL need to sell lucky heather to each other. Firstly, this will generate additional revenue for the sellers and also increase the amount of good luck enjoyed by the purchaser. The sheer amount of good luck will then produce additional wealth and happiness for all. After only a short time it would be possible for the chancellor to add a small additional tax from everyone to offset the current debt.
I am sure that you will agree. This is a cast iron gold plated 100% sure fire hit.
Should you clear the national debt please forward any excess monies into my Barclays account.

Barry John Dead? I don't think so

Barry John is dead?
Yes, that is what I heard! Former Welsh fly half for Wales is now dead.
I don’t believe this for a minute. Absolute cobblers.
I heard him twatting on about something to do with rugby in November last year. Since then DEAD? I don’t think so.
If it’s not enough to get a man’s death wrong, they then said that he has written some of the finest theme tunes for a number of Bond films, The Persuaders AND the music for one of the best Sunsilk commercial ever.
Take it from me he is not dead