Poor Man About Town

My daughter wanted to watch the X-factor tonight. Televisual trash along with Big Brother, Big Gorilla Celebrity in the Living Room - Get it out of here type of shit. I spent most of the time in the kitchen, yet every time I came into the living room there was the Mockney tones of twelve year old tv celebrity cum presenter, Fern Cotton. She's like scabies, getting under your skin and irritating the life out of you. Is this creature so designed to get on middle-aged nerves? Judging by her apparent vacuousness guess her raison d'etre is to plague the aging - why can't she just fuck off?

Labels: celebrity, culture, Television, trash

I received two junk mail communiques from Foxtons, the Estate Agent, today. They invited me for coffee at one of their shops. The purpose of which was the prospect of letting my home to more desireable and more monied tenants. Is this one of the ways how people are made homeless?

Are estate agents pandering to the greed of the landlord and in so doing throwing people out of their homes?

It seems that this particular estate agent has been given some of its clients an awful lot of fun and somebody has become so vexed by them that s/he has devoted an entire web site to the obviously s/he may have experienced by them.

One of the monied and better tenants, paying £210 in rent per week to Foxtons, was so impressed with their service that s/he moved to comment

Can we really believe this landlord about the splendid service that Foxtons provided him / her? No, can't be true! Surely not Foxtons

Surely it can't be true.

Another satisfied customer

So impressed was this person with the service supplied by the said estate agent that s/he was moved to comment

Maybe I should go, drink their coffee and pocket (as would Ed Reardon) any Danish Pastries or sausage rolls which might be available. Then I shall exchange bogus details about my property give them a bogus phone number - methinks that another branch of Foxtons would suffice. Bingo, I have shall have free coffee, free eats and helping Foxtons staff to waste their time! Cannot think of a more imaginative way of spending a relaxing evening.

I think that Foxtons must have a huge carbon footprint, why did they need to send two communiques whereas one would have sufficed.

For more information check out this article

I get the feeling that Foxton's existence is necessary - it seems that they exist to suggest that you check out other estate agents rather than them.

Labels: accommodation, Estate Agents, homeless, homelessness, housing market, Society

Privatisation of public services has brought about wondrous changes - even more shoddier goods and services. I have already complained about British Gas and their poor communication - press telephone keypad as if one is channel surfing with the television. Then the interminable wait, being told that one will wait for 45 minutes to before one's call is answered.

I have this electricity charge key which I have to top up from time-to-time to ensure that I have to get electricity. On Sunday I put £5 on the key, on Monday I was without electricity - I charge up the key again. No light. I phoned up the supplier, EDF energy. I was told by the young woman answering the phone that I had come through to the wrong section - I had contacted the emergency line! Well, I never thought that being without is not construed as an emergency by EDF. She said that she would give me an alternative number but warned that the lines are quite busy (whenever you hear this, don't believe it, it means that call centre is clearly understaffed - remember that shareholders come first). I gave up on following this avenue of enquiry, my mobile phone did not have enough electricity nor credit to endure the interminable wait. I thought that I should give the key another try, cleaned and bingo, I had electricity.

It occurs to me now, what happens when vulnerable people encounter the same problems. Do these companies, which make millions of pounds, give a shit about their customers?

Labels: British Gas, Call Centres, Communication, EDF Energy, Public Services

Class is alive and kicking in this country, don't let anyone kid you otherwise. While waiting for a bus, a twelve year old woman passed me by babbling into her mobile, I caught these words "It like changed my life?" - It was not a question but an inflection which made the phrase sound like an inflection. Her accent had the usual crisp middle class tones but lightly peppered with American - Valley Girl sprung to mind. Given all of this, I could not imagine her barging a pushchair on to a bus in ten years time.

My guess is that in thirty years time, her kind of dialect will become the received pronounciation whereas "ya know wot I min" will be left to the rest of us.

Labels: accents, Class, English, language

What is it about bog cleaner these days - it promises to clean your bog, descale it and make it fit for a dignitary to shit in. All it does is turn the water blue. The 99p shop use to sell Harpic with cyrillic writing on it - that did the trick - I had a really lovely looking porcelain loo - a veritable bone china tea cup of a loo from which you could drink a hot drink. The 99p shop no longer sells Harpic with cyrillic writing, so I get the conventional bog cleaner which does not work.

Labels: Lifestyle

Having one's gaff burgled is no fun; but when a trash tv programme "Location, Location, Location" becomes a brochure for burglars one is left to wonder why invite a trashy tv programme into your home; it is only a Trojan Horse for burglars. Let this be a lesson to all those egoists out there - don't encourage shit television, it only encourages shit people to come in and have it on their toes with your your valuables.

Labels: burglars, crime, Lifestyle, property, Television, trash

In surfing the web, I found this campaigning blog against property developers who are laying waste to garden space in Cardiff. It's nice to see a like minded people on the blog. What is interesting about this entry, however, how these greedy and destructive bastards become so well embedded and networked in Government. Another area of concern is that these greedy buggers are alleged to be using dirty tricks to get their own way.

The article, and for that matter, the entire blog makes interesting reading

Here's another article on the same subject

If you think that things could not get any worse check out channel

Also check out Channel 4 Despatches "Bad Housing"

Labels: goverment, Greedy Property Developers, New Labour, property, Property Developers

Booking holidays online is proving to be a nightmare. Being significantly impoverished, I have been searching all the popular cheapy holiday web sites - Lastminute, Ebookers and Teletext - I suppose if you had a £10k per month salary, these sites would be cheapy. Pour moi, however, costo molto! Searching dug up a holiday in Crete around £600 - ok, credit card can manage that - went ahead and booked it. Then it dawned on me, where's the fucking flight? All I booked was the hotel - in a fit of panic, I cancelled it - the cost around £150, bollocks. So this is how holiday companies make their dosh.

Time was that one could go into a travel agent and book a holiday, but check out this complaint that I sent to Thomson Holidays two years ago

1 Brochure price for two city break to Paris: one hundred and thirty nine pounds per person. Extra night to this over one hundred pounds. I was prepared to let this matter rest until I saw the actual price per room (not person _ they do not charge by person in France) is sixty euros. I accept that you have to make a commission but by around 300%, do you not consider this a trifle excessive.

2 My fare by Eurostar was hiked up on the spot at the time of booking. I was told that the seat that I had booked had already gone and that I would have to book another at an extra cost of fifty pounds _ with hindsight the brochure was now completely disregarded and I now feel completley ripped off.

3 Upon arrival in Paris, I was not given adequate information about the location of the hotel. The information on the document was Hotel de France situated by the Marais, in the Rue de Rivoli, nearest metro - Nation or Porte de Vincenne. Upon arrival at Porte de Vincennes, I could not find the Rue de Rivoli as it is actually situated near the Chatelet metro. The Rue de Rivoli is around a kilometre long; but no Hotel de France. I found a hotel of a similar name, where the very helpful receptionists did some phoning around for me - they also contacted your Lakeside office. The upshot of this was that I was told that they were merely the agents and that it was responsibility of the tour operators, who had closed their offices for the day. Not a lot could be done. The manager endeavoured to find a hotel de france. One drew a blank, the helpful receptionist at the hotel did some further phoning around for me and established that the Hotel de France is situated in the Rue de Docteur Netter. I felt obliged to pay the receptionist twenty Euros for the phone calls and the trouble and which he was not obliged to take.

I had to rely on the good will of other people who are not your tour operators. What is even more laughable is that part of your documentation which states "You are in safe hands". I felt more like a hostage to fortune than been in "safe hands".

To summarise, the charges imposed on me have been unreasonable vis-a-vis the cost of the hotel accommodation and the hike in the fare - these are not justifiable especially when comparing the actual price of the room in said hotel and the euro star. I believe that the total cost of the break deviated with what was on offer in the brochure; To add severe insult to this injury was I was nearly left high and dry with my ten year old daughter had it not been for the helpful assistance supplied by people who were not part of Thomson Holidays or Thomas Cook organisations.

I believe that I deserve some remuneration for this dreadful and very costly service.


Thomson did not respond to this complaint and I believe that their reputation still goes before them. I shall never book with Thomson again.

Labels: holidays bookings money rip-offs cons

I checked my bank account today, the figures told a pretty horrible story - I'm skint. When skint, the bills start to wash around your head like dirty clothes in a tumble drier. I paid the council tax. I paid the rent. What about the holiday? Got to pay for that, the kids expect that. Get the credit card out. The current account, however, indicates that I have too much month at the end of my pay.

Things could be much worse. I heard that repossession of homes is up 30% on last year, this means that numerous people have lost their place they call home. It's not good - these people are struggling and surely there is a better way than this property owning bullshit to provide homes for people.

By unusual coincidence, we got "The Pursuit of Happiness" out of the library. Ever since the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, I have always had a soft spot for Will Smith - cocky but funny, even in "I Robot", it comes peeping through; but he carries his films extremely well. In this film, however, he plays a completely different ball game with a different set of rules. A man, Chris Gardner, and his family living in impecunious circumstances, having to flog medical equipment to survive. We see his marriage break up and we see both he and his son having to sleep rough and live in motels and doss-houses. He plays this part completely straight and with such passion that I started to live in his shoes (or lack of one - see the film). The film has lifted my despondent mood. Great stuff , Will - you are what acting is all about! Getting people to live your character's life.

Labels: films, finance, movies, poverty, property, repossessions, Will Smith

Beer Can Man boarded the bus at around 9.00am today. He was carrying a small black plastic bag, he appeared lit up like Las Vegas. The seating on buses is rather irregular these days, one seat here, two seats there, some seats face to face, some towering behind others. Unlike the route masters, which had a regular seating order, these buses are truly magical. Beer Can Man found his seat in front of me and I was staring down at his bald and polished head. He had as much bling on his fingers as Jimmy Saville He had a small black plastic bag from which he was swallowing fluid. He was not fooling me, but he continued in this act of pretence until the contents of the can came to an end, when he took it out it the black plastic bag - it was Foster's Lager. He dumped the can on the floor and put the black bag in his holdall which he was also carrying. I felt so annoyed that I wanted slap a tattoo of triplets on his polished bald head - discretion being the better part of valour got hold of me - don't tangle with a drunk - I had to get to work.

Yet another annoyance on Public Transport.

Labels: beer, beer can man, buses, transport

I have been subject to yowling babies throughout the week - this has happened on the bus. MP3 Player, some soothing Ravel - earplugs in - yowling baby switched on. Complete state of resignation, I listen to yowling baby throughout the remainder of the journey. I try a different tack, read book - yowling baby starts squawking - resignation again.

Newborn babies, however, give out the most irritating yowling sound - you will find newborn baby being presented to the world in a supermarket on a trolley like some treasured item off the shelf. The sound that this creature gives off is like an electric guitar played by some twelve year old beginner who has attached a dodgy wah-wah pedal. Quite horrible.

Labels: babies, buses

The driver of today's bus may well have been me! There was this arsehole blocking the road with his body while babbling into his mobile phone, he had one of those massive cars that almost cover over half the width of the road, did he get in his car, no he did not - the bus driver bibbed his horn and shouted "get out the way, man - idiot", the idiot got into his massive car and continued babbling. He looked like one of those self-assured smug gits who does not give a shit about anyone else but himself, he was a suit without the jacket - dressed in shirt, tie and trousers. Then we had the lady who boarded the bus saying that she had spent money on her Oyster Card, bus driver demanded to see the receipt, when this was not produced, he lectured her about having a receipt. He, nevertheless, allowed her to continue her journey two stops down the road. Then we had a group of youths who tried to board the bus; one of whom looked 15 attempted to argue with the driver that he is 13, the driver would have none of it "show me proof that you are 13", youth replied "I don't have no proof, I'm thirteen..." They all disembarked.

Nice to see grumpies applying themselves

Labels: buses, grumpy old men, transport