Poor Man About Town

I was sitting peacefully on a bus yesterday, I was in peaceful reverie until Mr Machismo boarded the bus. Mr Machismo stormed his way down the aisle nearly treading on my feet. If this berk could have made a public display of his bollocks he would have done. He was wearing a baseball cap to conceal his bald head. He sat down, quietly snorting like a bull in the last moments of a bullfight, next to an elderly passenger. I thought "what the fuck?". As the journey progessed, his elderly seat mate wanted to get off the bus, Mr Machismo made a flamboyant gesture, swinging around with his feet and his bag - his feet nearly treading on my toes and his bag nearly swinging into my face. Elderly passenger got off the bus, Mr Machism sat down on the outside of the two seats, thus taking up the "two for one option". Next stop, an elderly couple boarded the bus. In another flamboyant and theatrical gesture, he rose from his seat (I thought that he was going to offer the elderly couple the two seats which he and his bag were occupying)and told two boys to give up their seats to these "two old people" (I loved this use of his language here). The two boys obliged. Mr Machismo returned to his seats, occupying them as before, looking quite pleased with himself, obviously thinking what a swell guy he is and how much he loves he loves his parents who are "two old people".

Labels: buses, Grumble, irritations, machismo, transport

I was on the bus the other day, there was this young woman around 17 - 18 (hair tied tightly back with a bright yellow ribbon and wearing the de-rigeur tracksuit) years she had baby in a pushchair with her. The young woman was remonstrating with her housing officer that she had just moved into her flat and that she had no gas.

"Yer, but I ain't got no gas...yer...what am I supposed for 'ot water...yer...I've got a six manf (month) old baybee what am I supposed wiv her?" It was as if the housing department had dumped the six manf old baybee on her.

The conversation continued

"Yer, but I've got a manf baybee [she said this repeatedly]...wot's an emersion 'eater?...no I don't know wot's an emersion 'eater..."

I felt like telling her, that this is not the housing department's responsibility, when she moves into a place she should contact the Gas Board - in all likelihood there will be no response from but this woman was clearly barking up the wrong tree.

Labels: Grumble, observation

I am having fun with British Gas - they need to come and do a gas safety check on my meter. I had arranged one earlier this year, the meter reader failed to turn up. I spent an entire morning off work. It's happened again. In the old days, British Gas used to have their own people come and read your meter, now they outsource the work to a company, I believe, called Accuread. I dread when work gets outsourced it always leads to shoddy service and consequent inconvenience. I have lost two days annual leave waiting for British Gas to read my meter.

If the meter does not get read, they say in the note they will apply to a court to bust down my door to read the meter - that's fucking marvellous isn't it - here I am doing my best for them and I subject to a threat like that.

I contact British Gas, the usual keypad ritual "press 1 if you want to give a reading...press 2 if you want to enquire about your account...press 3 to fuck off!". The taped voice then asks me to key in my phone number; I get a little rebellious at this point and ignore the two requests to do so, I just pretend I don't have a phone, chuckle, and they may get convinced I don't have a phone - that's how warped my logic became at this point. Then I was put on fifteen minute wait with that dreadful Coldplay music that is piped in B & Q and Sainsbury's - this was interspersed with advertisments about gas leaks and gas safety. It was an excruciating 1/4 of an hour.

I finally managed to get through - I was feeling quite vexed by this point, I was feeling provoked by the long wait, by the Coldplay and the cheerful gas leak ads. I was ready to launch into one on the call centre operative, but thought "oh shit...these poor people must have to put up with this kind of shit throughout the day...try be helpful" I got a new date and an assurance that the meter reader will come; I did not, however, get a job number, the computer says "no".

Oh fuck it, I wonder if British Gas will go the same way as Enron

Labels: Corporations, Grumble, Lifestyle, Manners

After running running the gauntlet of dangerous dogs with owners but without their leads, I boarded the bus, all well and good until I got off at my connecting stop. There were several drunks at the stop, all middle age, one a woman, one a drunk who was not on a lead. He was making these aggressive gestures at passers-by and passing cars. His friend thought it a great laugh and was quite amused by his antics. The bus arrived; there was a bit of a commotion between the two drunks, one drunk was trying to get his friend to board the bus but his friend would have none of it. So the bloke grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and tried to hurl him in to the bus through the exit doors. No luck. Instead, the bloke left his unleashed drunk behind and boarded the bus with the woman, he barged his way into my space. He was commenting on how selfish his friend is "we 'ad few drinks this morning, we was going to go back to my place and 'ave summint to eat and then go aht boozin' again...wherever we go, 'e always gets me nicked"..

Labels: Grumble

I've got toothache. It's no laughing matter. The pain is dirty. It has consumed my entire being, I feel pain therefore I am pain. The left part of my upper jaw is throbbing like a diesel engine. I bought some Bonjela, I feel like a teething baby - fat lot of good it is doing. I'm scared of going to the dentist, the last time I went I had two teeth extracted; because they were broken they were not pulled but prized out with an object that looked like a screwdriver - I had a enough novacaine in me to numb an elephant - my mouth felt like a mouth shaped iceberg.

Getting older does not mean your teeth fall out; trust me they don't, they break, leaving stumps - then there comes a time when the stumps have to come out and it's not a pleasant experience.

Labels: Grumble

I was watching BBC London Tonight yesterday. One article One article focussed on the cabbie being the worst job in the country. One cabbie complained about the political interference from Transport for London and how he feels hampered by this "unelected body". The interviewer obviously got messages coming in from his earpiece and he interrupted said cabbie with a non sequiter saying "...it's not as bad as being a lumberjack..." grinning with a well-oiled grin. I got the feeling that this was censorship, a cak handed attempt to shut the guy up, as soon as the cabbie attempted to respond the item ended. What the fuck is going on? Does Transport for London have control over the BBC over the content of the items on its said body. This was not new, Nick Ferrari on LBC had a topic about how bad the driving is on London's buses - many serious contributions - then Nick Ferrari read out a statement that Transport for London have only received 30 000 to 30 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 bus journeys it does each day. Then the discussion degenerated into something quite frivolous. TFL happen to advertise on LBC . I happen to travel on its buses and I maintain that it is a rather dangerous activity. How the fuck is this organisation going to deliver a decent transport system for the Olympic Games, when, in my opinion, it can't even manage a kiddies merry-go-around in a fun fair.

Labels: BBC London, Grumble, transport for london

Fucking hell, is there nowhere sacred from these self-important buggers. ASDA have taken to employing a deejay who pipes crap music throughout all of its stores. Not only are we subject to the likes of Justin Timberlake, but some wankole speech by some cretin who cannot get a proper job such as filling shelves in a supermarket. I have an MP3 player and all my music got blotted out as the shit stuff that was broadcast was designed to circumvent things like mp3 players and personal stereos. I don't know what ASDA is trying to do - trying to introduce a younger and more brainless clientelle than what it has now. Prior to this, I did not mind the place, it was cheap and cheerful, but with this Deejay it has turned into something cheap and nasty. I don't know what is worse having Coldplay piped into B & Q or having this idiot babbling away in ASDA

Labels: ASDA, babble, deejays, dj, Grumble, supermarkets