Tag: Morons

Stop Prevaricating

The reception on the alarm clock radio in the bedroom isn’t great, and there are a lot of stations packed closely together on FM. Recently the best signal has been for Susy Radio, which is very local, but has a playlist that covers all kinds of music and has the bonus of not playing the same songs at the same time every day. Plus there aren’t as many adverts as on other channels, and the DJ’s aren’t verbose clowns. However, this morning it did sound like Norman Collier had taken over as it dropped in and out repeatedly. (For those not old enough to remember, Norman Collier was a late seventies / early eighties comedian, whose act was basically him speaking as his mic dropped in and out.)

It was interesting to see than Putin denied having anything to do with the Novichok poisoning of his main political rival. There is the old adage around f@rts that goes “he who denied it, supplied it”. Something that applies here, as Putin has denied it, but almost certainly supplied (or ordered) the Novichok. He also claims an investigation will clear him. Hardly surprising when he is arranging the investigation.

Charlie goes walkabouts with his bowl again, and trots into the living room with it in his mouth. Sniffles is already on the sofa, settling in for the night. The look on Sniffles’ face as Charlie brings the bowl in was a picture. Watching Charlie with as much disdain as possible, and then looking at me as if to ask WTF is the loon doing now? As Charlie leaves the bowl behind and heads back to the kitchen, Sniffles sits staring at it and shaking his head as if he can’t believe what he’s been watching. Then Charlie returns with a Foreman Grill sponge cleaner in his mouth. No idea where the damn dog got it from, as I’ve not seen one of them in the house since before lockdown.

Can you believe it? It would appear that Atlantic House is a picnic spot. I happened to look out of the window as I was packing up to go home on Friday, and there are four randoms sat on the benches by the stream having a full blown picnic. Day trips to Three Bridges, whatever next?

Saturday saw new levels of morning ineptitude, even by my morning standards, getting a spoon out of the cutlery drawer to spread butter on my toast was special.

I was just about with it by the time we went out to meet friends in Handcross to walk to Staplefield, details in this separate blog.

Walkies

Sunday saw Helen going to Hove with her mum, which left me alone to get on with things. Now, I have a long list of things that I should be getting on with. Writing (something apart from blog posts – such as the three books I’ve started, or various short stories etc.), reading (so many books on the TBR pile, and none of them touched in over a week), going out walking and taking photos (I have numerous lists of places and road signs in Crawley that I want photos of), sorting out the records (I can’t sell the ones earmarked for sale until I can list what is in there), and that’s before practical things like housework. So, what did I do? None of the above, I spent most of the time playing quizzes on Sporcle and doing jigsaws on jigsaw world. The thing is, doing any of the things on my list would help my mind set enormously, but instead I just keep putting them off, and then feel guilty about doing so.

And it doesn’t get any better as the week progresses, even to the extent that this week’s blog had to be forced out like a turd when constipated.

The new NFL and Premier League seasons both start this week, and I can’t even raise the enthusiasm to look forward to that. I’m still feeling the disappointment of the 49ers defeat in the Superbowl in pre COVID days. As for Tottenham, it’s hard to look forward to the season when we’ve still got that utter cockwomble Mourinho in charge. The new third kit release this week hasn’t helped, it’s a dreadful lemon colour, so we are going to look like lemons as well as playing like them.

It suddenly got very dark in the office. As usual I hadn’t moved in at least an hour, so all the lights had turned themselves off; then dark clouds swept in, making it virtually black in the office. The only light was coming from the monitor. Meanwhile I had a playlist on that was bumping early nineties rave tracks, and so I got flashbacks to being in dark and dingy clubs dancing like a loon at one in the morning. That would be a vast improvement on work.

I can see why Wednesday is called hump day this week, mainly because I’ve got the raging hump with the non-stop deluge of morons to deal with. It would appear that no one in Crawley has passed their driving test, it took half an hour to drive home from work, and it was effing dangerous out there.

I had to force myself to post this as the prevaricating spreads. I wasn’t even bothered to do any Sporcling either. It is an awfully slow evening.

Shave The Whales

Well, not exactly whales. Dogs are mammals though. And it’s a way to get a Dilbert reference in.

Due to lockdown, Charlie’s grooming appointment has been postponed twice, and with the new date pencilled in for the end of June, it was decided to buy some dog hair clippers and do the job at home. If left until June he may well have ended up looking like an Old English sheepdog.

You will be pleased to know I had no involvement in the shaving of the dog. Everyone else in the household had a go, well, apart from the cat, which looked extremely nervous whilst the dog was being done, just in case he might have been next in line.

At the end of the day we now have a Dalmatian lookalike, and a lot of dog hair. So if you know anyone who would like a genuine springer spaniel dog hair filled pillow, then let me know. I can do you a very good price. (N.B. it’s not going cheap, it’s going woof.)

Home grooming should save us money in the long run; well that’s the theory anyway. It has to be said that the finish is a bit patchy. You’ve seen all the memes about lockdown haircuts, well; it applies to dogs as well. It may cost more in professional groomer fees to sort out the mess when lockdown ends. As it is Charlie is reluctant to go out for walks, he’s obviously seen himself in the mirror.

Now, he hasn’t been on top form, leaving deposits on the kitchen floor overnight a few days this week, and Helen has been worried about him, and how she would miss taking him out for her morning walk / run / cycle. I’m worried too, but for different reasons, mainly that I’m going to end up as the replacement on the lead and I’m going to have to go out for early morning exercise. I’m not convinced my ball / stick chasing skills are up to that. (Update, the vet says he’s fine, which is a relief as I’m not sure the lead would be big enough for my fat neck.)

The weather has been a little bit changeable. Downpours, bright sunshine with not a cloud in the sky, thunder and lightning, more bright sunshine, then clouds dark enough to see in the apocalypse, and a hailstorm of such force it set car alarms off in the street while a rainbow could be seen over Crawley town centre. And that was all during one e-mail response. Plus I’m not convinced there would a pot of gold at the base of the rainbow, being in Crawley it’s more likely to have been a crock of something. It did look like the end may have been near Atlantic House.

No idea what happened on Saturday apart from a very nice couple of hours in the afternoon, but Sunday saw the weekly shop. For a change it was a trip to Asda. What a mistake. I noticed it was moron central when queuing up. I was the only single person in the queue; everyone else was in couples or family units. They have arrows on the floor to indicate which way people should go up and down aisles. Less than half of the people managed to go the right way. And they would push / manhandle my trolley or me out of the way. Which part of social distancing don’t you understand you bunch of utter effwits. I can safely say it was the closest I’ve ever come to have a complete meltdown, and it was the first time I’ve cried whilst shopping. Only to come out to find some utter tuuat in a BMW had parked so close to the driver side of my car (well over the dividing line) that I couldn’t have got a fingernail into the car from that side. I had to clamber in from the passenger side. If I had had a baseball bat the Beemer wouldn’t have had any intact glass. I won’t be going back to Asda during lockdown, and doubt I’ll ever be going back.

To say I was less than enthused to be starting another working week was an understatement and a half. I would like to extend my bucket around sociopaths and when they organise meetings to include anyone who invites me to a meeting. Just don’t. I hate you all. There’s more than enough cr@ppy work for me to do without having meetings to add to it. It appears the only reason I get invited to meetings is because someone wants me to do something. It was so sh1te on one call I ended up with bruises on my forehead from banging my head on the table.

I need a lottery win, or at the very least another job.

Other teams at work have been putting together videos of them in lockdown, some have created and performed songs, others have motivational messages on, and so it was only a matter of time before our esteemed leader jumped on the bandwagon for us to do something similar. I would ask the question that if the other teams were filming themselves jumping off cliffs lemmings’ style, would we be copying that, but we all know the answer would be yes. Selfies or short clips of us holding a sign of what we are proud of. Not something that is easy at the moment, as it feels that it’s a negative list – getting out of bed in the morning, not going postal, not telling everyone to eff off.

To be fair, although I have poked fun at our head of several times over my ramblings of the past few weeks, but she has been very good at reaching out to make sure I’m not too far on the ragged edge.

It is only going to be a three day week though. With the Mayday Bank Holiday moved to the Friday, we have also booked the Thursday off and have a four day weekend. It looks like it will be nice weather, so we can go for a weekend break and get away for a couple of days. What? Lockdown? Apparently we can’t, unless it’s the Costa Del Lounge, which I suppose is an improvement on the Le Merde De Kitchen.

More Crawley Morons

What is it with the people of Crawley? Do they take special classes to become halfwits? I’m not asking for a friend, I’m asking because I want to know what makes so many of the inhabitants such utter morons.

I was stood waiting for Helen to come out of Lush. I’d been to do something else and there’s not a hope in hell of me going in that shop. It smells bad enough when you walk past and the doors are open.

Now, not wanting to be in the way, I went and stood directly in front of the signpost that is in the middle of the walk up from Queen’s Square to the entrance to the Mall. And I stood still. Now, I’m not exactly inconspicuous, but that doesn’t stop people either walking into me, or only noticing a couple of steps before they get to me.

And then the abuse starts, or the dirty looks, or the muttering. “Get out of our way they” say or indicate. Then they’re not very happy when I reply along the lines of, “Don’t be so stupid! Were you planning on walking in to the signpost? If you weren’t then stick your inability to avoid inanimate objects where the sun doesn’t shine. If you were intending to walk into the sign post then I’ll happily move and let you do it.”

Cue more muttering.

Anyway, as I was stood there a couple came along with a dog. Now, I’ve no idea what breed of dog it was but it was a big, tan brown thing and it looked less than impressed at being in town amongst lots of people. It was even less impressed at being near Lush with all the smells emanating from there. I don’t blame it, it drives me mad and my sense of smell is shocking. And then the owners of the dog took the bloody thing into Lush with them.

Seriously, how can you not know that a dog, with their ultra-sensitive sense of smell, is going to be driven insane by the sensory overload of being in Lush? After a couple of minutes one of the couple came out of the shop with the dog. It was making strange whinnying noises.

Simply jaw dropping that they wouldn’t realise the effect on the dog.