God, I hate washing cars.
The Missus’ Peugeot has needed a bit of a wash & brush up since she had the misfortune to park it underneath the branches of a tree which appears to have been home to an incontinent Albatross.
So this evening I decided to bite the bullet and remove half a metric tonne of avian excrement from the flanks of her family runabout.
Normally I’d have taken it down the road to the incredibly fast & admirably industrious team of Eastern Europeans who will leap on your car & have it sparkling (door shuts and all) within about ten minutes – £7 very well spent I reckon.
But this evening, with it being past their knocking off time & being unable to ignore the fact that SWMBO’s car was increasingly reminiscent of a plasterer’s radio, I dug out the hose reel & bucket..
After about 20 minutes of hosing & vigorous shampoo-ing it was looking a bit more metallic red and a bit less bird-shit white and I made what I regard as the correct & rational decision to quit whilst I was ahead & skip the chamois stage – primarily because:
I. Could. Not. Be. Arsed.
Like I said earlier, I hate washing cars but this little reminder was a worthwhile demonstration to me that seven quid is a small amount to pay for an infinitely better finish than I’ll ever be able to achieve and I’m helping the local economy into the bargain.
So tonight we celebrate the good, the bad and the downright ugly!
Firstly I give you the frog. Let us rejoice at this remarkable amphibian who gives us so much joy. Is there a child on this planet who hasn’t learnt the life cycle of the frog? Indeed how many children have not seen or learnt of the wonders of frogspawn and tadpoles?
However at this point we should acknowledge the dark side of being a frog. Both of which are a result of good old homo sapiens.
Firstly the world is full of physcotic biology and physics teachers who get a perverse kick from passing electric currents through dismembered frog’s limbs to shock 12 year olds before they slash open a bull’s eye! Mmmm, feel the gore!
Secondly, our friends on the other side of the canal consider that les frogs legs et un delicacy!
My god predictive typing is having a field day with tonight’s topic!
So all in all the frog is good, almost too good so he s/he is dissected and eaten….
Slugs on the other hand are a lot easier to compartmentalise…
They eat my garden! In particular, along with their hard shelled compatriots, they just bloody eat anything that is remotely juicy or succulent. I hate them with a passion because they are true Pariah’s.
Trouble is birds like slugs and if you kill slugs with pellets the you kill birds with poisoned slugs. So, take my advice. Get out in the evening when it’s cool and dark. Listen for the munching sounds and, using a torch, pull the chomping bastards off your prize vegetation.
Then, having gathered the miscreants in a suitable area – pour a large dose of salt over them.
Leave overnight and you should find a large gloopy pile that can be scooped up and disposed of.
This gloopy mess resembles the most revolting slime you will ever come across.
Which leads me on to the last element of tonight’s missive.
How do we deal with the slimy people in positions of power who have managed to make such a mess of the world?
Pass me the rock salt would you?
’til next time….
I thought I’d start this evening with a statement of intent. I have spent the majority of my life believing that whilst I had certain qualities, abilities, and attributes; there were however, other individuals who deserve their place in the hierarchy above me due to their superiority.
Now superiority is an interesting thing. I grew up and was educated in the old education system whereby if you were lucky you went to a good comprehensive. If you were really lucky then you might end up at a good independent school and if you were from a priveliged upbringing, then private school beckoned.
Of course if you were from the elite, then a guaranteed fast track to Harrow, Eton and the hallowed corridors of Oxford or Cambridge were a given.
And so for many generations this tradition held and the result in 2014?
Absolute mayhem. My god what have we let loose? The idiots have taken over the asylum, the monkies are running amok, Boris is a national treasure, Cameron is clueless, Milliband is well, Milliband and Clegg is a frustrated LBC presenter! And as for “Chopsticks Chopin” Ed Balls – are we really meant to take this guy seriously?
As I look at the appalling state of soundbite politics in the UK and survey the gradual meltdown of the global financial, political and geographic stability of the world in 2014 – I can only come to one conclusion – it definitely isn’t me who got us in this mess, it’s you.
Of course if you agree with me, then it’s not your fault either. Bottom line is the closed shop that produces our leaders and influencers is no longer producing viable intelligent beings but duds scraped out of the dregs in the over fermented barrel.
Sorry for the lecture tonight but sometimes you just have to unload!
’til next time….
Wikipedia describes Nominative Determinism as “..the theory that a person’s name can have a significant role in determining key aspects of job, profession or even character.”
Or, in other words, “your name defines your job” – for example, a chap whose name is Butcher & who finds himself employed in the preparation of meat for sale to the general public would accurately fit the bill.
Anyway, this morning I found myself listening to an interview on BBC 5 Live with the director of a drug abuse clinic in London.
He is concerned that steroid abuse amongst young people is on the increase & is storing up a major problem for the future.
Now, probably one of the best-known negative effects of the abuse of steroids – amongst men an least – is the diminution of the size of the chap’s er, chap so imagine my amusement when the name of the director of the One40 Clinic was revealed to be none other than David Smallwood..
Cue Beavis & Butthead style sniggering..
Now I love my dog, I mean I really do love my dog in a non bestial man and dog relationship kind of way. Sometimes he gazes up at me with his hazel chocolate eyes and I melt in to them. Can you believe that a reasonably intelligent mature man starts to talk to a K9 in a voice resembling baby goo goo gah language? Dog ownership often involves this retrograde step where we cease to communicate effectively with fellow humans and instead share interesting conversations with our four legged friends. Examples of this include: “Who’s a lively doggy door doo” and “I love my lovely doggy woggy”.
I’m sorry for exposing you to this but you need to be aware of how all consuming this condition can be.
Anyway, to the point of tonight’s pontification.
When you love your dog, you want to give the treats. Sometimes these treats are edible.
Edible treats often equal meltdown on the rear portal.
Rear portal ejecting on lawn = dead grass!
Now that in itself is bad enough but it all goes wrong when nature takes its natural path