Saturday, 14 February 2015

Saturday 14th February pt2

‎We're in Wetherspoons, slumming it again but hey; the beer is cheap, and I had to climb the many stairs to go to the little boy's room. 

It ain't that little and men use it, but that's not the point. 

There was a bloke in there standing at one of the stones having a wee and sending a text on his mobile phone. 

What a cunt. 

But what is worse is that he had a very old flip phone, one of those with a tiny little screen and only a numerical key pad so you have to press each button multiple times to get the letter you want. 

All I could hear was beep beep beep beep as he pressed the keypad. 

So matey, you a a proper cunt, and I'll explain why. 

You're a cunt for using your phone whilst having a piss. 

You're a cunt for using your phone while I'm having a piss. 

You're a cunt for having a phone that is from the Ark. 

You're a cunt for leaving the keypad tones on and making all those beeping noises. 

All in all, you're a proper cunt...............

Sent from my BlackBerry 10 smartphone.

Saturday 14th February 2015

‎Do you know what I hate, what really fucking annoys me?

Quite a lot really, but I'm talking about something in particular. 

People who walk on the right when the signs say "Keep Left" and people who stand on the left side of an escalator. 

I'm primarily talking about train and tube stations I suppose, and obviously the tube stations are in London but the train stations are everywhere, and in particular in-between the tube stations at places like Bank, Kings Cross etc, where you need to keep left for a reason. 

To stop all the fucking idiots rushing around everywhere and colliding into each other. 

I often travel from East London to Doncaster on a Wednesday afternoon. 
For those of you who have never left your village, or even your street, then stop reading now cause there will be all sorts of words you don't really understand, like train and tube and DLR. 

The Docklands Light Railway, for those who don't know, is a very slow moving roller coaster that goes round the east of London without drivers. Or maybe midget drivers, as once reported on www.thespoof.co.uk

Anyhoo, I go from East India, which is a DLR station not part of a fuck off great big country, ‎to Bank, which is a large, multi-platform station where you can travel on many underground lines as well as the DLR and not somewhere to deposit or withdraw money. 

Fuck me longways people, keep up, do I have to explain everything?
From now on, if you don't understand something the Google the fucker. 

Bank, as I just said, is a large station and you have to walk about a bit to get from platform to platform. 
You have to use escalators. 
Many many other people are doing the same thing. 

I then catch the Northern line to King's Cross which also involves a bit of a walk about‎ and more escalating. 

I don't have a lot of time to do all this and have to (a) walk quickly and (b) walk up and down the escalators. 

So my fucking point is, keep to the bastard left whilst walking around the corridors and stand on the bastard right on the escalator to allow people to walk up the left.

Sent from my BlackBerry 10 smartphone.


Sunday, 1 February 2015

Sunday 1st February

Pinch and a punch and all that bollocks.

Don't you just hate it when you want to give someone money and they don't seem to want to take it.
I mean, I am already giving them money every month, but I want to give them more.
But only in return for something.

My better half told me not to, told me they were shit, told me their customer services was crap.
I should have listened to her.

She ain't called the better half for nowt.

Anyhoo, I'm talking about Vodafone, the shower of shite.
I was eligible for an upgrade so I went to the shop in town.
I really fucking hate going to town cause the lifts in the car park take about half a bastard hour to arrive and then by the time they do arrive so have around thirty other people who all need the lift.

So you have to stand there for 30 minutes, getting agitated, and then you have to squeeze into a little metal box that groans down the one floor to the middle of Debenhams.

You might wonder why I don't just take the stairs.
"Run down the stairs you lazy cunt", I hear you shout, "it's only one floor."
Well I can't, cause the bright bastards in the shopping centre have shut them off, made them emergency stairs only.

So, after getting all agitated waiting for the lift, and then getting all sweaty in the lift with 36 other people, I finally get to the Vodafone shop, choose the new sparkly funky shiny handset I want and go to one of the desks.

All going ok so far, the assistant gets the handset, apologises as they only have it in black (do I look like I want a white fucking phone?) and starts to take my details.

This is where it starts to go wrong for the fuckwits that are Vodafone.
I don't mean the woman in the shop, she was ok, friendly enough and she was only doing as the computer said. And in this case, the computer said "no".

Why? Why? Because I have the phone on a business account, registered to a limited business at that.
This means, obviously, that I cannot get an upgrade in the shop, I have to do it on-line or call customer services.

Well fuck calling anyone, I'll be on hold for 3 fucking hours listening to shitty music and a message telling my how important my call is.
I know it's important, that's why I made it.
It ain't that fucking important to you though Vodafone, is it, otherwise you would answer.

So I go on-line.

"You are wasting your time," the better half tells me, "their customer service is shite"

I went on line on 24th January and, almost immediately, got a reply.

HA! Ha ha! Shite customer service eh, a reply almost immediately. How is that shite customer service?

Well it was. It was shite.

It was an automated email reply from a 'do not reply' address telling me that my enquiry had been received, was very important and would be passed onto the customer service team. I was to expect a reply in 48hrs.

Two things, Vodafone, two things.

Firstly, who the fuck did I send the email to in the first place if you are forwarding it onto the customer service team? Why not just give me the email address of the customer service team in the first place?

Secondly, where is my reply, you cunts.
Saturday 24th January to Sunday 1st February is a little longer than 48hrs, even if you take out the weekends, which I shouldn't have to do as your shops open at weekends.

So it's been over a week and you haven't replied, even though you claim my business is important to you.
Not important enough to let me get a better handset and pay you more money than I already do though, eh.

Hurry up and get in touch, ya bastards, so I can cancel my contract and go with EE, or O2, or someone.

Saturday, 31 January 2015

Saturday 31st January

‎Short but sweet. 

Just watched the advert for some Warburton bread product that is supposed to help you lose weight. 

You fucking well walked around for the entire length of the advert without taking a bite of your sarnie you wanker, so you're gonna lose weight if you don't eat owt aren't you, ya cunt.................

Sent from my BlackBerry 10 smartphone.

Saturday, 24 January 2015

Saturday 24th January 2014

How to Park Like a Complete Wanker
Well I'm sat sitting here on a Saturday night watching shite on the telly. 
Total and utter shite. I really don't know why I'm watching it. 

The shitty fucking shite programme in question is "Take Me Out" and, whilst normally crap, is even more so tonight due to the fact that there is a 'posh' bloke on it called Archie. 

I used to be called Archie, many years ago. Allegedly due to the fact that I looked like Archie from Emmerdale Farm. 

This was back in the day before they changed the name of it from Emmerdale Farm to Emmerdale. 
They changed it to make it more appealing to non-farmers apparently. 

And Archie, from Emmerdale Farm was a lot cooler than Archie from Take Me Out. 

As an aside, I used to go out with a girl called Emma Dale when I was younger, so there's a connection too. 




Sent from my BlackBerry 10 smartphone.

Friday, 23 January 2015

Friday 23rd January 2014

‎I was on the DLR one day last week, in fact I was on the DLR four days last week and it was this week (or this last week) so I'll start again. 

When I was on the DLR this ‎week just gone, there was this bloke standing near me. 
Big tall bloke he was, probably about six foot five, however that's irrelevant so I'll not mention it, and he was messing about on his phone. So engrossed he was that every time the train pulled away he nearly fell over. In fact, every time the ‎train braked he nearly fell over. Same thing happened when the train went round a corner. Or over a bump. He nearly fell over a lot. He was like a drunkard, a right drunken bum. All he had to do was hold onto one of the fucking handles, but no; he had to mess with his phone. 

It made me wonder what was so friggin important that he couldn't bear to stop using his phone with two hands. Important work related emails maybe (he was dressed like he had an office job), illicit text messages to a secret slutty lover perchance, keeping contact with estranged kids?

No. The fucking wanker was playing American Football. Not even proper football but the yank version where they go out all padded up like pubescent teenage girls on a first date. 

Twat nearly took the whole carriage out with his indiscriminate lurching. 

I was glad to get off intact.

Sent from my BlackBerry 10 smartphone.

Wednesday, 14 January 2015

Wednesday 14th January 2015

Why me?

Just got on the train at King's Cross, going to Doncaster, and the fattest bloke you could imagine is in the seat next to me. 
Not only is his right thigh oozing onto my seat, I cannot put the central armrest down as his arms are too flabby to fit in his own space. 

I did think, as I walked toward the train before I boarded, that the fucking thing was listing. 
I hope we don't have too many left hand bends to go round. 

Not only that, but he hasn't stopped talking on his phone yet. 

And, for fucks sake, he is going to Doncaster. 

‎Not surprisingly, he is looking at South American Steakhouse (La Vaca, currently) on his laptop. 

I bet they fucking dread it when they see his considerable bulk lumbering along the pavement toward them. 
I can just imagine the panic, trying to turn all the signs to 'Closed' before he enters and eats them bastard dry. 

‎The bloke across the aisle had his music on so loud you could probably hear it whilst reading this if it hadn't been for the ticket inspector woman telling him to turn it down. 
He's too old for "My Sex is on Fire" anyhoo. 

And now my tablet won't play videos. 
Could train travel get any bastard worse?

At least the woman opposite has just finished her sudoko. 

Nothing for it, I'll have to put some King Kurt on.............



Sent from my BlackBerry 10 smartphone.