Bluff.

Yes it was a bluff. In these days of multi-tasking one man could never get away with doing so little. Unless of course he was a fucking manager. The days of one-man one-job are a distant memory. When I was a lot younger I worked with the electricians at Oldhams batteries, and one day they nearly went out on strike because a lab technician had changed a light bulb. Ah the good old days, the strike was averted because the lab technician apologised and blamed it on his lack of experience with big hairy left wing buggers wielding soldering irons. I foresaw the slippery slope when I saw a job advertised, it was for machine operators and the requirement was that you had to be a time served fitter. In other words you ran the machine (making cigarettes) and if it broke down you fixed it yourself. All this aside, the pole monkey hasn’t been swallowed up by someone doing a dozen other jobs, he never actually existed.

Blog my bluff.

Pole Monkey.

In the chemical industry the pole monkey can be found on plants where the distillation of methyl esters for flaked material takes place. The column man, or Pole monkey as his colleagues will refer to him, can be found taking readings of temperature and pressure from the distillation columns of the many reactors used in the process. This job is seen as a bit of a privileged position, as the Pole monkey does very little physical work. The ideal job for a skiver, the Pole monkey will often look very busy running about with a clip board and pen, when in actual fact he’s doing absolutely fuck all.

The Pole monkey.

True or Bluff.

An accent on the e.

Today we had a trip to Carlisle; it's about thirty miles away. The people have a Cumbrian accent, not as thick as those on the west coat, but similar. We then went about seven miles up the road to Gretna for Sunday lunch. Everyone speaks with a Scottish accent, and it's got me puzzled. Why do they speak with completely different accent when they are only seven miles apart ? When we first got to Carlisle we went in Deli France for a drink. I ordered coffee and Tracy ordered an Earl Grey. When the drinks arrived the waiter had only given us one sugar each (why can't they have a fucking sugar bowl) I said to him "can we have some more sugar please ?" "certainly" he said scuttling off to fetch it. When he returned he only had brown sugar for me, no white for Tracy. Tracy asked, very sweetly, if she too could have some more sugar, with a harrummph he re-scuttled to fetch some. Cheeky twat ! not only did he not listen properly when I asked him for something, he then spat his dummy out when he was asked again. I can only deduce from this experience that we are in the midst of an economic boom, because we only get good service in a fucking recession.

I get my broadband in four days, and I've already got my music list started. I'm going to need a bigger hard drive. Anyone got any advice for a BB virgin ?

It's Tracy's birthday tomorrow, she's thirty seven twenty five ! Also, the shop is one today even though it hasn't been open. What is open is a bottle of wine, and I have lots to drink to. Cheers everyone !

Nothing but the truth !

I told you a few months ago about a friend who was racially abused whilst at work, well the nazi scroat who abused him is finally in the dock in November and I’m a witness for the prosecution. I obviously can’t say anything else about it, but what I can tell you about is the support, or lack of it, that my friend got from his employers.

As soon as the nazi fuck-head had uttered his racist abuse he legged it, they’re a brave bunch these racists eh ? My friend and his colleague gave chase and caught the scroat outside Argos. I think he was on his way into Elizabeth Duke for another sov’, they use them to prevent injury from knuckles scraping along the floor. They escorted Mr. Scroat to a nearby policeman who arrested him. My friends employers’ only concern was that he had made physical contact with Scroaty McScroat and whether they would be sued or not. They didn’t even know that racial abuse was a criminal offence ! They said he should have followed at a discreet distance……A black man wearing a luminous yellow coat is anything but fucking discreet anywhere in the world, never mind Cumbria where 99.3% of the population are white. They even considered asking my friend to apologise to the nazi fuck-head. Is it just me ? Or are parts of this country a fucking hinterland, devoid of modern thought and attitude.

I really hope the cunt does time, but I have less faith in the judicial system than I do in City’s back four, so I presume he’ll get community service or some other cop-out sentence designed to “help” criminals see the error of their ways. I’d give the twat community service, make him pick up all the dog shit that the dirty bastard dog owners wont pick up, make him clean up all the litter that lazy bastards just throw on the floor, make him clean all the pigeon shit off the pavements. No, fuck it ! Make him leader of the Tory party, he should fit right in.

Dead things.

Dead-lines, I have lots of them at the moment. My OU end of course assessment is due next Friday, I have COSHH assessments to complete at work before the end of the month, I have until the 29th to complete a summery of the IT requirements for Lock&Load so we can get some EU cash for a computer in the shop. I have to build a computer for a mate who built us a workbench in the back of the shop, and on top of all that I now have to cover another supervisor who has broken his leg playing football. Somewhere in amongst all that I have to find some free time to read all the books I have piled up. I have calculated that I will have three minutes per day to post on here, does anyone read shorthand ?

Dead-pool, we had one at work a couple of years ago. When Willie Whitelaw popped his clogs Steve won £830. I'm thinking of starting one up, but there are several good ones online so I think I'll keep it just on paper. I will keep you posted.

Dead-end, I really need to find a new job. Working shifts is fucking me up badly, next year will be my twentieth year working strange hours and it's taking its toll.


Dead-good, these fine things via other people. Little guy, happy tree friends and fly guy.

Fuck !

Fuckety fucking fuck, I fucking missed the "Mark Thomas, debt collector" last fucking night. Don't you just hate it when you miss a bastard program that you really really wanted to fucking watch.

Fuck !

Open wide.

A conversation in the shop today after a customer walked in carrying a large bunch of flowers.

Tracy:  "Ooo it's not my birthday till Monday, you shouldn't have !"
Bloke:  "They're for my mothers grave !"
Tracy:  "....... !"

I think there was room for one large foot in there somewhere.


And another thing, do you speak Micra ?

Fute. Fucking & Shite

SHIFT_dodgy cars.

Insane in the Blaine.

Whatever his message, I think he's a complete twat. I don't think I'll watch him come out of his box I'll be busy watching paint dry.

Just found this, here. Cheeky bastards ! I wonder if there is a way to cheat them, anyone know the postcode for Mayfair ?

First impressions.

I'm still thinking about pigeonholing, and our love of lumping people together to ease our understanding of them. A major factor in our mental filing system is first impressions, but what of people who we have never met. Gordon mentioned the fact that he doesn't assign sexuality to a person who doesn't blog about it, I find myself agreeing with that. It got me thinking about my first impressions of some bloggers, the ones who don't have a photograph that's easily visible. Here's a few of mine, all from the first couple of times I read their blogs.

1.  Pinky. I had her as a young single black girl.
2.  Gordon. A Leo McKern look-alike but with a Scottish accent.
3.  Bingobowden. A sort of Martin Clunes meets Keir Hardy.
4.  Audi man. Boris Johnson, only a little more sane.
5.  Gert. A northern Alison Moyet but more sexy.

What about you ?

Movie one liners.

Do you have a good memory ? Film title in the comment box please.

[1]
"Get busy living... or get busy dying. That's goddamn right."

[2]
" I heard that you were feeling ill, headache, fever, and a chill ! I came to help restore your pluck! Cuz I'm the nurse who likes to..."

[3]
"If I'm curt with you it's because time is a factor. I think fast, I talk fast, and I need you guys to act fast if you guys wanna get out of this. So pretty please with sugar on top, clean the fucking car".

[4]
"No time for the in and out love, I've just come to raid the meter."

[5]
"Are you the replacement for the bass and sax?"

Liquid fire.

When Tracy and me were first married I couldn’t stand spicy food; the mildest curry would burn my mouth. In fact when we went for a curry after a night out I used to have chicken Maryland, one of the ever present items listed under “English food” on the curry shop menu. Never could fathom that one, unless there’s a Maryland in Yorkshire somewhere. As the years passed I became less sensitive to the spices and even managed a chicken korma on occasion, gradually working my way up to a rogan josh via bhuna and massala. About eighteen months ago the taxdodger came home with his girlfriend and we decided that we would have takeaway for tea. The general consensus was that we should have pizza, I wasn’t really in the mood but the pizza shop does other stuff so I went along with the majority. I settled on burger and chips but somewhere in the order I was asked if I wanted chilies on my burger, I must have misheard and vaguely remember saying yes to whatever I thought the geezer had just said. My first bite of what I later found out was a chiliburger is difficult to describe, it felt like someone had poured Napalm down my throat and lit a match under my bollocks. My body temperature went up a couple of degrees instantly, a hot sweat broke out on my forehead, my face went the colour of a very angry beetroot and my lungs refused to let air in or out. After about thirty seconds of sheer agony, during which time Tracy thought I was having a stroke, I managed to get out a strangled cough and sat back to contemplate what had just happened. The first words I uttered after I had recovered were “That was absolutely fucking gorgeous” and it was, even though it was painful. I ate the lot, and since that night I have enjoyed hotter and hotter things. My latest addiction is Tracy’s home made chili dip for tortillas, it’s madly hot and extremely tasty, the perfect accompaniment to beer.

Tracy’s fucking hot chili dip™

Ingredients:

1 large juicy Tomato.
Half a red Pepper.
1 clove of Garlic.
1 small green chili, with seeds intact.
A squeeze of Tomato ketchup.
1 teaspoon of Olive oil
Chili powder to taste.

Lob the fucking lot into a food processor and waz it until it’s smooth. Pour into a dish and chill for a couple of hours. Buy a bag of M&S slightly salted Tortillas and a shit load of Czech lager. Robert will be your father’s brother.

The lyric challenge.

Do you know your music ? Put the title and artist name in the comment box.

[1]
I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck
with a pink carnation and a pickup truck.

[2]
These people round here wear beaten down eyes
sunk in smoke dried faces
they're so resigned to what their fate is.

[3]
We can go wherever we please
and everything depends upon
how near you stand to me.

[4]
Over men and horses hoops and garters
lastly through a hogshead of real fire !

[5]
And she lay on the bank, the wind light as a thief
and I kissed her goodbye, said, "All beauty must die".

[6]
But years of gin have broken him
and left him cold where he fitted in
It's too late to turn around and find another way.

[7]
Where the clouds are like headlines
on a new front page sky
my tears are salt water
and the moon's full and high.

[8]
He couldn't take the public scorn
changed from human to plant form
now he’s swapped his legs for roots
his arms and soil are in cahoots.

[9]
One day the track that you're climbing gets steep
your emotions are frayed
and your nerves are starting to creep.

Do you remember,

Last year when we had a car crash ? The feckless scumbag did a runner because he was pissed and driving a car with no insurance. The police later caught up with the cowardly shithead and nicked him. Because the fucking arsehole had no insurance I had to cough up my excess and lose my no-claims. I have just had a letter from my solicitor on behalf of the MIB (no not the men in black) the motor insurance bureau, asking how we found the name and address of the lowlife cunt who ran into us. Now that may seem like a reasonable question, except we told them almost twelve months ago exactly how we came by this information. So why are they asking you again, I hear you cry……..Because they are fucking stupid, incompetent, timewasting, twatheaded, muppet fuckers wallowing in their own fuckwittery !

So, when you buy your next car don’t bother insuring it, and don’t bother observing the drink drive laws. Just do what the fuck you want and the other poor twat will foot the bill.

The thought post.

Ok, I wasn't going to say which one, but if you really want to read it here it is.

Thought provoking stuff.

I read an amazing post yesterday (if you read it you'll know which one I'm talking about) When I finished reading I disconnected and turned off my computer, and this is the first time I have been back on. I had some serious thinking to do, the post was extremely open and candid it made me question why I'm doing this. I've been thinking about it for nearly twenty four hours now and I've come to the conclusion that I will never open myself up like that, never share my innermost secrets and fears, never really show you the real me. The reason is simple; I do this thing for different reasons than other people. I do have secrets, fears, things that stress me out and all manner of issues, the difference is I have never felt comfortable sharing them with anyone else other than Tracy, and to do so would make me feel guilty, like I was hiding something from her, like I had found a new confident. In fact I would feel like I had cheated on her. Some bloggers do the catharsis thing very well, I can't, so I'll stick to what I feel comfortable with and let other do what they are comfortable with. It was an amazing post though.

The bindippers waltz.

Our civic amenity site, or tip as it used to be known, is on our route home from the shop. It comprises a series of large skips, each one for a different type of household rubbish. At this time of year it's dusk as we are driving past, and we can see the bindippers. These curious creatures come out under cover of darkness and rummage about like reverse wombles, making use of things that everyday folks leave behind. Today we saw one of the dippers standing in the skip throwing things behind him like a demented hound, until he found what he was looking for. There is a sign on the gate of the tip informing these strange creatures that it is in fact a crime to steal other people's rubbish. Yeah, like that's going to stop them. So they have now resorted to paying security guards to patrol the place, trouble is they have more than one site to cover, so the dippers just wait till they have been then nip over the fence and start dipping. The solution would be quite simple, just leave the gate open and put a big fucking sign up telling people to help themselves.

Traveling without moving.

I stood outside the canteen with my plastic cup of hot chocolate and listened to the sea. It occurred to me that even though I was standing still, I was moving through space at a breakneck speed. So, I did a bit of e-digging and came up with these numbers:

1. The earth spins on its axis at 1000 mph.
2. The earth orbits the sun at 65,000 mph.
3. The sun orbits our galaxy at 559,000 mph.
4. Our galaxy travels through space at 1.34 million mph.

No wonder I’m tired.

Looking at those figures, even if time travel were possible, it would be impossible to plot backwards and see where this planet was yesterday, never mind any farther back. My dreams of proving that the crucifixion was a hoax to fulfill a prophecy have all but gone.

Time for bed said Zebedee.

How to be a successful member of society.

1. When you have finished your shopping and meet a friend on your way out of the supermarket, just stop right in the doorway and have a nice long chat. All the people trying to get in or out of the place will gladly stand and wait until you have finished.

2. When you approach a roundabout in your car, just sit there and wait until everyone else has gone and there isn’t another vehicle within half a mile, except the poor fucker sat behind you.

3. When you ring the wrong number by mistake, and the person on the other end assures you that you haven’t actually got through to housing repairs, ask if they are sure. You never know they may have been labouring under the misapprehension that they work in a shop, when in actual fact they have been a council employee all along.

4. When confronted with something you have never seen before, either worship it or smash it to pieces. Don’t under any circumstances attempt to understand how or why it works. It’s new and strange, therefore it’s bad.

5. When decorating your kitchen you must first watch one or all of the many makeover shows on TV. You will get some really good ideas about fabric and colours. When you have completed your research, nip down to B&Q and buy seven miles of dado rail and an eternal bow toaster and kettle.

Next week in this award winning series, how to be a proper football fan.

Save Audi man.

In an effort to ensure Audi man stays blogging I’m going to remove his link if he reaches 90. I urge you all to sign up in the comment box. For every new link he gets we need to remove one. If you link to Nigel, put your name in the box below and show your willingness to keep him where he belongs.

Puzzle update.

There seems to be some confusion regarding the year of the movie in question 5. The website that I used to verify the date said it was made in 1963, as do quite a few others. However, Amazon and a couple of other movie sites I have checked have it as 1964. Sorry for any confusion, but I don't think he narrated that many films in his whole career never mind in just two years.

Things not to say when:

You're at a job interview.

1.  I drink my own urine.
2.  Tuesday is my Sabbath.
3.  Is suicide classed as death in service ?
4.  I don't believe in using deodorant.
5.  I got my degree in prison.
6.  The letters after my name spell Fuck you !
7.  Where can I park the bat mobile ?
8.  My wife's actually a pony, we got married online.
9.  My hobby is screaming.

Any more ?

Whose bright idea was that ?

Replacing Johnny Walker with Noel Edmonds on radio 2 drivetime. Edmonds is a complete twat, always has been always will be. He has been on a few weeks now, and I admit I didn’t even give him a chance, it’s his voice you see. It grates against my soul. Add to that the drivel he spouts and the fawning way he speaks to people and you have the dictionary definition of a twat. To make matters worse, before Edmonds comes on you have Steve Wright in the after-fucking-noon, who was previously the biggest twat on British radio. Together they form a formidable partnership and two very good reasons never to tune in again.

Past present and future.

Blogger has seen fit to eat a few months' archives. I have no idea what it wants with them, but I'd like them back please.

James' opinions on natural selection have made me think. Mostly about the fact that we probably wont evolve any more, and I have said as much in his comments. The other thing he has made me think about is the future. About a year ago I wrote an entry for Keo, when I wrote it I didn't give much thought to the kind of people that will be here when Keo returns from it's mammoth 50,000 year trip. Will they look like us ? I suppose in evolutionary term 50,000 years is fuck all but when you factor in all the ways we find to harm each other, well anything can happen. It's frustrating that I'll never know, not just whether my words will ever be read, but what kind of person will read them.

Words and pictures.

As you have probably noticed there is a picture of me just to your right. It’s black and white, and a little hazy, but I’m not ready for full technicolour just yet. I’m shy goddamnit !

Found this over at Pinky’s, sounds really mad and I’m giving it serious thought. I wrote a little excerpt here from a short story idea I had. I might just try to pad it out by 49,759 words or so.

Philosophical debate.

The conversation took a strange turn. We are at loggerheads because I think a Rat could climb a drainpipe quicker than a Ferret. The age old question then came back to haunt us. Could a Tiger “have” a Polar bear. In the past when we have discussed this much-covered topic we have decided that in a straight fight the Polar bear would wup the Tigers ass. But, if the Tiger had the element of surprise it might just “do” the Polar bear. We decided that all future inter-species scraps would be on neutral territory, so the Polar bear v Tiger fight would have to take place in Stalybridge.

Nominations are now being accepted for the next debate. Which two animals would you like to see pitted against each other in the battle arena ? And where would you have them fight ?

Things not to say when:

You meet your prospective in-laws.

1.  My dad was a wife beater.
2.  The tattoos hide the track marks.
3.  Your daughter is a really inventive love maker.
4.  Don't think of it as losing a daughter, but gaining a chapter.
5.  The good voice usually wins.
6.  A job ? Fuck no !
7.  I have a webcam, I'm gonna make her a star.
8.  My mates call me psycho Bob.
9.  Someone let down the tyres on my house.


Any more ?

To read, or not to read.

That is the question. I got my dinner ready and sat in my usual chair in the canteen. I opened my book, the latest anthology by Stephen King, and began to read, punctuated only by the occasional chomp on my dinner. I love reading and eating, I find it’s the best way to escape work while I’m actually there. I had just got to the bit where the devil tells the little boy that his mum's just dropped dead, and then I hear………”Simon, you know about them computers don’t you ?” “Yes” I replied, and continued reading (I know it’s antisocial but these people have all fucking day to engage me in conversation). “If I was to go and buy a new PC, nothing fancy, just to get me on the net, where would be the best place to go ?” Sensing I wasn’t going to get much more read, I put my book down and told him the best place to go. Satisfied, he went on eating his dinner. I waited a few seconds and when I thought he was finished chatting I picked up my book and carried on reading. “So them Gateway computers no good then” he said, “No they’re shit” I said, a little too tersely and got back to my book.

This scenario has happened a few times with different people at work, and always the same pattern. They don’t say a fucking word until you start reading, and then there’s no shutting them up. When you put down your book and give them your undivided attention, they clam up. Only to start again the minute you begin reading.

Fucking twatting shithead wank-stained cunts !