Explaining what this blog was about to the lovely Rebecca today, she said can I recommend something. What! I'm taking requests now? Do I look like a fucking DJ? But then she said, people with umbrellas in London and went on to say they should have to pass a test, or get a license or something and I had to agree, she was fucking right on the money. So, here it is, the first and probably only guest entry, you fuckers who insist on walking down the street sticking the little nobbily ends of your umbrellas into innocent passersby, YOU PISS ME OFF, YOU BASTARDS


I wasn't sure whether or not I should post this one, after all keys are an inanimate object (or should that be inanimate objects?), but fuck it, if I wasn't pissed off with them, I'd have to be pissed off with me and that would never do.

For the last 48 hours I've been without these, as they lay hidden under a pile of papers on my desk, causing me untold grief and stress. Well, you know what? YOU PISSED ME OFF, YOU LITTLE BASTARDS. Although it was lovely to find you again.


Just spend a moment to read what this arse writes on his card, If your bike needs a service and you don't have time to go to the garage We will come to you...

Not sure why that warrants dot dot dot after it, but there you have it.

Anyway. What I love about this is that Porto Scooter Services recognise that there are those people for whom time is scarce and that these are the people they have created a service for. So, why the fuck then do they agree to meet people at 3.10pm only to not turn up at 3.10pm. And to then not answer a constantly ringing phone. And to then call me at 4.20pm to say they are just coming into the street. When they're fucking not. Why? Tell! Well, do you know what, YOU PISSED ME OFF, YOU BASTARDS.


When I was growing up, and it wasn't that long ago, parks and pushbikes went rather well together, after all it made a lot of sense, there were no cars, the grass was soft and so it was generally thought of as a safe place to cycle, but that was a different time. Now we live in a city that would rather use the limited police it has to spring traps on unsuspecting cyclists at 7am and mug them , after all there's a £30 fine to be dished out. The perfect crime. Well, you know what, YOU BASTARDS PISS ME OFF. Oh and you, you on the right. YES, that is you in the picture, and YES I've published it and NO, I didn't seek the permission of the Royal Parks Junta first. So, whatcha gonna do about it?


I reckon that somewhere deep in the bowels of Westminster Council there is an office where dark thoughts are allowed to be voiced in the name of extortion. Let's call them the Committee for Extortion. I know it's not a clever title, but where's the profit in spending time on committee names? Time is best spent working on ways to rip off the general public. And this ladies and gentlemen is their latest scheme. Suspend a motorcycle bay, but put the suspension notice on a lamppost thirty or so feet away.

That's what 10-12 parking tickets? It's a license to print money that's what it is. Every bike in the bay got a ticket, including mine. Well, you know what, YOU BASTARDS PISSED ME OFF


I ride around London on a bike a lot of the time and if I'm not careful I could fill pages and pages of this blog with road incidents, but I try and restrain myself (both here and on the road). But this arrogant prat, who is obviously colour blind, after all why would you buy a car in that colour, thought nothing of whizzing around speaking into his phone and cutting up cyclists. Unfortunately, such is your love for speed, little boy racer, that I was unable to catch up with you and tell you in person that YOU'RE A FUCKING BASTARD, WHO PISSED ME OFF.


Dear Sir

I dare say that driving around London all day having to stop for people who then don't have the right money can be grating. What with road works and pollution and the general state of our roads it can't be an easy. And when it's summer and there are tourists to deal with, well that can only lead to bad moods.

But aiming your bus at cyclists isn't the answer. In fact it's a fucking dangerous and stupid thing to do, which is why, said cyclists will tap on your window and shout, YOU BASTARD. It's because YOU PISS THEM OFF.


It was raining, not that that bothers me, I like the rain, it suits London. Anyway I didn't have an umbrella so I was sheltering in a shop doorway when I noticed PC Happy. He was standing in the middle of Shaftesbury Avenue directing traffic away from a march that was coming down Piccadilly. He hates his job. His best remark was saved for a white van driver who asked politely, yeah surprised me too, how best he could still get to Victoria. The reply: 'I am not here to give directions, now move.' I'll overlook the fact that pointing at a street and barking, move is a fair approximation of giving directions, but what I won't overlook is the fact that coppers are there to serve the public, we after all do pay their salaries, and not to police us. Which is why you, PC BASTARD, PISSED ME OFF


Oh yes, this will work. I know what, I'll go out and print a load of cards with my details on them. No fuck that, I'll use horrible orange thick paper - it worked for that Selios easy bloke. Man plus Van, yeah, that's catchy. And then, and this is like the best bit, right. This is my master stroke. You know like normally, people just post them cards through letter boxes, will that just annoys people right and so it just goes straight in the bin. Yeah, well that's not for me, oh no. I'm gonna stick these things all over people's doors. Really wedge them into any little gap I can find. And I'm going to do the whole street. After that I can just sit back and wait for the phone to ring. Ker-ching.

Yeah, well you know what Mr Man-with-a-Van, YOU'RE A BASTARD & YOU PISSED ME OFF.


Here is the reason I started this blog. One Sunday morning I bought my newspapers here, Williams on Tottenham Court Rd. 'Put the change in the charity tin' I cheerily shouted as I left, for all was good with the world. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the shopkeeper slip the money straight back into the till. Now, what was I meant to do, tell him to show me the contents of the charity tin and identify which coins were my change? Call the police? Punch him? No, I just said nothing. As I walked down the road seething with anger I came up with this idea for a blog, so Mr Shopkeeper, I thank you, but you should know, YOU BASTARD, YOU PISSED ME OFF!