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It was early Sunday. I was in Marylebone High Street waiting for the famers market to get going - what can I say, I live in a middle-class urban bubble, don't you know. With time to kill, I found myself in Le Pain Quotidien, a swanky, no ready arsey, bakery/cafe.
I ordered a boiled egg and asked for a side order of toast.
I can't have toast.
But toast and jams is on the menu
But the boiled egg comes with bread
Well toast the bread that the egg comes with.
Can't
And that is why, YOU PISSED ME OFF, YOU BASTARDS
Is it just me? Well, maybe, but considering the votes of confidence and the number of hits I get, it would suggest not, so I'm going to share this with you.
This pisses me off
And this
And this
Have you spotted it yet?
No, it's not kids, I got one of them myself and I love him to bits, he's one of the very good bits in my life. No, the thing that pisses me off are that fact card manufacturers think it's okay to write the fucking obvious on the front of new arrival cards.
If you haven't had a baby, let you talk you though it. It takes 9 months slow progress during which time you do a lot of talking and thinking about what's going to come into your life. You get to see pictures of a growing foetus, you get asked if you want to know the sex. But even if you didn't want to know right then, during the birth you get to find out. Then, after a bit of a rest you get to tell everyone you know that you'd had a baby ....... And then those very same people send you cards and all they can find to send you are these stupid cards that tell you what you've had.
Congratulations, It's a boy/girl/twins
I know it's a boy! I was fucking there! I fucking told you three days ago. I don't need a card telling me what I already know. I'm tired but I'm not fucking stupid.
You don't print condolence cards that say, She's Dead, do you?
So card-makers, think before you create your next range of new arrivals cards. It's your laziness that REALLY PISSES ME OFF, YOU BASTARDS.
Got stuck behind this bastard the other day. Now I don't think I've ever been in a Renault, but I'm sure it's like every modern car - steering wheel - up front, some dials, a few pedals. Even an ashtray. And even with all that stuff there's usually plenty of room for rubbish, so why the fuck does this wanker think it's okay to throw his rubbish out of the window? food wrapper, paper cup and then some other general bits and pieces. Which is why, you selfish pig, you REALLY PISSED ME OFF, YOU BASTARD
I could fill this whole blog with the crap that comes through my door, but I just save the really great oneS. Like this, from those wonderful people at Daker Estates - no I've never heard of them either. But it probably won't surprise you to know they are quality estate agents. Not just any old estate agents, you understand. Quality, this lot. Personally I'd have gone for idiotic, dim-witted arses of estate agents, but each to their own.
What were they thinking with this? I'll have a stab at guessing.
Print a letter with SPECIAL DELIVERY on it. In RED. Because red is really impressive and totally un-ignorable. And if that isn't enough lets add, EXCITING NEWS INSIDE, that will get people tearing the envelope open with rabid intensity.
And when they do, what will they find? Next weeks lottery numbers? The fact that World Peace has broken out? A break though in curing AIDS? To be honest, I'd have even accepted, Mr and Mrs Daker are expecting a baby - at least that would have been exciting, if only to them.
No, you get this.
So what was so exciting? That required it's own envelope and my undivided attention?
The offer of a FREE Market Appraisal! (Their font and punctuation, I hasten to add.)
And for that, YOU HAVE PISSED ME OFF, YOU BASTARD.
Yauatcha, a rather swanky restaurant that serves up fine Chinese food at a price. Not that I'm complaining, I know what they charge and I like their food, so it's my choice, right.
On my last occassion, it being a hot day and me being a vaguely health-conscious sort of fellow, I had with me a bottle of mineral water - something that would appear to be deeply offensive to the staff of Yauatcha. I hadn't even sat down at the table, before....
"You can't drink that water here."
"I wasn't going to."
"Can I take it please."
"Sorry?"
"I'll look after it for you, while you dine."
"Can I see the manager?"
The manager comes over.
"I'm sorry, we don't allow customers to drink their own water."
"I never said I'd wanted to."
"I can look after it for you."
No need, I'll stick it on the floor, if you want it out of sight."
"You might drink it."
"I won't."
"We don't allow bottles of water on the table"
"Not even one of your expensive, fancy glass ones."
Shit, I knew I had lost by mentioning expensive. It was meant to elude to their greed. But I could see in his eyes, he heard, 'I'm not drinking your water, it's too expensive." Bugger. I handed over the water. I ate. I got my water back. I scored a small victory. Now along with the water on the table rule, there's a no camera rule.
Hah!
You still PISSED ME OFF, YOU BASTARDS.
If I didn't blog here, this would be me
I like sushi. It's a great meal. So, well done Japan, I salute you. Not so Samurai, a small chain of fast food sushi restaurants. Let's be honest, it really isn't the best sushi in London, but it's reflected in the price, so you get what you pay for. Which in my case was 4 pieces of nigiri, a single hand roll and a miso soup. Your average lunch site portion I'm sure you'll agree.
Back at my desk I lunched. At the end of lunch I was left with
One man (angry). One lunch (average portion). One huge fucking amount of rubbish. Is this necessary? Is this wanted? Is this smart? Is it fuck. This is worse that McDonalds. Worse than the British Government not taxing carrier bags. Worse than wrapping a banana in cellophane before selling it.... Actually, hold that one, it's exactly the fucking same as wrapping food in cellophane. I will never go there again. NEVER. Because YOU'VE PISSED ME OFF, YOU BASTARDS.
I don't smoke. Never have, not really. I do remember a time when I found myself behind a bike shed or somewhere and being told this white stick with the brown end was the answer to not being cool. It tasted shit and I coughed a lot, so fuck cool - I think was the end result.
And I'm glad I did. Especially when they started putting those really big warnings on the sides of packets. You know the kind of thing - SMOKING KILLS. SMOKING WILL GIVE YOU CANCER. SMOKING WON'T MAKE YOU COOL. Pretty conclusive stuff in my books.
So to smoke right now, with all that we know about it is down right fucking stupid.
The only thing even more stupid is selling these in a joke shop that is full of kids. The shop is in Spitalfields Market and I forgot to take a picture of it's name, but it's there all the same and they should know, YOU HAVE PISSED ME OFF, YOU BASTARD.
Got this in my inbox today (do click on it to enlarge it). Begs the question, why? Why me?
I just don't understand. Nothing about me, my company, or any company I've ever worked for is the slightest bit related to insurance or solicitors, or 0800NoWinNoFee, or even Nigerian Insurance scams. A google search of me will show I'm as far removed from these industries as anyone can be. Nothing in my email address would lead to any confusion. So all I can think is Alan.Lawson@HSBF.com is a complete and utter arse.
The email includes a phone number, so I called it, you get a number of choices all of which end up on an answerphone, although for all intents and purposes it would appear to be a proper company. Feel free to ring him if you like. 0870 760 6321. if you do, please tell him HE PISSED ME OFF, THE BASTARD
Greedy and stupid is Adam Simmonds. He sells swanky glasses and expensive contact lenses to yummie mummies and their city hubbies in Primrose Hill. I use to get my eyes tested by him yearly and bought my lenses from him (dispite not being a yummie mummy nor a city hubby). It was that time of the year again and so I needed to get my eyes tested and buy some new contacts. So I phoned him up.
The conversation went some thing like;
Me: Can I book an appointment to get my eyes tested?
Adam S: Is it for contacts or glasses?
Me: Does it matter?
Adam S: To me
Me: Contact lenses
Adam S: Will you be buying them from us
Me: Not when they're a third cheaper on the net, no.
Adam S: Then no, you can't
Me: But I'm entitled to a free eye test, because of family history
Line goes dead.
So I went off to SpecSavers instead, who were smashing. Not like Adam Simmonds who PISSED ME OFF, YOU BASTARD
Simple enough story. I bought a jacket here. Well, it was the sales and all that and it has been cold lately. Oh, how lovely they were, I couldn't make my mind up between a medium and a large. I'm kind of built like that - between sizes. It's the same with shoes am I a 7 and half? Or an 8? A 41 or a 42. It's bugger I can tell you.
But I digress. Back to Interstate of Covent Garden. Oh they were so nice, couldn't have been nicer. I opted for the medium - the right choice I think, even now.
So I get it home and what do I find? A bloody mark on the sleeve. So I went back to the shop. explained the situation - would they change it, like fuck they would. It ended in a raised voices. I ended up storming out and, in a fit of anger, giving the coat and reciept to the next homeless bloke I saw. I like to think he went back in and caused even more trouble for the bastards in Interstate, Covent Garden. (And even if he didn't, I hope you're a little warmer matey).
Either way, you lot at Interstate, Covent Garden, YOU PISSED ME OFF, YOU BASTARDS.
Nice shiny plaque so he must be good, right? Wrong. I dropped about three and half grand with Tim Morris, dentist to the fucking mugs of London. Now, I hate the dentist - something about sticking evil looking tools of pain in mouths all day, does that. Anyway that figure was the culmination of a lot of years neglect and included two caps, so while that's a lot of coin, it was needed if I was ever going to smile with confidence again.
About 2 months after the work, the first cap fell out, it was refitted, then the second one fell out, then the first one again. Well you can imagine my surprise when I went back and Timmo told me that it was my fault. How so? Oh I've been eating again. well of course, that's down to me, fair cop gov'. Now, imagine just who fucking gobsmacked I was when I was told I would need a bridge, which is like two caps in one and twice as fucking expensive.
I said I'd think about it and made my excuses and left.
Time for second opinion. This time I went to a lovely dentist, Dr. Peraria, seeing as you didn't ask, only discover that cap one was always going to fall out as it was embedded in a cracked tooth and so would always have wobbly foundations.
I really should have looked at the sign by the buzzer to get an idea of what he was really like.
So, Tim Morris BDS, now you know why YOU PISSED ME OFF YOU BASTARD.
It was early Sunday. I was in Marylebone High Street waiting for the famers market to get going - what can I say, I live in a middle-class urban bubble, don't you know. With time to kill, I found myself in Le Pain Quotidien, a swanky, no ready arsey, bakery/cafe.
