A couple of things to ponder tonight over your glass of something to get you through the day. I've blogged before about the feral youths who roam our village. They are small in number and stature, but high on nuisance value. You'd think we lived in some sink estate in Liverpool at times.
There's a new kid on the block. He is not from our street, but is obviously hero worshiped by the gang from our hood. I can see why. He is a couple of years older, wears baggy clothes akin to a hard ass rapper and has ear-rings in both ears. He must be 11 or 12 years old and thinks he's a Deeside White Dr Dre. Motha Fucka.
Dre and the Hood gang were standing outside our house when I came home tonight. They were behind Mrs MacBeth's car and as I drove up to park behind her, our street's home boys moved. Dre didn't move an inch, instead turned and stared at me. As I parked, he mouthed "wanker" at me. As I got out of the car, this little hard man summoned his new hood to walk at pace away from me.
I imagine this horrible little bastard is going to cause all manner of problems as the nights draw out. Keep reading for more installments as the year unfolds.
I don't think I told you all about an incident last summer I witnessed. One of Dre's followers this evening stays with his grandparents and mother a few doors away. Dad? God knows. He was playing with the gang one evening when his Grandfather shouted him in for his tea. To which Grandad was informed "Fuck off, I'm not coming in, it's a free country".
What in the name of Allah are you meant to do with these kids? I'd never have even thought of speaking to my Granda like that, essentially because of my sheer love for the man and, if I had ever done so, he'd have kicked my arse from here to Kingdom come!! And rightly so. What's happened to respect? I know many who'd blame a woman who left No 10 Downing Street at least a decade before these kids were even born. Thatcher's always a great scapegoat for this country's ills.
On a completely different tack, Thistle Windows in Aberdeen have an really fucking irritating radio jingle (call Thistle Windows Aberdeen 706 treble 5). They're now urging us all to head to their showrooms this weekend to meet Steve Davies. Why meeting a guy who's sport (snooker) has been on the wane popularity wise for years and who's claim to fame (apart from winning 6 world titles) is being a boring sod will make you part with your hard earned for a conservatory or double glazing is unclear to me. Maybe that's why I'm a recruiter and not a PR Guru..............
Until next time, let me leave you with another song recommendation. Tonight it's going back to the original line up of Fleetwood Mac with the legendary Peter Green on board. It's difficult to remember that they weren't always a middle of the road rock band (saying that I love Big Love and Little Lies from Tango in the Night). But here's them at their smoothest, sassiest, sexiest blues best. Need Your Love So Bad. Listen to the string arrangement behind the guitar. Sublime. Download it immediately.
Showing posts with label Rudeness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rudeness. Show all posts
Thursday, 1 April 2010
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
More Grief from the Great Unwashed
Evening All. Well here's me sitting on my lonesome, Mrs MacBeth in bed suffering from the tonsillitis/bug that has laid our oldest son low and the youngest still not 100% either, so they are all in the isolation room (the eldest's bedroom!!).
Well chaps and chapesses I know how much you enjoy my real life stories and issues and I've another for you today. I was driving off to a Client meeting and as I approached a junction the quintessential neolithic man deliberately stepped off the pavement and walked at snail's pace across the road, making me brake heavily and wait for him to cross. You know the type, Benny from Crossroads hat, cheap nylon tracksuit, cheap trainers, protruding forehead and permanent scowl.
When he had finally crossed the road, I rolled down my window and inquired of him, "When did jaywalking become the pastime of choice for hard men?".
He replied, "F*** off, you four eyed C***".
To which I retorted, "Armando Iannucci, eat your heart out".
By the completely blank expression on his face, it was obvious he had no idea who the genius involved in the likes of I'm Alan Partridge and The Thick of It was.
I shook my head and drove off, with him standing there with his middle finger raised in a cheery goodbye.
This bone-from-the-neck-up prick deliberately provoked this confrontation. Yes I shouldn't have risen to the bait, but I'm sick to death of these absolute brain deads. The country is full to the brim with them. Scotland used to have an education system which was the envy of the world. Is it failing, or is it the case that we now have a generation of people who are impossible to educate regardless of how talented the teachers are?
Has the breakdown of what liberals would call the "old fashioned family unit" bred a generation of people with no values or interest in educating and bettering themselves? Or am I just a sad old git who doesn't understand the wants and needs of these challenged individuals with all their apparent 'issues'?
I'm off to watch the next episode of A History of Scotland I have on Sky+. Professor Neil Oliver wouldn't call me a four eyed c***
Music tonight "Bankrobber" by the Clash. Not as obvious as London Calling or I Fought the Law, but listen to Strummer's angry, aggressive vocals. Mr Jaywalker could learn a thing or two about aggression and intimidation from a man who channeled his anger in a creative manner.
Well chaps and chapesses I know how much you enjoy my real life stories and issues and I've another for you today. I was driving off to a Client meeting and as I approached a junction the quintessential neolithic man deliberately stepped off the pavement and walked at snail's pace across the road, making me brake heavily and wait for him to cross. You know the type, Benny from Crossroads hat, cheap nylon tracksuit, cheap trainers, protruding forehead and permanent scowl.
When he had finally crossed the road, I rolled down my window and inquired of him, "When did jaywalking become the pastime of choice for hard men?".
He replied, "F*** off, you four eyed C***".
To which I retorted, "Armando Iannucci, eat your heart out".
By the completely blank expression on his face, it was obvious he had no idea who the genius involved in the likes of I'm Alan Partridge and The Thick of It was.
I shook my head and drove off, with him standing there with his middle finger raised in a cheery goodbye.
This bone-from-the-neck-up prick deliberately provoked this confrontation. Yes I shouldn't have risen to the bait, but I'm sick to death of these absolute brain deads. The country is full to the brim with them. Scotland used to have an education system which was the envy of the world. Is it failing, or is it the case that we now have a generation of people who are impossible to educate regardless of how talented the teachers are?
Has the breakdown of what liberals would call the "old fashioned family unit" bred a generation of people with no values or interest in educating and bettering themselves? Or am I just a sad old git who doesn't understand the wants and needs of these challenged individuals with all their apparent 'issues'?
I'm off to watch the next episode of A History of Scotland I have on Sky+. Professor Neil Oliver wouldn't call me a four eyed c***
Music tonight "Bankrobber" by the Clash. Not as obvious as London Calling or I Fought the Law, but listen to Strummer's angry, aggressive vocals. Mr Jaywalker could learn a thing or two about aggression and intimidation from a man who channeled his anger in a creative manner.
Thursday, 29 October 2009
Who's Wrong - You Decide
I had a busy day at work today (no sniggering at the back). So against my better judgement I nipped out to a back street sandwich shop a couple of minutes away from the office to purchase some luncheon. This place has had bad reviews from my work colleagues but needs must. Walked in and there was three or four people in front of me. 5 minutes later I'm still waiting in the same spot. The Three Musketeers behind the counter are excruciatingly slow at making low standard sandwiches and they suck their teeth when people hand over £10 as they've "nae change ken". Imagine thinking a catering establishment might have change of a tenner, down that road lies madness.
As I'm waiting I sense someone acting in a pretty impatient and irritated manner behind me. I have a quick glance behind and there's a woman, obviously of pension age, agitated and moving from side to side like a winger trying to lose his full back. I now know how Danny McGrain must have felt when he was marking Peter Weir (apologies if you have no idea who these people are!). As I finally get to the counter, Mrs Miggins shoots in front of me like Alan Wells lunging for the tape in the 100 metres final in Moscow in 1980 and asks for a tuna sandwich or some other such delicacy that won't stick to her bloody false teeth.
I am a bit taken aback, this is not the kind of behaviour you're used to from senior citizens, but in my state of shock I manage to blurt out "erm excuse me, are you having a laugh, there is a queue and I was before you". She makes a face like Blanche from Coronation Street and then studiously ignores me. The brains trust behind the counter as one look at me in disgust.
Miggins' mate, who was standing nearby now gets involved, stating to me (and the rest of the shop) in a loud and screechy voice, "for goodness sake that's pathetic." Dander well and truly up now, I ask her if she would have thought the same had a teenager barged in front of her in a queue or would she have instead started into a tirade about the "youth of today".
She refuted this saying she had "better things to do". I guess these things would include standing in aisles at supermarkets blocking them with a strategically positioned trolley, writing to the Evening Express complaining about Donald Trump, watching soap operas, spending her pension on Bingo and smelling of piss, but I digress.
I just shook my head and ordered my stovies. The Mensa members counter side were overtly rude to me and made it quite clear they thought I was an arse. The stovies were anaemic, the beetroot had black bits on it and the oat cakes were soggy by the way.
So dear readers, what do you think. Was I an arse? Or was I within my rights and is this just another example of this country going to hell in a hand cart. When Molly Sugden decides it's time to stop the age old British custom of queueing and just barge to the front, I personally think we're totally screwed.
Tonight's music is Same Old Scene by Roxy Music. I urge you all to get some Bryan Ferry and Roxy Music into your life and this is a cracker to get you started - not as obvious as the likes of Jealous Guy, Dance Away or Do The Strand but a forgotten gem.
As I'm waiting I sense someone acting in a pretty impatient and irritated manner behind me. I have a quick glance behind and there's a woman, obviously of pension age, agitated and moving from side to side like a winger trying to lose his full back. I now know how Danny McGrain must have felt when he was marking Peter Weir (apologies if you have no idea who these people are!). As I finally get to the counter, Mrs Miggins shoots in front of me like Alan Wells lunging for the tape in the 100 metres final in Moscow in 1980 and asks for a tuna sandwich or some other such delicacy that won't stick to her bloody false teeth.
I am a bit taken aback, this is not the kind of behaviour you're used to from senior citizens, but in my state of shock I manage to blurt out "erm excuse me, are you having a laugh, there is a queue and I was before you". She makes a face like Blanche from Coronation Street and then studiously ignores me. The brains trust behind the counter as one look at me in disgust.
Miggins' mate, who was standing nearby now gets involved, stating to me (and the rest of the shop) in a loud and screechy voice, "for goodness sake that's pathetic." Dander well and truly up now, I ask her if she would have thought the same had a teenager barged in front of her in a queue or would she have instead started into a tirade about the "youth of today".
She refuted this saying she had "better things to do". I guess these things would include standing in aisles at supermarkets blocking them with a strategically positioned trolley, writing to the Evening Express complaining about Donald Trump, watching soap operas, spending her pension on Bingo and smelling of piss, but I digress.
I just shook my head and ordered my stovies. The Mensa members counter side were overtly rude to me and made it quite clear they thought I was an arse. The stovies were anaemic, the beetroot had black bits on it and the oat cakes were soggy by the way.
So dear readers, what do you think. Was I an arse? Or was I within my rights and is this just another example of this country going to hell in a hand cart. When Molly Sugden decides it's time to stop the age old British custom of queueing and just barge to the front, I personally think we're totally screwed.
Tonight's music is Same Old Scene by Roxy Music. I urge you all to get some Bryan Ferry and Roxy Music into your life and this is a cracker to get you started - not as obvious as the likes of Jealous Guy, Dance Away or Do The Strand but a forgotten gem.
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