OK, I hear you already, Dave are you crazy? ANOTHER shopping rant?
Well the answer to that is both yes and no.....
Kelly told me I was going shopping earlier, that's right TOLD me! I had no say in the matter, and even though she knows it is highly likely that Tesco will be the cause of my death or lifetime's incarceration she wasn't budging. I begged and pleaded to be let off of this highly stressful and demoralising experience.It didn't work, Kelly wheeled out the age old classic excuse "I've not got any makeup on" well I'd just like to say to anybody reading this YOU ARE WELCOME! Not many of you will have seen Kelly without a bit of slap on, and I know this for two reasons, (1) You are still on my friends list, and (2) You haven't been committed to an asylum, strapped to a gurney screaming "Monsters, monsters everywhere!"
So I strapped Charlie into his car seat and we set off for the place I envision as being the closest available equivalent to hell. As we approached Satan's lair I began to get sweaty palms, my heart rate went through the roof and a little voice somewhere in my head was screaming RUN DAVE RUN, GET AWAY AS FAR AS YOU CAN! But Kelly has been cranky for a while now so I told the voice to shut up, much to the confusion of Charlie who thought I was talking to him. He curled his bottom lip downwards and started to get watery eyes, I quickly explained I wasn't talking to him, which confused him even further.
As we crossed the threshold of hell's mouth I took a deep breath, but to my amazement everything felt very civilised..... People were calmly wandering by picking up their items and being rather chipper to be completely honest. It wasn't until I got to aisle 2 that I spotted my first eye watering sight. There, looking at milkshakes (go figure) was possibly the biggest woman I have seen in my entire life, it was a sight to behold. She must have weighed 450 pounds at the very least and was blocking trolley traffic in either direction and causing tailbacks that wouldn't have looked out of place on the M25.
There's nothing unusual about a fat mothertrucker ordinarily, but being a larger person myself I always dress accordingly. But this lady clearly thought 'to hell with the world' I am going to cram myself in to the smallest clothes I can find.... And did she ever! Her denim shorts were so small they were cutting off the circulation to her legs, they looked like a beetroot stained piece of corned beef, which made me want a sandwich (but that's far from relevant at this point) Her top was snug to say the least and looked similar to when you try and put 6 pounds of play doh into an empty bean can. Rolls of loose skin hanged down from the arm holes and swung hypnotically as she waddled along the rows perusing every type of bad for you food you could imagine.
Then it happened, the most amazing, jaw dropping experience of 2014 and possibly far beyond, that I have seen in a long time. Being that it was close to store closing time there was a steady procession of Tesco staff carrying green baskets containing a veritable treasure trove of reduced goods! I have never, and I mean never witnessed a fracas such as this, and don't forget I was born in the age of sticker books where the scream of 'SCRAMBLE' prompted a violent melee to see who could get that elusive Ronny Rosenthal Tottenham Hotspur sticker that they needed to complete their book.
People were grabbing items from the baskets before the staff had a chance to get near the shelves, it was a free for all of biblical proportions. Two elderly gentlemen were grabbing bags of bananas, 5 or 6 bags were whipped out of the basket and it was then that Tesco fell silent. Two other pensioners (Japanese I think) had also made a grab for aforementioned yellow bounty and shit began to get real.
There was a tug of war with a combined age of AT LEAST 320 years, and it was so tense that nobody dared move or intervene. TheJjapanese lady muttered something under her breath which I hope was some form of death threat, then this conversation began.
Japanese lady: Ming hoy doo wah so! (Not racism, that's what it sounded like)
English gent 1: This is our country and our bananas, I had them first!
Japanese man: No, roo donn have divine right to baranas! (My impression is sooo much better in person!)
English gent 2: And you don't have a divine right to be in OUR country.
Japaenese lady: Roo have enough baranas ahready, roo reave some to the rest of us.
English gent 1: Over my dead body!
The Tesco employee looked rather shocked at the exchange and grabbed the barana.... I mean bananas from the pensioners, but this only made matters worse. The arguing had now turned to death stares, and the English lads were looking like they were in a bit of a tight spot. The Japanese couple looked like a pair of retired assassins, ninja's possibly, or the last of the Samurai (Fuck Tom Cruise, I mean the real Samurai) the Japanese lady actually moved her feet to give herself stronger footing and I was sure she was going to roundhouse one of the frail old boys in the jaw.
The man bringing the food out slowly edged his way between the couples towards the reduced shelf, between the steely glares of the Saga holiday clubbers and put the fruit on the shelf. The seniors looked at their fight club partners, then they looked at each other, and as one they all made their way towards the shelf, it was like watching 4 snails race for their lives, it was truly gripping........ However, they didn't count on the fact that I was a lot closer to the shelf than they were, and although a fatty I am still fairly sprightly when there's cheap or free food on the go, so I grabbed them and fucked off. Every time I bumped into the 4 tremblies they gave me a cold glance, if looks could kill I'd definitely have an ingrowing toenail by now.
To round off my shopping trip I taught Charlie my favourite shopping game, Stealth adding! i know it sounds like some quiet form of Mathematics, but it's way more fun than that.
Here are the rules,
1) You walk around looking for a target.
2) You wait for the target to leave their trolley/basket unattended.
3) You grab the highest value/weirdest item within reach and carefully place it in their shopping.
4) you stand back and smirk as they blissfully wander off with £50 worth of condoms and pregnancy tests in their weekly shop.
5) You get bonus points if you see them looking confused at the till as they put aforementioned items on the conveyor belt.
Don't ever tell me I don't give you anything!
Hope you have a great summer, if anything else occurs on my travels I'll keep you posted.
Much love,
Dave.
Sunday, 27 July 2014
Monday, 17 March 2014
I'm a fucking trifle irritated
How's it going?
First up I'd like to wish all of my Irish and alcoholic friends a very happy St Patrick's day! I know very few of you need an excuse to get wasted, but today it is not only suggested but encouraged!
OK, now on to real world shit.
Tonight I took the family out for a bite to eat, I shouldn't have fucking bothered. You know it's going to be a bad night when you order 5 drinks and the waiter shoots you a look that makes you think you've asked him to describe the meaning of life. All I wanted was a Carlsberg, 2 cokes, a fruit shoot and a fucking lemonade, not the blueprints for a time machine drawing up and building.
I've seen Professor Steven Hawking write faster than this lad, and at the time old Hawk-o was holding the pen between his arse cheeks. Well eventually we got our drinks, although with the time it took you'd think he'd swum to the good ole' US of A for an original coke and a smile.
The waiter came to take our food order and glided off to the kitchen to fire up the microwave, I heard a couple of bleeps, dings and whistles that sounded akin to C3-PO being touched in his special place by Fred West, and that should have served as warning number 2.
I was hungrier than a Fox that was on hunger strike in protest of the price of Diesel, so I ordered the mixed grill. This, as most people who are true carnivores will testify is usually a caveman sized meal with enough meat to decimate an entire farm, but not this fucking one!
The mixed grill was described as the following:
- Half a chicken breast
First up I'd like to wish all of my Irish and alcoholic friends a very happy St Patrick's day! I know very few of you need an excuse to get wasted, but today it is not only suggested but encouraged!
OK, now on to real world shit.
Tonight I took the family out for a bite to eat, I shouldn't have fucking bothered. You know it's going to be a bad night when you order 5 drinks and the waiter shoots you a look that makes you think you've asked him to describe the meaning of life. All I wanted was a Carlsberg, 2 cokes, a fruit shoot and a fucking lemonade, not the blueprints for a time machine drawing up and building.
I've seen Professor Steven Hawking write faster than this lad, and at the time old Hawk-o was holding the pen between his arse cheeks. Well eventually we got our drinks, although with the time it took you'd think he'd swum to the good ole' US of A for an original coke and a smile.
The waiter came to take our food order and glided off to the kitchen to fire up the microwave, I heard a couple of bleeps, dings and whistles that sounded akin to C3-PO being touched in his special place by Fred West, and that should have served as warning number 2.
I was hungrier than a Fox that was on hunger strike in protest of the price of Diesel, so I ordered the mixed grill. This, as most people who are true carnivores will testify is usually a caveman sized meal with enough meat to decimate an entire farm, but not this fucking one!
The mixed grill was described as the following:
- Half a chicken breast
- Gold award winning Lincolnshire sausage
- 4oz* Rump steak
- 5oz* Gammon steak
- Onion rings
- Fried egg
Now, this was entirely my fault I failed to notice the * next to the steak and gammon entries of the menu. This of course denotes that the aforementioned weight is UNCOOKED, I was about to be left more disappointed than Saddam Hussein when he was found hiding in a hole in the ground.
My plate was put down in front of me and I smiled, not a smile of joy, a smile that says 'fuck me, I've seen bigger and cheaper meals come out of Burger King' (See previous whinge) It did indeed contain everything listed on the menu, but let me give you my interpretation of the various elements.
- Half a chicken breast..... Yup, this was accurate, it was indeed half of a chicken breast, what they didn't specify is how big or small the fucking chicken was that donated the breast to my meal. The poor little bastard must have been less than a day old, I have seen more meat in a fucking chicken nugget.
- Gold award winning Lincolnshire sausage..... Yup, again accurate, however I can only assume that the award was not for the quality of meat but more likely for being the smallest sausages ever fucking made. It was so small I had to use a microscope to find the fucking thing.
- 4oz Rump steak..... 4 oz? are you for fucking real, I've given up more meat when I've had a nosebleed! 2oz of gristle and one quarter of an ounce of meat is a travesty.
Now, this was entirely my fault I failed to notice the * next to the steak and gammon entries of the menu. This of course denotes that the aforementioned weight is UNCOOKED, I was about to be left more disappointed than Saddam Hussein when he was found hiding in a hole in the ground.
My plate was put down in front of me and I smiled, not a smile of joy, a smile that says 'fuck me, I've seen bigger and cheaper meals come out of Burger King' (See previous whinge) It did indeed contain everything listed on the menu, but let me give you my interpretation of the various elements.
- Half a chicken breast..... Yup, this was accurate, it was indeed half of a chicken breast, what they didn't specify is how big or small the fucking chicken was that donated the breast to my meal. The poor little bastard must have been less than a day old, I have seen more meat in a fucking chicken nugget.
- Gold award winning Lincolnshire sausage..... Yup, again accurate, however I can only assume that the award was not for the quality of meat but more likely for being the smallest sausages ever fucking made. It was so small I had to use a microscope to find the fucking thing.
- 4oz Rump steak..... 4 oz? are you for fucking real, I've given up more meat when I've had a nosebleed! 2oz of gristle and one quarter of an ounce of meat is a travesty.
- 5oz Gammon steak..... This must have come from the little piggy that went wee wee wee wee all the way home, it was close to non existent. I think that this meal could have been served as a vegetarian option because the 9 chips on my plate dwarfed the flesh I was eager to rip into.
- Onion rings..... I have just realised that the bastards didn't even put the onion rings on my fucking plate! I thought you couldn't miss what you never had....... That saying is a fucking lie, a plain and bare faced lie.
- Onion rings..... I have just realised that the bastards didn't even put the onion rings on my fucking plate! I thought you couldn't miss what you never had....... That saying is a fucking lie, a plain and bare faced lie.
- Fried egg..... By now I have all but given up. 2 words........ Quail egg.
My meal was gone within 3 minutes due to it being so small, but at least I had dessert, or at least I thought I did.
first out came a kid's ice cream for Charlie, he was happier than a pig in poo, then came 3 portions of chocolate fudge cake, one each for Kelly, Katie and Harry. Kelly ordered hers cold, it came hot, but hers were the least of our pudding related problems.
I ordered the Victoria trifle, it sounded amazing and I started to drool at the prospect of something to eat after my starter of a main course.
The dessert was described as follows:
A Victoria sponge topped with Strawberry jam, Custard Syllabub and clotted cream mousse, finished with toasted flaked almonds and served with Cornish vanilla ice cream. Tell me that doesn't sound fucking incredible! OK I haven't got a scooby what Syllabub is, I'd have guessed at it being a common Turkish surname, in fact I am sure I have heard the guy at the Kebab house call his mate Mehmet Syllabub.
I waited, and I waited and I waited a little longer. Everybody else had finished their dessert and stared across the table at me like I was the odd one out. It never came, not a bastard thing, I was looking forward to that more than a holiday in Florida but I was left more disappointed than a blind man who thought he could see but turned out to just be having a dream.
I am sat here typing this with tears streaming down my face, I want the world to come to and end so other people know my sorrow.
I'm off to write a nice letter to the company that own the restaurant, if I can make it rude enough I'll post it on here later in the week.
The world sucks.
My meal was gone within 3 minutes due to it being so small, but at least I had dessert, or at least I thought I did.
first out came a kid's ice cream for Charlie, he was happier than a pig in poo, then came 3 portions of chocolate fudge cake, one each for Kelly, Katie and Harry. Kelly ordered hers cold, it came hot, but hers were the least of our pudding related problems.
I ordered the Victoria trifle, it sounded amazing and I started to drool at the prospect of something to eat after my starter of a main course.
The dessert was described as follows:
A Victoria sponge topped with Strawberry jam, Custard Syllabub and clotted cream mousse, finished with toasted flaked almonds and served with Cornish vanilla ice cream. Tell me that doesn't sound fucking incredible! OK I haven't got a scooby what Syllabub is, I'd have guessed at it being a common Turkish surname, in fact I am sure I have heard the guy at the Kebab house call his mate Mehmet Syllabub.
I waited, and I waited and I waited a little longer. Everybody else had finished their dessert and stared across the table at me like I was the odd one out. It never came, not a bastard thing, I was looking forward to that more than a holiday in Florida but I was left more disappointed than a blind man who thought he could see but turned out to just be having a dream.
I am sat here typing this with tears streaming down my face, I want the world to come to and end so other people know my sorrow.
I'm off to write a nice letter to the company that own the restaurant, if I can make it rude enough I'll post it on here later in the week.
The world sucks.
Wednesday, 1 January 2014
HAPPY NEW YEAR!..... Or not.
Well first of all let me get the pleasantries out of the way. I wish you, your family and your friends a very happy new year. I mean that too, some people will have had a great 2013, others will have had a truly shitty one (Like us for example).
Now lets get down to business, as Big Ben struck out those thunderous bongs there was a happy, calm dare I say it almost normal feeling in our house. It's not often we can say that!
Kelly, Katie and my nephew Harry all stayed up to see in the new year, Kelly was roped into playing some form of dog racing betting game, she looked ready to kill or be killed long before it had finished. I managed to dodge this bullet and instead settled down in front of the TV for a few games on the XBOX.
Before I knew it a couple of hours had passed, the missus made some shoddy excuse about being tired and skulked off to bed, with the kids not far behind her. I continued playing Battlefield 4 for a little while, but just as I started to feel tired I heard some curious voices permeating the wall of our house.
At this point I would warn you that if you are of a sensitive nature you may not wish to continue, but who are you kidding, there's no way you're going to stop reading this now, is there?
The voices started off muted at first, you know what I mean I'm sure, a raised voice but kept hushed because the conversation/argument hasn't properly developed. Within minutes the dial had been turned a couple of notches and I could hear the voices more clearly.......
Man: You, my mum, my dad and everyone else for that matter are ruining my fucking lives (I did briefly ponder how many lives one person could have, but then I came to the conclusion he was possibly half cat)
Woman:: How have we ruined your fackin' life?
Man: You just can't stand..... mmmmmffff...mmmffffffff........ fackin' let it go can you?
Woman: Just calm down...
At this point there was a lot of banging, 4 or 5 really loud bangs, and then a splintering, smashing type of sound. I assume he punched through a cupboard door, what a fucking macho man!
Man: Well you can all fack right off, I'll just fucking kill myself!
Woman: What are you talking about, there's no need to be so fackin' stupid, you ain't gonna do shit.
Man: I will! I'll fucking kill myself!
Man: I'm not fackin' scared to do it, I'll fackin' kill myself!
Woman: No you won't, just calm down!
Man: Pack your bags and get out of my house, I want you gone, the lot of you just GO!
There was a lot of slamming of doors, more screaming and shouting (outside now) and then silence, golden, blissful silence. Now I was going to go out and tell them to knock their shit off, or I'd do it for them, but for some reason (I can't think of why) I decided to not get involved in somebody else's domestic strop.
But this posed a dilemma, what the hell am I supposed to do to ensure this shit never happens again? I decided that I'd write a nice polite letter, tell me what you think....... You can either reply on this blog (comments below this thread) or drop me a facebook message of some kind. Well here's what I planned on writing.
Dear neighbours,
We haven't met yet, I know you moved in a couple of weeks ago, but our paths have not yet crossed. It's lovely to finally hear your voices, and I can't wait to put a face to them.
I'd just like to thank you for including us in your 3:30am discussion about your mother and father ruining your life. I've never felt so at ease with a stranger than I did this evening as cups, saucers, tables and chairs rained against the other side of my dining room wall.
I particularly liked the bit where you said you'd kill yourself, it was a real high point of the evening as we ushered in a new start. Please let me share a little secret with you...... If you EVER bang and crash around like that again, you won't need to contemplate suicide, because I will kick your fucking door in, drag you into the street, cut your tongue out and staple it to your fucking forehead.
Don't make idle threats, if you want to die, then my dear neighbour just go for it. I am fairly sure that the world will not miss one more knuckle dragging oxygen thief.
I have phoned the Jeremy Kyle show, but without a few more details he's not willing to give you a slot on his show, so can you please provide me with the following information that I can pass on.
1 - Are you the father of your girlfriend's baby?
2 - Are you unemployed?
3 - Do you smoke copious amounts of weed or crack? If not are you willing to start so you can fail the obligatory drug test?
4 - Have you ever hit a woman?
5 - Are you willing to be told to 'put something on the end of it' and stop reproducing?
Once you have supplied these details I am sure Jezza can make some form of soap opera out of your fucking shambles of a family life.
You woke up my children, you woke up my wife and you annoyed the life out of me, so I warn you once more, DO NOT EVER, EVER, EEEEEVER pull that shit again, or I will shovel enough fucking pills down your gullet that you'll feel like a goose shortly before its liver is ripped out of it's fucking warm carcass to make foie gras.
Please find attached 12 packets of aspirin, 12 packets of ibuprofen, 12 packets of paracetamol and a carton of Um Bongo (They drink it in the Congo) If you should ever feel the cage rage building and another handbag waving fight is looking likely, I'd appreciate it if you start guzzling the pills down like a fat kid with a bag of skittles. I'll be there to make sure you swallow the lot, and if you start to feel a little full up I will gladly force the rest of them down your pie hole with a cricket bat. This way my children won't sit there worried that the fucking wall is going to cave in and I won't have to listen to you.
Alternatively you could use them to cure the thumping great big hangover and embarrassment that you'll be feeling after last nights twattishness.
Once again, great to make your acquaintance, I look forward to quiet neighbourly barbecue's in the summer, and building nice snowmen in the winter.
Kind regards,
Dave
So should I send it or not? I don't really care as I don't know them, I don't care about them and if they take exception to what I write then I can punch him in the throat and claim self defense.
2014 already sucks and it's only 5 hours old!
I'm now off to get something to eat, as I haven't eaten since last year!
Much love, Thanks for reading and once more I hope you have a joyous, prosperous and very, very happy new year.
Now lets get down to business, as Big Ben struck out those thunderous bongs there was a happy, calm dare I say it almost normal feeling in our house. It's not often we can say that!
Kelly, Katie and my nephew Harry all stayed up to see in the new year, Kelly was roped into playing some form of dog racing betting game, she looked ready to kill or be killed long before it had finished. I managed to dodge this bullet and instead settled down in front of the TV for a few games on the XBOX.
Before I knew it a couple of hours had passed, the missus made some shoddy excuse about being tired and skulked off to bed, with the kids not far behind her. I continued playing Battlefield 4 for a little while, but just as I started to feel tired I heard some curious voices permeating the wall of our house.
At this point I would warn you that if you are of a sensitive nature you may not wish to continue, but who are you kidding, there's no way you're going to stop reading this now, is there?
The voices started off muted at first, you know what I mean I'm sure, a raised voice but kept hushed because the conversation/argument hasn't properly developed. Within minutes the dial had been turned a couple of notches and I could hear the voices more clearly.......
Man: You, my mum, my dad and everyone else for that matter are ruining my fucking lives (I did briefly ponder how many lives one person could have, but then I came to the conclusion he was possibly half cat)
Woman:: How have we ruined your fackin' life?
Man: You just can't stand..... mmmmmffff...mmmffffffff........ fackin' let it go can you?
Woman: Just calm down...
At this point there was a lot of banging, 4 or 5 really loud bangs, and then a splintering, smashing type of sound. I assume he punched through a cupboard door, what a fucking macho man!
Man: Well you can all fack right off, I'll just fucking kill myself!
Woman: What are you talking about, there's no need to be so fackin' stupid, you ain't gonna do shit.
Man: I will! I'll fucking kill myself!
Man: I'm not fackin' scared to do it, I'll fackin' kill myself!
Woman: No you won't, just calm down!
Man: Pack your bags and get out of my house, I want you gone, the lot of you just GO!
There was a lot of slamming of doors, more screaming and shouting (outside now) and then silence, golden, blissful silence. Now I was going to go out and tell them to knock their shit off, or I'd do it for them, but for some reason (I can't think of why) I decided to not get involved in somebody else's domestic strop.
But this posed a dilemma, what the hell am I supposed to do to ensure this shit never happens again? I decided that I'd write a nice polite letter, tell me what you think....... You can either reply on this blog (comments below this thread) or drop me a facebook message of some kind. Well here's what I planned on writing.
Dear neighbours,
We haven't met yet, I know you moved in a couple of weeks ago, but our paths have not yet crossed. It's lovely to finally hear your voices, and I can't wait to put a face to them.
I'd just like to thank you for including us in your 3:30am discussion about your mother and father ruining your life. I've never felt so at ease with a stranger than I did this evening as cups, saucers, tables and chairs rained against the other side of my dining room wall.
I particularly liked the bit where you said you'd kill yourself, it was a real high point of the evening as we ushered in a new start. Please let me share a little secret with you...... If you EVER bang and crash around like that again, you won't need to contemplate suicide, because I will kick your fucking door in, drag you into the street, cut your tongue out and staple it to your fucking forehead.
Don't make idle threats, if you want to die, then my dear neighbour just go for it. I am fairly sure that the world will not miss one more knuckle dragging oxygen thief.
I have phoned the Jeremy Kyle show, but without a few more details he's not willing to give you a slot on his show, so can you please provide me with the following information that I can pass on.
1 - Are you the father of your girlfriend's baby?
2 - Are you unemployed?
3 - Do you smoke copious amounts of weed or crack? If not are you willing to start so you can fail the obligatory drug test?
4 - Have you ever hit a woman?
5 - Are you willing to be told to 'put something on the end of it' and stop reproducing?
Once you have supplied these details I am sure Jezza can make some form of soap opera out of your fucking shambles of a family life.
You woke up my children, you woke up my wife and you annoyed the life out of me, so I warn you once more, DO NOT EVER, EVER, EEEEEVER pull that shit again, or I will shovel enough fucking pills down your gullet that you'll feel like a goose shortly before its liver is ripped out of it's fucking warm carcass to make foie gras.
Please find attached 12 packets of aspirin, 12 packets of ibuprofen, 12 packets of paracetamol and a carton of Um Bongo (They drink it in the Congo) If you should ever feel the cage rage building and another handbag waving fight is looking likely, I'd appreciate it if you start guzzling the pills down like a fat kid with a bag of skittles. I'll be there to make sure you swallow the lot, and if you start to feel a little full up I will gladly force the rest of them down your pie hole with a cricket bat. This way my children won't sit there worried that the fucking wall is going to cave in and I won't have to listen to you.
Alternatively you could use them to cure the thumping great big hangover and embarrassment that you'll be feeling after last nights twattishness.
Once again, great to make your acquaintance, I look forward to quiet neighbourly barbecue's in the summer, and building nice snowmen in the winter.
Kind regards,
Dave
So should I send it or not? I don't really care as I don't know them, I don't care about them and if they take exception to what I write then I can punch him in the throat and claim self defense.
2014 already sucks and it's only 5 hours old!
I'm now off to get something to eat, as I haven't eaten since last year!
Much love, Thanks for reading and once more I hope you have a joyous, prosperous and very, very happy new year.
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