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.
Wednesday, 18 September 2013
Burger king bastards
Today Katie had a friend over for dinner, they both wanted a burger and chips for dinner so Kelly went to Burger king...
Those of you who know me in real life or through facebook will know I have been trying to reform my grumpy, angry and nasty attitude, and it was going so well, but this afternoon that fragile peace was smashed into a million pieces, and I was left with a twitching eyelid that wouldn't have looked out of place of the face of a serial killer from a Hollywood blockbuster.
This is the letter I am sending them (complete with the pictures) in the hope that they will compensate me with thousands of pounds.
Dear Burger King,
Good morning, I'd like to start this letter with a short quiz.
Here's your starter for 10.
1) When was the last major potato shortage?
2) How much does a large potato cost?
3) Can you see where this letter might be heading?
Right, time's up, please stop writing and put down your crayons (if you haven't eaten them already)
How did you get on? The answers are (1) I don't care (2) less than 10 pence, but still I don't care and finally (3) Your portion sizes.
My daughter had a friend over today after school, they had both been very good so the wife and I decided to treat them to a burger and chips from your Ely (Cambridgeshire) restaurant. As soon as the kids mentioned Burger King I phoned up the Royal bank of Scotland and released a chunk of equity to pay for our meal. The wife headed off to grab the food while I waited at home for our tasty bounty to return home.
First of all I'd like to say that the staff in the Ely restaurant were very polite and accommodating, however if it came down to some form of challenge involving your restaurant making 4 simple meals and a snail merrily wending its way from Lands end to John O'Groats, I know which one I'd put my money on winning.
Now let's get down to the order and meal....
1 x Hamburger meal (kids)
1 x Cheeseburger meal (kids)
1 x Chicken burger meal (kids)
and finally
1 x ***LARGE*** Double whopper meal
Let me point out at this stage that £18.36 for that small order is daylight robbery, the wife looked around the car park for a policeman so she could report the fact she'd just been mugged, sadly there was none to hand.
To give some scale of the enormous price you charge I decided to turn to charity as an example of how steep the cost of your meals actually is.
For around the same money I could:
Send an entire tool kit to Eritrea to dig and build a well
or
Supply 10 x rainwater collection systems
or
4 monthly contributions to MAGPAS/AIR AMBULANCE
or
130 Polio vaccinations
or finally
73 Meningitis vaccines.
I was so disgusted with the cost that I have donated the equivalent of the price of the meal to Oxfam, I wonder if you're willing to match it?
The meals were so small that if they'd been sent to a third world country they would probably have had to ask for second helpings, sadly that's not something you offer the poor mugs that you call customers.
The thing that pissed me off the most was the size of my portion of fries...... I pulled the carton out of the bag and immediately accused the children of having stolen my large portion of fries. However upon closer inspection all of the kids meals had a paper bag for their chips.
I decided I had to investigate my meagre portion of chips, so I poured them into the lid of my burger box, took off my shoes and socks and began to count...... 16, 17, 18, 19.....Done, as in both finished counting and robbed. I'd reached the last chip and there was still a little piggy left over that could go wee wee wee wee wee all the way home!
19 bastard chips, NINETEEN! it doesn't matter how you write it, it still looks like far too few for a LARGE meal! I at least expected to have to count on my 6th toe when I got past 20, but I couldn't even do that!
Most of the fries were incredibly small too, most of them lucky to make 2" it was like they were suffering from some form of starch based dwarfism!It was more like potato shavings than French fries!
I did however have one chip that must have been AT LEAST 4 inches long, I named him Gulliver, he was like a giant among a village of tiny lilliputians.
To say I was disappointed is an understatement.
This brings me to the next item on my agenda..... Napkins, I'm not sure how many trees had to die for the ridiculous amount of napkins we were given, but suffice to say that if they had been dumped in the middle of the BP oil spill of 2010 it would have averted a catastrophic wildlife issue that killed millions of animals.
We received 7 portions of Ketchup, which when you consider the fact that we had around 70 chips between the 4 of us it constitutes a massive condiment overload. 3 Sachets of mayo were also included, which seemed far more sensible.
We also received 1 packet of salt between the 4 of us, now I fully understand that too much salt is bad for you, but this is just plain silly, as we counted out the individual grains and passed them round we could only speculate on why we got so little salt.
My theory is that you've signed a lucrative deal with the highways agency to provide salt for the annual winter road gritting in East Anglia and are therefore rationing the amount given out in your restaurants.
I will say this, the food tasted amazing, and although I am sitting here still hungry (lack of chips, in case you hadn't guessed) and as we finished our food (around 12 seconds after we started) we reached for the finger wipes.
Given the shortage of chips and salt, and the wealth of Ketchup and napkins it was going to be like watching the lottery numbers being selected one by one, such was our anticipation. At this point the excitement was too much and my wife dove into the bag, as her hand slowly raised from the deepest recess of the bag I waited, open mouthed.......
1 fucking finger wipe..... 1 fucking wipe, between 4 of us......You've got to be joking right?
Get fucked.
Dave Powell.
Those of you who know me in real life or through facebook will know I have been trying to reform my grumpy, angry and nasty attitude, and it was going so well, but this afternoon that fragile peace was smashed into a million pieces, and I was left with a twitching eyelid that wouldn't have looked out of place of the face of a serial killer from a Hollywood blockbuster.
This is the letter I am sending them (complete with the pictures) in the hope that they will compensate me with thousands of pounds.
Dear Burger King,
Good morning, I'd like to start this letter with a short quiz.
Here's your starter for 10.
1) When was the last major potato shortage?
2) How much does a large potato cost?
3) Can you see where this letter might be heading?
Right, time's up, please stop writing and put down your crayons (if you haven't eaten them already)
How did you get on? The answers are (1) I don't care (2) less than 10 pence, but still I don't care and finally (3) Your portion sizes.
My daughter had a friend over today after school, they had both been very good so the wife and I decided to treat them to a burger and chips from your Ely (Cambridgeshire) restaurant. As soon as the kids mentioned Burger King I phoned up the Royal bank of Scotland and released a chunk of equity to pay for our meal. The wife headed off to grab the food while I waited at home for our tasty bounty to return home.
First of all I'd like to say that the staff in the Ely restaurant were very polite and accommodating, however if it came down to some form of challenge involving your restaurant making 4 simple meals and a snail merrily wending its way from Lands end to John O'Groats, I know which one I'd put my money on winning.
Now let's get down to the order and meal....
1 x Hamburger meal (kids)
1 x Cheeseburger meal (kids)
1 x Chicken burger meal (kids)
and finally
1 x ***LARGE*** Double whopper meal
Let me point out at this stage that £18.36 for that small order is daylight robbery, the wife looked around the car park for a policeman so she could report the fact she'd just been mugged, sadly there was none to hand.
To give some scale of the enormous price you charge I decided to turn to charity as an example of how steep the cost of your meals actually is.
For around the same money I could:
Send an entire tool kit to Eritrea to dig and build a well
or
Supply 10 x rainwater collection systems
or
4 monthly contributions to MAGPAS/AIR AMBULANCE
or
130 Polio vaccinations
or finally
73 Meningitis vaccines.
I was so disgusted with the cost that I have donated the equivalent of the price of the meal to Oxfam, I wonder if you're willing to match it?
The meals were so small that if they'd been sent to a third world country they would probably have had to ask for second helpings, sadly that's not something you offer the poor mugs that you call customers.
The thing that pissed me off the most was the size of my portion of fries...... I pulled the carton out of the bag and immediately accused the children of having stolen my large portion of fries. However upon closer inspection all of the kids meals had a paper bag for their chips.
I decided I had to investigate my meagre portion of chips, so I poured them into the lid of my burger box, took off my shoes and socks and began to count...... 16, 17, 18, 19.....Done, as in both finished counting and robbed. I'd reached the last chip and there was still a little piggy left over that could go wee wee wee wee wee all the way home!
19 bastard chips, NINETEEN! it doesn't matter how you write it, it still looks like far too few for a LARGE meal! I at least expected to have to count on my 6th toe when I got past 20, but I couldn't even do that!
Most of the fries were incredibly small too, most of them lucky to make 2" it was like they were suffering from some form of starch based dwarfism!It was more like potato shavings than French fries!
I did however have one chip that must have been AT LEAST 4 inches long, I named him Gulliver, he was like a giant among a village of tiny lilliputians.
To say I was disappointed is an understatement.
This brings me to the next item on my agenda..... Napkins, I'm not sure how many trees had to die for the ridiculous amount of napkins we were given, but suffice to say that if they had been dumped in the middle of the BP oil spill of 2010 it would have averted a catastrophic wildlife issue that killed millions of animals.
We received 7 portions of Ketchup, which when you consider the fact that we had around 70 chips between the 4 of us it constitutes a massive condiment overload. 3 Sachets of mayo were also included, which seemed far more sensible.
We also received 1 packet of salt between the 4 of us, now I fully understand that too much salt is bad for you, but this is just plain silly, as we counted out the individual grains and passed them round we could only speculate on why we got so little salt.
My theory is that you've signed a lucrative deal with the highways agency to provide salt for the annual winter road gritting in East Anglia and are therefore rationing the amount given out in your restaurants.
I will say this, the food tasted amazing, and although I am sitting here still hungry (lack of chips, in case you hadn't guessed) and as we finished our food (around 12 seconds after we started) we reached for the finger wipes.
Given the shortage of chips and salt, and the wealth of Ketchup and napkins it was going to be like watching the lottery numbers being selected one by one, such was our anticipation. At this point the excitement was too much and my wife dove into the bag, as her hand slowly raised from the deepest recess of the bag I waited, open mouthed.......
1 fucking finger wipe..... 1 fucking wipe, between 4 of us......You've got to be joking right?
Get fucked.
Dave Powell.
Sunday, 1 September 2013
Is that a Teletubby?
Sometimes you see something that is so incredible, so out of
the ordinary that it makes you stop dead in your tracks and ask “Did that
really just happen?”. You look at whoever you happen to be with and sort of
mouth the words “whathefuck???” and in return you receive a vacant expression
from your conversation counterpart.
Well this very situation arose the other day at Drayton manor theme park. Kelly, the kids and I met up with John Senior, his wife Lynsey and their boys Owen and Devon. A good day was had by all and as we wandered our way around the park we took in the sights and sounds of Staffordshire and the wide variety of errrrrr... interesting people the place has to offer.
Well this very situation arose the other day at Drayton manor theme park. Kelly, the kids and I met up with John Senior, his wife Lynsey and their boys Owen and Devon. A good day was had by all and as we wandered our way around the park we took in the sights and sounds of Staffordshire and the wide variety of errrrrr... interesting people the place has to offer.
We saw tall people, short people, foreign people, English
people, fat people, thin people.... and then we saw a fucking human version of
a teletubby! I shit you not, this lady looked exactly like La La from the
television program that makes you want to have seizures and gouge your own eyes
out with a rusty teaspoon.
She was wearing a full on yellow outfit, head to toe custard, she looked like the third member of banana’s in pyjama’s and unluckily for her John had spotted her and the furnace of his imagination was cooking up something terrible! “LOOK, IT’S A TELETUBBY!” now John’s not the quietest or most subtle of people at the best of times, but it appeared that all of the rides stopped, and every child ceased crying all at once and the comment carried on the breeze like a Chinese lantern.
She was wearing a full on yellow outfit, head to toe custard, she looked like the third member of banana’s in pyjama’s and unluckily for her John had spotted her and the furnace of his imagination was cooking up something terrible! “LOOK, IT’S A TELETUBBY!” now John’s not the quietest or most subtle of people at the best of times, but it appeared that all of the rides stopped, and every child ceased crying all at once and the comment carried on the breeze like a Chinese lantern.
Thankfully I don’t think she spoke English so a bullet was
most definitely dodged at this point, but this was just a sideshow to the main
attraction of the day.
The Pokemon incident.
I have written and rewritten this piece about the Pokemon situation, and no matter how I write it I cannot adequately convey the awesomeness of what we witnessed. It is something that I would find hard to top, it will remain top of my weirdshitometer list for a long time to come. And unless I happen to see Zippy from rainbow riding on John Major’s back whilst shooting apples off of a Dalek’s head with a crossbow it will never be toppled.
Ok, so here we go....
We decided to head over to the Zoo area of Drayton manor, we all wanted to make sure we took in as much of the park as possible and they had some pretty cool animals in there, my favourite was the Black Panther, although this was soon topped by a chance encounter with a real life pokemon master and his Squirtle Pokemon.
Now I appreciate not everyone will know who Squirtle is, or what Pokemon is either, so allow me to briefly explain. Pokemon was/is a cartoon and media franchise, it is based around a pokemon master named Ash and he owns and tends to a list of creatures named Pokemon. They vary from turtles to triffid like plants that fire razor sharp leaves at their opponent.
Well we immediately started talking about him behind his back, comments such as ‘I hope the monkey tears one of his fingers off’ and ‘I hope the monkey eats his face’ were quick to emerge, and although this would have been awesome it wouldn’t have been a patch on what happened next...
Man: “OI YOU!”
Boy looks around startled.
Man: “Get away from that fence, leave those monkeys alone!”
Boy looks confused
Man: “I am so angry with you I can’t even speak right now!”
This may not seem out of the ordinary, but when we looked at the angry zookeeper it just got better and better, He was charging towards our little startled foreign monkey teasing friend WITH A 3 FOOT LONG TURTLE IN HIS HANDS! I shit you not, it was so surreal I was lost for words.
All I could picture was the man screaming at the top of his voice “Squirtle, I choose you!” and throwing the shelled superhero in the boys face. He was marching closer and closer and we hoped against hope that he’d let the Turtle maul the lads face off, however it was not meant to be. The foreign lad trotted off looking suitably startled and we were trying hard not to piss ourselves with laughter in case we were angry turtle mans next victims.
The hedgehog devil.
Well, I was going to leave it there, but last night we ordered pizza for dinner, the kids were crying about me not feeding them and I hadn't eaten in the last hour. We ordered from a shop in Ely and chose to have it delivered.
After about 40 minutes there was a knock at the door, followed by a shuffling scurrying type noise from outside. I went to the door and the delivery driver was stood at the far end of the pathway with a look of terror in his eyes. Immediately I expected to be mauled from my left by a pack of rabid geese, or ripped in half by Godzilla, but there was nothing there.
Me: "Are you ok mate?"
Driver: "What is this, WHAT IS IT???"
Me: "What are you talking about mate?"
Driver: "That THAT THAT THING!"
At this point he jabbed a gnarled finger in the direction of my front garden, I strained my eyes trying to make out the terror that lay in wait for me.
Me: "It's a fucking hedgehog mate, It won't hurt you!"
Driver: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Pretty sure pal"
Driver: "ok that'll be £21.20 please"
I pay the man, and as I close the door I can't help but remember how much I love being a rude bastard......
Me: "And don't fucking eat it"
With that I closed the door, smiled to myself and ate a pizza the size of a dustbin lid.
Goodnight all :)
Sunday, 25 August 2013
The day I farted on a midget......
Right, I know straight away some people will be utterly horrified at the fact I am talking about farting, but let's be honest, whether you keep them silent or rip them out loud and proud for the world to hear we ALL do it.
I don't care about people farting, as long as they have the decency to go check their underwear if the smell doesn't dissipate within 3 minutes. In fact I welcome it, because there's no point in someone sitting there in pain with a bloated stomach that's uncomfortable and makes you feel shitty.
HOWEVER, sometimes there are places you'd be best to keep them held in for just a few precious moments to avoid an incredibly embarrassing situation arising. Here's the back story of how I wished I'd heeded this vitally important information.
After a heavy night on the beer and curry with friends I got home at about 2am, I felt fine except maybe for being full to bursting. I crawled upstairs to bed and closed my eyes, started counting sheep and soon fell into a deep sleep.
At about 3am I woke up to a rumbling noise, was it a lorry going past? could it be a hungry lion just outside the bedroom door perhaps? There it was again, but it was now clear what it was, my stomach had bloated massively (even more than it normally is) and I quickly realised the situation was desperate, I needed the toilet and I needed it NOW!
I scooted myself down to the foot of the bed and crawled slowly towards the bathroom, my stomach hurting more and more, I was in agony. I won't give you the full on details but I looked like some form of elaborate sprinkler system with liquids appearing from just about every conceivable orifice.
Satisfied I'd cured myself I skulked back off to my bed, I must have fallen asleep fairly quickly and the next thing I remember was Kelly shouting at me to wake up. She explained that we needed to go into town for something vitally important, possibly a pen or something equally as vital and for some reason she couldn't go on her own.
I felt a little dizzy thanks to the large quantity of Stella I had consumed in various establishments around town but my stomach had returned to it's normal size of hideously fat so I figured I'd be safe.
We parked up in town and as I reached to unfasten my seat belt I felt it, that familiar bubbling sensation that we've all experienced in the past. The body's way of telling you that you've pissed it off and it plans on reminding you of the fact in the most embarrassing and disgusting way possible.
As we walked down the High street it happened, the first signs I needed to let one go, and I knew the chicken madras I'd had the night before was going to wreak it's terrible revenge upon me. By now I was walking oddly, like Charlie Chaplin minus the cane, and I knew it was now or never. I glanced around carefully, no one was within 20 feet of me (apart from Kelly of course) so I decided to let it go quietly......
The madras and Stella bubbles however had other ideas, It let rip like a broken fog horn, PAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP! I felt instantly better, people on the other side of the street had clearly heard it, but I tried to mask who perpetrated the crime by staring at Kelly in disbelief. It was then that I heard the tut of absolute disgust.
I turned around, nothing, nobody there at all, in fact I was starting to think I'd imagined it when I looked down. Stood behind me, licking the taste of it off of her teeth was a little woman, she was not even four feet tall, so she'd have copped the full hairdryer effect right in the nostrils. Being 6'4" tall I never thought to look down for a munchkin before polluting the area, she was not happy and neither was I. I looked at her for what felt like an eternity but was only a few seconds, what should I say? Should I apologise? What I did next was fight or flight mentality...... I ran, I ran as fast as I could, Kelly stood there with our little oompa loompa friend in bemusement, I got about 50 yards before collapsing in an unfit heap in the doorway of the bakers.
I'm not entirely proud of this story, but I have grown to accept the fact that the situation was out of my control.
The moral of the story is as follows: Check all directions before unleashing the gaseous hounds of hell in a public place.
Hope you enjoy your dinner :)
I don't care about people farting, as long as they have the decency to go check their underwear if the smell doesn't dissipate within 3 minutes. In fact I welcome it, because there's no point in someone sitting there in pain with a bloated stomach that's uncomfortable and makes you feel shitty.
HOWEVER, sometimes there are places you'd be best to keep them held in for just a few precious moments to avoid an incredibly embarrassing situation arising. Here's the back story of how I wished I'd heeded this vitally important information.
After a heavy night on the beer and curry with friends I got home at about 2am, I felt fine except maybe for being full to bursting. I crawled upstairs to bed and closed my eyes, started counting sheep and soon fell into a deep sleep.
At about 3am I woke up to a rumbling noise, was it a lorry going past? could it be a hungry lion just outside the bedroom door perhaps? There it was again, but it was now clear what it was, my stomach had bloated massively (even more than it normally is) and I quickly realised the situation was desperate, I needed the toilet and I needed it NOW!
I scooted myself down to the foot of the bed and crawled slowly towards the bathroom, my stomach hurting more and more, I was in agony. I won't give you the full on details but I looked like some form of elaborate sprinkler system with liquids appearing from just about every conceivable orifice.
Satisfied I'd cured myself I skulked back off to my bed, I must have fallen asleep fairly quickly and the next thing I remember was Kelly shouting at me to wake up. She explained that we needed to go into town for something vitally important, possibly a pen or something equally as vital and for some reason she couldn't go on her own.
I felt a little dizzy thanks to the large quantity of Stella I had consumed in various establishments around town but my stomach had returned to it's normal size of hideously fat so I figured I'd be safe.
We parked up in town and as I reached to unfasten my seat belt I felt it, that familiar bubbling sensation that we've all experienced in the past. The body's way of telling you that you've pissed it off and it plans on reminding you of the fact in the most embarrassing and disgusting way possible.
As we walked down the High street it happened, the first signs I needed to let one go, and I knew the chicken madras I'd had the night before was going to wreak it's terrible revenge upon me. By now I was walking oddly, like Charlie Chaplin minus the cane, and I knew it was now or never. I glanced around carefully, no one was within 20 feet of me (apart from Kelly of course) so I decided to let it go quietly......
The madras and Stella bubbles however had other ideas, It let rip like a broken fog horn, PAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP! I felt instantly better, people on the other side of the street had clearly heard it, but I tried to mask who perpetrated the crime by staring at Kelly in disbelief. It was then that I heard the tut of absolute disgust.
I turned around, nothing, nobody there at all, in fact I was starting to think I'd imagined it when I looked down. Stood behind me, licking the taste of it off of her teeth was a little woman, she was not even four feet tall, so she'd have copped the full hairdryer effect right in the nostrils. Being 6'4" tall I never thought to look down for a munchkin before polluting the area, she was not happy and neither was I. I looked at her for what felt like an eternity but was only a few seconds, what should I say? Should I apologise? What I did next was fight or flight mentality...... I ran, I ran as fast as I could, Kelly stood there with our little oompa loompa friend in bemusement, I got about 50 yards before collapsing in an unfit heap in the doorway of the bakers.
I'm not entirely proud of this story, but I have grown to accept the fact that the situation was out of my control.
The moral of the story is as follows: Check all directions before unleashing the gaseous hounds of hell in a public place.
Hope you enjoy your dinner :)
Thursday, 11 July 2013
Hypocrites!
Right, I was looking through my facebook timeline and I stumbled across a screenshot from general grumpy pants John Senior!
I read it and instantly the message resonated with me.
Greenpeace have decided to send 6 women to London to climb the shard, the tallest building in Great Britain, to prove some point about climate change and the oil and gas drilling in the arctic.
It made me chuckle when I saw the picture of the 6 intrepid explorers and their extensive array of climbing gear. Let us look at it in closer detail.
1) Climbing helmets - Made from Petrochemicals, a derivative of OIL
2) Nylon ropes - Made from Petrochemicals, a derivative of OIL
3) Climbing shoes - Rubber soles, made from Petrochemicals, a derivative of OIL
4) Kit bags - Synthetic material, Made from Petrochemicals, a derivative of OIL
5) Clothing - Made abroad and shipped here via boat, air or road, using large amounts of.... you guessed it! OIL!!!
I could go on and on and on about the things they are wearing but I won't, I'll switch my focus to the fact that it is highly likely they arrived for this feat of stupidity by either public transport or car as they are unlikely to have walked from the four corners of the earth. So let's look at that shall we.....
1) Bus - runs on Diesel, has rubber tyres, has oil lubricating the engine, multiple rubber parts, multiple plastic parts and artificial fabric for seating.
2) Train - runs on electricity which is supplied by either FOSSIL FUEL based power stations or NUCLEAR (which they apparently don't like either)
3) Plane - Don't even get me started.
4) Car - Pretty much the same as the bus.
Having just read another article on this story I can tell you that 4 of the climbers came to London from overseas to prove a point about the drilling for gas and oil..... They came from Belgium, Sweden, Holland and Poland. Now I am fairly sure that none of them swam and walked their sizeable journey, nor are they likely to have the command of a giant eagle to swoop down, pick them up tenderly in their mighty talons and fly them to London.
So unless they jumped on an elephant (animal abuse if I am thinking along their lines) or horse drawn carriage (the same) to get them to their destination I would suggest they have used products that have been made from the very thing they are trying to stop people from finding.
It never ceases to amaze me how dumb these people can be.
So I propose the following, we all go down to the shard, we construct watermelon catapults from wood, natural rubber and a cow hide sling (All sustainable and replaceable products) and charge the tourists £1 a shot to see if they can knock these hypocrites off of the side of the building.
The money that will be generated can probably pay for the advancement of research to find a way to power these energy stations with chewed up bus tickets, camel shit and pulped dolphin that light up the side of the building they are climbing in protest of drilling for the oil and gas they use on a daily basis.
We could always switch to wind farms, solar power or tidal generators, but then Greenpeace don't like us ruining the countryside either.
Well I'm off to the car to rev the shit out of the engine, people always moan that this country is too cold, let's use climate change in our favour and make England warmer!
I read it and instantly the message resonated with me.
Greenpeace have decided to send 6 women to London to climb the shard, the tallest building in Great Britain, to prove some point about climate change and the oil and gas drilling in the arctic.
It made me chuckle when I saw the picture of the 6 intrepid explorers and their extensive array of climbing gear. Let us look at it in closer detail.
1) Climbing helmets - Made from Petrochemicals, a derivative of OIL
2) Nylon ropes - Made from Petrochemicals, a derivative of OIL
3) Climbing shoes - Rubber soles, made from Petrochemicals, a derivative of OIL
4) Kit bags - Synthetic material, Made from Petrochemicals, a derivative of OIL
5) Clothing - Made abroad and shipped here via boat, air or road, using large amounts of.... you guessed it! OIL!!!
I could go on and on and on about the things they are wearing but I won't, I'll switch my focus to the fact that it is highly likely they arrived for this feat of stupidity by either public transport or car as they are unlikely to have walked from the four corners of the earth. So let's look at that shall we.....
1) Bus - runs on Diesel, has rubber tyres, has oil lubricating the engine, multiple rubber parts, multiple plastic parts and artificial fabric for seating.
2) Train - runs on electricity which is supplied by either FOSSIL FUEL based power stations or NUCLEAR (which they apparently don't like either)
3) Plane - Don't even get me started.
4) Car - Pretty much the same as the bus.
Having just read another article on this story I can tell you that 4 of the climbers came to London from overseas to prove a point about the drilling for gas and oil..... They came from Belgium, Sweden, Holland and Poland. Now I am fairly sure that none of them swam and walked their sizeable journey, nor are they likely to have the command of a giant eagle to swoop down, pick them up tenderly in their mighty talons and fly them to London.
So unless they jumped on an elephant (animal abuse if I am thinking along their lines) or horse drawn carriage (the same) to get them to their destination I would suggest they have used products that have been made from the very thing they are trying to stop people from finding.
It never ceases to amaze me how dumb these people can be.
So I propose the following, we all go down to the shard, we construct watermelon catapults from wood, natural rubber and a cow hide sling (All sustainable and replaceable products) and charge the tourists £1 a shot to see if they can knock these hypocrites off of the side of the building.
The money that will be generated can probably pay for the advancement of research to find a way to power these energy stations with chewed up bus tickets, camel shit and pulped dolphin that light up the side of the building they are climbing in protest of drilling for the oil and gas they use on a daily basis.
We could always switch to wind farms, solar power or tidal generators, but then Greenpeace don't like us ruining the countryside either.
Well I'm off to the car to rev the shit out of the engine, people always moan that this country is too cold, let's use climate change in our favour and make England warmer!
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