Archive for June, 2009

Useless frickin’ Squ$%*&&$RRg!

June 30, 2009

How come it’s the most pointless jobs – the ones you just know as you’re being asked to do them, are the ones which require the most effort?

It’s these jobs, the most fiddly fucking ones, that you spend all day on, fixing this, sorting that, fishing that and trying to get it to work with the other, which inevitably (and you’re more than aware of this when you start) are destined for the bin.

And as you just come up trumps and are about to slap yourself on the back, having told the boss it’s done at last, expecting little treats thrown your way, the boss remembers: “Actually, forgot to tell you before lunch that wasn’t necessary after all”.


Smoking Culture #2: Lighter Acquisition Rules

June 29, 2009

My mother is one. And I know all too many people who wake up next day the same – tens of ‘accidentally’ pocketted lighters.
I’ve always been actively opposed to the practice, being a lighter-buyer. I am amazed at smokers who openly admit to the notion: “Who buys lighters? No-one!”
But I have fallen into the habit. I’ve only bought one out of my five last lighters.


It happens. But it needs governance. It needs policing. Rules to adhere to, bend and find exception for.

That’s where my lot come in. My friends have devised a system which legitimises lighter theft. Of course, this immediately opens up the area of corruption and turns it all into a damn game, but most of the rules are sound and provide a fairness.

All rules apply to disposable lighters. Zippos etc. may never be stolen.

1) If you wake up with a lighter, you officially own it.
2) If you are accused of acquiring a lighter by the owner on the day you acquired it, you must admit acquisition and return said lighter.
3) If someone is wrongly accused of lighter theft, the lighter in question must be relinquished. (i.e. you can accuse once, if you are incorrect, say goodbye to your green clicky).

The following exceptions have been contested, but myself and KJames adhere to them:
a) Lighters of sentimental value. (Said value must be demonstrated and proven to a convincing enough extent, possibly requiring an objective third party to determine said sentimental value).
b) Hexagonal roller Clippers are to be treated as under the ‘zippo’ rule.

Phwoar! (again)

Their one other rule has nothing to do with lighter acquisition and I take exception to its arbitrary and unnecessary finnickiness.

When (if) purchasing a lighter you have absolutely no right to voice preference of style or colour.

I agree regarding colour since it’s an interesting indication of what the person serving thinks of you. I like when they clearly consider the choice and lash over a deep purple or royal blue. Less so when they don’t and chuck a yellow at me. And less again when it’s a half considered choice and I get a black one.

But foot down at style. “Do you have any lighters that aren’t clickies?” I’ll ask if I can’t see any. If the answer is no I’ll get a box of matches.
If I see Clippers I will ask for a Clipper. It’s my damn prerogative to avoid child locked clickies at all costs. Damn it.

The indignation I get from the likes of Spook when I mention this is nothing short of pure dismissal.

So I steal his lighter.

Does this even cut it?

June 26, 2009

…two weeks later and the jury is still out.

Facial hair.

………………….PRO ………………………………….. CON

………………. Cool? ………….|…………… Stupid looking?
……………. Strokable ………|………………… Irritating
Less bother (shaving) .|…………. More hassle (grooming)
The manly manliness of it| I can’t actually grow a full beard
…… Blog post fodder. ..|Difficult to construct a pro/con table for
Has nothing to do with |…….Has nothing to do with
Michael Jackon’s death.. |………………..Michael Jackon’s death

All the Beautiful People

June 25, 2009

Yep. Every year we say the same things. The evenings are getting very long. Mad how everyone strips off as soon as the sun shines. Where do all the pretty ladies hide during Winter? Only gorgeous weather isn’t it?

oooh abstract reference

In the past week I’ve had theories ranging from flippant to reasonable regarding the hotness of the Summer girls in proportion to the hotness of the Summer days.

1) Attractive women hibernate.

2) When the sun shines and ladies are inclined to show flesh and frame (concealed by big old coats in Winter), the male eye sees more than just the pretty face. And let’s face it, guys are attracted to hot bodies. “You don’t look at the mantlepiece…” is one of the stupidest analogies I’ve ever heard, but you can see where it comes from.

3) The sun shines, brightening the day and toasting us all nicely. Skin glows in it. Legs and arms, muscles, bone structure – all on display. Shades are cool. Good mood. Smiles. Fitter. Healthier. Happier.

We all look better in the sun.
We all feel better in the sun.
We all look better when we feel better… and so on.

Let’s hope it lasts.

Smoking Culture #1: Disposables, with tips*

June 24, 2009

Smokers, we’re a dying breed. And the rich and fertile yeild of smoking culture has gone fairly unexplored on this blog.

Let’s get stuck in with a rant about disposable lighters.

Clickies, flint-roller ones and clippers. Child locks. Crazy gas flamers.

Got a light?

I hate clickies. There’s always plenty more gas left in them after the electronic spark ceases to ignite it. I can see the spark in there, and I can hear the gas rushing through. Feckin’ useless. And worse still in any breeze whatsoever.
Add a child lock to them and you may as well use the trusty packet of chewing gum. (*tip!* It’s always most amusing to hand someone a pack of gum and see them attempt to drunkenly light up with it).

*tip!*clicky child lock trick: Whip off a bit at the end of an incense stick and lodge it in the lock. You still have a really shitty lighter, but at least you can multiple-repeat-click into your jacket’s armpit on a windy day rather than scream at the thing before bouncing it off the ground and into on-coming traffic.

Flint rollers are fine. They’re the staple lighter – particularly bic. (*tip!* Always adjust them to singe eyebrows – do so by carefully removing the metal casing and adjusting the plastic do-hickey over the flame strength wheel so that it turns multiple times stronger than it ever should. *tip!*Always replace the casing or you’ll melt the bastard in the thirty seconds it takes to locate your phone under the couch in the pub. *tip!*Just ring the phone – it’ll light up). In some cases freeze your hand trying to refill them from a can of butane.
*tip!*Usually there’s a bit of flint left when the gas is gone, and if you’re so inclined you can hang on to it to flint-up the greatest of all dispolasbles, the modest but outstanding Clipper.


Clippers. What can’t they do? Clip them out. Clip them in. Clip them out. Turn the clippy-out around a bit. Clip it back in…

It’s a world of pointless, but a-bit-cool-looking fidgetty bliss. If so inclined, the plastic shaft can be used to poke things – even smoking related (tobacco into the end of a rollie/a roach… eh… a knacker looking for a “spare smoke bud” in the eye).

And it gets better. One and a half words: Hex Wheel.


Finally, I mentioned the mad gas rocketty ones. They’re mad they are. Even if utilised purely on a practical level, the flame lasts all of three hours.
But of course, they’re so mental they last but three minutes. Usually in the hands of a child, but people of all ages are just as spellbound by the hissing blue wonder of a flame.


And there you have a quick overview of the rollercoaster ride of disposables – tips and all, fair play to me.
Stay tuned for the Disposable Lighter Etiquette installation to come, and watch the sparks fly.

On Holiday by Mistake

June 23, 2009

My patron, the eccentric and much misunderstood Lord Reginald de Lündunbury has insisted I tend to his castle and twin tigers Mikado and Bartholemiaou while he flits across the world assuaging his zest for collecting certain exotic trinkets to add to his already ridiculously huge collection (all variations of monopoly player pieces).

So it is off to the Far, Far East, close enough to a certain wall, I have been so farly flung.

It is exotic as it is dreary and grim; both rustic and urban, both charming and utterly, utterly charmless.
A very strange place altogether.

A little known, once British colony, ‘Norrstran” is inhabited by natives who speak a strain of English known as ‘Stwallian.
It is either mumbled in monotone or it is yelled in any manner of colourful profanity. Almost all words are either abbreviated or dipthonged and slurred.
Oddly enough, they neither convey much meaning to the likes of us, nor understand our clear speech. This makes ordering food and making inquiries and so forth a rather huge hassle.

“Hello, I would like to order some Chinese food.”


[..and so on until meaning is conveyed and understood; until a request of where to obtain cash/a bottle of wine..]



…”Oi sed: YEH, dere’s fuckin‘ sumware dowin de rowid. Bleedin’ plonkar.”

The convenience stores are manned by mostly Asian or Indian people who are easier to interact verbally than the natives. They are also less deadpan or plain rude, but almost as unhelpful. To use a bank card to obtain cash over the counter, one has to spend at least the equivalent of over thirty euros. I found this to be absurd, but it must be common practice since my surprise was greeted with an apathetic mention of an atm down the back of the store.

I located said machine, literally hidden in a secret corner – a place one would never expect to find.
You’d wonder if there was a reason for this. Some security issue I, as a tourist, should probably be aware of. And this made me nervous as I queued between two dodgy looking natives. One, part mumbling, part yelling to her child to “don’t be FUCKIN’ steelin‘ nuhn’ righ’?”

Having gotten lost down a residential dead end, my destination cut off by a raised train track, I was glad to arrive back at the Castle of Eternal Hope and finally get stuck into my food.

Now, you would imagine with so much Asian influence, the Chinese food would be of a decent standard.
The dish tasted as though I’d described to my grandfather what sweet and sour chicken was like and he attempted to make it for me as a surprise without reference to a recipe. Vile stuff.

The wine I’d bought was room temperature – as per local custom.

Luckily I found a decent film to watch and proceeded to lose myself in it and forget the horrendous culture shock for a couple of hours.

…and you know that I’m toxic.

June 22, 2009

I need a pleasant, innocent pasttime for the Summer weekends not involving staying up all night getting trashed on a variety of boozy badness.

Monday mornings have become a shaky battle against pure sickness. Monday afternoons, a fight against the brain insisting on shutting down completely from serious sleep deprivation.

Stomach churning like a busted washing machine; energy depleted; longing for bed and a nurse to gently mop the skin periodically to keep the raging temperature down.

Smelling more and more unholy as the day goes on, pores oozing poison, and feeling the darkness of the emotinal hangover.

Since turning 30 almost two years ago, I have never partied harder.

I honestly don’t know how I do it.

I do know why though. …Good times.

That is fairly ‘gross’ though.

June 19, 2009
Subject: Misconduct
To: Peter Ryan
Body: Peter, this is your second written warning for urination on colleagues. As stated iun previous warning, such behaviour cannot be tolerated at booblemouse. If you persist on urinating on colleagues and work property you will be dismissed.
HR Team

I made a resolution this week to reign in the inappropriate behaviour and chat, particularly in the workplace.
I did really well, I promise… until today.

Ah well. Two strikes. Fair enough lads.

Subject: Misconduct

To: PRyin

Body: PRyin, this is your second written warning for urination on colleagues. As stated in previous warning, such behaviour cannot be tolerated at booblemouse. If you persist on urinating on colleagues and work property you will be dismissed.


HR Team


Wait a minute!

June 17, 2009

It was my turn to take the minutes.

I dashed madly through them and sent them out to the team without a proof-read.

The last line – typed as I grabbed at my wallet for a trip to the shop reads:

  • Jack is to follow up with Jack regarding an email from Mick to users.
I work good today

I am NOT an ‘arse-girl’.

June 16, 2009

Can I reiterate? I am not, and never have been, an arse girl.

I have never in my life used the phrase, written or verbalised in any form whatsoever.

Thusly, this comes as something of a shock to me.