If I could be bothered to go back and check up on the exact statistics then I could be a little more precise in this matter, but I can’t so we’ll just have to settle for the more general statement that follows instantly: this journal seems, to date, to have been a relatively cuss-lite zone. Something of a surprise to many people to whom I’ve spoken in person, perhaps – particularly those who’ve heard me at work – but for the most part I’ve managed to lift my mouth out of the gutter before putting finger to keyboard. This is a much-desirable state of affairs, if you ask me (although you don’t have to, seeing as how it’s my journal and I’ll tell you what I want regardless of any quizzing or lack thereof on your part) and one that will doubtless continue after the one brief hiccup that follows herein.
You see, dear reader, I fear that today’s subject is going to involve and indeed require a fair-to-middling amount of swearing, as befits my current mood. As we shall see, such language will be pointed in a very specific direction and will not be used without consideration and justification.
For those of you who started to drift off during the above, here it comes again in greatly-abbreviated form: the following post may contain naughty swear words, so if you’re easily offended by foul language, I suggest you stop reading and perhaps crochet yourself a new hat or something. I don’t really want to listen to anyone whinge about my swearing, so if you don’t want to read such profanities I suggest you do yourself a favour and don’t give yourself an opportunity to be a cunt about it.
So, now the cheap shots are out of the way, on we go. What in the world could drive me to feelings so vitriolic that I seem unable to express them using non-sweary words? Well, in a way I’ve only myself to blame, but I’m very much afraid that I’ve been watching the ITV. Continue reading
With the greatest respect to any men who may be reading this, you’re all bastards.
That is all.
|(Or, “Water you doing to me?”)
Well, I’ve had my wrists firmly slapped for yet again failing to take away valuable minutes of your precious lives by filling up a bit more Ad Space. It’s not, you understand, that I’m scared of the person who administered this slap, but I am and I promised to get around to writing something before the month was out. And so it is, then, that we find ourselves here. Nice to see you again.
Anyway, it just so happens, as is very often the case, that something’s come along to rile me enough to put finger to keyboard, thus saving me from having to ramble about nothing in particular. Today, dear reader, my bile is aimed squarely at the rain. Continue reading
There are some people (and it’s hard to believe, I know, but hear me out) who start a conversation with me because they quite like talking to me about one thing, another or none of the above in particular. There are some people, conversely, who start a conversation with me because they want something.
Now, it’s possible to fit into either one of those categories, or both. It’s the people who never seem to want anything that I worry about the most of course: something’s bound to be wrong at some point – if they need help with that, why can’t they ask me? But my concern today is not with these people.
Nor is it with that large majority – the people who sit quite comfortably in both arenas (that’s probably you, by the way). Lovely people, all.
There are, though, always people who only ever seem to pop up when they want something. At these times, of course, you’re their best friend in the whole wide world and it’s a terrible shame you haven’t had the chance to chat more of late. Oh and by the way, while they’re here there’s something I can do for them, if I’ve got the time…
We all know plenty of these people, I’m sure – aren’t they a delight? But just once – just the once, dear reader – I’d like to be pleasantly surprised by one of these people asking me how I am without having some kind of ulterior motive.
Needless to say I remain, to date, unsurprised.