cybermule: (shootyouinthemotherfuckinhead)
...people tell me there ain't no use in trying.

Now little girl you're so young and pretty
And one thing I know is true
You'll be dead before your time is through.

epic rant, only tangentially about that fucktard Murdoch )

In other news, the liberal lefty literati have now said it's ok to shop at tesco. Hoo-bloody-rah. That means I can boycott Morrisons for supporting ArseFuckTwin #1 of 2, Murdoch and not starve. Remember kids, you saw it here first, in glorious vitriolic technicolour.
cybermule: (muletech)
As far as I'm concerned, my country has spent nearly a year now colonised by thinly veneered civilised savages. I'm not patriotic in the slightest, but I do love the physical entity that is my homeland, and I do need somewhere to live. And failing a miraculous self-sufficiency indcuing handout, I need to be able to function reaonably well within the laws and boundaries of that homeland's society.

But this is not my homeland. I am not comfortable here any more. My country has been colonised by thinly veneered civilised savages.

I always cared about issues, but mostly just minded my own business. I had enough problems, I didn't have enough energy, and I was only marginally involved with other people on any level. So I had no real care or anger or hate. At least they've given me that, those civilised savages.

Through my twenties, I longed for the post-apocalyptic wasteland. I would stride the nuclear blasted zones with only a shotgun for company. I was rash, I was cynical, I didn't have friends or a child that I cared about, that I didn't want to suffer and die in horrible ways.

Through my thirties, I thought that technology would save us. That things were running out, but the great god of science would come up trumps with solutions for our stupidity and greed over, and over, and over again. Now I realise that dream that we've woven is the dream of a faded and aging Hollywood queen, cocooned in Armani fabrics, propped up by botox, sprayed in plastic and vitamins like the kids food peddled on Tesco shelves. Now I realise that once you wipe away the make-up of that delusion, take away the clothes and corset, all you will have left are greedy maggots falling from the suppurating flesh of the people.

Now I wish for generosity. Our shining peak is passed, but we can age gracefully and with wisdom. We can cushion our fall by investing wisely, by caring for our weak and ill, by building redundance in the beautiful civilised luxuries our society has worked together to create. The best of our society, and the things we wil really be remembered for that aren't our stupidity, vanity and foolish greed. Our schools, our hospitals, our libraries, the way we cared for the weak and needy without degrading them through question and assault.

But those civilised savages aren't, to be honest, even as civilised as that. All they care for is turning people against the next layer down. To foster the illusion that those upstarts snapping at your heels will be the ones driving the better cars, owning the bigger TVs, unless you kick their bodies down the hole of oblivion and crush their last grasping fingers beneath your feet. Constant threat, eternal misery, endless stress. Break our spirits, sell our souls, turn as against our fellow man so we eliminate the weak.

Well, you know what? Once you've eliminated all the weak, all the people you think are snapping at your crumbs to get a leg-up to your table. Once they're all gone?

You're the weak, and now *you* feed the maw of the dying machine.

Tomorrow I march, along with thousands of others. Maybe against cuts, maybe for jobs. But to be honest, just for the fact that I stood up and actually did one small thing to kick against the miserable and horrific things I see happening. For they are horrific. We can't kid ourselves that marginalising the homeless and the mentally ill and those too sick or broken to function as part of the capitalist machine is anything other than horrific.

If you think what is happening is ok, how far do you want to go down that road? Do not let them fool you into thinking that not subscribing to the myth of eternal financial progress is any reason to hate, maim or hurt. For as we treat our weak and our different, so are we judged.

And marching turns out to achieve nothing, then at least I tried and maybe added a little grease to later wheels on the same road. And if it turns ugly, I will not turn away from a noble fight.

And if it finally actually does some good then that wasn't me, that was all of us. All of us who build close friends to support any ways of any otherness to these sickly throes of a money obsessed cult. All of us who say when we think things are wrong, even if we're not being heard right now. All of us who tell the next generations with full honesty and clear vision just what went wrong and why. We just have to hope, and to say what we're hoping for.

Because I don't think that without hope we are really much worth saving anyway.
cybermule: (Default)
You know what? Several things pissed me off last week, politically, but I let it go. I was a bit tired, then I had a nice weekend with too much wine and awesumz people. You know how it is, you just can't be bothered to rant sometimes. Then first thing on a Monday morning, our esteemed political leader flaps his mouth in the Daily Twatagraph and there you go. Back to being a street walking cheetah with a heart full of napalm.


Here's the article, anyway:

Look out honey cos we're using technology

Oh god. Where do you start on this one? Peurile? Releasing his grip, fnar fnar. How about the lower headline thingy, which probably has a technical term. Common sense. There's a phrase to strike fear into your heart even when it's not being brandished around like a foam banana by a man who looks like a gibbering baboon. Yes, back to the peurile. Seriously, that photo does you no favours, mate, except that it just makes you look stupid as opposed to COMPLETELY FUCKING DERANGED AND EVIL. Oh yeah. Common sense. Everyone thinks they have it, even the people that mimble into the road when there's a crossing 20 yards down. Common sense is about not sticking knitting needles into plug sockets, not about running a bloody country where you may, just possibly, have some lasting and un-fucking-pleasant effect on peoples' lives. It's about applying brain cells to problems with reasonably anticipated solutions, not making policy on complicated and poorly understood systems.

Talking of which, his first priority is clearing up the mess Labour made of our economy. Awesome. Not holding down the poor and sick while his rich mates shaft them then. Glad that's clear.

Now political economical debate is one of those things that definitely shouldn't be argued at polite dinner parties, as everyone has a emotionally held opinion that they try and veil with random politically skewed factoids. And little bits of spit always end up in the hors d'oeuvres at that sort of party. Broken port glasses too, sometimes. But anyway, here's mine. I've not had much time to think about it as I mostly "just didn't care" til recently, but here goes...

Economy? It's fucked. Nobody fucked it up, particularly. It may have lasted longer if there hadn't been such an extreme siphoning off from the upper layers, but it has grown, peaked and started to spiral down. It's a huge lumbering badly understood and uncontrollable macrosystem of a behemoth of a machine, we are trapped inside its stomach, and it is bleeding to death. Everything peaks and declines - civilisation, oil, the price of gin. Possibly.

If you don't think we've peaked, if you're still subscribing to the golden myth of eternal onwards and upwards, that's awesome. Explain to me why, I'll listen politely, then we can go and play with your perpetual motion machine for kix'n'japez.

It's not the end of the world, just the end of civilisation.

Now, I also strongly believe that although we can't stop this inevitable crash and burn into uncivilisation, we can tell ourselves the right stories, build the correct structures, write the hard hitting manifestos, all to make it bearable, not only for ourselves, but also for people at the bottom of the pile. Because although I don't believe in a omniscient and interventionist God, somewhere along the line we will be somehow judged on how we treat the weakest and most disadvantaged and reap the fucking karma. Even if it's just the sink estates arming themselves for bloody and feral revenge. Lawrence Weston vs Westbury is how it's going to go downn when it comes, baby.

We can work on an individual level, training our minds for resilience and husbanding our resources for longevity. And we can take that up to the national level and look after the things and resources that people like fucking Cameron have just missed the point of. Libraries, hospitals, universities, social housing, welfare, schools. My estimated time of next contribution to the tax pool is some time in 2012, but when I worked in a proper job, I didn't actually particularly care where my taxes went. As long as they weren't pissed down the pan in rapidly self-redundantising war technology, for example, I like the idea of them helping other people who need that. I don't care if they were happy on the dole.

In fact, good on them. You know what? If you've worked out how to be happy on whatever it is the dole give you now, you have actually achieved some sort of modest enlightenment and I really do genuinely salute you. Rather than the miserable fuckers who spend all their lives trying to scratch around so that the bastard tories pat them on the head by proxy, and then stamp on the fucking fingers of anyone else who is hauling themselves back up the parapet having the temerity to be happy while they're doing it. That's right, work your arse off for a new carpet and two cars and be as miserable as me, or I will kick you in the kidneys til you bleed. And if I can't do it covertly and metaphorically, I will probably do it in real. As long as it is in an anonymised clinical setting, obviously.

Quote from BBC website: I for one am actually looking forward to having my benefits cut if it means that the "happily" unemployed are made to tighten their belt too

Seriously, I've been around damaged people long enough to chalk that up as vicious inhumanity in one of the worst degrees. It's the sick psychological STD of our times - there is supposed be be eternal progress, and if you mysteriously somehow fail to be ascending, then cause fake upwards mobility by pushing the underlings' heads down under the scum. If they're going down, you must be going up, right? Right? Where have you gone, guys?

I don't really view the reasonably centralised control of our key services as being a bad thing, actually. There, I said it. I've worked in the public sector for years. The sort of people who like common sense view the public sector workers (like they view pretty much everyone else) as being lazy state-sponsored scum. In my experience my colleagues have been kind industrious people doing a good job and building up reams of experience, goodwill and essentially free and open resources. All those crazy things that you just can't put a price on, and are therefore assumed to be completely without value by the scum-sucking common-sensers.

It's common sense to sell the forests, make them pay their way, concrete them over.

It's common sense to introduce a financially driven system of welfare reform

It's common sense to introduce an internal market into the NHS

It's common sense that Mrs Normal's son, who can't get a job in a recession, shouldn't get any dole

It's common sense if that mentally ill person should get no benefits if he doesn't pull his finger out and stop pretending to be ill

It's common sense to put all the poor people out in sink estates - they don't need stuff anyway

It's common sense to keep our jobs and houses for our own kind


Where does that start? With common sense. Where does that end? Being a completely fucking evil bastard.

When do people start realising that it's not down to working hard and doing the right thing any more. There but for the grace of god? There but for a random fucking crappy throw of the dice that turns you from winner into the downtrodden. And that will happen to us all in time. We'll all become Mexicans, if we're very lucky. And in my opinion, the best way to survive that is to plough extras into built-in resource resilience and redundancy, like libraries and social housing, that will gently let us down the slippery helter-skelter into the brave new uncivilised future.

So 26th March, I'm going to be there marching for the for my own perceived right to cushion our fall, along with all the other good reasons to be in London. I've talked enough about my own accumulation of credibility, so time to push it out through the comfort zones (crowd fear, much :)) and stick it to the man. It may be completely futile, but if all else fails then I can look *myself* in the eye until the kid is old enough to ask what I did, and then I can look *him* in the eye and at least say I did something, that I tried, that I actually laid just a tiny bit of something out there on the line in the sand.

UKanada, UKanada, I've never been your son. Your concrete expanses lay fallow in the sun.
Your doe eyed policeman demanding more guns.

cybermule: (muletech)
The Dark Mountain Manifesto set to the words and music of Thee Silver Mt Zion. Probably.

Part 1 - Today’s environmentalists are more likely to be found at corporate conferences hymning the virtues of ‘sustainability’and ‘ethical consumption’ than doing anything as naive as questioning the intrinsic values of civilisation.

This is the picture of the new temporary Tesco in Yate. It will fill the gap between the old, end-block-on-a-precinct Tesco (which I never really went to because Morrisons was better and closer) and some new super Megacity-T hypermarket on stilts which will scan our retinas and assimilate us into the heaving database of Clubcard details before we are allowed to buy small, brown Soviet style cubes of rations. I imagine them as somewhat larger than Oxo cubes, and less tasty. As a two decade old veggie, the flavour will probably be the least of my issues.

I don't have any particular beef (arf arf) with Tesco per se. Yes, I'm aware that their marketing strategy is down the poorly ethical end of the spectrum, along with Asda, but I'm going to make a possibly controversial claim here that all fucking supermarkets are a bunch of cunts who's sole aim is to extract as much money as possible from shafting producers and sticking it to consumers who have to try and buy reasonably priced, nutritionally balanced food that pleases their kids, satisfies their aspirations and fits into the narrow slice of life left over from desperately trundling round the treadmill of applying those two things to every other aspect of their poor fraught existences.

Yes, once more, in its own paragraph for emphasis. All fucking supermarkets are a bunch of cunts, however they spin their cuntishness to attract a particular brand of victimcustomer.

Yes, I would buy from Waitrose if I were fucking loaded with cash. It's nicer. Yes, I would probably prefer Sainsburys if there were one near enough to walk to (that's more important for me). Yes, if I have spare cash and can make a difference to actual real poor people, I will (**). I go with Morrisons, but I cheerfully shop at the Tesco Express if I need to, because hey, it offers a good range of reasonably priced food out of normal shopping hours, and like everyone else, I experience #organisationalfail from time to time.

I'm not a joiner, but I am for ever looking for a cause. For a while I hearted the Permaculture people because they were into growing sustainable food, creating community gardens, and teaching kids about growing healthy food. All causes dear to my heart. They did piss me off a little with their insistence on the concept of Bristol being a happy little conurbation of St Werbs, Montpelier and Easton. I believe strongly in a Greater Bristol. But hey, like I said, not a joiner and perfectly capable of organising my own shit anyway. Then they had a complete and total spazz-out about the Tesco in Stokes Croft. It would kill the beautiful little artisan bakeries, independent llamawool hat retailers, and vibrant community of bent fucking spoon repairers that Gloucester Road is known and loved for. And yeah, if you like that sort of thing, Gloucester Road is very lovely, but here I have to state, in it's own paragraph, and emboldened for emphasis:

Poor people have the right to accessible, cheap and varied food too, you stuck up, middle-class, up-your-own-arse tossers!

Yes, there are poor people out there in the liberal republic of inner Bristol. Poor people want to buy decent foodz shockz! And not have to trail up and down a whole street buying handcrafted baked beans that look like pixies and have little knitted hats to save the ozone layer from their own generated farts. And they might want to shop out of normal 9-5 hours. Some poor people even have jobs or no cars!

Hmph. I feel that this might well have been documented elsewhere in my blog, anyhow. It did severely turn me off the Permies, even to the extent of wanting to apply for the job of NO-TO-Tesco web manager, writing wanketywankwankwank all over the website, changing the passwords and running away. But not quite as I just have better things to do with my life. So the point was, Tesco is not always bad, m'kay.

As it happens, I think Tesco will be bad for Yate, and I'm surprised and aghast at how Yate just rolled over and took it from them, unopposed (*) The nice thing about Yate (in my mind, anyway) is that I can buy pretty much everything I want from a compact pedestrianised central precinct, and is the closest I've ever come to a pleasant shopping experience. And I'm aware that I'm in a small minority who want to walk into town, and that nobody really cares about the rest of my companions in that particular slice of society, but as well as standing up for them, I am actually standing up for the rest of the gas-guzzling fuckers who are going to be completely and utterly screwed when petrol is 500 billion quid per ml and their legs have atrophied or been removed to repay the HP payments on their monster trucks.

A hypermarket style Tesco will kill off even more of the town centre. I mean, the bits that haven't been fucked over by the recession, and I probably don't mean the mobile phone shops who will still be there in pernicious crappy little clusters to service the ants when the whole precinct turns into Ground Zero. Everyone will just roll up in their people-carriers, chuck 8 million carrier bags of miscellaneous ill-chosen and over-marketed lifestyle accoutrements into the boot and drive off. I'll no longer be able to buy nose-studs and cheap fruit and veg from the market stalls, and my choice of pant purveyors will be reduced from several to just one brand of bum-coverer. Hey, unless I choose to use my car to drive the half mile or so to the shops, I'll probably only be able to gaze in longingly with the few other scraps of marginalised carless plebs, cordoned off by the ever-circling fence of traffic endlessly pounding round the dual-carriagewayed stretch of impenetrable tarmac that will probably be christened "Tesco Way" by some gurning mayor with a bottle of organic Fairtrade cava. From South Africa, just to show we're all friends now and wonderfully liberal with it.

Thank fuck the hardware store will be on my side of the fence, along with the happy clappy church to supply me with an endless stream of willing-ish martyrs to supply the gaping sacrificial maw of the Tesco monolith.

* - actually, there were two oppositions. One said it might be ugly (Tesco have now been "forced" to plant trees. Lots of them. Thumbs up!) and one from my household complaining about the utter clusterfuck that it will make of the the traffic - to get to town from about a third of Yate, you have to cross a really crappy road with no organised crossing. But hey, it's the poorest third of town and every drives, so who cares?
** - I'm a bitch. I don't care that Tesco sell turtles or some other shit in China. Sorry. If you eat dead things, get over yourself. Eat humans for sustainability. Cod's endangered too.
cybermule: (Default)
A book and event review subtitled "Wake the Fuck Up"

I reviewed Necromancer fairly recently. I think my overall impression of that was that the ideas were great and I couldn't understand why I hadn't taken to it when I (think I'd) read it before. This book is much better. The cool cyberpunk philosophy and dystopian environment are still there, but the story is a lot more polished and fleshy. I still lost the plot a bit at the end, but this time I'm more willing to accept that it could be my own fault, and I'll probably re-read this at some point in the future.

And that reminds me that I never posted anything on when I went to see William Gibson at the Watershed. Or if I did, I found a new point to the whole experience that I've been pondering for a while, so bear with me...

I actually really enjoyed listening to him talk far more than I expected. I grabbed a ticket mostly because I knew he was cool, and because I will pretty much go and see most things live. I just have a real thing for watching artists express their craft in real life in front of me. Anything from bands to blacksmiths to be honest - watching the actual visceral clunky creation of stuff is amazing :) And the guy did not disappoint. he read a bit of his new book (which sounded good) and then talked about his work and the process of writing with a sort of gentle humour and a neat balancing act along the fine line between self-deprecating and fucking annoying false modesty ** I think he encompassed the fact that you had to be somewhat talented to write a novel, but then you also just had to graft.

Pretty much that sometimes he just sat in the space where good writing seemed to happen, and waited for it to happen again. He was also amusingly wry about the fact that he knocked up Neuromancer AFAP out of bits that he had lying around.

Anyway, that was good. But the point I wanted to eventually get to was that all the way through I kept catching sight of the guy in front of me fiddling with his bloody smartphone. He wasn't listening to what William Gibson was saying, he was just following the hashtag for the talk on Twitter and occasionally looking references up on Amazon to see how people reviewed them. WTF was that about? Apart from the fact I know people who would have loved his ticket while he sat at home and self-referenced with his phone, why do so many people not actually grab real life any more? The internet is great. Lots of my friendships are initiated and perpetrated there, and I love the fact that I can scratch a brain itch any time I like.

But there's a time and a place. I love my billhook, but I don't cut cheese with it. Although now the thought is in my head...

The last couple of gigs I've been to have been full of people not even looking at the stage but texting or FaceBooking all the way through. And it makes me uncomfortable. All those layers of damping between you and the experience at hand. And taking pictures of your life not because you're having fun and what to document it, but purposefully so that you can be seen do the thing on Facebook. Gigs sell out in minutes, but nobody is watching. They only went along because Twitter told them to.

** (ref Danny fucking Elfman on the Willy Wonka extras - oh, I just knocked up a song and it was rubbish but Tim Burton just loved it and used it on the soundtrack just as it is. Fucking twat. It's just false modesty and insulting to people who work hard at the same thing and people who would love to do that but can't. Did I say fucking twat? I meant to...)

Meh squared

Jan. 8th, 2009 03:18 pm
cybermule: (Default)
The neighbours over the road are being arseholes about their new drive. Seriously - I'm a considerate person and literally parked about one wheel's width over the edge of the drop kerb, leading to a mental note threatening to tow me away next time. This is the biggest drop kerb you've ever seen, probably not legal, and the drive was totally accessible. I can totally appreciate that they want their drive kept clear, but I also don't see myself getting that huffy as long as I could get in and out. So I'm annoyed. Grr. Etc.

And again it's impossible to cover a work day in a couple of weeks time. This job just ain't working for me any more.

cybermule: (Default)
I wanted to be a vet when I was little, then a doctor when I was older. If I'd become a vet, I would have ended up as Mr Chinnery; the success and confidence of becoming a doctor would have turned me into Gregory House. Odd to see your future in TV entertainment portrayals.

I'm actually quite enjoying being a horticulturalist at the moment. Being physically busy out in the fresh air is good for me. Certainly much better than cooped up over a desk brooding. I'm getting rather sick of the handful of people who are unwise enough to ask me if I wouldn't rather be back in my old job "using my brains". I'm an intelligent person, so I tend to use my brains to do pretty much everything to an appropriate capacity, except when I'm getting out of them. I use much more interesting parts of my brain gardening - design, research and reference, project management.

What I really suspect they're trying to say is why am I not doing something I enjoy about 90% less for about 40% more money.

Well, the first and simple answer is that I'm not bloody stupid. I appreciate everyone needs to earn a certain amount of money. For people in low paid jobs, that amount is a necessity. I'm deeply grateful that I don't have to struggle for my living. For a lot of other people I feel there is some confusion between want and need. They could par their "essentials" down, learn to live without two shiny new fucking cars, and work about 3 days a week. But they're too scared. More and more these days, I fail to understand what we're all doing with this strange money concept.

Are we just using it to buy a cocoon to shield us from reality - subsistence and existence?

So one reason I don't work as a rat in a stats wheel is because I made certain decisions, compromises or sacrifices - whatever you want to call them - so that compared to many people, I don't need to earn that much money. Even without the help of a man :) Ergo I don't want to earn extra money and stash it in an ISA just because I can.

Secondly, there's the issue of childcare. I'd have to put the sprog in a nursery to work in my old job. Ain't going to happen. And that's a whole nother kettle of fish that I'll certainly boil at some point on LJ.

Thirdly, there's a natural energy issue. I'm using unnatural energy to be a number monkey, doing something I can force myself to do fairly well and coming home mentally exhausted. To garden, I use natural energy to do something that I'm actually good at without trying, and come home tired but alert and satisfied.

Worth a pay-cut. I'm not setting myself up as special here - everyone's doing what they're doing for a whole complex blend of reasons. I'm just wanting to be left alone to do my doings at this point.
cybermule: (Default)
Is there something wrong with me, that I'm not really that interested in social relationships? Don't get me wrong - I have several good close friends and I have great times with them, with my colleagues and with other relationships such as LJ-land. Each appropriate (in my mind) to my outer and inner context. But I have no interest in shilly-shallying around, meta-relationshipping and just generally pandering to a load of super-sensitive social rules and needs.

Often I wonder if I'm borderline autistic, schizoidal, or just plain nasty. An example - a close friedn is organising a birthday bash, so emails about 10 people for a list of available dates. We all supply dates, freeing up various theoretical slots to be as helpful as possible. Then said friend decides she'll hold it on one particular date because that's the only one when the friend who suggested the birthday bash is free.

I mean, what's the fucking point? Why not just say that you'll have your birthday bash on X date. And if anyone asks if there's an alternative, explain that it's the only date one particular friend is free. That's fine, in my book, and less of a total waste of my time.

Ditto to my friend who sets up numerous dates and always cancels at the last minute. Plus my brother (as usual) who can't set an alarm clock to get up a particular time so also cancels at the last minute. I don't actually care that these dates don't happen all that much - would have been nice to see y'all, but I'm plenty happy on my own these days.

Just stop wasting my precious time. Speak your mind, don't shilly-shally, and stop subscribing to all the social angsting and fannying around that seems to be so prevalent these days.

Rant over.


Sep. 16th, 2008 08:31 am
cybermule: (Default)
When I got out the shower the other day, after another blast up Pen Y Fan, I picked up my scratchy grandma towel that must be nearly as old as me, and realised that the rise in body exfoliation products must be really highly correlated with the tendency to soften-the-fuck out of everything with fabric conditioner.

I got a great parcel at the end of last week. The chocolate is long gone, the spices will soon be consumed, and the Big Red chewing gum will last me for months, even given my unprecedented luxurious chomping of two sticks simultaneously when I first got it. Thank you [ profile] amiga500.

I really don't like working with the public sometimes - they're demanding and stroppy. One woman came and shouted at me because she thought the canned music was awful. One thing I've noticed recently is the number of people writing into gardening magazines complaining about the lack of knowledge displayed by staff in garden centres. This annoys the fuck out of me. I'm paid minimum wage, rather like someone in Tescos. People come in and ask me all sorts of questions. Not just about plants (which I have about a 95% answer rate) but also on what vegetables to grow, strimmer accessories, books, garden furniture, and so on. All of which eventually get answered - if not by me, then by one of my specialist colleagues.

Now, bearing in mind the minimum-wageness of my job, what do people actually expect from me? Would you go into Tesco and expect the shelf stacker to choose your food, tell you how to cook it, select a suitable accompanying wine, then pick out some clothes that would be suitable for the sort of entertaining function you were planning. No, you would not. So why expect it from me? Seriously, customers, start paying more than a couple of quid for a tray of plants, and you might just get enough profit pumping through the system for Wyevale to employ people who are motivated enough to care.

Or then again, maybe not. Either way, you get what you pay for in lifethis consumerist artifice.

In other news, some asshat also posted comments on Octomule's LJ wobbling at me for leaving the sprog unattended in the bath. They posted the same comment twice, coincidentally stopping just after I turned on the IP address stalking function. I hate anonymous comments, especially based on selecting half a dozen random words from 3 paragraphs.
cybermule: (Default)
I am sick to the back teeth of the neighbour's cat shitting in my garden. I know that's what cats do, and I know that my cat probably does it to someone else, but how many craps a day does a small moggie need? I thought at first that it was my direct neighbour's cat, but now I've seen it's the one from two doors along. Fucking figures - they don't give a shit about their kids, who just sit outside swearing, burning things and trying to break our greenhouse windows. To be honest, I don't actually blame them, as their other choice of entertainment seems to be listening to their whiney, child-man dad abusing their mum in yet another of their drink fuelled rows. Occasionally he breaks off that to threaten them with grievous bodily harm if they break my windows again.

I might just give them boomerangs with double sided sticky tape on so they put themselves out of their misery next time they break my glass.

So if they can't be arsed with their kids, why would they bother looking after their pet properly? Their cat meows pretty much 24/7 outside a locked back door. I mean, why even fucking bother to have a pet if you just lock it outside so it can crap all over everyone else's garden all the time.

And completely unrelated, why does all diet information tell you to cut out sugar in your hot drinks? It's only 16 calories a spoonful. If I have five hot drinks a day, which is going it even by my standards, then in a month I might lose a pound. If I didn't go completely mad at the sense of tiny pointless deprivation and eat six giant pizzas to make up for it.

New diet news - eat well, but moderately and healthily; exercise regularly and happily; learn to love yourself better.
cybermule: (Default)
My mum. Well, last night I got a phone message from her saying she was dying and I needed to contact her immediately. Feeling around 110% sure that she wasn't, I obviously still had to call. She answered the phone sounding perky and saying she was fine, but after a little probing (e.g. "so why did you leave a message for me to phone you?"), she said that she needed more money as the same women who'd robbed her before had come round again and taken all her money.

I'm pretty sure she has them round for drinking sessions, then they rob her when she passes out.

I asked her what she wanted me to do about it (which was obviously bring her money right then) and said that she'd just have to wait until one of us was free to make the 50 mile round trip to give her more money. I resisted the temptation to ask for her friends' address so I could just post it straight to them, but I did ask why she'd left a dramatic message. She just burst into peals of laughter that she'd managed to fool me.

Rearrange this mum: boy cried who wolf.

I got bored at that point and hung up. Instead I watched X-Men, which was rubbish but at least was better than listening to my mum drivel on.

In other news, I have a cold. Which sucks. But I also have a day off and I'm going to Bruxelles at the weekend. I'm very excited about the Eurostar :)) And about my new shredder, which makes me feel efficient.
cybermule: (Default)

Oh, what sad times are these when passing ruffians can say 'Cybermule' at will to old ladies.

Which movie was this quote from?

Get your own quotes:

In other news, I'm pissed off at a bunch of things. Firstly, the weather. Will it just stop raining and blowing already? Everything strutural in my garden is collapsing, I haven't been able to go on a decent run in weeks, and it's just getting tired, OK?

Secondly, people have to start taking responsibility for the problems in the world.

Like MRSA.

If we just stopped demanding penicillin every time we got a feckin' virus, then we'd be in less of a problem with this. And why don't people ever wash their hands in hospital? Not the staff - they wash as damn often as their overstuffed schedules let them. But the people visiting. They waltz in with their takeaways and their messy children, don't wash their hands on the way in or the way out. like, HELLLOOOOO! THERE ARE SICK PEOPLE HERE! Probably best to minimise germ transfer either way, huh?

When I was on the wards I got berated for a bit of fluff in the corner of the woman's mum's room. Her kids were sat on the floor eating cold burgers out of carrier bags stuffed full of every sort of junk you can think of. And this patient. had chlostridium, apparently caused by the dirty fluff.

Maybe it was the hospital's fault, maybe it wasn't, but I don't think they could take the blame for her ill-disciplined kids picking anything up.

And don't get me started on environmental issues...

Actually, the main reason I'm so pissy is probably spending the majority of the past two days sitting around in the Crown Court waiting room in Gloucester. But that's a story for another day.
cybermule: (Default)
Where's my stuff? That's a really good question.

I ordered my stuff back in October, as a pre-order. I patiently waited for my stuff a couple of days past the due delivery date, then phoned up to enquire about said stuff, which I needed for Christmas.

It seemed that there was no actual stuff attached to my order number. To be honest, I had already ascribed this lack of stuff to you having sold my stuff to someone else. But I was willing to take your explanation at face value, even paying extra money for first class delivery.

When the new dispatch date came and went with no sign of anyone even so much as picking up my stuff and having a look at it to see if it needed posting, I tried ringing again, but was put on hold for what seemed longer than I'll actually spend using the stuff.

I then asked someone else if they could send my stuff and got it next day. I have therefore cancelled this order and all pending orders with you, and will be unlikely to order my stuff from you in the near future.

So from now on, I'll know exactly where my stuff is and won't need to rely on your dodgy stock handling and inaccurate databases to tell me.

Disappointed regards,

stuff-less for Christmas
cybermule: (Default)
Seeing as I'm on a roll...

Did I see an LJ-friend in Bradley Stoke Leisure Centre yesterday? I think I might have...

Christmas sucks already. Yate town centre is heaving, even at 11 0'clock on a Thursday morning. Stop buying stuff, you morons. I may have been tainted by the ghosts of CHristmas-recently-past, but buying loads of drink and overpriced tat will not patch up your tattered lives and relationships.

cybermule: (Default)
I saw a car sticker today exhorting me to boycott Canada (mainly to save seals, so it seems). Now I actually quite like Canada. And America, too, excepting a few nutcase politicians and their seemingly sizeable swathe of followers.

So if I boycott Canada for seals, Brazil for deforestation, Columbia for drugs, the USA for being generally wonky... that's pretty much a whole continent, right?

Now exclude all the dodgy political regimes. Plus the known sweatshops. Plus anywhere across the ocean because of air miles. That's actually a lot of places, if you live in England...

So I can buy things from Britain.

Except we shafted the Celts out of economic existence hundreds of years ago. And butt-munched our own manufacturing base out of existence during the glorious reign of Mommy Mags.

I'm pretty much confined to buying the earth in my own garden. Which is fine - I don't really like buying many things anyway. I just want to be clear that it's because I'm stingy, I think, rather than being politically correct :P

July 2017



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