Ladies and gentleman, you're witnessing history today - I have not waited two to three years to lovingly create two consecutive posts. I know, this is huge. For those of you who know my address, please send champagne and/or money to mark the occasion.
That being said, this is going to be a relatively short post as I'm just trying to get a head start on one of my new years resolutions, which is use this blog as a place to dump all of my rage on a more frequent basis. I'm an absolute saint, aren't I?
So, will this pint-sized post be about hot topics like UK referendum, Trump getting his enormous tangerine face in the White House, or the general poor state of the world and how my faith in humanity has all but diminished?
Nah, fam. Don't you just hate Christmas shopping?
I actually do most of mine online, both ensuring that I can largely stay in my pyjamas unless I'm buying something fancy (then I put on a dress before heading to the virtual checkout), and that I don't risk giving everyone in the vicinity a black eye.
An awesome fact about me is I'm not very good at leisurely browsing shops at the best of times. When I head into town of an afternoon, I usually have a very firm idea of what I'm going in to buy, meaning that I can head straight to the shop(s) that I know sell a particular product(s), pick it up, pay, and get the fuck out.
I am magnificent.
However, trying to do this during the most wonderful time of the year scuppers this approach, as I have to contend with hordes of slow-walking, suddenly-stopping tosspots, who don't appear to have even the slightest speck of spatial awareness. I should mention that when it comes to the elderly and the disabled, I genuinely have all the patience in the world. It's everyone else who need to learn that they are not the only people trying to grab some last minute shit before Christmas.
Today, I was walking, exasperated, out of Swansea Market weighed down with several tonnes of carrots and potatoes. I had already got through an assault course of mid-aisle hovering wankers unscathed, and my task of last minute shit-grabbing was almost complete. Suddenly, the bloke I was walking behind recognised another bloke coming into the market, and stopped dead in front of the entrance to talk to him. Much handshaking and hugging ensued, while these two guys, blissfully unaware that they were now blocking the entire market doorway, began having a good old catch up.
This is the type of stuff that drives me up the wall.
By all means, if you spot someone you know and want to stop to talk, please do. This is not a crime punishable by death in my book. The problem I have is that people by and large seem to be under the impression that they are the last humans left on earth, and no one else could possibly be in the vicinity. They therefore see no issue in shuffling slowly down a narrow aisle, or stopping in their tracks to look at a shop's window display, or to catch up with "Tony", who I now know has had terrible trouble with his Ford Focus of late, in the fucking middle of a busy market doorway.
So Santa, if you're reading this, all I want for Christmas is for people to have a quick glance around themselves every now and again to make sure that they're not holding the population of Swansea up while they contemplate what socks to buy their other half. I can't see Mariah Carey being tempted to do another version of her Christmas classic centred around this topic, but frankly she should.
Oh, and people need to stop taking 10 minutes to use a cashpoint. You can't operate this machine via mind control, so stop simply staring at the screen while thoughtfully rubbing your chin. It goes - pin number, cash, amount, fuck off.
Have a peaceful Christmas, everyone, yeah?
Friday 23 December 2016
Wednesday 31 August 2016
I'm whinging about Facebook again
Hey, would you look at that, only three and a half years since my last entry. Maybe I'm mellowing in my old age.
(It's down to the fact that I can't be bothered to provide regular posts).
Anyway, this is actually a semi-serious post for once about a couple of things that genuinely concern me on my favourite punching bag - Facebook.
Behavioural influence
I went off on one a few months ago about how it is dangerous that ignorant morons can reach global audiences with their racist, xenophobic garbage on social media. Seemingly with no consequences whatsoever, they are free to share whatever twattish, misspelled opinion they have to millions of easily-influenced people, and those people will then swallow it all (all Muslims are terrorists, don't you know), and this is where people can actually get hurt or killed. It is a real concern, and this post is related to the issue of creating an actual culture at the click of a button.
So, seeing as very few people bother with the small thing of making their profiles private these days, I'm often treated to unwanted things popping up on my Facebook homepage i.e. if someone on my friends list likes or comments on a post with "Show everyone every aspect of my fucking life" privacy settings enabled, I'm able to see this on my feed. Lucky me.
This has allowed me to see a lot of stomach-turning posts that normally trigger nothing more than a roll of the eyes from me. But recently I've began to notice certain trends, almost a culture, emerging among a certain group on social media - the (usually) under twenties, specifically young girls.
As we've already covered, literally anyone on Facebook can create a post, be it a picture, video, or just a status, and share it with the entire Facebook population. Sometimes, these posts will get latched onto and shared thousands of times, spinning off into social media virality (I wasn't sure if this was a word and had to Google it to check - it is! There you go, there's a free insight into my life as I blog. I feel like this sidebar has gone on a little too long now. I'm going to end it) where young and impressionable minds are ready to be influenced, and where grumpy fucks like me moan about them ending up on their home pages. Now occasionally, these posts going viral is a very good thing - they can dispel myths, boost confidence, share stories of heroism, and generally have a feel good vibe. I have no issues with these posts.
The problem comes when these posts are so mind-numbingly stupid that it goes beyond a joke.
I mentioned the young girls demographic. There is a frankly horrifying culture emerging here, and I don't doubt for a second that it is further fuelled by social media. I don't have a name for this culture yet, so the working title is It's Cool To Be Paranoid, Selfish, Needy, And Openly Hostile, or ICTBPSNAOH. I'll work on it.
ICTBPSNAOH is demonstrated by girls sharing whatever post some fuckbell came up with on a whim. They share it not out of scorn - "Hey guys, check out this ridiculous post. I feel bad even sharing it but people need to be aware of the type of shit that's out there" - but are instead sharing due to the spine tingling reason that they agree with the post's content.
I know what you're thinking - spine tingling, Rach? Really? You're not Stephen King, get back to moaning about impolite staff in Tesco.
Unfortunately, I'm not being facetious when I say that the sharing of these posts scares the crap out of me. Before we look at why, I'd like to share with you some of the posts I've been privy to in recent months. I apologise in advance.
Now then.
I'm the type of person that can find humour in most things, within reason. A lot of stuff I see in my day-to-day life usually provides me with some sort of source of amusement, which I think is a healthy attitude to have. Take the fact that I'm approaching 30. I definitely find that funny and not at all depressing. Hahahahaha. See?
None of the above pictures, nor the countless other pearls of wisdom I've seen recently, provided me with anything other that a sense of utter contempt for those who created them.
Do these people have any idea what they're doing? They are creating a culture where it is not only acceptable to behave like an entitled princess who expects men to do everything for them, but a culture in which the behaviour is actually encouraged and celebrated. This can have a very real affect on young girls who are still figuring out who they are, and could ultimately influence their lives and choices in the future.
Don't text me every morning? Just don't bother speaking to me at all.
He didn't ask me out. There's no way he just might be shy and would prefer me to make the first move, he's clearly a pussy and/or not interested in me.
I have anger issues, but I'm not going to deal with them. Other people need to just accept it because I'm not going to change.
I also saw another one recently that I couldn't find for this post, but it essentially said "I can be the most needy person in the world and texting you every two minutes one day, and then really moody and completely ignore you the next. That's just the way I am, baby!".
What the fuck is that? I'll tell you what the fuck it is - it is telling young girls that it is okay to be a bad person. That is what it boils down to. Don't worry about being trustworthy, loyal, and reasonable. No, look out for number one, fly off the handle at any given moment, and expect others to pick up the pieces.
Oh, and it's worth mentioning that all of this also has an affect on young men, as it teaches them that they should expect girls to behave this way, and won't question it whenever a girlfriend tries to hit him over the fact that he didn't text back quickly enough. It's just the way she is, baby.
What a sorry state of affairs.
The younger generation are in a quandary. Everything is done on Facebook these days - events are organised, messages fly about, updates are posted. Social media, for all its problems, can be useful in modern day life. You'll be stretched to find a young person who isn't on social media of some form, and this means they will then of course be exposed to this nonsense on a daily basis, whether they like it or not. It will slowly but surely begin to alter their behaviour until they turn into spoilt brats, and what then? We're looking at a generation of people who believe in ICTBPSNAOH, where selfish acts are promoted as the right thing to do, where overreacting is the norm, and where women are kept princesses and men are downtrodden and used.
It makes me fear for my young niece, and also any children I may have in the future. Hopefully this craze will have moved on by then, and we instead celebrate ambition and hope rather than the ICTBPSNAOH culture.
Somehow, sadly, I doubt it.
Narcissism disguised as concern
This will be a short one as my fingers are tired. Stop sniggering at the back.
I don't hide the fact that I hate pointless selfies. Standing at the top of the Statue of Liberty? Go ahead and take a picture of yourself with the backdrop of NYC behind you, that's okay - you enjoy yourself. Heading off to the shop? No. I don't need to see a picture of you by your front door for that.
It is blatant compliment fishing, and I despair at the complete narcissism and the underlying lack of self confidence this demonstrates. But these posts usually get my copyrighted eyeroll and I scroll on.
However, over the last couple of days I have noticed several posts consisting of a black and white selfie with "Challenge accepted" as the caption. One Google search later and I facepalmed myself so hard I gave myself a black eye.
Maybe I should post a selfie of it.
Anyway, apparently this new craze is to "raise awareness about cancer". These brave souls are taking the time to pick up their phone, switch their front camera on, take several photos until they decide on the most flattering, scroll allllllll the way to the black and white filter, and then, fingers trembling with the effort of it all, posting it on Facebook to make people think about a deadly disease.
You may be surprised to hear that I have several issues with this.
Firstly, unlike the ALS ice bucket challenge, there is no donation to any sort of cancer charity. Were this the case, I may be a little more forgiving as it would actually make a difference. But this isn't part of the "challenge" at all.
Secondly, what the fuck do you mean "raise awareness"? Are you saying that people forget that cancer exists? That your friends need to see a ghostly black and white picture of your mug to remind them that this disease is still around? Enough with this "raise awareness" bullshit, it is yet another use of this vague statement that doesn't actually mean anything, and society really needs to stop throwing it around under the pretence that is does. Speaking of pretence, this brings me neatly to my final point.
Don't pretend that you're posting a picture of yourself to help people with cancer. Admit to yourself that you are posting a selfie for one reason and one reason only - to receive compliments. For people to tell you that you look "gorge, hun", and for those little thumbs to appear under your colourless face. Don't insult cancer sufferers, cancer survivors, and the families that have lost a loved one to cancer, by trying to disguise your narcissism with half-hearted concern.
Just don't do it. It is fucking nonsense.
If you truly want to help, take the time to donate money to a cancer charity, where your actions will be appreciated. Don't contribute to another craze which, when you think about it, is not completely unrelated to the ICTBPSNAOH culture.
Use your heads, guys, don't take pictures of it.
(It's down to the fact that I can't be bothered to provide regular posts).
Anyway, this is actually a semi-serious post for once about a couple of things that genuinely concern me on my favourite punching bag - Facebook.
Behavioural influence
I went off on one a few months ago about how it is dangerous that ignorant morons can reach global audiences with their racist, xenophobic garbage on social media. Seemingly with no consequences whatsoever, they are free to share whatever twattish, misspelled opinion they have to millions of easily-influenced people, and those people will then swallow it all (all Muslims are terrorists, don't you know), and this is where people can actually get hurt or killed. It is a real concern, and this post is related to the issue of creating an actual culture at the click of a button.
So, seeing as very few people bother with the small thing of making their profiles private these days, I'm often treated to unwanted things popping up on my Facebook homepage i.e. if someone on my friends list likes or comments on a post with "Show everyone every aspect of my fucking life" privacy settings enabled, I'm able to see this on my feed. Lucky me.
This has allowed me to see a lot of stomach-turning posts that normally trigger nothing more than a roll of the eyes from me. But recently I've began to notice certain trends, almost a culture, emerging among a certain group on social media - the (usually) under twenties, specifically young girls.
As we've already covered, literally anyone on Facebook can create a post, be it a picture, video, or just a status, and share it with the entire Facebook population. Sometimes, these posts will get latched onto and shared thousands of times, spinning off into social media virality (I wasn't sure if this was a word and had to Google it to check - it is! There you go, there's a free insight into my life as I blog. I feel like this sidebar has gone on a little too long now. I'm going to end it) where young and impressionable minds are ready to be influenced, and where grumpy fucks like me moan about them ending up on their home pages. Now occasionally, these posts going viral is a very good thing - they can dispel myths, boost confidence, share stories of heroism, and generally have a feel good vibe. I have no issues with these posts.
The problem comes when these posts are so mind-numbingly stupid that it goes beyond a joke.
I mentioned the young girls demographic. There is a frankly horrifying culture emerging here, and I don't doubt for a second that it is further fuelled by social media. I don't have a name for this culture yet, so the working title is It's Cool To Be Paranoid, Selfish, Needy, And Openly Hostile, or ICTBPSNAOH. I'll work on it.
ICTBPSNAOH is demonstrated by girls sharing whatever post some fuckbell came up with on a whim. They share it not out of scorn - "Hey guys, check out this ridiculous post. I feel bad even sharing it but people need to be aware of the type of shit that's out there" - but are instead sharing due to the spine tingling reason that they agree with the post's content.
I know what you're thinking - spine tingling, Rach? Really? You're not Stephen King, get back to moaning about impolite staff in Tesco.
Unfortunately, I'm not being facetious when I say that the sharing of these posts scares the crap out of me. Before we look at why, I'd like to share with you some of the posts I've been privy to in recent months. I apologise in advance.
Now then.
I'm the type of person that can find humour in most things, within reason. A lot of stuff I see in my day-to-day life usually provides me with some sort of source of amusement, which I think is a healthy attitude to have. Take the fact that I'm approaching 30. I definitely find that funny and not at all depressing. Hahahahaha. See?
None of the above pictures, nor the countless other pearls of wisdom I've seen recently, provided me with anything other that a sense of utter contempt for those who created them.
Do these people have any idea what they're doing? They are creating a culture where it is not only acceptable to behave like an entitled princess who expects men to do everything for them, but a culture in which the behaviour is actually encouraged and celebrated. This can have a very real affect on young girls who are still figuring out who they are, and could ultimately influence their lives and choices in the future.
Don't text me every morning? Just don't bother speaking to me at all.
He didn't ask me out. There's no way he just might be shy and would prefer me to make the first move, he's clearly a pussy and/or not interested in me.
I have anger issues, but I'm not going to deal with them. Other people need to just accept it because I'm not going to change.
I also saw another one recently that I couldn't find for this post, but it essentially said "I can be the most needy person in the world and texting you every two minutes one day, and then really moody and completely ignore you the next. That's just the way I am, baby!".
What the fuck is that? I'll tell you what the fuck it is - it is telling young girls that it is okay to be a bad person. That is what it boils down to. Don't worry about being trustworthy, loyal, and reasonable. No, look out for number one, fly off the handle at any given moment, and expect others to pick up the pieces.
Oh, and it's worth mentioning that all of this also has an affect on young men, as it teaches them that they should expect girls to behave this way, and won't question it whenever a girlfriend tries to hit him over the fact that he didn't text back quickly enough. It's just the way she is, baby.
What a sorry state of affairs.
The younger generation are in a quandary. Everything is done on Facebook these days - events are organised, messages fly about, updates are posted. Social media, for all its problems, can be useful in modern day life. You'll be stretched to find a young person who isn't on social media of some form, and this means they will then of course be exposed to this nonsense on a daily basis, whether they like it or not. It will slowly but surely begin to alter their behaviour until they turn into spoilt brats, and what then? We're looking at a generation of people who believe in ICTBPSNAOH, where selfish acts are promoted as the right thing to do, where overreacting is the norm, and where women are kept princesses and men are downtrodden and used.
It makes me fear for my young niece, and also any children I may have in the future. Hopefully this craze will have moved on by then, and we instead celebrate ambition and hope rather than the ICTBPSNAOH culture.
Somehow, sadly, I doubt it.
Narcissism disguised as concern
This will be a short one as my fingers are tired. Stop sniggering at the back.
I don't hide the fact that I hate pointless selfies. Standing at the top of the Statue of Liberty? Go ahead and take a picture of yourself with the backdrop of NYC behind you, that's okay - you enjoy yourself. Heading off to the shop? No. I don't need to see a picture of you by your front door for that.
It is blatant compliment fishing, and I despair at the complete narcissism and the underlying lack of self confidence this demonstrates. But these posts usually get my copyrighted eyeroll and I scroll on.
However, over the last couple of days I have noticed several posts consisting of a black and white selfie with "Challenge accepted" as the caption. One Google search later and I facepalmed myself so hard I gave myself a black eye.
Maybe I should post a selfie of it.
Anyway, apparently this new craze is to "raise awareness about cancer". These brave souls are taking the time to pick up their phone, switch their front camera on, take several photos until they decide on the most flattering, scroll allllllll the way to the black and white filter, and then, fingers trembling with the effort of it all, posting it on Facebook to make people think about a deadly disease.
You may be surprised to hear that I have several issues with this.
Firstly, unlike the ALS ice bucket challenge, there is no donation to any sort of cancer charity. Were this the case, I may be a little more forgiving as it would actually make a difference. But this isn't part of the "challenge" at all.
Secondly, what the fuck do you mean "raise awareness"? Are you saying that people forget that cancer exists? That your friends need to see a ghostly black and white picture of your mug to remind them that this disease is still around? Enough with this "raise awareness" bullshit, it is yet another use of this vague statement that doesn't actually mean anything, and society really needs to stop throwing it around under the pretence that is does. Speaking of pretence, this brings me neatly to my final point.
Don't pretend that you're posting a picture of yourself to help people with cancer. Admit to yourself that you are posting a selfie for one reason and one reason only - to receive compliments. For people to tell you that you look "gorge, hun", and for those little thumbs to appear under your colourless face. Don't insult cancer sufferers, cancer survivors, and the families that have lost a loved one to cancer, by trying to disguise your narcissism with half-hearted concern.
Just don't do it. It is fucking nonsense.
If you truly want to help, take the time to donate money to a cancer charity, where your actions will be appreciated. Don't contribute to another craze which, when you think about it, is not completely unrelated to the ICTBPSNAOH culture.
Use your heads, guys, don't take pictures of it.
Monday 25 March 2013
Things that annoy me #4 - A lot of stuff. This is a ranting medley.
So before this particular post, my blog consisted of individual posts moaning about one specific thing. That's because usually the thing I'm writing about fills me with such a large amount of rage that I can bang out so many pages using only my clenched right fist that I practically have a novel at the end of it. But today's charming post is brought to you by a little mix of annoyances that, don't get me wrong, annoy me, but don't annoy me enough that I can justify giving it its own individual post.
Plus I couldn't think of enough jokes about each of them to fill a page.
Let us begin.
Instagram
Picture the scene. You're at home chilling in front of the TV. Breaking Bad (if you haven't seen this show, stop reading this and watch it now. Now.) is on, you have a cup of tea in one hand and your pet in the other. All is right with the world. You then get a phonecall from me: "Dude, I'm eating a pizza. A mushroom one. I've also got a glass of red wine. Now imagine all that in sepia and slightly blurred. Pretty sweet right? Hashtag living the dream".
This, instagram users, is the equivalent of putting your crap all over my Facebook newsfeed. Why on earth do you think people want to see what you're eating? I know for certain I don't care, and I can't for the life of me understand why others would either. If, on the other hand, you had your hands blown off in a bomb-experiment-gone-wrong incident many years ago and recently got fitted with bionic hands and you were posting a picture of the very first sandwich you managed to make since becoming handless, then you can expect a "like" from me, my friend. If not, keep your fucking LOOK WHAT I'M ABOUT TO PUT IN MY MOUTH posts to yourself. They have no place on Facebook. And speaking of things that have no place on the 'book...
Hashtags
I don't use Twitter. Not knocking it, I just have no real interest in the nonsensical ramblings of celebrities, whether they are A list or Z list. It just doesn't interest me. But apparently hashtags originated on this site, and they can "trend" or something if you make up one that's good enough. That's fine.
It's fine on Twitter.
Now from what I can tell, putting the hash symbol infront of a word (or on some occasions, whole sentences with no gaps) does absolutely nothing on Facebook. It won't make you trend, or link you to a certain page, or do anything that doesn't make you look like a jibberish spewing arsehole. I despise the whole hashtag craze as it is, but seeing it on Facebook for no apparent reason other than to look hip is bordering on ridiculous. I'm just waiting for the day I see it on toilet graffiti...may Satan have mercy on the people with me when that happens.
It may be worth mentioning that I considered jokingly putting a hashtag somewhere in this section, just to ram home my point. But I physically couldn't. I started writing a long, over the top one, but got about halfway through before furiously tapping the delete button, tears springing to my eyes. My body won't allow such twattishness, and I can only apologise to you, sweet reader, for letting you down when I'm sure you were on the edge of your seat.
The Japanese
Gotcha. Bet you were about to disown me there and then. Just a little joke, sit back down, and say no to racism, kids.
Rude shop assistants
I don't expect to be made to feel like I'm shopping in Harvey Nichols every time I pop into Tesco. In fact I'm quite happy to get in, use the self service if possible, and get out. But sometimes I will need assistance, for example if the self service decides to dice with death and tell me there's an unexpected item in the bagging area when there clearly isn't, you whore.
Anyway, I've lost count of the times when there's been a code red i.e. the little red light above my little till flashes politely, and I've been completely ignored. I could understand entirely if the shop was busy at the time, but usually I have to bare witness to two or more employees merrily chatting to eachother behind their own tills with no customer in sight, while I stand there gazing at the red light wondering why I couldn't just be at home in my pants. When they eventually notice, or sometimes I've had to prompt them, there is no conversation, no smile, not even any eye contact. They usually come, punch in some numbers and leave. This warm encounter is often peppered with heavy sighs, as if me and my shopping had interrupted their relaxing bubble bath rather than a conversation about how they never get laid anymore.
It is even worse when the self service tills are out of bounds. The reason they are out of order is usually because some poor bastard grows tired of the faceless voice barking at them saying that approval was needed for a packet of chewing gum, and eventually puts their head through the screen. So then I have to deal with a grumpy employee for the entire paying process.
Now sometimes I get good service at these shops, whether it's Tesco, Sainsbury's, whatever. But 90% of the time I get a person who either treats me with utter contempt, or spends the entire time talking to their colleague at the till next to them. I will say again, I'm not expecting five star service, but I believe there is a certain standard has to be met, and not even looking at the customer you're serving and instead chattering to the assistant next to you is akin to giving the custmer the finger the whole time.
For example, I once had the unpleasant experience of attempting to use the self service at the Sainsbury's in Uplands, only for it to crash completely. I'm not sure what I did, but I managed to get the blue screen of death. Impressive? You bet your sweet bippy. An assistant, and I use the term loosely, eventually came and tried to fix it. After seeing that it could not be revived, she threw her hands dramatically in the air and I honestly thought she was praying. But then she said the word "fuck" so that bubble was soon popped. After being curtly told to follow her to a till, she appeared to want to punch me in the face when I had the temerity to ask for a bag. I assume that was because it meant she would need to actually pack my stuff rather than throwing it in my general direction. So, she proceeded to ram my items into a single bag at random, all the while glaring at the shiny Sainsbury's floor, then thrust the near-bursting bag at me. "Careful, it's heavy" she said, putting it down on my hand. I then scuttled out feeling quite bewildered. I've worked in retail before (Marks and Spencer in case you were wondering. Ask me about it anytime, I'll be happy to help you), and I never treated people like terrorists no matter what sort of mood I was in.
In the hope that some Customer Service Excellence exec is reading this, please train these guys up before someone writes a scathing blog about them. Cheers.
Online attention seeking twots
I long for the days of yesteryear when I simply had friends phoning me and saying little except generally weep down the line. Rather than attention seeking, they would say what's wrong, have a good cry, and then we could sort it out. Simpler times.
Fast forward to 2013 and now we have this on Facebook and other social networking sites:
Person A's status - :(
Person B - What's wrong?
Person A - Don't wanna talk about it on here
I ask you...WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT ABOUT? Have you any idea how much I loathe that nonsense? If you're feeling sad, phone, text, or email a friend to talk it out. Don't lure people into asking what's the matter only to then pretend to be coy. People who pull this sort of crap a) don't usually last long on my friends list and b) usually haven't been part of my life for a long time therefore the deletion isn't a big deal. But unfortunately, due to Facebook's weird privacy settings, I occasionally get a depressing look into other people's lives when I can see friends commenting on other people stati who aren't even on my friends list. And it is dire. These are people my age who are so desparate for attention that they put a vague statement of how they're feeling sad, then as soon as some "concerned" i.e. nosy friend makes a comment, they turn on an air of mystery that Batman himself would be proud of, if Batman was a self-obsessed fucktard.
And another thing, please don't use that Check In button at every opportunity, especially if you're proudly announcing to the world that you're currently in hospital. That is another blatant please-ask-me-what's-wrong-but-ooooh-I-won't-tell-you performance, and it doesn't sit at all well with me. I also don't really care that you're in Topshop, Oakwood, or if you're "On my comfy sofa wiv my boy. He's feedin me Doritos, awwww". I'm surprised you people can even get your head around modern technology let alone use it.
Look at that, I've just realised most of today's rants have centred around Facebook. I guess it turns out Facebook annoys me a lot.
To even it out, geese also annoy me.
And people who don't like Gangnam Style.
Plus I couldn't think of enough jokes about each of them to fill a page.
Let us begin.
Picture the scene. You're at home chilling in front of the TV. Breaking Bad (if you haven't seen this show, stop reading this and watch it now. Now.) is on, you have a cup of tea in one hand and your pet in the other. All is right with the world. You then get a phonecall from me: "Dude, I'm eating a pizza. A mushroom one. I've also got a glass of red wine. Now imagine all that in sepia and slightly blurred. Pretty sweet right? Hashtag living the dream".
This, instagram users, is the equivalent of putting your crap all over my Facebook newsfeed. Why on earth do you think people want to see what you're eating? I know for certain I don't care, and I can't for the life of me understand why others would either. If, on the other hand, you had your hands blown off in a bomb-experiment-gone-wrong incident many years ago and recently got fitted with bionic hands and you were posting a picture of the very first sandwich you managed to make since becoming handless, then you can expect a "like" from me, my friend. If not, keep your fucking LOOK WHAT I'M ABOUT TO PUT IN MY MOUTH posts to yourself. They have no place on Facebook. And speaking of things that have no place on the 'book...
Hashtags
I don't use Twitter. Not knocking it, I just have no real interest in the nonsensical ramblings of celebrities, whether they are A list or Z list. It just doesn't interest me. But apparently hashtags originated on this site, and they can "trend" or something if you make up one that's good enough. That's fine.
It's fine on Twitter.
Now from what I can tell, putting the hash symbol infront of a word (or on some occasions, whole sentences with no gaps) does absolutely nothing on Facebook. It won't make you trend, or link you to a certain page, or do anything that doesn't make you look like a jibberish spewing arsehole. I despise the whole hashtag craze as it is, but seeing it on Facebook for no apparent reason other than to look hip is bordering on ridiculous. I'm just waiting for the day I see it on toilet graffiti...may Satan have mercy on the people with me when that happens.
It may be worth mentioning that I considered jokingly putting a hashtag somewhere in this section, just to ram home my point. But I physically couldn't. I started writing a long, over the top one, but got about halfway through before furiously tapping the delete button, tears springing to my eyes. My body won't allow such twattishness, and I can only apologise to you, sweet reader, for letting you down when I'm sure you were on the edge of your seat.
The Japanese
Gotcha. Bet you were about to disown me there and then. Just a little joke, sit back down, and say no to racism, kids.
Rude shop assistants
I don't expect to be made to feel like I'm shopping in Harvey Nichols every time I pop into Tesco. In fact I'm quite happy to get in, use the self service if possible, and get out. But sometimes I will need assistance, for example if the self service decides to dice with death and tell me there's an unexpected item in the bagging area when there clearly isn't, you whore.
Anyway, I've lost count of the times when there's been a code red i.e. the little red light above my little till flashes politely, and I've been completely ignored. I could understand entirely if the shop was busy at the time, but usually I have to bare witness to two or more employees merrily chatting to eachother behind their own tills with no customer in sight, while I stand there gazing at the red light wondering why I couldn't just be at home in my pants. When they eventually notice, or sometimes I've had to prompt them, there is no conversation, no smile, not even any eye contact. They usually come, punch in some numbers and leave. This warm encounter is often peppered with heavy sighs, as if me and my shopping had interrupted their relaxing bubble bath rather than a conversation about how they never get laid anymore.
It is even worse when the self service tills are out of bounds. The reason they are out of order is usually because some poor bastard grows tired of the faceless voice barking at them saying that approval was needed for a packet of chewing gum, and eventually puts their head through the screen. So then I have to deal with a grumpy employee for the entire paying process.
Now sometimes I get good service at these shops, whether it's Tesco, Sainsbury's, whatever. But 90% of the time I get a person who either treats me with utter contempt, or spends the entire time talking to their colleague at the till next to them. I will say again, I'm not expecting five star service, but I believe there is a certain standard has to be met, and not even looking at the customer you're serving and instead chattering to the assistant next to you is akin to giving the custmer the finger the whole time.
For example, I once had the unpleasant experience of attempting to use the self service at the Sainsbury's in Uplands, only for it to crash completely. I'm not sure what I did, but I managed to get the blue screen of death. Impressive? You bet your sweet bippy. An assistant, and I use the term loosely, eventually came and tried to fix it. After seeing that it could not be revived, she threw her hands dramatically in the air and I honestly thought she was praying. But then she said the word "fuck" so that bubble was soon popped. After being curtly told to follow her to a till, she appeared to want to punch me in the face when I had the temerity to ask for a bag. I assume that was because it meant she would need to actually pack my stuff rather than throwing it in my general direction. So, she proceeded to ram my items into a single bag at random, all the while glaring at the shiny Sainsbury's floor, then thrust the near-bursting bag at me. "Careful, it's heavy" she said, putting it down on my hand. I then scuttled out feeling quite bewildered. I've worked in retail before (Marks and Spencer in case you were wondering. Ask me about it anytime, I'll be happy to help you), and I never treated people like terrorists no matter what sort of mood I was in.
In the hope that some Customer Service Excellence exec is reading this, please train these guys up before someone writes a scathing blog about them. Cheers.
Online attention seeking twots
I long for the days of yesteryear when I simply had friends phoning me and saying little except generally weep down the line. Rather than attention seeking, they would say what's wrong, have a good cry, and then we could sort it out. Simpler times.
Fast forward to 2013 and now we have this on Facebook and other social networking sites:
Person A's status - :(
Person B - What's wrong?
Person A - Don't wanna talk about it on here
I ask you...WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT ABOUT? Have you any idea how much I loathe that nonsense? If you're feeling sad, phone, text, or email a friend to talk it out. Don't lure people into asking what's the matter only to then pretend to be coy. People who pull this sort of crap a) don't usually last long on my friends list and b) usually haven't been part of my life for a long time therefore the deletion isn't a big deal. But unfortunately, due to Facebook's weird privacy settings, I occasionally get a depressing look into other people's lives when I can see friends commenting on other people stati who aren't even on my friends list. And it is dire. These are people my age who are so desparate for attention that they put a vague statement of how they're feeling sad, then as soon as some "concerned" i.e. nosy friend makes a comment, they turn on an air of mystery that Batman himself would be proud of, if Batman was a self-obsessed fucktard.
And another thing, please don't use that Check In button at every opportunity, especially if you're proudly announcing to the world that you're currently in hospital. That is another blatant please-ask-me-what's-wrong-but-ooooh-I-won't-tell-you performance, and it doesn't sit at all well with me. I also don't really care that you're in Topshop, Oakwood, or if you're "On my comfy sofa wiv my boy. He's feedin me Doritos, awwww". I'm surprised you people can even get your head around modern technology let alone use it.
Look at that, I've just realised most of today's rants have centred around Facebook. I guess it turns out Facebook annoys me a lot.
To even it out, geese also annoy me.
And people who don't like Gangnam Style.
Saturday 13 October 2012
Things that annoy me #3 - Children
Children can be cute. I admit have made a small "d'awww" noise at the odd baby or toddler in the past, and felt a glow inside me that may have been my uterus smiling. Or this glow may have been every fiber in my body praying that the small human in question doesn't come any closer than five meters. Because, whether they are cute or not, I am quite terrified of these crawling, gummy gremlins, and have no interest in holding them so I would thank you people to STOP THRUSTING THEM IN MY DIRECTION.
I ran into an old colleague who I hadn't seen in a while on my way to work the other day. I was tired, grumpy, and wanted to do nothing more than listen to Planet Rock being pumped into my head via my earphones. But this person, who shall remain nameless, unfortunately came at me with such little warning that I was convinced she had emerged from the nearby shrubbery.
Now I hate these chance OMG-I-haven't-seen-you-in-ages conversations enough as it is, but I particularly wasn't in the mood for the back and forth "what have you been up to...ah there's nice" performance in this early morning zombified state. But being one of the politest people on earth, I pulled my earphones out and tried my best.
I'm ashamed to say it took me a full sixty seconds to notice the three-year-old standing at her side. This I was not prepared for. I managed a strangled "oh, hello!" and, furiously trying not to look awkward, bent slightly in the middle to lean closer in an attempt to look like a friendly adult. I don't think this worked as the little girl backed away, scowling.
I would have made my excuses and bolted at this point, but the ex-colleague blundgeoned on, beseeching the blonde haired small person to say hello back.
Silence.
I was not awake enough for this. Unable to take the stoney silence any longer, and painfully aware that I will still slightly bent over, I said in an entirely inappropriate formal tone, "I'm Rachel. And you are?". Yup. Like I was in a fucking business meeting.
The child was quickly ushered away after that.
So as I stated on Facebook the other day (shortly after this ridiculous exchange), I cannot talk to kids. I have never felt comfortable doing it, which, on paper, is illogical. It's highly unlikely that a small child would fix me with a beady eye and launch into a belittling speech of how I'm a disgrace to adults for not having the capability to discuss Dora the Explorer over a cup of pretend tea.
But I don't know what it is that makes it so diffcult.
It might be to do with the fact that my first instinct is to talk to everyone like adults. Even animals. I've lost count of how many times I've dissected Greece's financial plight with my cats. But I think the part of my brain which engages baby/toddler speak is not only broken, but missing entirely. I've tried to make an over-the-top fuss over a small person's toys or whatever, but whatever comes out of my mouth sounds like it's dripping in distain and I have no control over this.
It's not that I just feel uncomfotable meeting a child for the first time, it's ANY time. It doesn't matter on how many occasions I've met them, I will always feel like I'm being cheerily introduced to Hitler. There are several midget adults in my family, and if I'm placed near them I tend to grin constantly in their direction without saying a word, which is bound to get me in trouble one day. I'm sorry, parents, but I don't have a fucking clue what to say to your kids.
If I ever have a baby maybe the talk will come naturally. I sincerely hope so anyway, otherwise my spawn will be forbidden to talk until at least the age of eight. Eight is fine, it's a friendly number. Plus over-eights are less likely to suddenly rush towards me with jam or some other sticky shit on their fingers.
All this being said, I don't HATE kids. They're fine for people who want them. But I have a message for my friends out there with knee-high little scamps. Your children will get a small wave from me, maybe a smile, and that's it. Please don't plonk them in my lap or try and force conversation. One day I'll get over this little brain fart in my personality make up, but until then, keep 'em away. Cheers.
And finally, please don't execute the cardinal sin which is leaving me alone with your child. I will not molest them. I will not give them alcohol or teach them swear words. I will run for my life. I will hide under or in the nearest available object and wait for your return, sobbing quietly.
You don't want me to confuse your child like that, do you?
I ran into an old colleague who I hadn't seen in a while on my way to work the other day. I was tired, grumpy, and wanted to do nothing more than listen to Planet Rock being pumped into my head via my earphones. But this person, who shall remain nameless, unfortunately came at me with such little warning that I was convinced she had emerged from the nearby shrubbery.
Now I hate these chance OMG-I-haven't-seen-you-in-ages conversations enough as it is, but I particularly wasn't in the mood for the back and forth "what have you been up to...ah there's nice" performance in this early morning zombified state. But being one of the politest people on earth, I pulled my earphones out and tried my best.
I'm ashamed to say it took me a full sixty seconds to notice the three-year-old standing at her side. This I was not prepared for. I managed a strangled "oh, hello!" and, furiously trying not to look awkward, bent slightly in the middle to lean closer in an attempt to look like a friendly adult. I don't think this worked as the little girl backed away, scowling.
I would have made my excuses and bolted at this point, but the ex-colleague blundgeoned on, beseeching the blonde haired small person to say hello back.
Silence.
I was not awake enough for this. Unable to take the stoney silence any longer, and painfully aware that I will still slightly bent over, I said in an entirely inappropriate formal tone, "I'm Rachel. And you are?". Yup. Like I was in a fucking business meeting.
The child was quickly ushered away after that.
So as I stated on Facebook the other day (shortly after this ridiculous exchange), I cannot talk to kids. I have never felt comfortable doing it, which, on paper, is illogical. It's highly unlikely that a small child would fix me with a beady eye and launch into a belittling speech of how I'm a disgrace to adults for not having the capability to discuss Dora the Explorer over a cup of pretend tea.
But I don't know what it is that makes it so diffcult.
It might be to do with the fact that my first instinct is to talk to everyone like adults. Even animals. I've lost count of how many times I've dissected Greece's financial plight with my cats. But I think the part of my brain which engages baby/toddler speak is not only broken, but missing entirely. I've tried to make an over-the-top fuss over a small person's toys or whatever, but whatever comes out of my mouth sounds like it's dripping in distain and I have no control over this.
It's not that I just feel uncomfotable meeting a child for the first time, it's ANY time. It doesn't matter on how many occasions I've met them, I will always feel like I'm being cheerily introduced to Hitler. There are several midget adults in my family, and if I'm placed near them I tend to grin constantly in their direction without saying a word, which is bound to get me in trouble one day. I'm sorry, parents, but I don't have a fucking clue what to say to your kids.
If I ever have a baby maybe the talk will come naturally. I sincerely hope so anyway, otherwise my spawn will be forbidden to talk until at least the age of eight. Eight is fine, it's a friendly number. Plus over-eights are less likely to suddenly rush towards me with jam or some other sticky shit on their fingers.
All this being said, I don't HATE kids. They're fine for people who want them. But I have a message for my friends out there with knee-high little scamps. Your children will get a small wave from me, maybe a smile, and that's it. Please don't plonk them in my lap or try and force conversation. One day I'll get over this little brain fart in my personality make up, but until then, keep 'em away. Cheers.
And finally, please don't execute the cardinal sin which is leaving me alone with your child. I will not molest them. I will not give them alcohol or teach them swear words. I will run for my life. I will hide under or in the nearest available object and wait for your return, sobbing quietly.
You don't want me to confuse your child like that, do you?
Tuesday 19 June 2012
Things that annoy me #2 - Fifty Shades of Shite
Alright, it's once again been another year since I've angrily tapped something into this little box. It's not my fault, I genuinely forget about this thing. But I promise I will try my best to keep it up this time.
"WHAT'S ANNOYING YOU TODAY?" I hear you shriek. First of all, calm down before you squeal yourself into an early grave. Now that you're nicely silent, gather 'round, and let me tell you the story about the worst story ever written - Fifty Shades of Grey.
Let me just put a quick disclaimer in here first - I know a few of my friends have read/are reading the book, and are enjoying it. These friends are also on Facebook, where I will be sharing this blog. This is not a personal attack on you. Rest assured I like you all very much, and I'm not knocking your tastes.
But you're fucking morons.
Curiosity finally got the better of me on Sunday, and I bought the book. I had been intrigued by it for a few days. Why was this particular trilogy of erotica causing such a storm? There are many, many books out there in the same vein, what makes this one so different? Perhaps it's beautifully written, with memorable, lovable characters that worm their way into your heart and stay there. Perhaps it's a book that will change your life.
It ain't.
Lets start with our little leading lady - Anastasia Steele. The moment I saw her full name I groaned. The early signs were not good, and I hoped that something in this character would make me see past this horrendous and cliched name, something to actually make me care about what happens to her. No such luck. "Ana" is bland, dim, and terrifically annoying. There is absolutely nothing to this character, nothing witty, nothing insightful, nothing exciting. All she does is blush and talk about how lovely and grey Christian Grey's eyes are (yeah, it actually goes there). Her subconscious and "inner goddess" are referred to as second and third characters on such a regular basis that I began to suspect that even the author was bored of Ana too.
Ah yes, the author. Lets get one thing perfectly clear, and this is not up for debate. This woman, EL James, cannot write. This is not an opinion, not something that I'm willing to cheerfully discuss over a pint with the possibility that I will emerge with a different opinion on the matter. It is a fact. Her writing style is so simplistic, so lacking in any edge whatsoever that it leads me to believe that the people who read this rubbish have never previously read a book in their life. I have never, ever come across an author with such a clearly limited vocabulary. For example, as I was reading (with a look of horror permanently etched onto my face by now), I noticed that Ana was saying the word "holy" a bit more than was acceptable. It was everywhere. Holy crap! Holy shit! Holy fuck! Holy Moses! It almost seemed like the author was trolling the reader, seeing how many times she could fit her clearly-favourite word into this book without anyone noticing. Well, Mrs James, I did notice, and it got to me so much that I found myself emitting a small roar of frustration every time this bastard popped up. It is written, without exaggeration, at least once every other page. Sometimes twice on one page. You cannot argue that this is good writing, that this author deserves any of these millions coming her way. It is literary laziness. What is also clear is that this woman, perhaps aware that her readers might notice she has simply been repeating the same words over and over, has on occasion Googled a word that she intends to use, plucked a synonym of that word out of a list, and plonked it into a setence. The word does not quite fit, and is a desparate attempt to appear like she has a more varied vocabularly than she actually does. Oh, and she's also fond of the word "equilibrium", throwing it in wherever she can and no doubt beaming with pride that she knew a word that contained more than three syllables.
One thing I will say is that the author knows what what the average woman wants to hear. The sex scenes were ok: dominant, muscular guy who likes tying women up. That's fine with me, bra. But the point is they're nothing special, and certainly not deserving the mountains of praise being heaped upon them. For one thing, the author refers to the characters genitalia as "sex", or occasionally, with the author's cheeks flushing furiuously, referred to as "down there". Oh please. The whole thing has an air of a giggling school girl, and it is unbelievably grating. And the bits in between these little meetings are so tediously boring that in the end I simply skimmed over them, my zipping eyes leaving a long trail of "he's so freaking hot", "holy shit!" and "equilibriums" in their wake.
It is trash. Complete and utter trash, and I am puzzled to why this has become such a phenomenon. Even the middle aged housewives who usually indulge in Mills and Boon would surely notice that they appear to be reading something that has the same four or five pages copied and pasted over and over again.
I'm disappointed. It would have been nice if it was a fantastic, well written read that I could discuss with other people. And to these other people, I beg you -
DO NOT BUY THIS FUCKING BOOK.
And to those who are currently reading it, please, have a good, long look at what you're taking in. Notice the paragraphs a 12-year-old could have knocked up while sitting in front of the TV, notice the bland, underdeveloped characters and the general tone of stupidity. Put the thing down and stop pouring money into the pockets of a talentless idiot.
The offending book is currently face-down behind me on the bed. I have yet to finish it. I'm about three quarters of the way through, and struggling. I don't like not finishing books, and I am determined to do it seeing as I've paid for it (£7.99. £7.99!).
You may think I shouldn't really give my opinion on it seeing as I haven't completed it yet. But trust me when I say this - it isn't going to get any better, and fuck me, this little rant needed to get out before I burned the book in the playground of a local school.
Laughing. Laughing maniacally.
Monday 11 April 2011
Things that annoy me #1 - Wind Street
Yeah ok, it's been nearly a year since my last blog entry. I do think of things to write about, but I tend to do most of my ranting on Facebook as it offers quick relief. But after some pestering by friends, I'm starting this baby back up again. My first few posts will be about things that annoy me, cos I'm a cheerful soul. The first vexing blot in my life is Wind Street.
Let me just make something clear first. I don't condemn all who set foot on the street; I've done it before and I'll probably do it again. If you want to go, fine. I raise a few eyebrows when I say I'm off to Sin City to perv on angsty teenagers, each to their own. But to me it does seem like a meeting point for all of the biggest and loudest twats in South Wales. What prompted me to write this is I recently had the pleasure of fleetingly visiting the street again, and the first thing I saw was a young lady get unsteadily out of a taxi near the castle, stare triumphantly into the distance for a couple of seconds before vomiting on her shoes.
I'll start off by slating the typical women who descend upon the street. I cringe when I see young girls with orange/brown faces strutting about wearing what I can only assume are belts for skirts. It's not a jealousy thing, I just think it looks desperate, and not very nice in the slightest. I wonder how these girls can look at themselves in the mirror before setting out, take in their huge stuck on eyelashes, six layers of makeup, and barely-concealed vag-jay-jay and think "yup, I look awesome". I sometimes walk into bars thinking I've accidentally stumbled into an oompa-loompa sex party. Then as the evening wears on, they get steadily louder and more screechy, before inevitably collapsing face first onto the pavement. If drunken tears make an appearence they end up looking like a recently-dumped Joker. I've also been "started on" by these human sex dolls on a couple of occasions for accidentally knocking them as I make my way through the bar. This doesn't happen much, and I always immediately apologise, but I usually get some sort of unnecessary "watch where you're fucking going" comment thrown at me. Although if their excessive layers of lipgloss have glued their lips shut I tend to receive such an evil stare you'd swear I'd just eaten their first child. I also derive much amusement from the poses these types of girls pull for photos, usually adopting the "duck face" which I assume they think makes them look sexy instead of retarded.
Then you have the men. As you all know I've been in a relationship for over seven years and therefore have absolutely no interest in the advances of lagered up spackers who are under the illusion that they are God's gift to women. These are the type of guys who will stumble up to you, slur something you can't quite make out, before taking your response of "erm" as "please put me over your shoulder and carry me away from my friends". I also had one guy put his tongue in my ear. I liked him.
Then there's the bars themselves. There are a few I don't mind, but I once had the unpleasant experience of being in Ice, which is in my opionion the worst bar on the street. Packed to the rafters with chavs, pumping out crap music and boasting a very threatening atmosphere, I find it difficult to believe that people can actually have fun in that place. I also got charged five pounds sodding fifty pence for a double vodka and redbull in there once. The girl behind the bar also managed to knock my confidence in the process, slowly looking me up and down before saying "that's £5.50, mind". I felt like going back and ordering ten more just to make a point. Couple these sort of bars with bouncers on a power trip and you'll soon be wishing you were home with a cup of very strong tea. It doesn't help that, the majority of the time, what I seek in a night out is a few drinks and drunken banter. You can't have that in bars that are steadily trying to deafen you with Rihanna's latest hits. I don't like having to get an inch away from my friend's ear to shout "CAN WE LEAVE?" over the music. I also can't dance, and I don't mean that in a cutesy I-like-to-say-I-can't-dance-but-secretly-can way. I mean it in the way that I have absolutely no rhythm, no grace, and no real desire to dance to the sort of music coming out of the speakers. I'd much jump about to Feeder without caring about how much of an idiot I probably look.
Oh, and the bars are also slippery when wet, as I discovered when taking my younger sister out for her 18th birthday last year. We were quite a few drinks down in Idols before she went arse over tit on the dancefloor due to what was probably a pool of Stella. She was fine, bruised ankle, but in my drunken state the first thing that sprung to my mind as I watched my little sister sail through the air towards the sodden Idols floor was "Mam better not fucking blame me for this".
All that being said, it's probably not the worst place in the world, and there have been rare occasions where I've had fun on this street. But I really need to be in the right mood. And pissed. Very, very pissed.
Let me just make something clear first. I don't condemn all who set foot on the street; I've done it before and I'll probably do it again. If you want to go, fine. I raise a few eyebrows when I say I'm off to Sin City to perv on angsty teenagers, each to their own. But to me it does seem like a meeting point for all of the biggest and loudest twats in South Wales. What prompted me to write this is I recently had the pleasure of fleetingly visiting the street again, and the first thing I saw was a young lady get unsteadily out of a taxi near the castle, stare triumphantly into the distance for a couple of seconds before vomiting on her shoes.
I'll start off by slating the typical women who descend upon the street. I cringe when I see young girls with orange/brown faces strutting about wearing what I can only assume are belts for skirts. It's not a jealousy thing, I just think it looks desperate, and not very nice in the slightest. I wonder how these girls can look at themselves in the mirror before setting out, take in their huge stuck on eyelashes, six layers of makeup, and barely-concealed vag-jay-jay and think "yup, I look awesome". I sometimes walk into bars thinking I've accidentally stumbled into an oompa-loompa sex party. Then as the evening wears on, they get steadily louder and more screechy, before inevitably collapsing face first onto the pavement. If drunken tears make an appearence they end up looking like a recently-dumped Joker. I've also been "started on" by these human sex dolls on a couple of occasions for accidentally knocking them as I make my way through the bar. This doesn't happen much, and I always immediately apologise, but I usually get some sort of unnecessary "watch where you're fucking going" comment thrown at me. Although if their excessive layers of lipgloss have glued their lips shut I tend to receive such an evil stare you'd swear I'd just eaten their first child. I also derive much amusement from the poses these types of girls pull for photos, usually adopting the "duck face" which I assume they think makes them look sexy instead of retarded.
Then you have the men. As you all know I've been in a relationship for over seven years and therefore have absolutely no interest in the advances of lagered up spackers who are under the illusion that they are God's gift to women. These are the type of guys who will stumble up to you, slur something you can't quite make out, before taking your response of "erm" as "please put me over your shoulder and carry me away from my friends". I also had one guy put his tongue in my ear. I liked him.
Then there's the bars themselves. There are a few I don't mind, but I once had the unpleasant experience of being in Ice, which is in my opionion the worst bar on the street. Packed to the rafters with chavs, pumping out crap music and boasting a very threatening atmosphere, I find it difficult to believe that people can actually have fun in that place. I also got charged five pounds sodding fifty pence for a double vodka and redbull in there once. The girl behind the bar also managed to knock my confidence in the process, slowly looking me up and down before saying "that's £5.50, mind". I felt like going back and ordering ten more just to make a point. Couple these sort of bars with bouncers on a power trip and you'll soon be wishing you were home with a cup of very strong tea. It doesn't help that, the majority of the time, what I seek in a night out is a few drinks and drunken banter. You can't have that in bars that are steadily trying to deafen you with Rihanna's latest hits. I don't like having to get an inch away from my friend's ear to shout "CAN WE LEAVE?" over the music. I also can't dance, and I don't mean that in a cutesy I-like-to-say-I-can't-dance-but-secretly-can way. I mean it in the way that I have absolutely no rhythm, no grace, and no real desire to dance to the sort of music coming out of the speakers. I'd much jump about to Feeder without caring about how much of an idiot I probably look.
Oh, and the bars are also slippery when wet, as I discovered when taking my younger sister out for her 18th birthday last year. We were quite a few drinks down in Idols before she went arse over tit on the dancefloor due to what was probably a pool of Stella. She was fine, bruised ankle, but in my drunken state the first thing that sprung to my mind as I watched my little sister sail through the air towards the sodden Idols floor was "Mam better not fucking blame me for this".
All that being said, it's probably not the worst place in the world, and there have been rare occasions where I've had fun on this street. But I really need to be in the right mood. And pissed. Very, very pissed.
Tuesday 15 June 2010
The event of the yur, like
Nobody who knows me could ever accuse me of hating Swansea. I was born and bred here, and I love the place. I could go on and on about the ways in which Swansea is awesome (and believe me I do), but this post will be casting a critical eye over a certain event over the weekend that swiftly pissed off me and everyone within a five-mile-radius of the fucking thing.
Upon glancing out of my window at 11.30am on Saturday, all I could see were topless male chavs with "tats" in abundance, and scantily clad female chavs, the majority holding a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of alcohol in the other. All were bellowing a limited variety of swears, and generally strutting around like they owned Uplands, occasionally stopping briefly to vomit. I naturally assumed it was the apocalypse, and promptly shut my curtains, and dithered for a couple of minutes wondering who I should phone to say goodbye to first. Then I remembered it was the chav's version of Christmas. Escape in the Park has been running for quite a few years now, and while I've always been an advocate of "each to their own", I have no idea why anyone would want to gather in an arena which offerings include an endless mish-mash of noise, aggressive, worked up meatheads fighting eachother, and general chav-esque tomfoolery that would embarrass even Tim Westwood.
I will go on to look at how the event could be good for Swansea later on, but first I will look at how it annoys most Swansea residents to the point of writing a strongly-worded blog entry.
First of all - the noise. At the risk of sounding like an elderly woman who glares in the direction of any type of pitch higher than that nice Terry Wogan off the radio's dulcet tones, the noise is fucking ridiculous. From what I've heard, the arena is not big. Therefore it's not like a lot of musical festivals where, due to the space left between stages, you can hear a definite melody and lyrics from the outside of the arena. With EITP however, all that can be heard is a horrible, non-specific boom-boom-boom, thanks to stages being placed too close together, with the respective Djs assumingly trying to out-do eachother in regards to volume. This is a nightmare for any nearby residents who have the nerve not to be interested in non-stop repetitive noise. This leads me into my next point - the location.
You will rarely get musical festivals plonked in the middle of residental areas. The reasons are obvious, and yet the organisers choose to ignore this and go ahead with it anyway. I may have been slightly more acceptable of the idea if the little darlings pill-popping parade ended at around 6-7pm instead of carrying on until 12am. Twelve hours of eardrum busting "music" isn't fair on anyone in the vicinity. I'm not saying I toddle off to bed at 7pm on a Saturday night, but I'm not the only person living in the surrounding area. There are people of all ages, case in point I have a friend who lives nearby with a young daughter and he expressed his frustration of not being able to get her off to sleep due to the noise. Another thing the organisers have seemingly failed to acknowledge is the very long and very busy duel carriageway that runs along Singleton park, and how the aforementioned carriageway may pose a threat to drunk/drugged individuals who may choose to escape the park for a bit (see what I did there). I remember when Jonny used to live in West Cross, I had several idiots walk nonchalantly infront of my car as I was driving along on the day of this wretched event. And even when it ends, it doesn't stop there.
I've had a couple of light hearted digs at the chavs already, and yeah maybe they can be a bit louder and more aggressive than your average music festival goer, but I'm not going to pretend that the piece de resistance of this annoying tale wouldn't have happened if they had been of a different variety of people. Living in Uplands, there are a lot of taxis, kebab shops etc, so it's unsurprising that a lot of the masses go home via this way. Unfortunately, due to a mix of alcohol and euphoria, and without a doubt something of the illegal variety, it renders them without a care in the world. This leads to groups of utter twats marching through the streets at silly o clock singing, fighting, and generally screeching at the top of their voices, without even considering how their actions may be affecting other people. I was woken up quite a lot, as was Jonny, and I'm sure loads of other people.
Ok, I understand how events like this could be good for the area, for example tourism. I also appreciate that it could generate a fair amount of money as well. But in my opinion it doesn't justify putting everyone in the vicinity through a bit of a nightmare in the process. Yes it's only one day, but unless you live nearby you can't imagine how annoying it is. And I'm not just having a bit of a moan purely because it's a be festival which includes the type of music I'm not really into; I had the same concerns when Singelton Park was going to hold the Fflam festival a couple of years ago. Initially I thought it was a good idea, but then I considered the location, and started to wonder if the organisers had really thought this through.
Anyway, rant over. There's not doubt EITP will continue for years, and I can deal with it, probably by investing in a good pair of earplugs. It's the older people I feel most sorry for, perhaps organisers should start a campaign to include them...
Whatever happens, I would prefer it if this particular outside disco was a silent one.
Upon glancing out of my window at 11.30am on Saturday, all I could see were topless male chavs with "tats" in abundance, and scantily clad female chavs, the majority holding a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of alcohol in the other. All were bellowing a limited variety of swears, and generally strutting around like they owned Uplands, occasionally stopping briefly to vomit. I naturally assumed it was the apocalypse, and promptly shut my curtains, and dithered for a couple of minutes wondering who I should phone to say goodbye to first. Then I remembered it was the chav's version of Christmas. Escape in the Park has been running for quite a few years now, and while I've always been an advocate of "each to their own", I have no idea why anyone would want to gather in an arena which offerings include an endless mish-mash of noise, aggressive, worked up meatheads fighting eachother, and general chav-esque tomfoolery that would embarrass even Tim Westwood.
I will go on to look at how the event could be good for Swansea later on, but first I will look at how it annoys most Swansea residents to the point of writing a strongly-worded blog entry.
First of all - the noise. At the risk of sounding like an elderly woman who glares in the direction of any type of pitch higher than that nice Terry Wogan off the radio's dulcet tones, the noise is fucking ridiculous. From what I've heard, the arena is not big. Therefore it's not like a lot of musical festivals where, due to the space left between stages, you can hear a definite melody and lyrics from the outside of the arena. With EITP however, all that can be heard is a horrible, non-specific boom-boom-boom, thanks to stages being placed too close together, with the respective Djs assumingly trying to out-do eachother in regards to volume. This is a nightmare for any nearby residents who have the nerve not to be interested in non-stop repetitive noise. This leads me into my next point - the location.
You will rarely get musical festivals plonked in the middle of residental areas. The reasons are obvious, and yet the organisers choose to ignore this and go ahead with it anyway. I may have been slightly more acceptable of the idea if the little darlings pill-popping parade ended at around 6-7pm instead of carrying on until 12am. Twelve hours of eardrum busting "music" isn't fair on anyone in the vicinity. I'm not saying I toddle off to bed at 7pm on a Saturday night, but I'm not the only person living in the surrounding area. There are people of all ages, case in point I have a friend who lives nearby with a young daughter and he expressed his frustration of not being able to get her off to sleep due to the noise. Another thing the organisers have seemingly failed to acknowledge is the very long and very busy duel carriageway that runs along Singleton park, and how the aforementioned carriageway may pose a threat to drunk/drugged individuals who may choose to escape the park for a bit (see what I did there). I remember when Jonny used to live in West Cross, I had several idiots walk nonchalantly infront of my car as I was driving along on the day of this wretched event. And even when it ends, it doesn't stop there.
I've had a couple of light hearted digs at the chavs already, and yeah maybe they can be a bit louder and more aggressive than your average music festival goer, but I'm not going to pretend that the piece de resistance of this annoying tale wouldn't have happened if they had been of a different variety of people. Living in Uplands, there are a lot of taxis, kebab shops etc, so it's unsurprising that a lot of the masses go home via this way. Unfortunately, due to a mix of alcohol and euphoria, and without a doubt something of the illegal variety, it renders them without a care in the world. This leads to groups of utter twats marching through the streets at silly o clock singing, fighting, and generally screeching at the top of their voices, without even considering how their actions may be affecting other people. I was woken up quite a lot, as was Jonny, and I'm sure loads of other people.
Ok, I understand how events like this could be good for the area, for example tourism. I also appreciate that it could generate a fair amount of money as well. But in my opinion it doesn't justify putting everyone in the vicinity through a bit of a nightmare in the process. Yes it's only one day, but unless you live nearby you can't imagine how annoying it is. And I'm not just having a bit of a moan purely because it's a be festival which includes the type of music I'm not really into; I had the same concerns when Singelton Park was going to hold the Fflam festival a couple of years ago. Initially I thought it was a good idea, but then I considered the location, and started to wonder if the organisers had really thought this through.
Anyway, rant over. There's not doubt EITP will continue for years, and I can deal with it, probably by investing in a good pair of earplugs. It's the older people I feel most sorry for, perhaps organisers should start a campaign to include them...
Whatever happens, I would prefer it if this particular outside disco was a silent one.
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