Nothing Ever Changes....Ever

This blog has died a death due to deciding that it is a complete waste of oxygen to moan about things that I have absolutely no control over. I need a worthwhile topic to fill my precious skive time and berating a bunch of politicians who already have every red top in the land worked up into a nauseating level of incredulousness seems as pointless as Girls Aloud.

So what topics would I like to write about?

Last year I wrote a short blog about my feelings after a trip visiting the battlefields of the first world war and I also recently added another entry. I've read a fair bit about both the world wars and it is a period in history that interests me greatly - but I find reading about death and destruction almost as depressing as having to sit through Britain's Got Talent.

As someone who very rarely See's the good in anything it's proving quite difficult to find a subject that I could spend my time being constructive and positive about- I often find that forcing myself to reach out into new fields of endeavour is met with derision and cynicism by my inner miserable bastard. I have, over the years, transformed from a young cut and thruster with a glint in the eye into the king of moaners, the envy of misery guts all over the land. But miserable bastards are just that - miserable, and I hate to be in the company of one - This is unfortunate as I come from a family of manic depressive alcoholics who very rarely commend anyone on anything. Getting a Nobel peace prize would be met with "they give them to anyone these days".

A typical conversation in the Genius family

They: "Got a new job then"
Me: "yes - £20 grand a year and I start on Monday"
They: "if you'd tried harder at school you'd be on double that wage by now"
Me: "But you told me that it didn't matter if I had qualifications, that I would get along just fine without them - you said you didn't have any and you'd done alright"
They:"I told you that because I could see you were going to fail. Of course you need them you simple bugger. Since when have you listened to me anyway"
Me: "well actually mother, all my life"
They: "Well that's your fault"

We British have a reputation for being a bunch of moaners and as with all stereotypes it's not without reason. If it's not one thing then it's the other that incurs our bleating. Take the weather for example - It rains eight months of the year (sometimes more) and we piss and moan about not being able to go outside and do the things we want to do like keeping fit and abseiling, and when the sun does poke through the mordor like clouds the first thing we do is moan about the lead melting temperatures, and stay inside because it's too dangerous to go outside because we'll get cancer in an instant and die a thousand horrible deaths in a hospital full of Swine-flu and MRSA, where there aren't any British nurses because they've all left the NHS to work as strippers, which only leaves asylum seeking nurses who move their whole families onto a ward and pass them off as patients. Meanwhile we retreat indoors to watch our saviour,The Lord of the Bastards: Simon Cowell, crush the dreams of those who dare aspire to be something. Oh how we love to fee people fail miserably. Especially children. Christ, they even delay the news back to accomodate it.

The ironic thing is that I now sound like the whingeing fuckers I profess to hate.

Please excuse me as I open a bottle of vodka and find the wife's sleeping pills.

Little Piggies Round the Trough

For the twentieth consecutive day the headlines are full of expense claims by our illustrious leaders and with every headline come promises of "regime change". I'm almost certain that no-one is suggesting it will be the sort of regime changes that Messr Blair and Bush were so keen on, but there is a feeling that something fundamental needs to change. To me, it appears that the reason why we are irked at the extent of MP's dishonesty is that they have been able to make their own rules whilst giving us a completely different set to live by. Those who are calling for general elections (one D.Cameron) have seemingly allowed members of their flock to gorge themselves on our hard earned taxes for a long time without raising so much as a whisper about it until they were forced to. Is electing more of the same, really what we need?

Do we really trust the current parliamentarian incumbents to change a system that they set up for their own benefit? After years of being told where we can smoke, and what we should eat and drink, they have been found out for not following the rules they love dishing out and thinking that we (the great unwashed public) should simply do as they say and not as they do. After all, smoking is not banned in the bar at the houses of Parliament and a large proportion of MP's appear to be a little on the rotund side which is evidence that they don't even follow their own five-a-day rule.

Taking the power back

Every once in a while I have what alcoholics refer to as "a moment of enlightenment". This does not mean that I've admitted to a drinking problem and decided to jump on the wagon - not judging by this weekend just past anyway. What I have come to realise is that I lie to both acquaintances and strangers alike several times a day. In fact I've become so adept at it that I don't realise I'm doing it. In fact, I bet you also do it and don't give it a minutes thought.
What am I twittering on about I here you saying?

I'm sorry, I can't hear you. Well actually I'm not.

Whilst I'm at it I'm also not sorry for refusing to buy any of the tatt you are trying to sell me on my doorstep,

I'm not sorry for not wanting to join your congregation - It's just that Judge Judy is on T.V. and you've interrupted by ringing the door bell

I'm not sorry for parking outside your house - I'm perfectly entitled to park there because I pay road tax.

I'm not sorry that I've had to complain about the crap food you've just served to me, it's shit and I'm paying money for it. And whilst I'm at it you could at least appear interested - it's called customer service so feel free to do just that.

I'm not sorry that I was speeding on the motorway - it was three points and £60 quid well spent in my opinion,

I'm not sorry for accidentally bumping into you - it's not as if Ive caused any long term damage

I'm not sorry for not having the correct change - Don't you keep money in this till?

I'm not sorry you've misunderstood me - why? It's you who is thick.

I'm not sorry for disagreeing with you - your opinion is wrong.

That's right, Ive given up saying sorry UNLESS I ACTUALLY MEAN IT. You should try it - the look of expectation slowly transforming into one of confusion and then offense when they realise they're going to be waiting a long time is worth the initial awkwardness you feel whilst resisting the urge to blurt forth the dreaded S word. Apologising seems to be one of those things that we have instilled in us from an early age. By apologising for our actions (intended or otherwise) we hope to be cleansed of our sins, but why do so when it's questionable whether we do actually repent?
By apologising we instantly dis empower ourselves - but why when we don't need to? Are we not doing our selves a disservice?

I'm so bold to say that I will never apologise to anyone ever again, but if I was to run over someones dog, or offended their mother or wife then I would gladly offer an apology as it would make me feel bad and probably keep up me awake at night if I didn't.

But lie and say I feel remorse when I don't?

Isn't that what politicians do?

The genius strikes back

My oh my it's been a long time since I sat down in front of blogger to write a few things. I simply ran out of steam a few months ago with life in general but seem to back to my old cynical and twisted self.


So whats new in the world of the genius?

Well, a weekend break in Oslo certainly went some way to restoring the old batteries that's for sure. A lovely city it is indeed, full of Renaissance buildings and clean modern architecture and not a dog turd or McDonald's wrapper in site - easy on the eye is a good way of describing it. My worldly view was widened once again as for some reason I was under the assumption that May Day is a UK phenomena, I have no idea why I thought this, but it appears that our Nordic cousins also celebrate the occasion by deserting their capital city in favour of the hills where they have barbeque's, don Viking attire and rape and pillage some unsuspecting village. Okay, Ive no proof of the latter but If my suspicions are proved correct just remember that you heard it here first. The lack of local populous made Oslo feel like a sleepy town on a Sunday. Upon investigation Oslo has a population of "only" 500,000, which is tiny when you compare it to other capital cities such as London or Paris. Saying that I suppose it's all relative as Norway has a population of 4.5 Million meaning that, comparatively, it's pretty crowded.


Two words of warning however:


1. If you decide to take heed of my advice and visit Oslo, take out a mortgage before you go. The first night we were there we decided to visit an eatery on the docks which looked to all intents and purposes like a run of the mill fish and chip shop/restaurant. Upon ordering two lots of schnitzel and chips with a beer and a coke I received a bill for the equivalent of £45. After choking on the most expensive chip in the world I double checked the prices on the menu and then checked the exchange rate. No mistake was found. Upon closer inspection of other restaurant prices we found that we were going to be shafted wherever we ate. For the rest of the weekend we took advantage of the all you can breakfast in the hotel by stocking up on enough food to last the rest of the day.

2. Ryan Air. We perhaps would not have gone to Oslo if we had not seen the promise of cheap flights from the budget Irish airline - although once you start booking your flight via the tinternet you soon realise that Ryan Air is anything but the saviour of the working classes. It seemed that we were charged for just about every possible necessity from a bag, the clothes we stood in, the air in our lungs, the amount of pubic hair we had, and our eye colour. For anyone who is familiar with this airline you might say "well didn't you know they were robbing b'stards" and my answer would be "no. I still have a small degree of faith left in civilisation.". Before I'd even set foot on the plane I felt as if I'd been buggered by a horse and then when we arrive in "Oslo" we discovered that in fact we weren't anywhere near the place. In fact we were at some airport about an hour and forty minutes away from where we expected to be and the only way of getting to our destination was by laying out yet more unexpected expense to a coach company who are closely affiliated with with the blood sucking Irish Luftwaffe.



So there you have it. By all means visit the lovely city of Oslo, but make sure you've won the lottery and don't fly Ryan Air as I here their latest slogan is: "Credit Crunch? What credit Crunch?"

Only one thing to say........

Link

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Every cloud has a silver lining.

Procrastinating about procrastinating

Ive not blogged in a few weeks due to a number of factors.

1. I've been busy at work and not had the energy or mental capacity to sit down and write/type when I get home. Instead Ive been content to be drip fed repeat episodes of programmes I hate.
2. I've decided to spend less time in front of electronic gadgets in my spare time which ultimately means that my already infrequent rate of blogging is about as reliable as Alistair Darlings financial predictions.
3. The Sun has been shining for a couple of days over the last few weeks and I want to spend as much time as possible basking in it before it disappears for another 360 days.
4. I've actually socialised for the first time in months which has led to me becoming more outgoing and willing to mingle with real people.
   
5. My mother always used to tell me "if you haven't got anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all". For some inexplicable reason I hear her voice in my head repeating these words whenever I feel a rant coming on.
6. I'm also thinking of starting a new direction for my ramblings as all this cynicism and biting wit is starting to make me question my very being. For example, I'm now cynical about everything, without exception and simply cannot see the good side of anyone or thing. I asked the missus the other night if I had always been like this and she said that I have always been slow to accept the world and the people around me but had got noticeably worse since we moved back to England (coincidence?). Apparently other people have also noticed this but simply put it down to the winter blues.

So those are my reasons for not gracing you all with my presence for a while. I don't know when I'll be back but I'm sure I will be as soon as I feel sufficiently motivated.

Whingeing pom

As any self-respecting Englishman will tell you, Britain has been slowly turning into one big dog house since it was first established many years ago. One way of avoiding being governed by our most trusted animal friends is to emigrate to another country where, according to popular belief, there are no problems with drugs, booze bingeing, fat people, violent toddlers, where the national sports teams have had success in the last 40-odd years, where being good at something results in you being given a pat on the back instead of being pilloried by all around for daring to have ideas above your station, and where new ideas are at least considered before being told that it'll never work and that you can't even try before filling out the 50-page health and safety questionnaire.

One of the favourite destinations for those of us in search of optimism and a feel good factor is pretty much as far away from England as you can possibly get - Australia. The land of the optimist, where nothings worth worrying about and even the local marsupials help the rescue services locate children in distress. The land where the sun always shines and kids are actively encouraged to participate in ball games.

In much the same way as Americans are baffled by us not personally knowing the Queen, us Englanders find it hard to believe that down under is anything but a garden of Eden. They even have the Union Jack on their flag as a tribute to us so it must be good. Mustn't it? Indeed I have set foot on the hallowed shores of Oz and spent not an inconsiderable amount of time amongst the eternally optimistic antipodean population. By and large it was a very enjoyable experience and I found much to uphold the legend of optimism being found in one of the worlds least populated land masses. If an Australian were to have his hand bitten off by a croc he would be excited about the fact that he still had the other one to hold his beer. Us poms however would probably sue the government for not stopping Crocodiles from doing what they do naturally, and then sell our story to the Daily Mail who would run a incredulous front page exclusive about the new wave of crocodiles who were biting the hands off British backpackers and then claiming Asylum and six bedroom houses in Kent because the Ozze autorities aren't allowing them fair trials.

After a couple of months however I found myself missing the one thing that Australians simply can't grasp - the perverse pleasure that is found in finding fault with everything and then complain until a soul destroying UK level of begrudgement has returned.