Monday, 2 December 2013
I know, I know, but at the certain risk of being called a miserable old bastard I'm gonna have a rant about Christmas (again!)
I started ranting in the lounge a little while ago and was banished to our back kitchen by the daughter & Kate who got fed up of me.
Its that time of year again when people go manic-& I don't only mean those poor souls who suffer from the Bi-Polar illness, I mean almost everyone you pass on the street.
The shopping avenues around Birmingham 14 are full of those bloody 'Chuggers', 'Big Issue' sellers, people waving buckets under your nose looking for donations to some 'worthy cause' or other (God Almighty, when I was younger, they had small tins not full size soddin' buckets!!),buskers who cant sing in tune & play the same tune over & over again on an out of tune accordion, drunks, asking " got any small change mate?" drivers from hell on those bloody mobile scooters who never give any indication where or when they might be going & ill mannered prats pushing you out of the way to achiever their ends. Jesus, I could go on..... (I hear you say:"Please God don't...")
Its got worse now because of the Christmas shite. Tell me...what is the point of this period of gluttony, of enforced joviality & mayhem? Everyone seems to be on the bloody make. I mean, today outside a local supermarket ATM machine there were no less that 3 people looking for money off those daft enough to draw money out of that particular ATM. There was a 'Big issue' salesperson, a guy swinging a big bucket for a homeless centre & a bloody 'Chugger'. Grrrr!!!!
Standing where they stood is nothing short of direct intimidation. I mean why not ask the customers at the ATM for their bloody cards & PIN numbers? Bastards.
I've hit on a plan though which I'll share with you: I go up to the shops early...O yes...between 8am-9am. The shops are empty, the streets almost deserted, the bastards who are after your money are still scratching themselves in their beds & its generally more pleasant.
This Christmas thing is nothing short of a bloody racket. God help Darren our postie-that poor buggers back will be broken in a couple of weeks what with all the shite that people send & expect him & his mates to deliver.
Christmas dinner?? You know I could make do with a good fry up & wouldn't mind spending the bloody Christmas Day malarkey on me own with a pint, a book, my music & my cat.
Speaking of whom, he's just come thru the back door with a soft meow as he rubbed himself against my ankle.
He doesn't give a flying feck about Christmas. Now Charlie's got the right idea....