Specially Brewed Just For You

So, it’s been a while since I put fingertips to keypad and aired my thoughts into the ‘blogosphere’. As the time between my last and my next posting lengthened, finding the inspiration to write something worthy of a ten minute read that didn’t require an effort of concentration on my part has been difficult. But here I am, sat on a Ryanair flight to Budapest and the most unlikely of things have spurred me into action. The menu card. Well not the menu card itself, but the copy accompanying the advertised ‘gourmet’ hot coffee they have for sale at €3.00 a pop.

I could probably go into an intellectual examination of the exaggerated claims (lies) that advertisers and traders get away with to peddle their products, but if you can read then I’m sure you’re intelligent enough to be aware of that obvious fact. But every now and then you see something that makes you think ‘Aw cmon, please!’ My ‘cmon, please’ moment was the copy describing the Lavazza coffee. The ‘gourmet’ Lavazza coffee. A budget airline coffee that comes with a ‘unique’ lid that means that your coffee comes ‘freshly brewed just for you’. Wow! I have to have one of those.

The SUPRLID

Well check that out people – the SUPRLID. Aren’t you blown away? I want to ask the air stewardess if this amazing and unique piece of technical engineering – a lid with a piece of gauze and a raised edge – was developed by NASA. I was so excited by the idea that I was using the same space age hardware used by astronauts. I was even more excited by the idea that Ryanair had created my personal profile based on the information given when buying my flight ticket and brewed a fresh coffee just for me. Not for anyone, no, just for me. Awesome. Totally awesome. I mean, how do they manage to brew a coffee specifically for me? These guys at Ryanair must be like, wizards or something.

I didn’t get to ask the air stewardess if the SUPRLID was developed by NASA or if it was used by astronauts. I didn’t find out how Ryanair collated information to make personal profiles of its passengers in order to provide us with bespoke hot beverages either. My daughter wouldn’t let me ask – she pleaded with me not to ask actually. However, I must admit that the coffee was quite tasty. It was by no means a great coffee, but it wasn’t the usual warm brown dishwater that’s usually served up on a plane either. I’m not sure that the ‘brewed just for you’ crew at Ryanair got it quite right with my personal profiling as it would have tasted more like a milky frothed up Douwe Egberts with demerara sugar, but if I was on a space mission for six months, living on food from a tube, then it would have tasted pretty damn good.

NO CHILDREN OR AIR STEWARDS WERE HARMED DURING THE WRITING OF THIS POSTING. ALL THE SARCASM CONTAINED HEREIN WAS WRITTEN BY A PROFESSIONAL AND SHOULD NOT BE COPIED AT HOME.

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An Open Letter To BT Sport – Get Rid of Michael Owen

Michael wonders why everyone has suddenly left the stadium.

Michael wonders why everyone has suddenly left the stadium.

Dear BT Sport;

I know that you’re new to this whole sport broadcasting thing, but if you continue to be a provider of Premier League football coverage there is one thing that you absolutely must do. You have to banish Michael Owen from your team. Do not let him represent you by speaking in any way manner or form in a public broadcast again. He is terrible.

They say some people have a face for radio, well Michael Owen has a voice for mime. Aside from his barely veiled bias toward Liverpool and his hard on for Man United, he sounds like what cardboard would sound like if it could speak. He has a voice  like the Richard Harrow character off Boardwalk Empire, except that character has a voice like that because half his face has been blown off, which is naturally going to effect the way he sounds. That and the fact that he murders people for a living are inclined to make him also sound a bit dull and depressive. Michael Owen does not have this excuse.

Listening to Michael Owen, it… it… it actually hurts. Not in a the way a sharp object hurts when you are stabbed with it, Michael Owen is way to dull for that effect. It’s more like chronic discomfort. It gives you a feeling of anxiety, nausea and mild depression all at once – like the side effects of bad sleeping pills.

Please get rid of him. Please. He was a decent footballer (if not a chronic ‘sick note’), I hear he’s good at golf and a really good horse breeder, but you can’t be good at everything and he truly, truly, sucks at sports punditry. Even when he’s on screen he looks like he’s a prototype of an android, he’s unbelievable awkward looking and dull.

Some things work well together, like strawberry’s and cream, Morecambe and Wise, Lionel Messi and a football. Michael Owen and broadcasting are like Chris Quentin and the American film industry – it’s never going to happen. That is all.

Regards
Beasley Green

PS: I am not alone:

‘Boring’ Michael Owen savaged for BT Sport commentary debut
Five Reasons Why Michael Owen Will Flop as a Football Pundit

Me, My Selfie and I

jessie-j-selfie-twitter

Oh selfie oh selfie
Such self loving ain’t healthy
But by God I can’t help me
How I love me endlessly.
iPhone prepped nice and steady,
Prepared pout and pose ready,
In a club somewhere trendy
With my girls who’re my Besties.
With some guys who just met me,
In a toilet nonchalantly,
Silly face or seriously,
Or just me being me.
In my room getting ready,
Half naked, in flagrante,
Showing off my hot body
And my big bubble booty.
The people will love me
Repost and promote me.
They’ll all look and see me.
They’ll all want to be me.
Everybody will watch me
Nobody can stop me
Oh selfie oh selfie
How I love me endlessly.

Selfies

50 Questions

I found this list of 50 questions on Joanna Best’s blog. They didn’t originate from Joanne Best, but she had a link on her blog to where she’d got them from. When I clicked that link it took me to ‘A War In My Brain’. Not literally of course, that was the name of Megan’s blog which was where Joanne found the questions. But Megan hadn’t originated the questions either, although she did like cats.

The fact that Megan liked cats didn’t really help me find the origin of the questions. However, the link on her blog led to another lady’s blog who also liked cats called Felina. I don’t mean this lady only liked cats called Felina – that would be pretty limiting; no, I’ve probably just missed a comma there somewhere – Felina was the name of the blogger who also had this list of 50 questions. I think the name of the blog is a play on the word ‘feline’, which is why I think she also likes cats. That and the fact that she has a picture of her tabby cat on her blog. I’m assuming it’s a picture of her cat and that the cat didn’t write the blog, but I don’t know the actual name of the lady who did write the blog either because it’s a ‘sparkle page’ blog, which is a set up I don’t really understand so I couldn’t find her name.

Anyway, Felina – or whatever her real name is – she didn’t have a link to where the questions came from. She just wrote ‘I’ve seen this on some blogs, thought I’d give it a try just for fun’. This pissed me off as I really wanted to know where the questions originated from. Anyway, England and Denmark were playing a friendly and it was about as action packed as a vegan child’s lunchbox, so I decided to answer the questions myself. First I opened a another can of Stella Artois as I’d drank the last of the one of the previous three I’d already had. Here are my answers:

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
Yes, my older brother and two sisters. I was the second youngest of five, so my younger brother was named after me.

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
The second time I knew I needed a number two after I had my haemorroidectomy – after the first time I was aware of the agonising pain I was about to experience. After that I decided to make sure I was really drunk and high for the rest of the week.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
I’m not too sure, I use a keyboard most of the time, or a touchpad. When I write by hand it’s usually scribbled notes so it’s pretty messy.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE LUNCH MEAT?
Jerk chicken served with rice and peas. I don’t want to be a grammar Nazi, but I think this should read ‘luncheon’. But it doesn’t matter because I don’t really do sandwiches, unless it’s a triple-decker bacon and egg sandwich, which I’ll usually have for breakfast, so I guess that doesn’t count.

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
No, I’m a male so I don’t have the biological mechanics to have kids.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
I hope not, because that would mean the other person that I would be would be a schizophrenic and I don’t think being schizophrenic would be fun, even if I was another person.

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
No.

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
No, but I kept my daughter’s because I was really annoyed that I didn’t manage to save all of her baby teeth. At least with tonsils there is just one set so it’s not too hard to keep up. And even if it wanted to, the tooth fairy could never get in that jar because I’ve closed it really tight – ha!

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
I would if it wasn’t so damn expensive.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE CEREAL?
Kellogg’s Cornflakes, but for some strange reason I never have cornflakes for breakfast. I tend to eat them after dinner, although I don’t really do desserts.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
They’re already untied when I put them on. I really don’t see any reason to tie them up when I take them off as they can’t go anywhere unless I’m wearing them.

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
In relation to someone who is weak, I am most definitely a He Man.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE ICE CREAM?
That’s easy – Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Munky.

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Whether they try too hard to be likeable.

15. RED OR PINK?
That’s sexist.

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVOURITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
My fickle temperament.

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
The first goalscorer in a winning bet. If got that prediction on target every week I would be a rich man.

18. ANY TATTOOS?
Not any, they’re there for life so I’m very particular about the tattoos I choose.

19. DO YOU HAVE ANY HOBBIES?
Yes – writing, Djing, watching movies, watching people, playing football, watching football, getting drunk and partying hard to house music and early 90’s drum and bass.

20. WHAT COLOUR SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
I’m not wearing shoes.

21. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
A chocolate Boost bar, a Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut and a packet of Walker’s salt and vinegar crisps.

22. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
The pundits talking about the really boring International friendly between England and Denmark that’s just finished, although I’ve not really noticed that it was still on until now, so technically I’m just hearing it like background noise rather than listening to it. However, for some reason I am listening to the clock ticking on my wall and the rhythm of my fingers hitting the keyboard on my MacBook. A siren went past just then. I’m also aware that I’ve just listened to myself say to myself in my head; ‘you’re a strange man’ upon realising that the main thing I am actually listening to is the sound of me typing and the clock .

23. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOUR WOULD YOU BE?
A really dark purple.

24. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Freshly talced babies, fields of flowers, the names of which I couldn’t tell you if I was smelling them, the aroma of the air when walking through a pine forest, burning matches, ‘Antaeus’ by Chanel and ‘The One’ by Dolce & Gabanna.

25. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
My mam.

26. MOUNTAIN HIDEAWAY OR BEACH HOUSE?
Beach house.

27. FAVOURITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
Football, Wimbledon (quarter finals onwards) and post 60’s to pre-milennium boxing.

28. HAIR COLOUR?
Black

29. EYE COLOUR?
A brown so dark they’re almost black.

30. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
No, I keep them in my phone like everyone else.

31. FAVOURITE FOOD?
My mam’s apple pie is unstoppable. The lamb roast she makes at Christmas and Easter is incredible. My own Caribbean salsa chicken recipe is awesome when it’s right. The jerk chicken and the curry goat and rice they serve at Notting Hill Carnival. Escovitch fish with rice and gungo peas, and the Thai hot and sour soup they serve at Ark Bar on Samui Beach (I love food lots) 😛

32. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
Thrillers.

33. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
The last movie I saw was The Good Shepherd, but it was so tediously long and dull that I stopped really watching by the time Angelina Jolie got fed up with being ignored by Matt Damon’s cold, detached CIA husband. The last movie I watched was Spike Lee’s remake of Oldboy, but only because I was holding out in the hope that it was going to come good before the end. It didn’t.

34. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Olive green.

35. SUMMER OR WINTER?
Who likes the winter!? I’m a man filled with Caribbean blood living in Manchester for Christ’s sake, summer is like therapy.

36. HUGS OR KISSES?
Both please.

37. FAVORITE DESSERT?
My mam’s apple pie.

38. STRENGTH TRAINING OR CARDIO?
Jacuzzi.

39. COMPUTER OR TELEVISION?
Computer feeding movies and mini-series’ through my television. Television is like a social lobotomy.

40. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
I’m writing one and reading several for research. The most interesting and disturbing is ‘Confessions of an Economic Hitman’ by John Perkins.

41. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
My computer, an ashtray, a can of Stella and various receptacles for storing stationary – these questions must have come from the 90’s because nobody uses a mouse pad anymore… do they?

42. FAVOURITE SOUND?
The sea.

43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
That’s racist.

44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Somewhere out of my mind on LSD.

45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
I was told by my school teacher that I have ‘great perspicacity’. Aside from that I can pretty much sleep anywhere under any circumstances if I’m tired enough.

46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
SM7, St. Mary’s Hospital, Manchester.

47. WHERE ARE YOU LIVING NOW?
Manchester… I need to move on, really, holidays just aren’t enough.

48. WHAT COLOUR IS YOUR HOUSE?
That’s elitist.

49. WHAT COLOUR IS YOUR CAR?
It will be silver when I eventually clean it again.

50. DO YOU LIKE ANSWERING 50 QUESTIONS?
It’s better than watching 90 minutes of England in an international friendly with Denmark… but yeah, that was fun. Now can somebody tell me where these questions came from please?

Terminal Madness

cathay-pacific-new-business-class-sydney-to-hong-kong-airbus-a330-20

Going nowhere extremely slowly.

The airport procedures involved in travelling by airplane are lengthy and laborious at best. Lots of checking, searching, walking, waiting and standing; yet it never ceases to amaze me how travellers can’t help but fall into the fruitless enchantment of the boarding gate wait. Despite the amount of dragging around of bags and beating of feet on hard marble and concrete floors they do, even seasoned travellers find themselves lured into this futile ritual. Airlines have tried to offer support by prioritising and calling out seat numbers in groups to save people the discomfort of pointlessly standing around for lengthy periods of time, but it’s like a mental illness that effects almost all travellers regardless of age, gender, race or creed.

So you know you’re allocated a specific seat on the plane, right? You also know that no matter what happens you’re not going to be asked to rest your hand luggage on your lap throughout the journey, right? You know that as long as you are at the gate prior to the departure time of your flight that the plane isn’t going to leave without you, right? You can see the seating scattered all around the gate for the purposes of your comfort. So why do you insist on standing up, edging forward one bag shunt at a time, pushing and jostling like a desperate refugee waiting for a food parcel, in a queue that stretches ten, fifteen, sometimes twenty metres back into the airport and has barely moved for the last half hour? It’s absolute madness!

I think this is one of the rare occasions when more mature adults act more childish than the young. Younger travellers tend to be more carefree in this situation. They often seem to just symbiotically merge with whatever formation of authoritative structure is placed in front of them as they laugh and chatter their way through the airport rituals. They’re often drunk or hungover and aren’t really paying attention to anything. As long as they have their bag, their passport and their ticket they’re happy. But the 40 pluses, the families and the retirees who holiday two, three and four times a year, seem to be hypnotically inured to assume formations of rigorous, efficient futility. Furthermore, they will defend that futility with a youthful vigour usually reserved for those evenings when the kids are out or Viagra night.

Maybe it’s years of state indoctrination of subservient adherence to bureaucracy. Maybe it’s a predilection to a domestication instinct to follow the crowd and join a queue. Maybe it’s all just part and parcel of the ritual excitement of travelling to a foreign land in a huge flying metal beast (although I find that hard to accept because people do it on internal and return flights too). Maybe I’m just trying to be nice and it’s simply the idiotic herd mentality of Sheeple.

Whatever it is it’s stupid, so stop doing it. You’re only going to be stood up longer than is necessary. You’re going to be wrestling with other passengers again when you get on the plane because everyone in there is probably a petty, priority Nazi like you. Even if you do get seated quickly, you won’t be able to relax because you’ll be spending the next half hour or more having your knees and elbows assaulted by the rest of the passengers and stewards as they stow away hand luggage and seat themselves.

If you had have showed some restraint and independent thought you would still be sat in the relative calm and comfort of an airport waiting lounge. You would have then entered the cabin of the plane facing a group of predominantly seated and settled passengers, and stewards who are far less agitated. You would also have done a favour to those who were seated before you by relieving them of the chaos caused by the rushing of irrationally impatient passengers onto a stationary aircraft. In short, you wouldn’t be contributing to the already excessive amount of hostile stupidity that plagues the world. You would have made one small, unhurried, step toward being one of the lesser fools of man, and hopefully made one sensible, independent step toward the betterment of mankind.

You see it’s bigger than just the terminal madness of the gate queue. The irrational gate queuers are usually the same idiots who unclip their seat belt as quickly as a sprinter leaves a starting block the moment the ‘fasten your seatbelt’ sign is switched off. They then jump up to be the first to get their hand luggage out of the overhead compartment, elbows lunging as they drag their belongings out as if there’s a fire. Then they stand in the gangway for twenty minutes clutching their bag, being nothing other than an idiotic obstruction as they wait for the cabin doors to be opened. These same people then rush to get to the baggage carousel in a scrambling hoard in a desperately futile belief that standing by the conveyor belt and staring at the hole in the wall will make their luggage come through quicker than the arbitrary baggage handling process permits. It’s idiotic. I know it’s idiotic because I have been one of those people. Now I know better. And if you have read this then so do you. A holiday is a time for relaxation. Extend that relaxation as far as you can and just wait for the inevitability of the process to run its course, it’s so much easier.

It’s the Little Things in Life… THAT REALLY PISS ME OFF!!!!



It has been pointed out that my postings are somewhat of a general moan – and this is probably a fair observation. I often reflect on myself and think, ‘Beasley, you’re a moaning, miserable twat’, because I can be a misanthropic cynic. However, I once read somewhere that a cynic is really a romantic who is bitterly disappointed by the weaknesses and failings of our blessed species; a species that has the potential to be so much more, yet perpetually reverts to its baser instincts of cruelty, greed, selfishness, complacency and the petty vanities of ego (I’m pretty certain I embellished that a little, but that was the general gist as I recall it). That said, believe it or not, when in good company and good spirits, I am the life and soul of the party and positively effuse happiness and good will to all around me, which probably makes my sporadic periods of gloomy cynicism tolerable. That and the fact that rather than be a relentlessly grim harbinger of the ills of the world, I like to sugar my moans with a bit of wit and some intelligent observation I hope. More Edmund Blackadder or Jack Dee than Brotha Lynch Hung or Mike Leigh.

Many of my gripes tend to address the seemingly irreversible travails of society that have diseased mankind for centuries, so today I’ve decided to sweat the small stuff. These are my idiosyncratic, personal gripes. The Devil’s details. Those minor things that ‘grind my gears’. So come join me and share my irritation at those little things in life that really piss me off (in no particular order).

When I can’t find the remote even though I have not left the sofa.
When I can’t find my car keys when I really need to leave the house NOW.
When I can’t find my glasses when I really need to see.
When technology works one minute, then for no apparent reason doesn’t work the next.
When I want to write ‘of’ on my phone’s touchpad and it selects ‘if’.
When I want to write ‘is’ on my phone’s touchpad and it selects ‘us’.
Most of all when I want to write ‘this’ on my phone’s touchpad and it chooses ‘thus’ instead – who programmed this thing, someone from the Shakespearean era?
When I put my cup on a coaster which then gets wet, sticks to the bottom of the cup, falls off the bottom of the cup and the sudden unexpectedness of it makes me flinch, thus (I meant to type ‘thus’ then) causing me to spill my drink, not just on the table, but usually on the floor or in my lap too.
When I am carrying a plate of food with the knife and fork safely (so I believe) weighted under the food, then one of them falls off the plate anyway, catapulting a big dollop of food with it too.
When people say ‘erm’, every few seconds when they are talking.
When people pre-tag every sentence with… ‘Well…’ we know you don’t really know what you’re talking about or you’re about to tell a lie.
When people pre-tag every utterance with… ‘Basically’, before rambling on and not being basic at all.
When people have a rising inflection at the end of every sentence… this might actually include every person under 25 from America and the South East of England.
When people have music playing… no – screeching directly out of that shitty little tinny speaker on their mobile phone – get some earphones you fucking cock, nobody wants to hear your shit music, let alone without any bassline.
When people who aren’t homeless smell – there really is no need. You can get a stick of roll-on for £1 from a pound shop you dirty twat.
When someone on TV is asked a question and they simply paraphrase the question that they have just been asked without actually answering it.
When footballers or pundits talk us through a goal – do we need it? The player kicked the ball and it went into the back of the net – what else is there!?
When a football pundit says; “If it had just been half a yard to the left/right/lower it would have gone in” – really? No shit. That’s a bit like saying “If there was no keeper and no other players and he could have used his hands to pick it up and place it over the line – it would have gone in” – SHUT UP!
Any interview with a footballer:  “Obviously, errr… [followed by nothing of any real consequence]”  They’re contractually obliged not to slag off the ref, their fellow players or their manager – so is any of what they say actually worth hearing?
When you stand on a crooked paving stone after it’s been raining and it splashes water all over your shoe and down your sock.
When you leave the house and suddenly realise you’re going to need a poo very soon.
When drivers use up two free parking spots with one car.
When drivers wait in the far side lane at traffic lights, then indicate to turn once the lights have changed – if I’d have known I was going to have to wait for you to turn I would have got in the other lane you twat!
When drivers don’t indicate – it’s a simple fucking finger movement that can make such a difference.
When drivers don’t acknowledge when you have let them pass or cut into your lane – UTTER BITCH! (yes, it does tend to be a trait of female drivers)
When I go to the bank or the post office and the clerk starts trying to sell me some shit that I didn’t ask for and probably don’t need.
When I ask for a burger in a McD’s or a BK and the clerk asks me if I want fries with it, or a meal – if I wanted fries or meal I would have asked, stop trying to sell me shit!
When you ask the waiter or waitress in a restaurant what’s good and they automatically suggest the most expensive dish on the menu. Really? Doesn’t anybody actually prefer something other than the largest most expensive cut of steak?
When you call the helpline for… well for anything, and the guy in the call centre in India repeats ‘Sir’ and ‘I’m sorry’ after every single utterance – just sort the problem out please and you won’t need to be sorry.
When my beloved wants to cuddle up to me but insists on delicately touching me under or around my armpit – honey you know that tickles and irritates the hell out of me, so why? I mean really, why?
‘Breaking News’ –  Breaking News!? Get the fuck outta here. Every news channel churns out the same pre-vetted nonsense. Toggle between BBC and Sky News – it’s the same damn shit! The last thing I remember that was truly ‘Breaking News’ was the fall of the Berlin wall – that was in 1989! Everything else is propaganda and distraction.
My aunt and her whole family – you’re a bitch and your kids are all wierdo’s who won’t read this because your matriarchal oppression has turned them all into lazy, workshy, social misfits (that was so cathartic).
‘Trending now’ – aw go fuck yourself… ‘Trending’! What does that mean? Lots of people are talking about some shit that probably isn’t even true!?
Every time a professional salesman opens their mouth and speaks.

I’m gonna stop now and have a cup of camomile tea because just writing this is winding me up. But my list is by no means exhaustive. I’ve avoided fashion (pants hung low around your arse – WTF is that all about dickhead), celebrities (where do you start?) and musical tastes (way too subjective). But please feel free to share your personal hates with me, I want to connect with my readers… maybe I can tweet this blog as ‘BREAKING NEWS’ and see if it starts ‘Trending’… grrrrr!!!!

Now I’m going to end with a poem:

****

Sick

I’m sick of buying things that break,
I’m sick of excuses call centres make.
I’m sick of numbers to get through –
“Sorry, you are in a queue, your call will be answered very soon”.

I’m sick of stuff that doesn’t work,
Demands for payment with no returns.
I’m sick of turning the TV on at a commercial break,
Of adverts selling debt and the threat of lifestyle choice mistakes.

I’m sick of ads for porno-telephony
I’m sick of premium rate numbers aimed at the lonely –
“Call me, call me, call me…” – No!
“Then watch this program and gamble away your dough”.

I’m sick of facile daytime TV
Filled with artificial sincerity.
Fern Britten, Philip Schofield and Lorraine Kelly
Sold with cheap ads trying to get the gullible to part with their money.

I’m sick of officials talking crap,
Of politicians who are lying twats.
I’m sick of PR and press officers and publicity spin.
I’m sick of resignations when they should have sacked them.

I’m sick of this and I’m sick of that
And I’m getting sick of the whole bloody lot.
I want my services to be better
Without complaints and calls or having to write a letter.

I want Ronseal promises, not endless spin.
I want people to do exactly what they say on the tin.
I should feel protected even if I’m naïve,
By promises made, when I choose to believe.