Beer 'experts'

I love beer. Despite my personal obsession with wine, beer is often a more honest and satisfying beverage. It’s like Jay-Z said: “Got a project chick, that plays her part / And if it goes down y’all that’s my heart.” Parades of Burgundies and Bordeaux and Wachaus and Riojas are fine for a hot night at the club, but if the shit hits the fan, man– a Guinness, Pabst, Hite, Lagunitas IPA–well damn.

But it’s still just fucking beer.

I was at a garden party at work  a while back and overheard a dumpy white dude in a suit (who wears a suit to a fucking garden party?) telling (bragging?) to a not-quite-as-dumpy white bird in jeans and a strappy top that he was a “Certified Beer Educator.”

How easy kids have it today

When I was a kid, adults used to bore me to tears with their tedious diatribes about how hard things were. When they were growing up; What with walking twenty-five miles to school morning...Uphill...barefoot, Both ways....yadda, yadda, yadda....

And I remember promising myself that when I grew up, there was no fucking way in hell I was going to lay a bunch of crap like that on my kids about How hard I had it and how easy they've got it!

But now that I'm over the ripe old age of forty six, I can't help but look around and notice the youth of today. You've got it so fucking easy! I mean compared to my childhood, you live in a damn Utopia! and I hate to say it, but you kids today, you don't know how good you've got it!

Television

Yeah, I have been ranting a bit lately, but the lack of quality television, and in fact the rather putrid offerings given to viewers, has led directly to this subject.

The first object of my derision is the show Toddlers and Tiaras, on TLC.  Simply, this is child porn, a literal pedophiles paradise.  Little girls as young as five years old are made up to look like Hollywood starlets, or more aptly, Hollywood strumpets; make-up, hair extensions and all.


(One mother even claimed she used Botox on her daughter, but when the media got wind of this tidbit she denied ever doing so.)

The AA Is NOT The 4th Emergency Service!

So, I was travelling in a friend's car from Bristol to Birmingham. We broke down just the other side of Cheltenham. He had the misfortune to have breakdown cover with the AA.

The AA patrolman (no, not a very very nice man) arrived after about fifty minutes, and diagnosed the problem. He said he could not help so would get a vehicle to take us back to Bristol. He towed us to Strensham Services (in the opposite fucking direction to Bristol) and left us there.

About four hours later (that's a lot of overpriced coffee)a recovery vehicle turned up, driven by a scruffy bastard in overalls, accompanied by his girlfriend. We were crushed in the front of the cab, but they didn't set off until they had finished their sandwiches. We were then taken well off course to Gloucester, in order to drop off the girlfriend, before being driven back to Bristol.

The journey from Bristol to Strensham and back took over 8 hours. Normally it would take about an hour each way (well it does the speed I drive*).

We arrived home completely exhausted and went straight to bed.

The next day my friend's garage called him. They had inspected the vehicle and the AA's diagnosis was completely wrong. In fact, it was likely that the car could have been fixed at the roadside.

So that's my one experience of the AA. Not one I wish to repeat, and certainly not a good advert.

BUT WHAT REALLY GETS MY GOAT is this: I have friends in the police and fire service who are none too chuffed about the '4th emergency service' strapline. There are other emergency services (Air Sea Rescue, for instance) that have far more claim to that title than a car breakdown outfit. I mean, would you rather be broken down at the roadside or bobbing up and down in rough seas, in the dark, just inches from death from hypothermia? There's just no comparison, is there?

How about a different strapline: 'AA - the second-rate inconvenience service'?

Taxi Drivers Around The World

You’re tired, jaded and just want to get somewhere fast. Well, you’d be forgiven for thinking your best method to do that would be to take a taxi. Public transport may be cheaper but taxis are so much less hassle…. Or so you thought.

I’ve literally lost count of the number of times I’ve managed to get lost with a taxi driver, the amount of times I’ve been overcharged or dropped off at the wrong place. It’s apparently almost standard practice for taxi drivers to ignore their meters and instead charge exorbitant fees because we don’t know any better, oh how I love that one. Ok Mr Taxi Driver, stop being such a fucking dickhead and please follow these 5 simple fucking  rules:

1) If you don’t know where I’m asking to go, kindly and politely turn down the fare – it will save us both time and me money.

2) If you don’t understand my attempt at your language or my English, it’s ok I can wait for the next one – don’t nod, smile and say OK. It’s not Ok, we’re gonna get lost

3) If you have a meter, use the fucking thing. It’s not a decoration for your dashboard.

4) I don’t want to go to your friends fucking suit shop, hotel, massage parlour or restaurant – honestly, and if you ask me and I tell you ‘no thanks’, save yourself the time and understand than when you ask me for the twentieth time, the answer is still ‘no thanks’.

5) I know we come from different cultures, but 20 people in one taxi is not safe, regardless of your religion mate, I’m sorry.