gibbon-arsed ramblings of a hopeless underachiever
Monday, May 16, 2005
Doctor Who on Saturday. See it?
Never been so glad to be watching a programme alone in my entire life. I bawled my freakin' eyes out.
It's well recorded that I cry very easily at films and TV programmes and have been known to pipe my eyes over E.R., Casualty or documentaries about whales (I wish I was joking) but never Doctor bloody Who. Mind, it was blatantly meant to be a tearjerker, so I don't feel too ashamed.
Yes I do. Crying at science fiction, for the love of God. And of course, laying that shame out for all to see on the supermation info highweb is the best way to deal with it.
Meanwhile, I feel proper sorry for myself tonight because stupid FACKING job = having to be asleep all FACKING day = missing the FACKING text my friend sent asking if I wanted to go and see the new Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy film tonight, so I literally stumbled blinking out of bed just as they were all leaving. And neither am I at the Star Wars premiere. Bah, I say. Bah and humbug.
Mind, I'd only embarrass myself by crying at them, I expect.
posted by bandhag | 5/16/2005 08:20:00 AM
Saturday, May 14, 2005
One more before I go.
There's a sign that I pass almost every day as I go home on the bus, and I feel the need to vent my dismay and fury at it. It's outside some flats and bears the legend:
THE EXERCISING OF DOG IS NOT PERMITTED
This is not some cobbled-together private thing, this is a sign erected by the Borough council. Somebody, I think to myself (silently weeping inside), gets paid good money to word such signs.
Never mind. One day - dare to dream - perhaps I can write signs for the council, and phrase them all proper like.
Oh, what a lucky girl I should be then!
posted by bandhag | 5/14/2005 12:41:00 AM
Which party won the election again?
Wearing hoodies and baseball caps has been banned from the Bluewater shopping centre. Because apparently, guys and gals, that is the only real way you can tell if someone is a criminal. We only want nice, clean, tidily-dressed middle-class (or middle-class looking) families in our lovely sanitised malls, thanks - not these dreadful ruffians and oiks, what what?
The UK government is refusing to sign up to the EU convention to help women being trafficked into the country and sold as sex slaves (offering them accommodation, emergency medical treatment, a permit allowing them to stay for a period if they choose to, and help with any criminal proceedings), because they don't want to be seen to be doing anything that helps illegal immigrants.
Once again: uh-huh. Because, naturally, what I understand by phrases such as "abducted", "sold from pimp to pimp", "repeatedly beaten and raped", "forced into prostitution" is "Chose to sneak over on the back of a lorry looking for a life of fraudulently-achieved luxury in the UK". Good call, Tony - they're just getting what they deserve, aren't they, the fucking freeloading foreigners?
And in international news (and still on the immigration theme), R called to tell me that apparently Dutch people are so pissed off with the number of immigrants coming to Holland that they are leaving the country in droves.
So this whole "Not in my backyard" thing isn't just the exclusive domain of the British, then? Good-o. Cuts down the number of countries to run to when this one gets too mental to cope with any more somewhat, doesn't it?!
posted by bandhag | 5/14/2005 12:33:00 AM
Friday, May 13, 2005
It's not like I need any incentive to look for a job that doesn't involve working at night - God knows I've been doing my best for a while now - but nights like last nightjust really ram the point home.
First, the bus driver let me run all the way up to the side of the bus before he pulled off. I fucking hate that. I hate it more when I'm on my own in the middle of the night on the way to work. I can't be the first person to ask why the hell there aren't some kind of measures to stop them from doing this.
And it was that that forced me to walk to the Tube station, and past the group of six or so men leaning against a Transit van, one of whom lurched into my path with the usual "Hello. Where are you going, then?".
His friends called him off and I, having never stopped looking straight ahead, stamped off on my way again to the strains of him shouting some mysognist abuse at my back.
A little further down the road, I hear an engine revving. They've got into the van and are following me. Shouting out, trying to get my attention, provoke a response. I stop and pretend to be taking down the licence plate number, and they screech off. Not, perhaps, the most sensible thing to do. Say they hadn't just been a bunch of wankers trying to wind me up - confronting them like that was not clever. It was all I could think of at the time.
What the fuck is wrong with people? How do you not understand how wrong it is to do that to a woman on their own at night? And if you do understand, what kind of fucking arsehole are you to do it for fun, as they clearly were? I fumed and panicked the rest of the way to the station, hoping with all my hippie socialist heart they'd wrap that fucking van around a brick wall, or that the next time they wanted to bully someone they picked on someone there own size, with a big group of friends that'd give them the kicking they so richly deserve.
I hate this. I hate that it's normal for me to get this shit (albeit not normally with vehicles) fairly frequently on my way to work. I hate how angry and hateful it makes me feel. I hate thinking about shit like: say something happened to me now. There's 9 hours until I'm meant to have finished work, another 8 until M would be home, give it a few more hours before he started to wonder where I was... and who can I tell that I'm in distress at this time of night, without freaking them out? Yeah, they were just twats thinking they were funny and yeah, so have they all been, but sometimes it starts to feel like a bit of a numbers game, and I never was much one for gambling. Still, if anything did happen it would be my own fault, wouldn't it? For putting myself in that situation. Should've left home earlier. Should've waited for a bus. Should have, shouldn't have, didn't, wouldn't, could have...
As soon as I got to work, I booked some time off. Agents have already been signed up with and jobs applied for, but I need to get Operation Get the Fuck Out of Dodge going in earnest.
Meanwhile - memo to men in London late at night: just because I am out, travelling around, vaguely smartly-dressed does not mean that I want to talk to you. I'm not going to tell you my name. I'm not going to tell you where I'm going. I'm not going to 'go somewhere' with you and I'm not going to let you engage me in small talk. If you want to show your friends what an amazingly funny macho guy you are, go and smash your head repeatedly against a wall or something. Leave me out of it. And don't think I'll think you're just being friendly. I won't, even if you do. You are making me feel uncomfortable so pack it the fuck in and leave me alone.
posted by bandhag | 5/13/2005 09:41:00 PM
Friday, May 06, 2005
The way to show your disdain for a Government you feel has lied and let the country down is not (funnily enough) to swing from them to a party who were even worse during their time in power.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Still. "Could be worse" and all that. I suppose. That seems to have been Labour's campaign "Vote for us - it could be worse!". Fear seems to be their favourite currency these days.
This post was brought to you by My Bad Mood, sponsored by Idiot Voters Inc., Shittest Night at Work Ever Plc., and Nuisance People Corp.
posted by bandhag | 5/06/2005 09:25:00 AM