Archive for the ‘Lies’ Category

For once I was winning!  If you can call it that.  During my last visit to my favourite most hated shop (here on named as “Tescon”) I noticed that they had a number of “special offers”.  We all know these bastards don’t give anything away, you need to be ever vigilant as you perform your role of modern-hunter-gatherer, watching out for the genuine deals whilst avoiding those products whose prices fluctuate more erratically than the stock markets.

Having reached the detergent aisle I spotted a “reduced to clear” deal on Fairy Platinum.  Being a somewhat antagonistic person I accepted the challenge and grabbed six bottles from the shelves, marked down to half-price.  I say “antagonistic” as my primary motivator for my purchase was not making savings over the coming weeks / months of use of the new washing-up liquid, it was in fact the anticipation of the smugness which I would assume on my return home as my wife hopped onto her high-horse to inform me yet again that we’d be better off buying Aldi’s washing up liquid which “is better than the branded equivalents as judged by Which magazine” or some other miserable shite-rag.  My comeback would indeed by glorious as I proudly informed her that these were indeed half-price bargains.  Win for me, no less.

My glory was short-lived on my return home when I eventually engaged smug-mode only to check the receipt to demonstrate proof of my retail-prowess, only to find that the shit-head-bastards had charged me full price for each of the six bottles as well as the “bargain” marked down packs of multi-surface-wipes” that I’d procured.

To say that my other-half was enjoying her new-found excuse to berate me for “not checking the receipt before [I] left the store” is under-egging it somewhat.  Though I’d never go as far as to mention the words “pig in shit” for fear of… well… being given the “silent treatment” for days on end.

Hope was momentarily restored as she reminded me that if I went back, Tescon would provide me with “double the difference” back if I were able to point out their error.  Jubilant I was.  But there was no way she was letting me off lightly.  She quickly dropped me back to the ground with a bang as she pointed out that if somebody else complained about the same mistake before me, then Tesco would remove the offer from the shelves and I’d have no comeback at all.

Fairy Liquid offer

I burned rubber and arrived back at Tescon promptly to find that, well, to cut a long story short they honoured the deal and gave me £16 back and also allowed me to keep the products which caused all the fuss.  The wife was correct however as they noticed their mistake (the offer was for a 650ml bottle but the shelf contained 625ml bottles – go figure that one out!?!) they promptly removed any trace of the offer, effectively fucking over every other customer who’d put faith in what they had seen on the shelf but hadn’t checked their receipts.

Total con-merchant bastards.  I wonder how much money they make per week through such stunts, I bet it far outweighs the gesture of giving back “double the difference” to the eagle-eyed amongst us.

Moral of the story: be wary.  Fuckhead supermarkets are aplenty.

Having visited Cardiff last weekend I was struck by the sheer number of Big Issue sellers we passed. Passing a Big Issue seller is an artform that needs to be practiced. I’m starting to think that they should be restricted to the point where they are not allowed to sell the magazine if they veer more than 12 inches from their allocated spot. Even if you start to take a diagonal path to avoid them you still seem to get trapped in their net.

Big Issue Magazine

Big Issue Magazine

The first one I interacted with was on Friday night, I was on my way back to the hotel with my wife, drunk at which point an almost elderly Big Issue seller approached us.

“Big Issue sir” he said.

Now in my head I was forming the words “No thanks”, aiming to stay polite but to the point. Unfortunately by the time these words reached my mouth they had morphed into…

“No chance!” – at which point I carried on walking, looking rude and to the point instead.

Saturday morning came and I lost count of how many I passed before even having breakfast. Now I understand the point of these people selling the Big Issue, but I just wish they would sell something I’d actually want. I would prefer to just give money to them but apparently they “don’t want charity” – but isn’t it charity to buy something off of them that you’re just going to throw straight in the bloody bin?

The only plausible use I can think of for a fucking Big Issue is to beat away other Big Issue sellers. Some of them are amusing and take on an almost “street performer” persona in trying to convince you to purchase their special brand of printed toilet paper where as others are just downright rude and smelly, particularly if you decline to purchase from them.

What really fucked me off royally though was passing one particular Big Issue seller who was not trying particularly hard to sell any copies because he was too busy chatting on his mobile phone! I mean really… his MOBILE PHONE!!! How the fuck can he afford a mobile phone from selling the Big Issue? Where in his mind does he consider topping up his mobile to be a priority over clothing, food and a warm place to live?

Now I hope at this point you’re as fucking irritated as I was (am) because I am about to make it worse… I checked his phone out… it was an iPhone!!! A bastard iPhone. A minimum of a 4 as well, not a poxy out of date 3G, no a bloody 4, 4s or 5 from what I could tell.

iPhone Rocking Homeless Dude

iPhone Rocking Homeless Dude

So there he stands, in the middle of the street, selling the Big Issue, making us all think he is homeless and starving whilst standing there rocking a £400 handset! Simply selling that fecking phone could get him a deposit on a place to live for a month!!!

FUCK OFF!!! That is the last time I worry about passing up the opportunity to buying that rag of shite from a guy who is claiming he can only get to sleep by stuffing the unsold copies down his trousers for warmth!

Next time, come to me and ask me to buy you a fucking sandwich!!! Fuckers!

This morning I am in Swansea. Its lovely weather for November, a bit cold but really sunny. I am in a hotel with a gym in it. There are many things wrong in here.

First of all I am in the coffee shop. The personal trainers from the gym are coming in for cake and coffee. They are mostly fat bastards. What are they training people for? Sumo Wrestling?

I am sat a short distance from a group of solicitors. On the face of things there is nothing wrong here but they are discussing a case they’ve been working on. Quite loudly. I really wouldn’t want this lot representing me, from the non-work based conversation going on it sounds like they are avid watchers of such mindless crap as “The Only Way is Essex” and “I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out Of here”.

When I get arrested somebody remind me to ask some very basic questions of my lawyers. I don’t care what qualifications you have or what cases you have won. Just don’t be a fan of shite “reality” tv or celebrity bollocks.

Two days after my latest attempt I am still fuming at Jamie Oliver. How dare he produce a book entitled “30 Minute Meals” when you only have the slightest hope of producing any of the meals within that time if you have spent at least 30 minutes in advance preparing all of your ingredients followed by around 1 hour cleaning up the complete and utter disaster zone that your kitchen has been turned into. And breathe.

For two days I have been spitting bile about him and his book. I have to say however that the recipes are all good. Whilst they aren’t always the easiest to follow, too much detail, perhaps bullet points would have been better? They do all taste excellent.

I think even the most seasoned amateur chef would be hard pressed to put together one of these meals within the suggested 30 minute window and the mess in your kitchen is pretty much an inevitability.  You could, of course as suggested, prepare all of the ingredients before you start.  I personally got everything out of the fridge and cupboards.  Had I gone further and actually chopped, measured and de-packaged everything before starting then I think I would have taken well over 30 minutes in my preparation.

Jamie Oliver, your food may be nice, but you need to jog-on and come up with a new title for your book.  How about “Nice meals, lots of mess, takes about an hour and 15 minutes”.  Catchy.  I know.