Special Once In A Lifetime Offer...

Last week I was at the Pickering War Time Weekend. A fine, if somewhat crowded salute to the Home Front of the 1940s. I was seeing a few people I'd not seen for a while. Catch up on old times over a fine pint... you know the sort of thing.

Now as it came time to leave and head back to Leeds, one of the crowd said:

"See you soon Guttersnipe, and next time we see Lady Guttersnipe we expect her to be wearing an engagement ring"

Gulp!

So I ask... does anyone want to marry Lady Guttersnipe? She's cute, she makes bacon sandwiches to die for, she hates the french and you want to see the things she can do with an egg whisk.

Have You Got a Hole In The Head Or Something?

I’m not an idiot, I am aware that the words “fashion sense” constitute an oxymoron but body piercing? How can that ever be a good idea?

Near where I work in Leeds you will find “Corn Exchange” a pleasant bazaar of the more unusual shopping experiences our fair city has to offer. Now this eclectic range of wares does have a tendency to attract a load of oddly dressed Goth types to hang around outside the place.

So as I walk past this bizarre looking mass of hair and metal backs into me and then goes about his merry way. I’ll add at least he had the decency to apologise and that’s when my horror began.

Pierced face? Multiple piercing of the face?

Who stands in front of the mirror of a morning and thinks “Wow I’m looking sharp today but if only my face was a bit more… you know… metallic”, “Hmmm…. Bond villain look today I think” or “If only I look like a stapler had exploded to my right”?

The last time I saw someone like him was when I rented Hellraiser.

How do these people get jobs? When this phase finally ends what will their faces look like? I’ll tell you what they’ll look like. Tea Bags. Could they even drink without a surgically implanted cork?

It can’t be good for you… I’m no health crusader but think, talk to a few War Veterans and they’ll tell you that people with unnecessary holes in their heads die.

I Don't Love It That Much....

Now regular ranters will know that I have a small problem with the ad man. He earns far far more than you good Guttersnipe here ever hopes to earn, for coming up with frankly meaningless, ill-thought out bollocks to a degree that would suggest that even the Inland Revenue would decline his CV.

Today, the finger of suspicion is pointed firmly at Clover Margarine.

I’m sure you’ve all seen the adverts, "Oh We aaaalll love Clover" lots of pleasant rustic scenes of happy families chowing down on their favourite artificial dairy flavoured spreads with not a care in the world. Until we reach the end and we have a pathetic faced woman sat in a farmhouse kitchen being all depressed until Hey Presto, husband appears with cheese sandwich and she is overcome with tears of joy and gratitude.

Now I ask myself, what sort of shit state is your life in if you are that grateful for a free cheese sarnie?

How much of a shiftless, idle, low down, good for naught slob must your husband be if you see the making of a cheese sandwich as a heart moving sacrifice of his time and effort for you? If she’s this grateful for a sandwich I’ll warrant she’s had a pretty shitty Christmas last year.

What on God’s green earth would the woman be prepared to do if he say cleaned the entire house or bought her a new car? I imagine he’d probably be allowed to sleep with the local rugby team’s cheerleading squad.

There must be men out there now reeling in disappointment having followed the ad man’s lead and made their upset lady a cheese sarnie to which she has replied “Thanks hun…. Would you mind emptying the dishwasher now?”

I don't love it that much.... irrespective of how it's churned.

One Lump or a Good Hard Beating?

Do you take sugar?

“No I’m sweet enough, HAHHAHHAHAHHAHA!”

And in this moment another Guttersnipe trigger is squeezed.

No you are not sweet enough, not by a long shot.

- You have a face that would petrify a gorgon
- I have seen better manners on psychiatric wards
- Your frequent coughing sounds like a cavalry charge through a swamp with horses wearing treacle filled boots
- You look like Jabba the Hutt with a desk and
- You smell like Grimsby Docks during a heat wave!

So I think at least 5 spoonfuls should do the trick.

Lessons From Guttersnipe's Past #1

When your girlfriend (in this case the Former Lady Guttersnipe) comes up to you at a party and says “that girl’s got the same dress on as me”….

… “No she hasn’t hers is three sizes smaller” is apparently the wrong answer.

Go figure… it would seem that honesty is not the best policy.

Do I Have 'LIAR' Stamped On My Head?

The phone rings….

“Hello Guttersnipe, do you have the file for Mr. X.?”

“Quick check… [rummage] [rummage] [rummage]… No sorry!”

“Are you sure? I need it for tomorrow morning”

What fecking difference does that make? Yes I am sure and the fact that you need it for tomorrow morning is not going to change the fact that I don’t have it!

What do these people expect me to say?

“Ah well since you need it for tomorrow morning I’ll stop pissing you about and bring it to your desk right away”

I am a busy man and I have neither the time nor inclination to lead you on a merry wild fecking goose chase for a file which I am sat on, giggling to myself while you start to fret about missed deadlines and possible job loss.

If I had it, I would tell you the first time.

It's called a PERSONAL stereo... Geddit?

Bus travel has many unpleasant elements, the chav kids gobbing on everyone, the elderly wetting themselves, the fact that I am apparently a complete bastard for having the gall to pay my fare with a £10 note. But these do not concern me today.

Now since the bus companies intervened and banned smoking on buses, apparently for my comfort and safety, I have elected to remain seated upstairs for bus travel. Parents do not generally bring their pushchair crammed with squawking parasites onto the top deck. An hour of peace is reasonably guaranteed. Until the fecking iPod crowd get on.

For the rest of my journey I am lambasted with apparently rhythmic hissing like someone has placed several rattlesnakes in a tumble dryer.

Jesus fecking Christ… I don’t want to listen to your ill-judged taste in music thank you very much, especially if that taste in music involves dance music, James Blunt or anything else that should be classified under UN regulations as a crime against humanity. I am trying to read. Quietly trying to read without getting up anyone else’s nose.

Do I stand at the front of the bus and read my book out aloud to you all? No… then why should I be forced to listen to that tinny, talentless bollocks that you call music. Maybe I should read to you.. some of you look like you’ve never seen past the Daily Mirror’s Sport pages.

A good kick in the iPods should sort these people out?

Man In The Bowler Hat - Part 2

As regular ranters may be aware I’m having a bit of a rum do with the Tax.

Having failed so far to secure last year’s repayment I’ve started to feel the economic pinch of late so I decided to make my claim for this year’s repayment, a more princely sum of £1,083 which I have apparently paid the man in the bowler hat in good faith and can rightly expect returned….

So on I log to the Government Gateway where I am duly informed that I can claim my repayment with one click, and entering the relevant bank details I therefore do so. I am then informed that I should receive money direct into my bank in 4-5 working days. Fair enough!

Maybe they’re not so bad after all.

Just as you thought it was safe.

I then received a message on Government Gateway saying:

“Dear Mr. Guttersnipe,

Unfortunately we cannot process your claim at this time and it has been passed to your Tax Office for further processing. Please allow 4-6 weeks for this to occur”.

4-6 weeks? I rang the Tax Office and got through to their late night call centre.

“Inland Revenue… monkey brained moron speaking, how can I help?”

Actually it would be unfair to refer to the Revenue's staff as monkey brained. Apparently an infinite number of monkeys in an infinite time could type the Complete Works of Shakespeare (preferably with Richard III omitted) however an infinite number of Revenue Call Centre of staff in an infinite time would have difficulty picking bits from their own arses.

I wanted to say “well you can give me my money you thieving twat” but I was more restrained and adopted the more usual blah blah related problem, heard frantic tapping of keys on the other side type of approach.

The upshot being that given the National Insurance issue I cannot get an automatic repayment and this will be looked at in 3-4 days rather than the quoted 4-6 weeks. So one asks (and rightly I think) “Well you’ve got my account up on the system in front of you, why don’t we go through it now?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Guttersnipe the system won’t allow me to do that. It will be looked at in 3-4 days when it comes through”

“Comes through? It’s through… you can see it. Why can’t we sort it out now?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Guttersnipe the system won’t allow me to do that. It will be looked at in 3-4 days when it comes through”

What is the point of a late night call centre that cannot do anything?

If you want to beat these people to death with your tax return… press ‘#’ now!

Roll Up... Roll Up...

It started with the posters…

They have appeared all over the town. Sky’s poster proclaiming “The Greatest Show on Earth”.

“At last”, I thought, after all those letters and recommendations I sent in they have finally responded to my demands to show Victoria Coren vs Eliza Dushku Treacle Wrestling.

Maybe with a bit more letter writing they will show the All Japan Lesbian Team Jam Wrestling (Apricot) first round Air Stewardesses vs Sixth Formers. My subscription thus guaranteed for life.

Sadly this appears not to be the case. The Greatest Show on Earth in this case appears to be Cirque De Celebritie, a ream of supposed celebrities are going to try their hand at being circus performers and you guessed it there’s going to be a distinct lack of celebrities here.

Popular faces from ‘hip with the kids’ style media include Grace Short who failed to win Big Brother (apparently) and Mr. Angry’s least favourite consultant Syed Ahmed, a man who not only failed to win The Apprentice, but also failed to be selected for further Sky reality bilge The Match.

Celebrity? At this rate shouldn’t the show be called “Cirque De Game Show Contestant?” or perhaps “Cirque De Loser”? Who the ruddyfeck are these people and why should the faithful subscriber pay £40 a month to see them?

I tell you what though…. I can’t wait to see the Lion Taming.

Treat Me...

"There’s Twix’s in the staff room Guttersnipe"…

…I was reliably informed today. So, with a desperate panting like Jonathan King at a Tweenies concert I hurried off down the corridor before all the circling vultures left nothing more than a chocolate shaped hole where biscuit goodness had once been.

As it turned out the initial statement was a bit of a white lie. Sure there were Twix products there…. Treat sized Twix products.

Can you feel the pain Guttersnipes? I was crestfallen.

How is the "Treat Sized" Twix a treat? You get one finger in it, ONE FINGER. As a measure of generosity Twix offer you half the usual amount. Surely they should be called "Fuck You" sized.

And "Fun Size" chocolate bars are about a quarter of the size of the normal boredom sized ones. Where’s the fun? Watching your mate attempt to down a Mars Bar that’s 7 feet long and weighing in a 15kg now that would be fun!

Don’t be conned Guttersnipes… if the young lady you’ve been romancing finally exposed a small chest using the words "they’re fun sized" you’d disagree wouldn’t you?

OI! Man in the Bowler Hat! Pay Up

I’ve never liked the tax system. Each year I complete an enormous over the top document detailing every small part of my business, my pension contributions, my charity donations and so on and so on. Every year the same thing happens. I find that I have overpaid in tax.

This year I duly waited for my refund, a not inconsiderable sum of £349, and I have been waiting since April. So.. as a last resort I decided to phone the Inland Revenue and sort everything out and it turns out my tax refund is the princely sum of… wait for it….

£14

Quite the margin of error they have don’t they?

So duly your good thorough Guttersnipe launches an investigation and for once my sums do add up. So I call back..

“Good morning, Guttersnipe here, I was wondering if you have anything further on my refund”

“Yes.. it appears there is an amount outstanding to your National Insurance for the last 3 years and the money has been transferred to settle that”

“That’s most efficient of you, however I have not been self-employed in the last 3 years and therefore you should not have done that”

“Well we have no record of you ceasing trading in those years”

“Well could you put me through to the National Insurance People then?”

“I’ll give you their number”

Now I hate this…. They all work for the same people but no… rather than put me through I have yet another number to dial, yet another auto answering service to go through and another monkey brained moron to deal with.

So I finally get through and they call my details up and I enquire ….

“My good man I ceased trading in 2002 and you have kept apparently racking up the bills”

“We have no record of that Mr. Guttersnipe”

“OK…. I appreciate you have a record of an outstanding amount, could I ask why you haven’t informed me until now?”

“We have sent you several letters and reminders Mr. Guttersnipe”

“Really… where to?”

“[Address deleted for confidentiality reasons and in case that psycho ex learns who I am]”

“I moved from there 3 years ago, the same time I ceased trading and all this information was on the tax return I filed with you at the time”

“That was filed with the Inland Revenue Mr. Guttersnipe, they are not allowed to share that confidential information with outside parties”

But they can apparently share £335 of my money. Bastards!

Be Disrespectful If You Must But....

I appreciate people being polite and respectful towards me. I’m sure everyone reading this fine tome of my thoughts would appreciate similar treatment in their direction. Do we? Good.

Could I please ask then that if you are planning to be disrespectful to me, or rude or arrogant that you have the courage to at least be so. Over the course of the weekend I often had to listen to peoples’ responses to my thoughts and erstwhile opinions and I was happy to do this until I hear that fateful opening to a sentence….

… “I don’t mean to be disrespectful….”

Of course you mean to be disrespectful. At least be up front about it. Every time I hear that phrase I just know I’m about to be disrespected.

I listened patiently while the lady in question finished what she had to say and stared blankly into the air. When she prompted me for a response I replied, and I’m sure you’ll all back me up here “Sorry I was waiting for the part where you didn’t mean to be disrespectful”. This did not go down well.

The next time this occurs I think my response will be “I don’t mean to punch you in the face but….” WHACK!

Bargainistas

There has been a whole glut of new words to insult people of recent times and one of these (albeit not mentioned in the BBC link) is the Bargainista.

The definition is that person who seems to point at their clothing and revel in how cheap it is such as “my trousers were only £5 from Primark” leaving the slick Guttersnipe reeling from open wallet surgery as he thinks how much he paid for his clothes.

At the end of the day though does this open broadcasting of cheapness make that person better than me? And if so where will their quest to be better than everyone else end?

Look out in the future for a range of vagrants who stop you in the street and say “look at these trousers… I got them free out of the bins at the Bus Station”.

Sarah Kennedy

Being over 30 years old your good Guttersnipe here has ‘put away childish things’ like Radio 1 and fashionable clothing and opted for a more sedate lifestyle as the years cycle on.

On the morning of my 30th birthday I awoke brisk and early and thought “I need Wogan and slippers now”. I became a fully paid up member of the Radio 2 listeners and a Tog in my very own right. Now getting up too early is something I really try to avoid doing as Lady Guttersnipe will testify but today was one of those days and what do I have to entertain me on the way to work before 7.30am? Sarah fecking Kennedy…

There are many good cases against the licence fee and the ‘unique way the BBC is funded’ but I have to say Sarah Kennedy remains the finest case for the abandonment of the BBC.

Cast your minds back 3 years or so… lots of good quality British chaps were invading Iraq. Now like it or loathe it, it was important and both the BBC and Sky News were running rolling reports on it, the office gossip was all concerning it, I myself stayed up late to watch the fireworks in Baghdad. The world was changing.

However all the conflict and catastrophe was paled into insignificance when Sarah Kennedy popped onto the radio to complain that the builders had used the wrong tiles in her bathroom.

Yes Guttersnipes she had a bathroom crisis…

This woman talks more boring irrelevant bollocks than the complete works of Alan Bennett and Dylan Thomas in one Audio CD collection. Jesus Christ woman get a life!

Thank god I’ll never be invited to any of her dinner parties.

Early morning radio is for the majority going to be listened to by long distance drivers… I wonder how many early morning fatalities are caused by this woman putting drivers to sleep at the wheel, the consequences to both humanity and our economy must be staggering.

My early morning torpor continues.

Advertising #1

I am a capitalist as you may well know and I’m not one of these people who resents the presence of advertising on TV to help make ends meet. However I have to take issue with the latest round of adverts for Andrex.

Now what’s wrong with Andrex? you might say, it has a good product and a cute puppy, everything the adman needs to increase sales. Well no…

Currently Andrex are attempting to increase sales, hence the adverts, and the latest marketing idea that have had to get us all rushing out to the supermarket is the placing of embossed puppies on the paper.

What the hell were their marketing department thinking?

Just what part of their market research pointed to their target demographic wanting to shove puppies up their arses?

I’m sure I speak for a great many Guttersnipes when I say I have never wished to clean my ringpiece with a small dog, and were I to do so Labrador would not be my choice. I’m sure none of us have been sat on the porcelain throne, have put down the Times crossword and thought “I’d use more of that stuff if they put dogs on it”.

These people earn more than most of us…. Think about that!

Just What is it About Horses?

Oh for feck’s sake horses. Why are they allowed to exist? In old medieval times they had a use, but following the dawn of the 20th Century we have developed the car, the tank, the truck. Why oh why does there seem to be a place for horses in modern society?

Now I believe that the good ladies of England are a fair and delicate breed of delightful company, interesting witticisms and not forgetting that the majority of them have fine breast and a certain willingness to perform the occasional act of depravity.

Why on earth do we risk all these qualities by allowing them to purchase a horse? As soon as your wife, daughter, girlfriend obtains this four-legged equine monstrosity she becomes a horse person, and by default you have to become a horse person as well.

Suddenly your life has become a routine of grooming and mucking out stables, suddenly the love of your life thinks that this 17 hand high mountain of would be glue that shits in a field all day without a polite word is more pleasant company than you are. Suddenly the whole world needs to change to accommodate this horse.

But what is it about horses that does this?

In essence these creatures are little more than a vehicle with a brain. Imagine for a moment that you are buying a vehicle. Which one of the following would you buy?

The one with the passenger side airbags, CD player, SatNav, low mileage and that fits in your garage?

Or

The one that will throw you off the top if it if you lose concentration for a moment, will go where you want to go only if it can’t think of a reason not to, needs keeping in a separate stable costing even more money and does an enormous crap in such stable approximately once every 6 hours which you need to clear up.

I think I would go for the former wouldn’t you? But no… women are strange creatures you see, fair and beautiful yes but nonetheless strange.

They love horses and are terrified of spiders:

- All horses can kill you with a thought. Most spiders cannot
- Horses are bad tempered. Spiders have no emotions at all
- A Horse in your bath is going to take some getting rid of, a spider can be dealt with by using taps.
- You swat a horse it will kick you… you swat a spider you win the fight.

So don’t you see ladies? We have much more of a case to be terminally terrified of horses and embrace the keeping of spiders as pets… spiders also do not need stables, vet bills or £250 month on shoes.

Brass Necked Snipe Awards #1

This is the first in I hope a series of awards offered by your good Guttersnipe for the sheer unadulterated nerve of some people.

Whether you like the compensation culture or not... you have to respect effort.

BBC:

A woman who killed her retired police officer husband has had her legal battle for a widow's pension dismissed by the Court of Appeal.
Carol Glover stabbed husband Michael in the heart with a kitchen knife at their Stoke-on-Trent home on Boxing Day 1998.
Glover, then 48, who admitted manslaughter, was jailed for two years at Birmingham Crown Court in May 1999.
She was told she would not be granted a widow's pension, but had challenged the decision in the High Court.

You've got to admit... this takes some bollocks!

Hat Tip - Mr Eugenides

Charity Days #1

I step into the office today and someone has placed a poster on the noticeboard for the “Jeans for Genes Day”. What I ask you is the point?

I’m not going to rant this time about the plethora of charity days that seem to rule the life of anyone working in the office environment, and the fact that no month can go by without you being accosted at your desk by some do-gooder type waving a bucket at you whilst dressed as a Dalmatian.

No…. my complaint today regards the office-type middle classes who think this sort of day matters. They leap on board their “good cause” eager to do their bit to change the world for a better place. So what do they do?

- Do they recreate the Jarrow March to highlight the poor in this country?
- Do they spend a month living in a cave to have that homelessness experience?
- Do they spend a period of time without the use of their legs to highlight disability?

No…. they have Jeans for Genes day. In order to really do their bit for children with genetic disorders all over the world these people are prepared to…. Wait for it…. Change their trousers.

With effort and sacrifice like that you can just feel the tidal wave of revolution sweeping the world can’t you?

At least people raising for Comic Relief sit in custard or something….. jesus.