Regular Rantings

Unappreciated Good Deeds #1

2007-01-29T13:34:00.000Z

“’scuse me mate I was wondering if you could help me out”

“Certainly… what can I do for you?”

“I need some money for a cup of tea”

“Oh I can help you there… there’s a café just inside the entrance there and it has a cash machine just next to it”

“Tight bastard!”

Some people are just blind ungrateful for help aren’t they?

It's A Matter of Principle You See...

2007-01-26T10:48:00.000Z

I recently had call to go up to t’north where they all say “gradely” and “champion”. Not quite as far as where they all say “Why aye” and “Howay” but close nevertheless… so once again I found myself on a train. I duly turned up to the train station and bought a ticket, a ticket which I am led to believe entitles you to a seat on a train.

You would have thought wouldn’t you?

Alas all the seats were taken by other people, other people who saw fit to bring smaller, louder, other people with them. It was left to Guttersnipe here to stand.

Now Guttersnipe was taught in school that if you are young, able or working class then you stand up so that someone older, less able or posh can sit down. I wasn’t expecting tugged forelocks and a “bless ya squire” but I think I could be permitted the expectation of a nice sit down. When you get to my age you look forward to “a nice sit down”.

Alas I was destined to be as disappointed as someone who has won a week’s holiday with Jade Goody. I was left to stand.

However one should adapt and overcome when faced with inconvenience and I thought “Bugger this… If I’m standing then I’m standing in First Class!” and so I marched off happy in the knowledge that if I was standing then I was standing so people more deserving can sit down.

“Ticket please!”

“I’m sorry this is a standard class ticket and you’re in a First Class carriage.”

“Yes but I’m not sitting down. I’m standing”

“But this carriage is for first class passengers only”

“And a First Class ticket would buy me a seat in this carriage?”

“Yes… you can upgrade for a further £20”

“No thanks.. I’m happy standing”

“But this is a First Class carriage Sir”

“Yes but I’m not sitting down am I? I’m standing on the carpet. The same carpet, I might add, that you have in the Standard carriages. If you’re going to charge me £20 extra for standing here then I insist that there is an improved carpet, it’s a simple value for money thing you understand.”

This continued for a further 15 minutes, at which time I got off the train, the shield of justice firmly attached to my arm.

That's Amore....

2007-01-25T15:41:00.000Z

My pizza arrives….. words cannot explain how much I look forward to pizzaas hand delivered by our local take away. But given that this is a blog, they’ll have to…

I look forward to them a lot.

Wide as you can, all hint of vegetables removed and pepperoni replaced in the gaps the veg left behind. I can then curl up on the sofa with the delightful Lady Guttersnipe and watch CSI, or if Lady Guttersnipe’s out doing girl things then maybe an interesting documentary DVD about Japanese Cheerleaders, the entertainment world being my oyster.

It is of the CSI nights that I refer to here…

“Your pizza smells gorgeous”

“Yes it does doesn’t it? I’m now going to enjoy it in such a manner that you could be mistaken for thinking I’m impersonating a dying walrus”

“Can I have a slice?”

And so it begins… the ever circular battle of wits, the highlander style duel fought through time until there can only be one. Myself and the delightful Lady Guttersnipe have been together for some time now and I’m hard pressed to recall a time where I have had an entire pizza.

“No you can’t”

“Pleeeaaaasssee”

“If you wanted pizza I would have bought you pizza”

“I don’t want a pizza I just want a slice of pizza, surely you don’t begrudge me a slice”

“I don’t begrudge you a slice… just please have a slice of your own”

At this moment “puppy dog eyes” are used… Hah! Guttersnipe is immune, after all Pit Bulls were puppies once..

I will fight, I will cave, I will sulk, and I will continue to enjoy a pizza now deficient to the tune of 1 slice.

And so the cycle continue…

Crisis of Conscience!

2006-11-09T09:44:00.000Z

Today is Gutternsipe’s birthday. I am thirty-xxxxx years old and getting older by the minute, and with this age comes a crisis of conscience…

Amongt the many pleasant gifts I received today from family, friends, the crew of the Ark Royal and all those countless and grateful African and Romanian children I have sponsored over the years, the fair and good Lady Guttersnipe has bought me an MP3 player.

Now Guttersnipes I know what you’re both going to be saying…

“Ah Guttersnipe, you’ve spent months ranting about iPod wankers… how you going to get out of this one?”

You see I have a crisis of conscience. I risk becoming what I hate on the one hand or on the other

- I can no longer hear the children
- I can no longer hear the phones
- I can no longer hear the other iPod wankers.

Be careful not to trip over my principles on the way out, they’re currently in a pile by the bins.

*DISCLAIMER NOTICE* Lady Guttersnipe would like it known that she had purchased this long before I started ranting about iPod wankers. Lady Guttersnip’es like that… birthday in November? Better get the presents sorted out by the end of March.
She doesn’t want you thinking she’s evil or anything.

What The Hell Do You Look Like???

2006-11-02T10:59:00.000Z

Those of you with a regular rantery nature will know that Guttersnipe here has a few choice words about our youth’s dress codes. Particularly amongst the “Baby Goths” (???) that line my City Centre.

Yesterday as I was heading through the train station there was one of these going the other way on the escalator.

Not your usual Goth type… this one had a tan. Clearly all that morbid depression had led to Daddy cheering her up with a holiday. The tan was unusual, but then there was the hair.

Green hair…

What, in the name of sanity, do you look like woman? Tanned skin, Green Hair, odd clothes….

Which latest fashion magazine suggests these things? Which socialite gatherings require this sort of dress code?

Is “Death Metal Oompah Loompah” the new look for this season?

I’m so not hip with the kids… I need my slippers, I feel an attack coming on.

Also see Anna on Little Red Boat for more green hair abuse.

I Just Wanted To Read...

2006-11-02T10:46:00.000Z

[Rustle rustle rustle]….

"BASTARD!" …

[Rustle rustle] ….

"ARSE"….

[Rustle rustle} …

"OH FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE."

Having had the due consideration to not monopolise the entire train table with me catching up on middle England’s unique brand of ranting I was trying to read a discarded Daily Mail in my own cramped corner of the train.

Now given that we can manage such astounding feats of technology such as radio transmission to the moon, ultrasound scanning equipment, the supersonic jet and the frozen pizza, can we please invent a newspaper that folds?

Please?

By the time I had attempted to read this newspaper without cracking the girl next to me a fine one round the chops or catapulting the Sudoku section into the gentleman opposite me I was attempting to read something I’d just screwed up.

There is an inviting crease line down the centre of all newspapers, can it not just fold down that line without me requiring a degree in civil engineering? The sports pages were at right angle to the rest of the news, the funnies were now upside down, the letters page had developed an enormous tear down the side of it and Guttersnipe of course was getting hot under the collar.

A collar I might add that now contained the Money pages and horoscope.

Is it too much to ask that I don’t need to do the Origami?

Oh My God... I Could Have Killed Kenny

2006-11-01T12:29:00.000Z

Why do people take their children to restaurants? In fact why do people take their children to anywhere other than school?

Last week, the beautiful and fair Lady Guttersnipe, (who still remains without an engagement ring) took me out for Sunday Lunch. A good quality Sunday roast with plenty of meat and not a hint of poncy ass cuisine in sight. Unfortunately we were then joined by a family who pulled up in a somewhat out of date Mercedes and proceeded to pile their seven children and assorted friends into the same restaurant.

The main brat in question was called Kenny. A spoilt shite of a child who went on to do whatever the hell we pleased while his parents (I assume they were both his parents, it’s difficult to tell these days) occasionally lifted their baseball caps to say “Kenny don’t do that”. This process was repeated ad nauseam without a hint of increasing the volume or doing anything about it.

Knowing when we are about to be cursed, myself and Lady Guttersnipe eagerly allowed people to be seated ahead of us while we waited to be seated away from the aforementioned miscreants. All was going well.

We sat down, we got the drinks in, we went to the carvery and “oh for pity’s sake” they were all there ahead of us grabbing as much food as they could. Does it ever cross the mind of these people that “All you can eat” is an invitation rather than a command?

Anyway, they were all there getting food, all that is except Kenny. Kenny was jumping on the chairs and climbing on the tables while his father kept saying “Kenny, what do you want to eat?”.

Not a hint of “Kenny if you don’t stop that I’m going to kill you”. Not a hint of “Kenny if you don’t stop that I’m going to beat you to death with this joint of gammon”. Not even a hint of “Kenny don’t do that”. So does Kenny stop? No, he joins the rest of his family and then decides it is time for a lie down.

Bang in front of us, slap bang between us and the very meal we had paid good money to get.

And they just left him there!!! They went about getting his food and left him there. Do these people feel no embarrassment at all? I mean even people (like the alleged mother) who come to restaurants wearing the entire Elizabeth Duke back catalogue must feel some embarrassment at something.

Apparently not.

IT’S NOT A FUCKING CRECHE IT’S A FUCKING RESTAURANT.

Jesus, there once was a day when you needed a licence to have a dog, but any dickhead can have a child….

And they rarely stop at one.

An Open Letter to Taxi Drivers

2006-11-01T12:04:00.000Z

Dear Taxi Drivers,

According to that sacred tome you should all read, that being the Highway Code not the Koran, the flashing yellow signal at a pelican crossing means you may proceed when the remaining pedestrians have cleared the road.

It does not, in any definition or interpretation, mean the law entitles you to drive over the person in front of your car.

Might I also add that red lights mean stop, not stop and rev your car, not slow down to an absolute crawl but still not stop. It means stop. It might mean good luck in China or wherever the ruddybollocks you come from but over here it means STOP.

Please learn this or get off the road. You’re worse than the bastard cyclists.

Yours
Ranting Guttersnipe

Trick.... Now Get Lost Will You?

2006-11-01T11:52:00.000Z

I work hard for my money and being a Yorkshireman you have to either have a bloody good reason, or a gun if you want to get it off me. This is why I am one of the few people in the world that is truly terrified of small children carrying pumpkins on Halloween.

I don’t give money to the charity envelopes, I don’t give money to beggars and I resent stopping the important work I am doing to answer the door to a 7 year old dressed in a bedsheet.

Last night the important work I was engaging in was equally shared between helping Max Payne overcome some of his more deep rooted anger and bereavement issues as well as helping Horatio Kane solve a murder in a park. Important high stakes stuff I am sure you will agree.

But no… all this had to be put on hold because if I didn’t hand over hard earned chocolate (although I had removed all chocolate buttons) then Lady Guttersnipe’s car would have been egged into a time where it came before the chicken.

Guttersnipe was always raised to not talk to strangers, now I believe this should include not talking to disguised children demanding goods. Next year I have plans…

1. Brussels Sprouts dipped in chocolate and wrapped in Ferrerro wrappers.
2. Barricading myself in my top room and not appearing until 10-o-clock
3. Sticking posters across my windows saying “Registered Sex Offender at this address, be warned”

What do you think?

Special Once In A Lifetime Offer...

2006-10-27T15:49:00.000+01:00

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?

2006-10-27T10:11:00.000+01:00

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....

2006-10-25T10:07:00.000+01:00

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?

2006-10-24T11:10:00.000+01:00

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

2006-10-19T09:37:00.000+01:00

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?

2006-10-17T14:11:00.000+01:00

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?

2006-10-17T09:49:00.000+01:00

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

2006-10-13T10:34:00.000+01:00

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...

2006-10-13T09:56:00.000+01:00

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...

2006-10-12T18:38:00.000+01:00

"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

2006-10-12T11:54:00.000+01:00

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....

2006-10-10T14:14:00.000+01:00

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

2006-10-10T12:32:00.000+01:00

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

2006-10-10T08:57:00.000+01:00

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

2006-10-09T13:11:00.000+01:00

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?

2006-10-06T13:38:00.000+01:00

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

2006-10-06T12:54:00.000+01:00

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

2006-10-02T14:18:00.000+01:00

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.

The Woman's Weekly

2006-09-30T19:22:00.000+01:00

There was a day when the Woman’s Weekly magazine was well…. The Woman’s Weekly. Ah yes, halcyon days… it had the odd recipe, the knitting pattern and handy hints for ironing and the correct way to arrange your good man’s slippers of an evening.

Why to the good die young? What do we have now gentlemen? What is keeping our wives and girlfriends up to the minute with the latest they need to read as a successful parent and homemaker?

Yes, you’ve all seen them. I talk of things like Bella, Chat, Take a Break. Oh the horror, oh the inhumanity of it all.

Take time out for a moment dear Guttersnipes and go and look at your charming newsagent’s shelf of these things, there are about 20 of them and they all have these Real Life stories. Real Life? Jesus:

- I’m Shrinking! The Cuppa that led to 10 years of torment
- Killed for her lucky pants
- Neighbour bit off my nose

That dear Guttersnipes is merely the selection from this single edition

and there are 20 of these a week… ???

Given that this has 4 stories of people who frankly the genepool won’t miss and there are about 20 of these magazine where the hell do they find 80 people per week to fill these rags? Real Life? Thank the heavenly Lord I don’t appear to have a real life.

Then there’s the diets…. Oh pale waltzing lord the diets, apparently you too can eat all you want and wash it down with a pint of lard thanks to the miracle of the whatever the feck it is this week.

We get 20 WINNING WAYS TO GET SLIM AND STAY SLIM and oddly none of these 20 winning ways seems to involve moving more than you eat.

We have COMFORT FOOD WITHOUT THE CALORIES! Or alternatively ladies you could realise that if your latest young Guttersnipe has dumped you then ice cream and chocolate fudge is not going to bring him back… you’re going to stay single for a while, and when all that ice cream goes straight to your hips you’ll stay single for longer.

Look ladies, if you’re fat then move more than you eat. Simple!
I need something to read…

Wicca

2006-09-22T11:51:00.000+01:00

Oh finally… today my divorce has come through… to quote Mel Gibson:

FREEEEEEEEEEEEDOOOOM!

On this note I am going to recount a tale of the former (I stress not current, at time of writing) Lady Guttersnipe. Cast your mind back 4 or 5 years and we were in the process of buying a pleasant marital home. Three bedrooms, detached, conservatory, leafy cul-de-sac, everything a Desperate Housewives wannabe could want.

At this time the former Lady Guttersnipe developed a bizarre interest in Wicca.

So.. while Guttersnipe was busy sorting out mortgages, insurance and the like as well as frequent negotiations between estate agents and the sellers, the former Lady Guttersnipe had gathered herself an oak branch, a key and a ribbon and set about making a Talisman of Prosperity.

Yes you read that right… a Talisman of Prosperity.

Cutting a long story somewhat shorter our offer (or more accurately my offer) was accepted and the purchase duly proceeded.

Now ask yourself what did the former Lady Guttersnipe attribute to the success of this purchase? Was it the Talisman she had made and placed dutifully under her pillow for the correct 5 days in July? Or was it that fact that your good Guttersnipe actually gave the sellers the full asking price?

You can see where this is going can’t you?

The Big Issue at Hand

2006-09-22T11:12:00.000+01:00

One has to applaud anyone willing to work to earn their keep. The more people working the better in Guttersnipe’s opinion. However one has to draw the line somewhere… and that somewhere is usually outside the train station in an orange vest.

I speak of course of the scruffy prole trying to sell me the Big Issue.

I have bought the Big Issue once, I was young, naïve, I was at university and appearing as that sort of leftie persuasion gets you the girls. Yes I am that shallow… sue me.

I am older and wiser now and as such I do not want to read the Big Issue, it doesn’t matter how many times you ask me.. it’s not going to happen. The customer has spoken and apparently I’m led to believe the customer is always king.

What gets right up my snipes is the following example of a conversation:

“Big Issue Sir?”
“No thank you”
“Can you spare me any change?”

I’ve just declined to give the unwashed miscreant a pound or whatever it costs these days (and as soon as it became more expensive than Andrex I lost interest) in exchange for a magazine, what makes these people think I’m going to fork over my hard earned honest living in exchange for absolutely nothing at all?

Really… this doesn’t happen if you’re buying a car. You don’t get the chap at the dealership going:

“New Aston Martin sir?”
“No thank you”
“Well would you have £103,000 you could spare me?”

And where does this idea of spare money come from? Spare money?? How do I know if that money will not be required? I haven’t finished living my life yet. By all means guys, go through my pockets when I’m dead but for now I just don’t know.

They wear this orange thing stating “Working… not begging” well that’s just right royal bollocks.. it should say “working but still begging”.

And another thing (you start saying that a lot when you get older) I’ll walk past one of these parasites on my way to work at about 8.30 in the morning (yes for you students out there, there is an 8.30 in the morning as well) and I hear….

“By my last Big Issue Sir?”

The last one? Has he managed to sell out in a mere hour and a half? Holy hell… hire this man, his sales technique must be fantastic. If I employ him will I be a multi billionaire in the space of a fortnight?

Or could it be that he is just talking absolute arse. Checking back at 5.00pm and hearing the same thing proves this to be the case.

Ban them I say… I’m sure if you check the statistics there must be a good percentage of road fatalities caused by people crossing the road to avoid the orange leech of doom.

Smug Fecking Parents I

2006-09-20T20:58:00.000+01:00

Readers of The Spleen might find this surprising but your good Guttersnipe has something in common with the Labour Party. That being I would dearly like to see certain kinds of motorist bulldozed into a scrap yard and swiftly dealt with in the crusher.

Who could these unfortunates be? Joyriders? BMW drivers? Drivers of white vans? Nope… I speak of course of smug fecking parents!

If it’s one thing guaranteed to get my blood boiling on the roads it’s some smug arse fecktard advertising his fertility with a fucking “Baby on Board” notice!

Oh thanks for letting me know… I was just about to ram you off the fucking road as a quick method of overtaking but now I’ll ease down.

Just fuck off…. Just fuck off with your fucking little diamond to let us know that young fucking Tarquin is being transported to see another part of your tedious fucking life!! Do these people hang the warning on prams? Just imagine the carnage that must ensue when all the motorists pile over the zebra crossing because they were not suitably warned about the presence of a child.

Just fuck all of you… the purchase of one of these signs should come with a free surprise castration done in the back of Halfords.

But there are worse…. It’s bad enough that some simpering twat advertises the result of the one fucking time he’s got laid in this manner but then we get… “Princess on Board”

Oh for fuck’s sake!

If she is a fucking princess that would make the adults a King and a Queen wouldn’t it?

SO WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DRIVING AROUND IN A FUCKING MICRA???

YOU ARE ROYALTY… FECKING LIVE A LITTLE!

See the sign and kill the car Guttersnipes, they should be trophies rather than warnings.

Annoying Evangelical Non Smokey Types

2006-07-04T21:39:00.000+01:00

The next person that comes up to me and complains about me smoking is going to get rolled into a Rizla, sparked up and passed around for my social circle to enjoy. I fecking hate these people with their seemingly unshakeable belief that:

- I am unaware of the dangers of smoking
- I actually care what they have to say

I smoke, I don’t have any other vices aside from Chocolate Buttons. I eat well, I don’t drink to excesses, I don’t gamble, I don’t fight outside pubs, I don’t come home and beat Lady Guttersnipe, I don’t even drop litter for feck’s sake!

Let me smoke!

They bang on and bang on about “polluting the atmosphere” and “harming my environment” yet they all own fecking cars don’t they?

- A car throws out far more poisonous fumes than my cigarette does
- If my cigarette hits you at 30 miles per hour it is not going to kill you.
- If you set fire to my cigarette it doesn’t explode

Can we have a day where cars have a big white bonnet containing a message like:

- This car may run you over
- Motoring harms you and others around you

Thank you…. Now I’m off for a fag!

Pregnant Women - Aarrgh

2006-07-03T22:13:00.000+01:00

I understand that for the general continuation of the human race pregnancy is a necessary evil. I can live with that and until all the money I put into cloning research bears fruit I will have to live with that. Ladies, get pregnant if you must but please stop thinking that I remotely want to be involved.

Back in the days when Guttersnipe had a real job he had a sales team. One morning one of the ladies came and announced she was pregnant. After a quick check that I hadn’t slept with her and couldn’t be responsible I went back to my work.

Practically overnight her workstation became a mass of scan photographs and talks about vaginal tearing. Aaarrrgh, it’s a place of work for feck’s sake.

Ladies, you might think pregnancy is a wonderful time – to an employer he sees that you’re going to take a year off work then return part time just because you have a baby.

Of course then there will be photographs of the unfortunate child in various stages of growing up all over the office.

I’m not interested in your children, I’ve never been interested in your children. I don’t want childen and especially not yours.

Pregnancy is not a huge achievment – cats can do it and they generally drop more than one without an epidural..

And finally

I DO NOT WANT TO FEEL YOUR BABY KICK ANY MORE THAN IT WOULD WANT TO FEEL ME KICK – OK?

Rail Travel II

2006-07-01T10:52:00.000+01:00

Over recent times I have had cause to catch a train over to the West Midlands. Not the West Midlands I hear you cry! Yes… work is work.

Now this is fairly long journey from Guttersnipe Manor invloving 2-3 hours on the train. During this 2-3 hours I am sitting under a large sign that says:

“For your comfort and safety there is no smoking on this train”.

For my comfort and safety? Mine?

There may be 1 or 2 non smokey types out there, so for you people 2-3 hours of nicotine withdrawal is not comfortable right?

Given that this policy is for my comfort and yet reducing my comfort significantly I don’t think it is unreasonable to ask for a free upgrade to first class don’t you?

Incidentally, a quick message to all you evangelical non smoker types:

NON-SMOKERS STILL DIE!

Poncy Ass Food Joints

2006-06-08T10:10:00.000+01:00

Lady Guttersnipe sent me a link to a restaurant today and it has got the goat of young Guttersnipe here. Lunch at this haven is £21 per head and you know the place will be filled with couples who have children called Wilberforce and Jocasta.

Guttersnipe's advice for looking at restaurants is very simple. Look through the window, if you see lots of fat people you know the food's good and go in.

I list some extracts from the menu below:

FIRST COURSES
"Pan-fried soft herring roes on granary toast with lemon and parsley butter."

OK, this gets the ranting going… ‘Pan-fried’ – a term that is added to restaurant menus and all it does is make food more expensive. That’s all, I mean what the feck else are you going to fry something in? When you see this, send your food back and demand it be fried in something other than a pan.

“salmon fish cakes in crispy crumbs with a home made tomato ketchup.”

Translation – Fish cakes and sauce, and Guttersnipe thinks he would prefer the ones from the chippy, do you agree?

MAIN COURSES
Medium-rare fillet of Aberdeen Angus beef on a bed of baby spinach with braised shallots, Rosti potatoes and a red wine sauce (£3 Supplement).

£3 supplement to add sauce???? What is it made of? Red Wine or Pure Gold? Definitely a case of putting money where your mouth is.

DESSERTS
A caramelised "Millefeuille" of bitter chocolate and poached pears with orange cream and pistachios.

What the feck is a “Millefeuille” of biiter chocolate?

Then we have the reviews, that champion of non-pretentious working class ordinary folk the Independent says:

“…. Has no airs and graces… sure fire results are achieved by wonderful local ingredients.”

Take a look at the menu above and imagine the airs and graces that the place doesn't have.

Guttersnipe is lost for words....

One Reason Why I Am Happy For Big Brother to Be Watching All of Us

2006-05-18T15:44:00.000+01:00

... because none of us would then be watching Big Brother.

Big Brother starts tonight... I'm going to retreat into a nuclear bunker. I'd like to raise a few things here about the Big Brother phenomenon...

1. If I to see nothing happening on my TV I will turn it off.
2. If I wanted 10 weeks of contstant coverage of people who are not remotely important I would watch QVC, I might at least come away with something useful.

I hate this time of year, I hate everything about this show. I hate the press coverage meaning I can't avoid it even if I destroy my TV in a black magic ritual. I hate Davina yelling over the microphone. I hate the constant discussions about it amongst the girls in the office (the blokes never seem to bother with it).

WHY OH WHY ARE WE SUBJECTED TO THIS INFANTILE BOLLOCKS?

I feel nothing but contempt for the star struck morons who appear in this. I could understand them being placed in a secure building with cameras following their every move but just not in this way.

The only person I admire in this set up is the poor Geordie bloke who has to try and find something interesting happening to give his commentary a listener of two. You get lines like:

"Day 42 in the Big Brother house and an argument has broken out about some cheese"

Save me....

DeCaff? What Bollocks!

2006-05-17T14:56:00.000+01:00

I have few vices in the world but a fine cup of tea is one of them, we did after all build an empire on it. So having duly purchased a new box of tea bags to work my way through I gleefully opened for that "first cuppa from the box" feeling.

I was greeted by a note on the top saying "Have you tried PG Tips Decaff?"

NO I BLOODY HAVEN'T AND I NEVER WILL!!

Surely we all drink tea for that kick you get, the same reason why we drink coffee. Normally the stuff tastes foul (hence the addition of sugar), the only reason you can drink it is for the reward of beign able to stay awake 30 minutes longer. What the hell is the point of removing the one pleasure these drinks provide. The same goes for alcohol free lager.

A New Ranter on the Books

2006-05-17T11:43:00.000+01:00

Overworked has launched This Job Sucks.

Guttersnipe wishes him well in all his rants and raves.

Welcome to the brotherhood.

Health and Safety Inspection Day

2006-05-12T16:00:00.000+01:00

I ask you… what is the point of these? When I am not ranting I have a job and yesterday was the day of our “Health and Safety” inspection. Or let’s put this another way:

“An inspection to waste the time and money of everyone using our service whilst giving an otherwise unemployed busybody £25,000 of tax payers’ money.” – I think that sums it up.

I sat their while this inspector pointed out that my milk should be in the fridge where it wouldn’t go off, did I really need the curtains as they can gather dust? Was I aware that there was a pile of files behind me? Have I had the angle I sit at risk assessed recently?

Ironically the one thing in the office I have injured myself on, the window, was totally overlooked. Totally.

So now that this inspection is complete I should feel healthier and safer, after all that was the object, but I don’t. She didn’t advise me to quit smoking, offered me no dietary advice, didn’t tell me to work less and play more and did nothing for stress. I still face the same threat from international terrorism, I could get run over, I can still be bullied in the work place, what did this achieve?

- If I have concerns about my health I’ll see a doctor
- If I have concerns about my safety I’ll call the police.

If I have £25K of taxpayers money I want to waste I’ll call a Health and Safety Inspector.

Shouldn't Soap be Keeping You Clean?

2006-05-08T12:01:00.000+01:00

There are a great many things that I just fail to understand about Lady Guttersnipe, a great many things and I'm sure we'll share more as time progresses. Today's particular observation is her strange love of the cosmetics shop Lush, I can hear fellow guttersnipes expressing their agreement already.

I'm terrified of this shop. On the rare occasions I've plucked up the courage to enter, as opposed to say something less daunting like volunteering to be hung, drawn and quartered, I've been overwhelmed by the stuff they get my charming Lady G. to buy.

Bath bombs - Apparently you put these things in the bath and they explode. Yes gentlemen, explode! Obviously someone recognised that there was a real market niche for a range of exploding soaps, and I would agree but you expect to find them on the shelf next to the exploding cigars and fart powder.

Blocks of shampoo and soap - None of them appearing to contain soap, they'd much rather contain Peruvian lava powder, Organic Cow Slime and Jaffa Cake and Ginger Nut exfoliant. If I am covered in Peruvian Lava podwer or Siberian Yak Vomit then it's a cue to have a shower, not the other way round. Aside from this they are huge. You can buy soap in 2 foot square blocks? Who needs a 2 foot block of soap? How do you rub a 2 foot block of soap into those awkward folds and creases that need mucking out? I looked on horrified as ladies who I appeared intelligent and of sound mind purchase 2 foot blocks of soap with dirt already in it. What's the point?

Ladies you baffle me, I'll be sticking with my bottle of Dove.

Children - Rant I

2006-05-08T11:58:00.000+01:00

This morning I was being pleasantly driven to work by the delightful Lady Guttersnipe (she'll love me for that name I assure you) when a local scrot teenage girl just walked out in front of the car. Naturally the brakes were applied as we are reliably informed that a 2.0 litre Renault hurts.

The response we got for lengthening the life expectancy of this adolescent (no doubt named Chardonnay, Chelsea or Posh) was a glare of disgust before she nonchalantly went on her way to report to register and then skip school.

I'm trying to understand why we deserved such an "evil glare". I have narrowed it down to two things:

1. We were on the road in a car
2. We didn't drive over her

I think next time we'll skip on option 2.

Meat Feast Pizzas

2006-05-08T11:57:00.000+01:00

Let me clarify first, I'm not anti-meat feast pizzas. Far from it. I would happily start building temples to meat feast pizzas if only I could get planning permission. No, my problem lies with some of the content. The "not meat" content to be precise.

If I order this fine product of Italy it always, without fail, turns up with onions and green peppers all over the top of it. Why? Why? Why?

I spend most of my life being lectured on the health threats of pizza... I accept them, if they're going to kill me at least let me die without forcing vegetables on me. Have a good look at a salad some day.... it's just not food. If I ordered a "Vegetarian Feast" I wouldn't get ham and pepperoni put on for good measure would I?

It's discrimination, sheer unadulterated discrimination against happy carnivores. I like eating dead animals, it's my right and I've never set eyes on a healthy looking vegetarian.

Rail Travel I

2006-05-08T11:55:00.000+01:00

My work frequently requires me to take some lengthy train journeys. London, Edinburgh, Montrose, Kent the like. Since GNER have shamefully abandoned the smoking carriage that made using public transport a pleasure for me I have retreated to the "Quiet Coach". Now you would expect quiet in this coach would you not? After all if I go into a building marked "Vegetarian Cafe" I expect to find vegetarian food.

I've no real problem with how people use their mobile phones (unless they have the Crazy frog) or indeed their laptops.... all I ask is that the "Quiet" rule also applies to children.

Children are the bane of any of my train journeys. Their squealing, their crying, their running up and down the aisle while the hapless parent says something like "Aww Chelsea please don't". It drives me insane.

This is how serial killers start you know. In 5 years time when some poor commuter has hacked an entire school outing to death with a sharpened umbrella his neighbours will say "he was a quiet man who liked the quiet, and travelled on trains a lot". This will be the reason.

Really, if we can ban smoking in the presence of non-smokers can we please ban children in the presence of committed non-parents? That's all I ask

American Tourists - WTF are they thinking?

2006-05-08T11:53:00.000+01:00

I had the recent honour of spending a weekend at the very fine Warwick Castle. I'm sure you'll all agree it is a fantastic example of Medieval strength and architecture, and what's more was all built with the proceeds of French plunder during the Hundred Years War.

I digress.

Whilst I was stood before the medieval reenactors admiring the 15th Century Barbican an American woman strolled up with her family. She frantically gathered her children around her and said:

"Kids, this.... is pre-1944"

Words fail me.