A Cautionary Tale

Once there was a bald publican, and he decided that, as he was beginning to replace previously lost body weight, it was about time he got back on his bike for some regular exercise. One fine morning, he set off to do his 6-mile stint. He had almost reached Poulner Baptist Chapel when there was a deafening explosion from somewhere down between his legs. This violent activity in the nether regions was not something to which he is normally accustomed in these latter days and the sudden eruption of sound rather unnerved him. After a few seconds, he had calmed somewhat and, as he had felt no pain, assumed that his front tyre had ruptured. Upon closer investigation, however, he discovered the cause of all this emotional trauma – the lid of his water bottle had blasted open. The moral of the story? Do not use sparkling water in your water-carrier. Tchoh! Amatuer.

It's Who You Know

Well, would you Adam ‘n Eve it? A couple of weeks ago, during the day that I was sweating through the New Forest with Omally and Loretta, I learnt something which has proved to be to my advantage insofar as my geocaching activities (infrequent though they may be) are concerned. Apparently, the manufacturers of my car deliberately coated all its windows with a special GPS signal-blocking material (or athermic coating) so that I have been unable (for that hitherto unknown reason) to fully enjoy the thrill gained from following a pointing arrow or watching the little triangle moving along a map (as opposed to watching the road through the windscreen). My eTrex Vista would continually lose satellite reception. However, being A Person In The Know, Omally told me what I needed to rectify this and, of course, over the next couple of weeks, I duly forgot what it was. So, yesterday, I had a rare lucid moment and, via the medium of electronical mail, I asked Omally what was the gizmo that he had said I needed. He duly responded with the words: "Well, if I am not very much mistaken, that bad boy would be the RRAD-45 Re-radiating Antenna, available for a mere 37.32 GBP exc. VAT, 43.85 GBP inc. VAT from GPS Warehouse, www.gpsw/thisisthecritteryouneedetc.com." He was right! GPS Warehouse relieved me of the readies (plus 3.95 GBP postage) with little or no pain and they kindly sent me a message this morning saying my purchase had been despatched. I can’t wait to get my hands on its polycarbonate radome enclosure. And, who knows, I may even go out geocaching with it!

An Anagramapoem for LOISINTHEFOREST

THE SINISTER FOOL 

Continues with his plan 

IN FOOLISH STREET, 

While kindred souls log on - 

FOOLISH INTEREST! 

He wishes that one day they all could meet. 

TO THIS FINE LOSER 

Go the spoils of senseless conflict; 

IN TOOTHLESS FIRE 

That burns with empty flame, 

THE LOONIES FIRST, 

And then the sane, achieve his heart’s desire 

SENIOR THIEF, LOST, 

Who steals the love and wanders 

IN THE SOFTER SOIL: 

The dirt that’s left unturned, 

FILTHIEST SOONER, 

Cleanest later, the dream must never spoil. 

ON THIS SOFTER LIE 

Rely, but know the truth of it: 

THE SNORT IF I LOSE, 

The cheer if I win, 

LONER OF THIS SITE 

But owner of the fight that I will choose.

I am not a Number......!

Apparently, I have a Long Penis. Well, it came from the intermanet, so it must be true! Yesterday, I received an e-mail purporting to be from Paypal. It was addressed simply to “2”. It told me that I was to treat the communication as a receipt for the payment of $1,825 which I had just made via my Paypal account to “sexito@yahoo.com” for the undermentioned item. It had the Paypal logo on it and everything and it looked quite plausible. The ’undermentioned item’ was that best-seller, the ever-popular Long Penis / VS 2480 (Item # 75977994). You know the one? And there was a hyperlink to a website with an incredibly long URL. And no, I didn’t! Deep down, I suspected the message’s veracity, but it unnerved me for three reasons: (1) had someone hijacked my Paypal account? (2) would I now have to spend a possible fortune on some Huge Underpants? and (3) would it fit through my letter-box? I must admit I panicked a bit, because I wasn’t really sure what to do next. First, I telephoned Trading Standards and reported it (I should have done that last, really). I then logged on to my Paypal account and changed my password and security questions; while I was doing this, I spotted something that reassured me somewhat: the debit card associated with the account was an old one (I had not used the account for ages) so the money could not have been taken anyway. I then telephoned Paypal where a very nice Irish lady called Anne-Marie told me that what I had done with my account was correct and confirmed that such an amount of money would not have been authorised to be deducted from the account as it was still classed as “unverified”. She also asked me to forward the e-mail to them, which I did. Whilst writing this, I have received a reply thanking me for reporting it, saying that they were investigating the matter fully and confirming that the e-mail had indeed not emanated from them. The people who sent the e-mail obviously hoped to gain information about my Paypal account, and also that, out of the thousands of people the same message was sent to, at least some of them would have a small penis. Ner!

Electric Shopping

Our local Waitrose supermarket recently re-opened after a major refurbishment and I now do my shopping with the aid of electrickery. You have to have a John Lewis Partnership credit card (which a very nice lady let me sign up for when I went in the store a few weeks ago) and you go to a bank of scanners and swipe the card down one of the slots. A screen says “Welcome, Lois!” (marvellous!) and one of the scanner cradles lights up, showing you which one to take. When you pick it up, the display on it says “Welcome, Lois!” (how can it get any better?) The first time you do your electric shopping, they give you 4 jolly good quality bags (2 large, 2 small) into which you bung your provisions after you have scanned each item. How does that nice Mr Waitrose know you’ve scanned everything in your bags? Well, he trusts you. But sometimes, if he’s feeling a bit tetchy and suspicious, he’ll come in unexpectedly and turn your trolley over. He will repack the bags for you, though, and very nicely, I am reliably informed. When you scan certain items, the device will emit a loud danger signal – it frightened me to death the first time it happened – but this simply means the item is subject to some sort of special offer: £1.50 each, buy 2 for £2.75 (ooh, beep! beep!); 3 for the price of 2 (ooh, beep! beep! beep!); I’m sure I can hear Mr Waitrose on his way to the bank, guffawing rather loudly. Well, when you’ve finished cramming stuff into the luvverly green bags, you go to the Quick Check Counter and complete your transaction, all without having to talk to a single soul. You can studiously ignore any of Mr Waitrose’s Little Helpers even if they ask if you need any assistance or wonder if you’re having a nice day. You just stick the John Lewis card in the slot and a message on the screen says “Well done, you’ve finished your shopping, Lois, and Mr Waitrose says thank you and hahahahahahaha!” or something like that; then it tells you to take out that card and insert your payment card (of course, it can be the same one, if you like); it thinks for a little bit, then prints your receipt and gives your card back. Fantastic! You almost want to stay a little bit longer, and you feel as if you’ve been cheated in some way. Which of course you have been, otherwise you wouldn’t have bought 249 items for the price of 250 and loads of food which will be well past its eat by date before you’ve eaten all the other food. Still, it’s marvellous what they can do with electrickery these days.

What's My Line?

Today, I have been mostly losing the will to live. Allow me to elaborate. I am sorry but this blog has ended up quite a bit longer than I anticipated it would be. Many of you know we have a pub. Andrew (First Boy, who used to be Manager but who now has another job) still lives in the flat above. He now has a slaptop and wants to install wireless broadband. Simple task? Hmmm. He has bought a router and made enquiries of BT, whose monthly rate is quite reasonable (£16 or so for a 1Mb service). Snag – because it’s a pub, it’s a business line and the charge will double. Andrew does not want to pay double – I don’t blame him. So what to do? Wannado! (See what I did there?). They won’t know it’s a business line, will they? I dunno, it’s worth a go (look! I did it again!). He telephoned Wannado, who checked the line. Ooh! It’s already broadband enabled for BT Openworld, say Wanadoo. Apparently, someone previously had made enquiries of BT Openworld about broadband but failed to pursue it and, as a result, there is something called a marker on the line which prevents it being enabled for another ISP’s broadband service. He contacted a BT engineer we know for some advice. Acting upon the advice given, Andrew spoke to someone at BT who said that he would e-mail BT Openworld to arrange for release of the marker. Understandably anxious to be up and running as soon as possible, he rang me from work (as he had decided that it was about time he actually did some work) to ask if I could speak to someone at the number he had been given to see if: (1) there was some way to chivvy this along and, (2) how long would it take to do. Because I love him, I did it, albeit with a sense of foreboding. *dials number given* BT Openworld: “Thank you for calling BT Openworld. Calls will be charged at the rate of 50 pence per minute, and will not last longer than 25 minutes. My name is completely unintelligible and I probably will not be able to help you. Please state the e-mail address attached to your intermanet connection.” Me: “There is no intermanet connection here. I have spoken to BT this morning [lie] because we want to set up an intermanet connection here. We want to use another ISP but apparently there is a marker on the line for BT Openworld and the other ISP cannot enable the line for their service because of this marker. The person at BT said he will send an e-mail to the Department concerned, i.e you, so that the marker can be removed. He gave me your number and the reason I am ringing is to ask if the process can be carried out as speedily as possible and, if so, how long will it take?” BT Openworld: “Hello?” Me: “Oh, fucking hell!” BT Openworld: “Pardon?” Me: “Sorry! What’s the weather like in Calcutta, by the way?” BT Openworld: “Pardon?” Me: “Never mind.” *repeats entire paragraph starting “There is no intermanet connection here.”* BT Openworld: “I’m afraid I do not understand your query.” Me: “Right! I will try and use as many words of one syllable as possible!” BT Openworld: “Pardon?” Me: “Never mind.” *largely repeats same paragraph using shorter words* BT Openworld: “I am afraid you need Technical Support, Sir!” Me: “I certainly do and I am sure that is the first accurate statement you have ever made in your BT Openworld career. I was not aware I was talking to the Furniture Polish and Paper Clip Procurement Department.” BT Openworld: “Pardon?” Me: “Never mind. Can you give me their number, please?” BT Openworld: “0906 etc.” Me: “Thank you very much indeed.” BT Openworld: “It has been a pl….” (slam!) *Dials second number* BT Openworld: “Thank you for calling BT Openworld. Calls will be charged at the rate of 50 pence per minute, and will not last longer than 25 minutes. My name is also completely unintelligible and I probably will not be able to help you either. Please state the e-mail address attached to your intermanet connection.” Me: *recites usual paragraph* BT Openworld: “I’m afraid I don’t underst…” Me: “Can I speak to your Supervisor, please?” BT Openworld: “You want to speak to my Supervisor, Sir?” Me: “Yes, that’s right.” BT Openworld: “One moment, please, Sir.” *waits* BT Openworld: “My supervisor is coming right along.” Me: “Good!” BT Openworld Supervisor: “Can I help you, Sir?” Me: “I do hope so!” *repeats paragraph* BT Openworld Supervisor: “So…” *Supervisor repeats paragraph, substituting personal pronouns as appropriate* Me: “Yes, exactly!” BT Openworld Supervisor: “This is the Narrowband Help Desk. You need to speak to BT to ask them to remove the marker.” Me: “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” BT Openworld Supervisor: “Pardon?” Me: “Sorry! Er…can you give me the number, please?” BT Openworld Supervisor:Certainly, Sir, it’s 0800 800 151.” Me:”Thank you very much!” BT Openworld Supervisor:”No problem, Sir! It has been a pl……” (slam!) *Dials 0800 800 151* BT (automated voice): “To have a line tested or report a fault, press 1; for all other repair enquiries, press 2. For all other enquiries, press 9.” *presses 9 without much enthusiasm* BT: “Due to the high volume of calls being dealt with currently, there will be a significant delay and you will have to wait your arse off at our pleasure. One of our representatives will be with you as soon as possible.” *waits* *waits a bit longer* *switches phone to speaker and puts it on desk* *does some work” BT: “Hi! Thank you for calling BT, my name is Lisa, please give the telephone number which has the fault.” Me: “Actually, there isn’t a fault as such.” *again repeats the standard paragraph* BT: “Well, this is Faults, you need Customer Services.” Me: “Oh, f- ! Ahem! Can you give me their number?” BT: “Yes! 0800 800 150, but I can put you through!” Me: “Thank you!” *waits* BT: “Hi! My name is Bob and how can I help you today?” *clears throat and repeats standard paragraph* BT: “OK! I’ll just consult Technical.” *waits* Actually, this BT person was really pleasant and helpful and he had a sense of humour. BT: “Phew! Well, you have my sympathy. I’ve not been with BT that long but I never thought that something that on the face of it was so simple could be so complicated!” Me: “Tell me about it!” Well, one or two further conversations took place and the upshot is we will have to wait about a week to ten days for the marker to be removed, then to ring another 0800 number if it isn’t. That last call took 45 minutes and 6 seconds (true!) and the BT man remarked that, compared to the effort involved in trying to solve my problem, finding the Holy Grail would have been a piece of cake! I thanked him and said he had nearly made everything all right again with that remark! And, no, I don’t know his name, or if he was wearing a mask!

Wonders never cease!

Well, I’ll go to the foot of our Bill’s brother’s trousers! Not only did Matt (1) bother to go and vote for the first time in his life he was able to, but (2) he made a sensible comment upon the laughable security of an electoral system which permits someone to go to the polling station and vote without having a polling card or being required to show any form of identification (when I told him that, he said “Whaaaaaat? That’s ridiculous!” That’s pretty sensible - and mightily restrained - for him!) As long as you know another voter’s name and address, you’re home and dry. And getting a postal vote? Nothing simpler; do what several media people have done (although they might get their just desserts or at least a hefty rap on their naughty knuckles), complete an application form, send it to the electoral registration officer with instructions to send the ballot paper anywhere in the world (yes, true fact) and Robert’s your relative. Photographic ID has been a necessity to vote in elections in Northern Ireland since 2003, and individual voter registration came in at the same time. The latter makes it easier for signatures to be checked. Why can’t those measures be brought in on the mainland? I understand why security is particularly important in the Province but, for years, we have been told by government that there is no evidence of widespread electoral fraud. No-one’s been found out, they mean! Until now; it has been established to have taken place in Birmingham and Blackburn, and investigations continue in Bradford, Burnley, Leicester and High Wycombe. Goodness knows where else, after the dust has settled tonight and tomorrow morning. Whoever is in power after the results for the General Election are declared, GET………IT………SORTED!

Giddy macaws honor rio – pah!

SIMON RICHARD GOODWAY – GOD OR ROWDYISH MANIAC? Will we ever know? Probably not. I’M A WORDY, SARDONIC HOG but I don’t think there is anything sufficiently evocative in the English language to describe him. NOW, HOARY SORDID MAGIC might be able to achieve this seemingly impossible task. OH, ODD MAGICIANS WORRY, too, about its efficacy and I remain sceptical. He has been able to WORM HIS GOOD RADIANCY into the lives of many people – well, perhaps ‘worm’ isn’t a very apt word as it suggests creeping, secretive slitheriness, and it hasn’t happened like that. I am pleased to refute any such suggestion that his intentions are other than GOOD. HORRID MANIC WAYS simply do not exist in his philosophy. He is definitely not SHADOWY, GRIM, OR ON ACID but is neither GAY, MACHO OR SORDID. WIN him over and you have a friend for life. There he sits, in a lonely hotel room, in a Windsor chair - O MY GOD A WINDSOR CHAIR! – his eyes firmly fixed upon his computer screen, working down the list of things to DO AMID WORRYING CHAOS, dreaming up yet another fascinating tale about A COWARD HIRING SODOMY, perhaps, or a happy singing cake keeping itself WARM IN A CHOIR SO DODGY that even a singing cake doesn’t seem out of place. He often reflects upon incidents in his life and realises he ought to have said to himself ‘Following some GRAND WASHROOM IDIOCY, I must conceal my DOWDYISH GROIN OR A CAM might show it to the world.’ When, however, he has amassed millions by dint of his amazing talents and is ensconced in his ivory tower, he can say to himself ‘I’M A WORDY RICH GOON, SAD though that may be for all of you. Take this huge pile of money and convert it to pizza. Oh, and keep the change.’