FOWC: Reflex


A few bits of house keeping.

Did I mention that it may be getting close to the deer rutting time of year, I’ve seen a few recently, despite my temporary blindness (I need various vocals, did I mention that?!) The phrase “various vocals”, is spell checker’s way of being sympathetic to new Vari-focal spectacles wearers. Problem is my reflexes are not sharp enough to point my camera telephone in the direction of the deer, so you’ll have to take my word for it

FOWC: Reflex

Today I spent around 75 minutes in the glasses shop trying on pairs and pairs of spectacles, each time I took a pair off to try on  a new pair I immediately forgot what I had looked like just 30 seconds before, they had a camera so as I could compare  what I looked like 30 seconds ago to what I looked like now, but the angle of the shot was too low and to get the similar prospective meant bending down and thus not being able to look at photo of myself just seconds before, and thus not being able to compare me wearing glasses A with me wearing glasses B. I started off trying on specs which looked cool, with designer names, with well known spectacle designers such as “Will I am” These looked good on me I thought and the sales assistant did too although I think after 45 minutes of me asking her “What do you think?” her patience was wearing thin and so she baled into the back office to have a fag and her sandwiches, or Ryvita with taramasalata, she called me Bob, that’s not my name, she didn’t even bother to ask. I finally settled on some cheaper own brand glasses, which sit really nicely on my uncompromising face this in itself has led me to changing my style. Its like I’m heading into a midlife style crisis.

I also spent far too long in this crappy company called Primark trying to get my money refunded ultimately, or at least to exchange a shirt which Mrs T bought for me; which unfortunately was too small. The universe is, after all, expanding and therefore so am I, which is the reason I cannot fit into the shirt. I spoke to the sales assistant who was lovely, the manager took 15 minutes to arrive and so my reflex reaction was to get cross. I wound my neck in (a real British turn of phrase) and threatened twitter, newspaper complaints and my blog; that’ll show em! I asked for scissors to cut the useless garment up in front of the manager, they didn’t have any to hand, but I don’t really know what that would accomplish apart from making me look like a nutter when some one records my actions on a phone and posts it on you tube or what ever, there would follow viral-fame (sounds revolting, famous for having herpes or thrush, just imagine).

So I left, cross and resolved to expect the corporate world to shit on the little consumer where ever they can. Had a very nice pint on the way home in my favourite Worcester micro pub.

Listen to this and turn it up loud people.


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