Tip

Everyone in the Media is employed to upset me, us, all of us with their inexorable reporting of various truths, wether they be left, right, centrist, whatever, they are there to upset and to remind us of what is going on around us. 

Last Thursday I watched 3 news programmes in a row; the Satanic trilogy; fire, floods, hurricanes, famine, pestilence, death, economic crashes, environmental catastrophe. Fucking hell why wouldn’t you want to bury your head in the sand when the wrong people are pulling the wring string. We’re not in some Ben Elton Novel where all the mega rich decide to build a space rocket and all go off to live on Mars when the rest of us perish, or maybe we are, this is where the conspiracy theorists (to give them their far too official title) exist and breed peddle their shite. The truth is far sadder, the folk in charge have no idea how to exit stage left and start another play, they are so hell bent on the capitalist greedy way, they see no other, and to be fair I doubt if Trump or Johnson or Putin or whoever else give a flying fuck about what lies 20, 50, 100 years into the future because they won’t be here, and I doubt they care. Bastards.

Today we spent all day, me with a cold, (not the plague) runny nose, temperature and dosed to the max on coco-damol and lemsip, with a gargle of covonia and a squirt down the throat of some eucalyptus throat soother, and Christ even the endless trips to the tip, the visits to the shops to get food and the continuing endless trips to the tip to get rid of a massive bag of spent cement split into many many small but still heavy bags of spent cement, and massive cement bags full of garden rubbish. Its startling where all this stuff hides, in plain sight before we, (me) has to take Frogpool Logistics by the scruff of the neck and dump this detritus to the tip. No wonder so many people fly tip. I spent nearly 2 hours over the last 24 (a twelfth) queuing at the tip, breaking my back to get the cement from my car and then having to ask for help as a massive bag of garden cuttings and the bag nearly disappeared down into the trash compactor. I felt weak with my cold, etc. Which isn’t the plague, incidentally.

This massive clean up is for the massive house move, which I am being far too optimistic to the point of being delusional over, Mrs T is far more realistic, no that’s the wrong word, far more aware that there are many rivers to cross before we achieve the Nirvana of Clifton upon Teme, CUT, hey maybe I could slip Nirvana in that acronym or maybe not. The hunt for the new name for the web site goes on, I’m tripping over mailbags full of postcards with suggestions on, not one of you fuckers has come up with anything even remotely interesting, so guess what, it’ll be up to me … AGAIN.  Good luck suckers.

2 comments

  1. I didn’t realise you were moving house! That’s pretty exciting, well…you’ve mentioned you’re not thrilled by the lead-up, but I live in a mouse-house and I’d move home in a heartbeat. Alas, Hubster out of work, we’re stuck here indefinitely, as we’re in a nice suburb and our rent is cheap comparatively speaking. I keep hoping to win the lottery one week, but so far no luck. Some lucky bastard won $60 mil last week. And yes, I had a ticket. My winnings came to the grand sum of $10.
    So new name…I like the idea of slotting in the letter ‘n’ so that you can have a naughty title. But maybe not 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • Cnut, like the fcuk label of some years back. I could make t-shirts!! We’ve decided to get a mortgage that we don’t actually pay back! That way it’s cheaper, we can move somewhere a little bigger and leave the debt to the kids!! Worry about it later

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s