Andrex Extra Soft Blog Roll

It's all a load of bollocks, quite frankly

The Dealership

The Apprentice Lad's bicycle, parked correctly

The Apprentice Lad’s bicycle, parked correctly

I’ve not seen this programme The Dealership. Apparently it’s a fly on the wall documentary about a, erm, dealership. Even though I haven’t watched it I think it should have been filmed at the garage I used to work at.  In fact I remember the salesman saying it would be a fantastic idea to make a fly on the wall documentary about where we worked. I think the best way of describing what the experience may have been like can be summed up in one word: unique.

We were a main franchised dealership for Fiat and Alfa Romeo. I no longer work there and since the dealership no longer holds the franchise. Some of the people I worked with were great, some not so. I’ve focused in on the people who I liked (except the General Manager), and the rather amusing anecdotes. Most of the recollections are “you should have been there” moments, but alas none of you were so I’ll have to tell them.

Day one at the dealership: Tall lanky salesman (who is a top bloke) says “Weellllll, what a load of old shit. What a fucking liberty” as a customer pulls up. I, the service manager, shares same level of enthusiasm and says “what does this prick want now.” On the same day, a second person turns up wanting to do something strange such as buying a car. Prospective customer number one sees the tall lanky one and is sold a car instantly because the customer has interrupted his online Scrabble game. Prospective customer number two makes the fatal mistake of dealing with the sort, dumpy one (General Manager – likes to tell many many tales of rallying, hearing aids and SAGA holidays. In fact, he used to rally hearing aids) drives in an Alfa 156 and leaves in a hearse. Post mortem later revealed customer died of boredom upon listening to stories of rallying, hearing aids and SAGA holidays. His Alfa 156 is in the customer parking spot for so long, it takes up root in the tarmac. (Some poetic licence in this bit, obviously. He hated SAGA holidays)

Day two:  Our beloved Jaguar XK140, one of the many classics for sale, is sold. The new owner, who was rallied by the General Manager, paid cash and like most people had a part exchange which were, unlike most part exchanges, an old tractor and ride on lawn mower. The lawn mower was taken on by someone who “used to rally lawnmowers” and the tractor served its purpose as a backup rally vehicle, after being fitted with a souped-up A+ Series engine from a 1983 MG Metro, the front brakes from a Ford Granada and the indicator stalk from a Peugeot 104.

Day three: Owner’s son shouts at the back my chair (I’m not there because I’m on annual leave): “Yoooouuuuu! You’re going down the road when you get back!” Our Welsh Mechanic stumbles home to his caravan, falls through a hedge into a stream. General Manager says “Oh my!” a lot

Day four: The owner’s son chases the trainee salesman, known to everyone as Ginger Tosser, around the premises with an air rifle. Can’t say I blame him as he really was a tosser. And ginger. Later on, Police are called to arrest a man for and it takes three to take the owner’s son down. General Manager used to rally Police cars, it turns out.

Day five: Chief mechanic, MoT tester and Mexican Freddie Mercury impersonator says to the Ginger Tosser sales trainee “ah well, at the end of the day, in all fairness I’m going to lock you in the fucking boot of that car.” And he did, good man. Chief mechanic glued radio dial onto Classic FM to stop people changing the radio station. Rebuild on Twin Spark engine interrupted by me talking in his voice to him, and the YTS lad speaking to Welsh Mechanic in his voice. Told many, many stories on how “I used to rally Datsun 120Ys” other enlightening rally stories by General Manager. I fall asleep for a while. Before falling asleep, we all talk to General Manager in his voice, because he used to rally it.

Day six: This day didn’t happen as I was still asleep from the rallying stories. Oh, wait, hang on… The owner’s son used to wash the cars and sometimes had to scratch “himself”. Police were called to investigate a man “masturbating into a bucket.” General Manager used to rally buckets, it emerges. News comes from Dealer Principal who has had to go to London for a meeting with Fiat. Travelled by Motor Cycle rather than car, something happened to his luggage – it fell and caught fire on the exhaust. Luggage found at side of the road on fire. Problem solved, new suit from Savile Row. News also filtered down that he opened the wrong door to use the toilet and ended up opening the front door to the hotel room rather than the bathroom and walked into the hallway stark bollock naked. Without a key. General Manager used to rally keys.

Day seven: Son of service manager of other branch steals my office chair. Wondering where it is I launch a full scale investigation to hunt down whatever bastard stole my chair. Its whereabouts are soon discovered. It’s at the back of the yard with a hoover and a photocopier smouldering on a bonfire. Fire brigade called out by the bunch of ejits at the council yard. Fire officer who knew the cheeky arsonist bastard what set fire to my chair, looked at it, basically said DILLIGAF and fucked off. General Manager used to rally chairs, photocopiers and Fire Engines.

Day eight: I try my best to get General Manager to swear and say “fuck”. I try all sorts of things and none of them successful. Closest I get is “bastard” and “shit”. Apprentice mechanic opens bonnet of a car and says “eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee” a lot. Instantly declares that the air filter on this JTD likes men. Then declares that all his colleagues like men and we’re all going on a trip to The Isle of Men, via a concert at the MEN Arena. General Manager apparently used to rally men.

Day nine: Fiat/Alfa DET “strategically places” airbag onto battery to see what would happen. It shoots across the floor underneath several scooters, fills the workshop up with smoke and causes Dealer Principal to come out of his office shouting “Who the fuck is letting off guns in the workshop?” General Manager says “shit!”

Day ten: I steal Apprentice lad’s bicycle and Chief Tech and MoT tester parks it in a tree (see picture). General Manager never rallied bicycles, strangely. Trees, however…


August 8, 2013 Posted by | Motoring, Other Stuff! | 2 Comments

Three Weddings and a Funeral

For a change I was struggling to find a topic to write about when thinking of friends and family sprang to mind. I love reminiscing. Great times had with people past and present. Most of my blog entries are structured and for the most part planned. This isn’t. This is me spilling my thoughts out into a blog entry as they enter and leave. It may seem like I’m rambling, which may have something to do with the fact that I am.

The main person in my thoughts presently is my late Uncle John who passed away five years ago last month. The same year I got married. Three times. You see, me and the missus buggered off to Italy to get hitched. We then returned for a celebration reception in St. Ives for the family and friends down this way who couldn’t make it to Italy. Then in October of that year we had a renewal of vows “party” oop north for Jayne’s family who couldn’t make it to Italy. However, days after our return, myself and my family found ourselves at Longstone Cemetery in Carbis Bay, St. Ives burying my Uncle John.

Now it would be in his type of humour to have looked upon the whole thing as “Three Weddings and a Funeral.” But I couldn’t see it like that. This was the first time I’d seen that side of my family in eons. Mourning the loss of a family member wasn’t quite how I imagined meeting up with them again. Especially their dad. He of many wonderful prank phonecalls, practical jokes and wicked sense of humour.

It made me realise how much I’ve missed them. Ironic as I’m currently listening to the Finn Brothers 2004 album ‘Everyone Is Here’. Principally, song number one – ‘Won’t Give In’ with the lyrical refrain ‘Everyone I love is here…’

Katrina, the eldest daughter, now lives over a million and six miles away in New Zealand. Somewhere I’ve always wanted to go, and now her citizenship has been accepted I best start saving up for when my son is old enough to understand travelling, and meet her. Unless she decides to “pop over” for a Philps pasty. Tim, the middle child is still at home in Essex. And baby of the family, Hannah now lives in Scotland, which is slightly less than a million and six miles away, but not by much. To the uneducated, Scotland is north of England. Up there. Above the Geordies. Past that wall. Yeah, that’s it, you got it!

Thankfully, through the medium of social networking and blogging (Hannah writes a most excellent blog, I suggest reading it. Oi! Hang on, I meant finish reading mine first! Pft!) I have been able to keep in touch with them which has been fantastic, yet doesn’t quite seem enough somehow. I would love to meet up under different circumstances, and one where mourning isn’t involved in the mix.

My family isn’t vast anyway, and they aren’t getting any younger. Hell, Father, the youngest in a family of six, turns 60 this week! He’s already lost two brothers – Richard at the age of 48 and John at 64. Both his parents only lived to 69. My wife and I turn 30 next year. Later this month my son will be half a year old. My wife’s family, however, is more densely populated. I don’t have much in the way of friends, save for a few close friends, some of which go back to my school days, some are new to the fold within the last couple of years. I’ve never wanted to surround myself with people. Have a few good friends and that’ll do. That’s what you get for being a bit of a loner. I love solitude.

Which brings me neatly back on to social networking, bizzarrely. Looking at my friends list on Facebook and the quantity is below 70. There isn’t anyone on there I don’t interact with in some form or another. Everyone is on there because I want them to be or because we share at least one thing in common. To me, that’s the point of it. It’s absolutely pointless having people on there from your school days that either they ignored you or you ignored them back in the day and now want to get friendly. Yes, you lot can fuck right off.

This whole post has got me thinking about people past and present. Those I never want to see again so as long as I breathe. Those I know it’s impossible to see again. Those I look forward to seeing again soon. Those who it has been far too long since I’ve seen last and those who I miss. Goodnight all. Playing out with Regret by New Order. Which is about not regretting things.

Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.

November 9, 2011 Posted by | Other Stuff! | 2 Comments

Technologic 2

Wouldn’t it be nice if everything was simple. Well, it would be but as we all know, life itself generally isn’t simple in the slightest. But it’s those tricky bits that help you through. This is the follow-up to Technologic. For reasons of simplicity (read laziness and unoriginality) I shall call it Technologic 2. Ah ha! Weren’t expecting that were e? You see, grumpy, dreary old fart that is me is starting to embrace newer technology for a start. I’ve always loved a gadget or two but until now, mobile phones are one thing I couldn’t warm to.

Following on from my Technologic blog post I have nearly joined the 21st century. For instance I be writing this from the keypad of my Blackberry Bold, which incidentally is neither black, bold or made from berries. It is formed from witchcraft and plastic and is finished in a very stylish white. I needed a new phone and when the opportunity came along to get something, I liked this more than what else was on offer. I didn’t want an iPhone because I hate the bloody things as much as I hate my iPod. This ticks all the right boxes. Qwerty keyboard, it has a good internet facility, the MP3 is a boon and it has a camera that takes better photos than my, erm, camera, which is tres annoying. I also like the look of the thing, and now I’ve got used to how it works prefer using it to my computer quite frankly. I mean, I can access Facebook, Twatter, Ebay, my e-mails and write this shite. All whilst hiding myself away listening to the dulcet tones of ‘Enjoy the Silence’ by Depeche Mode. And it doesn’t have the most loathsome of features; a touchscreen.

But what about the most important aspect of the phone? The being able to make telephone calls and text people is simply brilliant. It’s the first multitask mobile I’ve used that does what I want it to. In fact it is the best mobile I have had since my old Nokia 3330 many, many moons ago.

Naturally, me being me, I can find something to gripe about. The first is the colour. Now I went for a white one because it was different. That may have been ill-advised as it shows up dirt like a Fleet Street journalist. Also the battery is a bit French. It surrenders long before you’d expect.

But moving on from fruit-inspired phones and more on the subject of Technologic, though. It is with heavy heart that I have packed away my ancient music playing devices and moved on a bit. The record deck has gone into the storage and I have sold my cassette deck. I have no space for them anymore, and as such I have no use for them. I still have my amp and a new CD which plays MP3. So that’s what gets used the most. I also haven’t bought a physical album release in eons. They’ve all been downloads from Amazon. Strange days for me indeed.

However, it’s not all doom and gloom for the grumpy old fart side of me. I still prefer picking up the bass guitar than turning on the dust-collecting Xbox. Plus I’m selling my Fiat Stilo that has more electrics and gizmos in it than Currys. I’m currently hankering after a late-model Mk2 VW Golf GTi which has as much in the way of electrics and gizmos as a bath sponge. Pure simplicity. Golf GTi and my Blackcurrant phone, that will do nicely as a compromise between old and new. Nice…

August 30, 2011 Posted by | Other Stuff! | Leave a comment



It doesn’t help sometimes that my wife keeps telling me I’m ancient before my time. True, I am what can only be classed as a grumpy old man. But at 28 I’m really starting to believe her. Mainly because I really do not know how to use my portable telecommunication relaying device (that’s a mobile phone to the youth of today) properly. That, and I’ve started saying certain phrases that members of my staff have said that I’ve subsequently used to impersonate and mock them. The favourite is “Back in the day”. But worryingly I have actually started saying it seriously which makes me sound about 60. But then Jayne would argue the fact that my hair is rapidly going grey that I look it too.

Anyway, back in the d… oh shit, there we go already. But back in the day I thought myself as quite learned toward technological things and was considered by many to be a geek. I could build a computer, wire up a HiFi system quite nicely and program a VCR (how old does that sound?) to do everything include blow up the Pentagon. I even did bits and pieces of web design and computer programming. Hell, I even use to create multi-track recorded songs on the computer using loops, keyboards and this that and the other.

But give me my current portable telecommunications relaying device and I’m stuck. Only a 6 year old could program the events timer on my DVD recorder. And these days I’m lucky if I can just turn on a computer to do such trivial items as check Facebook and write this silly little blog thing. At work there are many programs I have to use, which I have been using in one form or another for getting on close to ten years. It still doesn’t mean I’m any good at using them. Only today, my wife and our friend were engrossed in an amusing conversation over the differences of many different varieties of Microsoft Office programs and how they’ve changed over the years. Seriously, my tiny little brain is retarded enough without having to cope with that. I mean, I’ve not progressed past Office 1997. The one I used whilst still at school. Sorry, for the young and uneducated, that is skool.

However I’ve now joined Twitter, which I admit I’m fairly late in getting into. But when I get into something I get into it in a big way so I’ll no doubt be tweeting whenever I can. This does mean I’m buggered as being a male I’m unable to multitask. I will now have to juggle Facebook, blog, Twitter and Media Player at once. Well Media Player if I’m not listening to vinyl or CD or other such mediums that young people would refer to as “old skool”. Although that particular way of spelling it winds me up. People who spell it like that seriously need to go back to school to realise the correct spelling of the word.

Which neatly brings me onto my equal love-hate relationship with MP3s. I like them for convenience and laziness as it means I can have whatever song that’s in my vast collection at the touch of a button whilst typing this inane drivel. It also makes it easier to have more music because with the vast amount of CDs, tapes, records et al that I own, I’ve run out of room to store them. But the minus side to me is I like to see the artwork of an album and what went into the making of it. It just seems a shame now that an artist can pour heart and soul into a piece of work, go through the motions of having the artwork designed, booklets etc, only for it to become a file on a computer that’s pretty meaningless. It just seems a bit cold. I also dislike MP3s for their inferior sound quality as my computer’s sound card outputty type thing is connected to my slightly vintage stereo separates system, which new would have been the cost of 10 iPods. It shows up all the flaws.

But back to phones. It goes to show as a friend phoned me (on the aforementioned device) to ask for advice on which new mobile was best on the market. I think it was something like an eye phone, a Black berry (which I assumed was actually some fruit) and something that was made up of initials, something like HTSCSFGHJVFHGFFG. Or it could have been PIACTWIR (which stands for Paul Is A Complete Tool Who Is Rubbish). Because I was a geek in a previous life, my advice was called upon. However the best answer I could give her was “Er….. what are you talking about?” to which her reply was priceless – “You’re rubbish”.

So, mobile phones are not my forte, and I prefer to play vinyl rather than MP3. I prefer to play the bass guitar than my XBox 360 and they are located inches apart. In a lot of cases I’d rather read than watch television. Don’t get me wrong, I do genuinely love technology and I love what it can do and I’m not totally allergic to it. Anything to make my life easier is fine by me as I’m a lazy sod at times. But my main pet peeve is when technology doesn’t change something for the better and/or over complicates things. It’s a total disaster zone as far as I’m concerned.

A microwave oven for instance is a good example. There are some posh microwave ovens, which technically is a contradiction in terms. All those different settings for essentially doing one thing: heating stuff. All I want to do is set the temperature, the time and switch it on. Nothing more, that is all it needs to do in life. Essentially that is all I want my mobile phone to do. Not heat food, obviously, because that would be stupid. Then again, there probably is a setting for it to do so somewhere that I’ve not found yet. No, I want to be able to use it as a phone and to send text messages primarily. The other add on bits are nice, but not at the cost of being able to make phone calls and send text messages (mk phn cls n snd txt msgs to you young people reading). Or maybe I should get a simpler phone and look much less of a retard than I already appear.

I used to keep up with technology back in the d… Oh bollocks, I’ve done it again. But it’s moving so fast I’ve been left so far in the shade I can feel the beginnings of hypothermia.

September 28, 2010 Posted by | Other Stuff! | 2 Comments

>Why do only fools and horses work

>Many moons ago, OK then, two months ago when I started this whole blog nonsense thing I said I may describe where I work and who I work for and after much thought I couldn’t really decide on what to write. Because for the simple fact of the matter is no one would ever believe it unless you worked for them, even if just for one day.

First of all, let me introduce you to the staff at the branch I currently work at. There’s me, G-Cup – the useless service manager. We’ll call the owner Ronnie Kray. His son, Big D (so called because he looks like a capital D in profile) works there between 9.00 am and 9.02 am. Ronnie’s other son Gene Wilder (or Arnold J. Rimmer, depending on the hair cut) runs the other branch, and Osama Bin Laden’s twin brother manages aftersales at the other branch.

In our showroom we have Lofty the sales man, Murray Walker, the dealer principle who has apparently raced or rallied everything there is to race or rally. On the spanners we have Gareth the DET and resident Freddie Mercury lookalike champion 1986, 1987, 1988, 1993, 1994 and 2005. We also have Welsh Bastard, so called because he’s, um Welsh, and according to Big D, a bastard. Then we have Betty Mary Jodie Murder She Wrote, the shit head apprentice who is a little bit simple. And he’s training to become a vicar. No he’s not, that’s made up.

Not at all interestingly enough, I started at the other branch literally some years ago. I was employed by Bin Laden’s twin brother. Except he doesn’t wear a turban. And he’s not from that neck of the woods. He lives in a cave somewhere near Four Lanes. Anyway, apart from Big D telling an American who came into the petrol pump station at one of our sister sites that “You still haven’t fucking caught Bin Laden yet have you? He works for Fiat” after the 9/11 incidents, not much interesting happened.

Fast forward literally some more years, I get posted out to the new purpose built showroom for Alfa Romeo. Big D is now working (and I say working in the loosest possible sense) at this site. Wonderful. So was a pretty useless trainee sales “representative”. He was (and still is by all accounts) ginger. And a tosser. For arguments sake, we will call him Ginger Tosser. Now, he was 17 years of age, had been absolutely everywhere, done everything, abseiled down the Twin Towers when they were being flown into etc… – you get the point. Big D and Ginger Tosser never really got along particularly well. This fact was galvanised when Big D was seen chasing Ginger Tosser around the dealer forecourt with an Air Rifle exclaiming “I’m going to kill you, you fucking ginger bastard”. That was interesting scenario number 1.

Most of the other scenarios involve Big D, but let us get Ginger Tosser out of the way. Here was a young man (so we were told) with a questionable fashion sense and was extremely economical with the truth. He was also economical with any form of common sense. Including reversing a car (equipped with parking sensors) into another car. Supposedly he couldn’t hear the parking sensors. Or crashing his car into a hedge driving in a supposed straight line going uphill. Then deciding he’s going to quit his job as he can’t take orders from me or the general manager, realising he’s buggered up and goes pleading to Gene Wilder at our other branch for, yes you guessed it, a job. Then he leaves that and works for a rival manufacturer’s dealership….for three weeks before he was fired. That month that particular dealership suffered it’s worst ever customer service feedback in its illustrious 80 year trading lifespan. More recently he decided to “try” and “work” for our Fiat site once again and this lasted all the way up to when he thought it would be a good idea to steal the bosses daughter’s mobile phone. Which just goes to show how stupid he really was/is.

Anyhow, the scenarios involving Big D are much more amusing, especially in hindsight. I would try to give you a little background information on Big D, but I cannot find the words. You need to see him to believe him. Let’s just say he has mental problems. The next scenario below is interesting as he was arrested, which was a problem as Big D is on a suspended sentence. This was for driving at two homosexual men who were “at it” in their car in a layby near Truro whilst shouting some obscenities about gay men having sex. Quite what Big D was doing in the same layby is neither here nor there. It went to Court with Junior representing himself, and all was going swimmingly until he said he’d do it again. Nil point.

Ginger Tosser, once again, was involved in this scenario. He contacted the Police as Big D went to “hit” him. Police arrived on site whereby it took 4 people to arrest Big D, which he promptly rugby tackled one of the coppers and would not let go of his legs once gripped. So he gets carted off to Camborne nick for the rest of the day, then Ginger Tosser decides to drop the charges as they were as limp as an impotent man who hasn’t taken his Viagra.

Two weeks later, the police arrived again. Now, bearing in mind, because of Big D’s so-called problems he looks like he is grabbing hold of his meat and two veg, but it’s the way he stands. But on this occasion, the police were called because an elderly lady had reported a man carrying a bucket and conducting a lewd act in public. In short, there was a man wanking into a bucket on the forecourt. So, the police arrived, and Camborne nick must have wondered what lucky (or unlucky) sod they could dispatch this time. After interviews, it transpires, Big D was carrying a bucket and walking as he normally does.

I also think these fragments are worth an honourable mention:
– Driving an Austin Metro off the pier in Penzance for the sheer hell of it.
– Driving a VW Beetle into the river to “see if it would float”.
– There is a wood and string bridge down near Penzance that you’d think twice of walking on. To drive a Yugo 45 on there and park and partake in afternoon tea is something else.

Of course, there would also be the weekly round of golf, which would include myself, Lofty, Welsh Bastard and Big D himself. What would normally happen is Big D would be on course for winning, Lofty would be on par for coming second and myself and Welsh Bastard would be clubbing for last. The thing is though, Lofty’s game improved throughout the season, as did Welsh Bastard’s. I would consistently finish last, which meant Big D was in limbo somewhere. Only he wasn’t. I was beating Big D, which wound him up more and more. Whilst he was getting more and more teasy, we were falling about the place watching Big D turn into an amplified Basil Fawlty.

But come here, there’s more. Like mentioned before Big D’s father, Ronnie Kray, owns the business and the next scenario involves him. This really could only happen in Cornwall, especially at our dealership. Picture this, Jaguar XK140. Beautiful old classic car from the 1950s, we had one for sale and sold it to a gentleman who wanted to do a part exchange. Nothing unusual there, until you realise what the part exchanges were. A sit-on lawn mower and a knackered old tractor. Steptoe and Son have nothing on us.

Far more amusing was Ronnie’s drunken heckling at the launch of the Alfa Romeo MiTo at Twickenham rugby ground. Annabel Croft, the television presenter and former tennis player, was the host of the evening and she seemed a very pleasant person. Ronnie knew nothing of what she did, so bluntly asked “Who are you? What do you do? Nice legs dear”, in a kind of Albert Steptoe dirty old man sort of way.

Whilst the rest of us got carted away to have a tour of the rugby grounds and changing rooms etc at Twickenham, Ronnie stayed behind swiping multiple free glasses of champagnes and trying to chat up whatever waitress was available at the time. He also spent the night trying to woo the very pretty blonde ladies supplied as hostesses for the evening by Alfa Romeo. Anyway, meal time had arrived which was this Nouvelle Cuisine nonsense which looked beautifully presented but had all the taste and hunger fighting properties of tracing paper. Then the guest speakers came out to, well, speak. The managing director of Alfa Romeo came out with all his random bullshit that MDs are programmed to do, with the back chat of Ronnie sounding pretty much like “Fuck off, you’re talking shit, you don’t know what you’re on about”. Some other Alfa representatives came on, again to the sounds of “Fuck off” and “Get fucking real”. Then a guest speaker none other than the snivelling twat (my words) Seb Coe came on, not to talk about the new Alfa or anything like that, but to stick his hand out for money for the 2012 Olympic games. He was greeted by quite a lot of hostility from our table, most notably Ronnie who chanted “You’re not getting any of our money you overpaid prick. Pay for it yourself”. Obviously with a skinful on board it was time to go as the bus was waiting for us. The bus was, but no sign of the driver for about 20 minutes. Ronnie declared he would drive it back to the hotel but after taking five minutes to get out of his seat only to topple back down into it, he didn’t bother.

The thing is, the bus journey very nearly didn’t happen for Ronnie. Alfa had offered to pay for a taxi for Ronnie, not to the hotel but back to St. Ives. You really would have to see it to believe it to work here. This job of mine was going to be a stop gap for 6 months. 9 years later I’m still there. Hey ho.

August 30, 2010 Posted by | Other Stuff! | 3 Comments


>Why on earth are you here? Have you nothing better to do that read total and utter inane drivel written by a rotund, greying 28 year old, cynical, sarcastic moronic bastard? No? Oh, alright then.

Now this blog is not here to change the world. I don’t have anything to major to say or any point to make. I will from time to time post odds and sods which will more than likely be irrelevant to anyone that reads it. There may (read will) be rants, an almost diary sort of thing and any random bollocks I see fit to type. This will no doubt be about as interesting as porridge. But without any form of porridge contents within. In fact, the blog should be called “A blog that is as interesting as porridge without porridge. Warning, contains no porridge”. Sorry, i’m rambling. Which is what I do. i ramble on on various different things and get into tangents and also blessed with the attention span of a …. oooh look a squirrel.

As I work in a customer facing environment I may (again, read will) rant about people ranting about their broken cars. Which being an Italian more than likely they will be broken. And tales of members of staff chasing other members of staff across the dealership forecourt with an air rifle. But I shall save that little chestnut for another day.

So, whether it’s something good, such as a concert I attended, an album I haven’t heard in a while or whether it’s my ongoing hatred of hybrid electric cars and Toyotas, the news or even if the toaster is broken if I see fit I’ll write about it.

So, if you’ve got this far in this extremely lame and dull introduction, congratulations and have a cookie. Woopey doo! Stay tuned for the first issue. Someone will need to be as I won’t be. The excitement will be too much for me.

May 1, 2010 Posted by | Other Stuff! | 1 Comment


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