Category: Uncategorised

Nigeria

Damn, this is pissing me off. Before I get decried for being a racist, I’d like to make a few things clear. I’ve been to Nigeria twice, now, for three weeks in total. It’s not the most pleasant country to visit – it’s too hot for a Brit like me, and there’s so much crime you can’t exactly go for a walk in the evening or anything. The electricity supply is dodgy and the water’s not something you can trust. Then there’s the mosquitoes and the inherent malaria risk, and all the jabs you have to have before you visit just to be safe.

Sounds like a bad list. Until you look at the people. One of my aunts married a Nigerian guy, and a nicer man you could never meet. Religious and lives by it, strict yet fun and a good father to their three kids. The people I worked with when I was there were a good bunch, too. Laid back, yes, but they were aware that they were the lucky ones in a country such as Nigeria and they did their job well. The ones in employment work damn hard for their money – silly hours for what we would class as a pittance.

OK, so they’re not afraid to ask for a backhander or some “money for phone credit”. Some may call it cheek, I call it a tip. My driver was on call 24/7 while I was there, and saw his family (a 5 hour bus ride each way) maybe once a week.

They’re fiercely proud of their country. My uncle was all over me when I got back, asking how things had changed since he was last there – some 15+ years, as he can’t re-enter the country. If he does, he’s either in trouble or won’t be able to leave. It’s bad enough for me to be homesick for Tyneside, some 100 miles away, but at least I can visit it regularly with no problems. I can’t even begin to sympathise with how he must feel.

When you leave, they all ask if you’ve enjoyed your stay… but it’s like a customer feedback thing. They really want to know. It’s important to them.

And then you have the *******. The thieving, pathetic, backstabbing, corrupt scum who seem to fill Nigeria to the brim, forcing the honest ones out. The bottom-feeders who’ll try to take advantage of anyone, not giving a **** for the consequences of their actions as long as they get some dollar bills.

There are umpteen scams on the go at the moment, and a staggering number trace back to Nigeria. There’s the “I am a rich person trying to get millions of dollars out of Nigeria – please send me your bank details in return for a million quid” emails – commonly known as the 419 scam. There’s the dodgy cheque fraud that’s kicked up recently. The ******* are all over eBay at the moment (my grief with them at the moment), trying to rip off sellers and buyers alike.

I just wish the honest, decent folk over there could see their way clear to beating the living **** out of these utter ******** who are spoiling their good name. Ship the ******* over there. I’ll 419 their arses.

Argh

Getting the sensation of turtle’s head (eating a whole big bag of peanuts has a laxative effect), I pelted for the loo. Thing is, there’s only one trap per bloke’s toilet per floor in this building. And the ground floor one was in use.

Cue me huffing and puffing my unfit frame up to the first floor (note to Americans – we’re weird and start on Ground, then First, Second… Our First is your Second etc.), staggered into the loo and… engaged. Arse.

Back out, into the stairwell and up another two flights. By this time I’m gasping like an Michael Jackson in the underwear section at Mothercare. Third time lucky… I barge into the loo, passing Chris who was just on his way out. Having just done the smelliest poo in the world ever.

So I’m in a bit of a Catch-22. I’m gasping for breathe, but every lungful I take in is tainted with the smell of an other man’s faecal matter.

I’m not sure which caused me to pass out. The smell or trying to hold my breath while straining to lay a cable.

I just changed from British Gas to Powergen. I sent the meter readings off and was told I’d be with Powergen on the 22nd and 26th of April for Gas and electric respectively. April 29th and two direct debits come out – one from BG and one from Powergen.

Eh?

Powergen say they’re my supplier. BG say I’ve not left them yet. I’ve just paid two companies for the same gas and electric. I think.

I then got a letter this morning from BG saying I’m £24.71 in credit on my leccy and that, as I’m cancelling, it’ll be refunded against my next quarterly bill. But I won’t *get* a ******* quarterly bill BECAUSE I’VE ******* LEFT THEM. Even if I get one, I don’t see why I should wait 3 ******* months for my bastard money back.

And if I ring them up I get some **** in a sweatshop in Delhi who knows everything about Eastenders for the last 6 months but **** all about my ******* bills.

Electo-cack

I posted this on Scaryduck‘s comments – apologies for those of you having to read my uninformed rubbish twice over:

I saw a car driving round Bardford today. It was promoting Kilroy’s party (Verity? Something like that) and “Vote Mscwiliecz” or something on it, pretty definitely Polish.

Erm… has anyone told that guy who the party figure head is? If they got in, he’d likely try to deport his own MP.

As for myself:

Labour – liars and too far up Bush’s arse. Bollocks to them

Tory – I cannot spot any difference between them and Labour. Bollocks to them

LibDem – Not a bad alternative, but want to take my Pound Sterling off me and give me Euros. Bollocks to them

BNP – Racist *****. Bollocks to them

Green – Want to tax my car out from under me. Bollocks to them

Monster Raving Loony – No candidate. ********

Incidentally, They Work For You can tell you how well your MP has done over the last 4 years. Mine’s a workshy sod who’s in the bottom 60 or so countrywide as far as attendance and voting goes. But at least he’s cheap concerning expenses. Probably as he never travels to Westminster.

D of E

My boss was in a hurry to get home the other night because his daughter was “being presented with a Duke of Edinburgh” which I thought was rather cool, though not something worth of a presentation.

I mean, I used to have a talking Action Man and that just came in a box. Maybe they’re a limited edition or something. A wrinkled, 10″ tall puppet with a pull-string on the back with a variety of catchy, Prince Philip phrases, including:

• “If you stay here much longer, you’ll all be slitty-eyed.” (to British students in China, 1986)
• “It looks as if it was put in by an Indian.” (regarding a fuse box in an Edinburgh factory, 1999)
• “How about a root?” (to a senior member of the CWA, Australia 1970)
• “That was a bloody Masonic handshake, you sly old wog.” (meeting the Pope in 1988)
• “This place is run by darkies.” (1993 royal tour of Africa)
• “**** off and bring me a Scotch.” (to a waiter in Paris, 1982)
• “Get me a gun, Rice Eyes, I want to bag one.” (to a zoo attendant in Beijing, while inspecting the endangered giant panda)
• “Well, that’s it. I just **** myself.” (subtly ending a speech at a factory in Bristol, 1998)
• “Her Majesty’s on the blocks at the moment … fancy being queen for a night?” (to a schoolgirl, 10, during a visit to a Catholic convent school in west Namibia, 1994)
• “Well it wouldn’t have been through brain injury!” (consoling his son on the death of his ex-wife)

Then I found out it was a Duke of Edinburgh award she was getting and I was far less jealous.

Free trainers!

Apparently “extremist groups” are recruiting youngsters with freebies, such as new, brand-name trainers. Yes, kid, free Nikes! Just ignore the fuses sticking out of the heels and the fact that they smell vaguely of dynamite. Oh, and here’s a free plane ticket to the US to go with them.

A woman’s place

Have you ever noticed how often woman go on about men leaving the loo seat up? Now hang on a minute. I want to pee way more often than I want to crap. So, frankly, having to lift the seat that you lot selfishly leave down all the time is really starting to piss me off. Lift the damn thing when you’re done, will you?

There’s also the oft-rehashed detective bit where a guy guesses his wife’s been shagging around when he comes home and finds the toilet seat up (see The Last Boy Scout for an example). Hang on, there, Mr Suspicious. Have you ever thought that maybe she’s just been scrubbing it clean? After all, that’s what she’s there for.

Mind, if you share that attitude, she probably is shagging around.

Racist literature

I got some crap in the mail yesterday. The official BNP candidate’s pamphlet. And what a right fat ****** he is as well. He looks like Santa with a scowl. And bigger sideburns. And probably a big ******* swastika tattooed on the back of his head.

The bumph briefly mentions stopping immigration, concentrates on zero tolerance towards drugs, keeping care homes for the elderly own (very “Driving Miss Daisy” I’m sure, with all the Nigres used to wait on tables), and an increase in police presence (with a right to club any darkie who dares to look at them, most likely)… but doesn’t actually state that he’s a racist bastard. Just the boring “A vote for the BNP is a vote for common sense”. They missed off the end bit: “if you’re a ****”.

Annoyingly, I’m all for most of their policies. But I don’t like a party that also hates people on the grounds of their race or colour. I’m making a wild guess that the candidate’s not Jewish.

Actually, there’s an idea. Any Jews out there fancy turning up and running for membership of the BNP? See how many excuses they make to stop you? After all, based on the policies put forward in the leaflet I got there’s nothing that any good, honest Jewish person would disagree with so they must be a nice party. Common sense, really.

Very late with today’s post. Sorry about that. I only got home around half midnight from Manchester and I had to wash all the blood, oil, puke, piss, and alien semen off. More details likely on Thursday. Late night again tomorrow (home game) so I might not get the chance to blog when I get back.

Language

It seems someone’s released another of those pointless surveys over the last 24 hours. This one is a list of what we call our work colleagues – pet names, if you like. They range through “babe”, “pet”, “mate”, “sweetheart” and so forth.

The brief walk round the streets that 5Live did resulted in some seriously negative responses to this. One Scots guy was absolutely ranting: “What’s happened to the English language? I’m not their ‘mate’ – I’m ‘sir’ to them. ‘Can I help you, sir?”

Some people shouldn’t rant about a language until they know what the words mean. Scots Guy – go and look up “colleague”. These are the people you work with, you daft sod. I’d not expect a single one of the people I work with to call me “sir”. If I did, I’d be diagnosed with some kind of Napoleon Syndrome and committed.

Another girl said that she called her friends by such names, but would never dream of using them to work colleagues. Which says a lot for her working environment. I actually get on with the people I work with. I would – and do – go for a frink with them. I’ve had social nights out with them. Maybe I’m lucky, but I’d class some of them as more than just people in an office – they’re mates. Maybe not up the scale with those I’ve know for many years, but they’re a good bunch. If I didn’t feel comfortable calling them “mate” or “fella” after a few weeks, I’d start to think I was working in the wrong place.

Admittedly, I did used to walk into the office where I last worked and say “Guten Tag, Damen!” which used to piss off the Polish workers for some reason.

So where does that leave us? We’re not allowed to call people by pleasantly-meant pet names for risk of insulting them. So **** it, go the whole hog:

“Pass us the stapler, y’******”

“Oh, you’re here. What time are the other ***** arriving?”

“Hey – ****. Have you done that report yet?”

Is that OK for you, Scots Guy?

Priorities

The BBC made a cockup on Sunday, at least in my book. The news headlines came on in the evening. Top story was Posh & Becks possibly considering legal action because the News of the World published some stuff by their ex-nanny. I’m assuming she said she’s bonked the Brainless Wonder, or something.

Oh, and second on the news, 15 people were killed in a bomb blast.

At what point did the decidedly non-private lives of two of the biggest attention-seeking morons on the face of the planet take precedence over a loss of innocent life?

Hmm. Sunday afternoon at the pre-broadcast news conference, I suppose.