It is broken and we should fix it... Just do it faster

2025. A long way in the future. If we’re to believe Hollywood (and who am I to doubt them?!), we’ll have run out of oil, live in caves/old caravans/in forest/under water, use hover-boards and there could well be aliens among us, if they aren’t already that is.

So, I think you’ll agree, a lot will happen in that time. Well, I’m sorry to tell you Mr Spielberg, but here in the UK things take a lot longer to change than you imagine. The thing causing me most annoyance today is the amount of time it takes to build anything over here. The biggest example of this I can think of right now is the redevelopment of Elephant and Castle (E&C) in South London 

E&C is a shithole. It’s horrible. There are many examples of the post war concrete monstrosities across the UK and Europe but E&C stands out to me. Here a whole area is characterised by crowded roads, concrete skyscrapers, a hideous shopping centre and underground tunnels that are piss stained and beggar-filled. Basically it needs changing, which thankfully is happening. A big step has been taken to transform a sink-estate into a progressive, modern, safe and aspirational community.

Why am I grumpy then? Well because by latest reckoning it won’t be finished until 2025. That’s 15 years away. By then, a whole new generation will have passed through this festering pit of filth and squalor. Many more dreams and hopes will have been reduced to disappointment and under-achievement. Why? This has been discussed for the past decade, and while it needs to be carefully considered to ensure that it won’t fall victim of the same past problems, a further 15 years is too long.  If we’re going to get out of this economic mess we’re in, we need to act well and act decisively, not spend 15 years re-building, otherwise we'll never be able to afford those hover-boards

A grumpy life part 2

I arrive at work sweating a little and with a mild feeling of anger. Nothing out of the ordinary there. I get to my desk, notice that the cleaners haven’t swept the dust off my desk again. I move an old pack of post it notes and see underneath what colour the desk used to be. I put them back again and go to make a coffee. Idle chit chat passes the time as the early morning coffee round queue dwindles. Looks like everyone is “OK thanks” or, “yeah OK, X days until the weekend”. I offer no alternative but wonder to myself what kind of comment I could slip in under the radar and get away with it.

Work progresses nicely as the email inbox fills up with requests for stats, info, insights and costs. People come and go, the occasional call is answered and lunch arrives. What to get today? A boring choice of local sandwich shops that are either too expensive, don’t give enough fillings or put you in danger of spending a week on the toilet. The pub shines out like a beautiful beacon of hope and joy but at £3.70 a pint won’t be as much fun as you’d hope. Plus they’ve probably decided to sell Thai food now. Settle for sandwich, get disappointed, even adding salt and vinegar crisps doesn’t jazz it up. Check my personal email. Nothing there. Not even spam.

Continue with work. All passes successfully and head home, this time by bus to avoid a face-in-armpit situation. 5 mins down the road it starts to rain. Umbrella is at my desk and I decide I’m too close to the bus stop to turn around. Crowd into the bus shelter and huddle with fellow commuters either smoking, shouting on the phone or listening to music on loudspeaker.  The bus arrives, and quickly departs. It’s ‘too full’,  but I’m certain I saw a space in between the tourist, their suitcase and the baby’s pushchair complete with screaming child. Everyone agrees the driver’s an idiot and we shouldn’t have to pay for service like this.

Make it home, realise the evening is running through my fingers so I get changed and decide I’ll do something different tonight. Life’s too short and the clock is ticking. I put on the telly while I think of what to do. Les Dennis is offering to give the contestant the money himself. The answer’s not there. Les’s cheque book is safe this time! I see what’s on next, Bullseye!  Oh well, life’s not so bad after all, I’ll do something new tomorrow.

A grumpy life part 1

Getting old. Christ, I'm getting old. I'm now 27 (older than my
blogger name, I know) and I find myself hating things more than before.

I'm at home now thinking about where I live, how I live and wondering how we let ourselves live like this.

Over the next couple of post I'll explain how a typical day goes, Here's the morning:

I wake up, watch terrible sickly sweet 'news' with a horribly smiley Scottish lady telling me what the weather is like. I get in the shower and feel mildly content. It's warm, I'm clean and the whole day is ahead of me. There is nothing that can hold me back.

Then I get dressed. It's wonderful. My beautiful girlfriend is there. How does she put up with me? She leaves before she questions it herself. Thank god. I don't believe in him but I'll thank him anyway.

Then off to work. I pass a woman having a Dr Pepper and a fag, a traffic warden offering misery to all and walk behind 3 smokers all issuing me with their individual piece of cancerous smoke. I've not touched on the school kids eating shite, drinking filth and bullying the nice kids...They'll never change.

I walk into the tube station. Touch in. Stand by the lift. Wait in line. People are congregating by the door. They have to get to in there first. God forbid that they have to get in near the back. The World will crumble if that happens.

We're at the height of summer and people are still taking coats down there. They're not happy, it was cloudy outside and they've come prepared for rain. They feel foolish. They are fools. But we have to suffer their elbows, their panic and their impatience as they force their way on to a crowded carriage. They're important. They matter. The train following in 2 minutes is not good enough. This is the train that matters.

The train painfully makes its way to the station and people pour off and stand in line as we rise to the surface. Bad breath, more sweat and panicked tourists ensure that the rushed start to the day continues. At last the sunlight emerges and I begin to relax. 5 minutes of solitude lay ahead. Shit, no they don't. There's a Sport magazine forced into my hand. Michael Owen is having another comeback! I can't wait...

More to come soon...

Did you forget something?

Writing this after watching England win to qualify in the World Cup, there isn't too much to be grumpy about. Then again, the first 2 games were appalling so I can't see me being too optimistic in the near future.

Walking around town earlier today reminded my of something that I think is really stupid. Girls wearing leggings as the only item of clothing to cover their bottom half:

I don't think that there's a single person out there that this looks good on. Anyone that knows me will be quick to say that I'm no fashionista and I'm sure that I regularly make massive fashion mistakes, but at least I remember to put my trousers on every morning.

I'm perfectly happy for women to wear leggings, leggings are good, just put your skirt or trousers on too. Everyone can see your pants, and even the best arse looks pretty dreadful in leggings only. Skirts are nice, wear them.

If you're reading this and think that you look cool when you wear a lumberjack shirt and leggings then you're wrong. If I could afford it I'd buy a billboard in East London to try to stop girls in Shoreditch from dressing like this. It's not an issue of me wanting every girl to be demure and cover up, it's just that it looks terrible.

And it's not just trendy London folk either.I've been pretty kind in the picture I put in above. I've only focussed on the problems that leggings have on a girls bum. There's a big thing (sometimes a MASSIVE thing) that's even worse and that's the dreaded camel toe... If you don't know what a camel toe is then search for it in Google images and turn your safe search off.

I was at Alton Towers recently and walking round was scarier than the rides. It turns out that Northern girls have just discovered leggings. And it's not just young, healthy women wearing them. It's women who have had a couple of kids and more than a couple of kebabs. Leggings force skin into places that I don't want to see. Maybe their local primark ran out of skirts, maybe they dropped a burger on themselves on the coach there? Whatever the reason, it's not good enough. NOBODY wants to see your camel toe. Put it away

Camping

The summer is upon us. Glorious sunshine falls down upon us for literally minutes at a time and people are arranging holidays to far flung places to enjoy yet more sun. We scrape together enough money to stay in the best place we can afford and relax in more luxury and with better facilities than our homes. A sensible move and a way to justify in your mind the months of hard work that have paid for it.

That is, except for a small collective who like to throw away common sense and stay in an over-sized plastic bag for days at a time with no running water, toilets, or beds. These strange, strange people like to go camping. Why?? Why would you holiday in conditions worse than those that you live in at home??? I can just about tolerate tents at festivals. It's a necessary trade off for enjoying music. But away from this, it's just bizarre.

Now, I'm not talking about people who can't afford to go somewhere nice. Of course there should be a form of holidaying for all people. I'm talking about people who can afford better. Who have good jobs. Who have nice houses. People who normally make sensible decisions. I can't work out where in their minds they think that it makes sense to go and pitch up in a field with a load of strangers in close proximity. Campsites aren't some romantic getaway where the wind blows through the hills and the only noise you hear are the merry chirps of birdsong and the flow of a river through a scenic valley. They're a field in a farm with shared toilets (always caked in shit) far away from civilisation and no protection from the weather. A terrible experience.

Your possessions are not safe as a tent offers no security, the floor hurts your back and you'll invariably return back miserable and regretful that you didn't book a hotel. Anyone who tries to argue otherwise is lying to themselves.

We've evolved beyond camping, there's no need to go back.

Tattoo much

The human body is an incredible thing. It works magnificently well without us even thinking for a second about how amazing it is.

Being the creative, imaginative people that we are, we then decide that we'll customise the body that we've been given. People chose new hair styles and colours, wear different types of clothes and vary our weight. There's one way that irritates the hell out of me though. You've probably guessed it from the name of the article. It's tattoos.

Those that get them say they're wonderful, individual and make a statement or mark an event. To me all they do is spoil a perfectly formed body. The seemingly constant trend of girls tattooing the small of their back (the tramp stamp) is the biggest shame of all. In a previous life as a single man, it was a constant disappointment to see (out the corner of my eye) a pretty girl lean over to pick up a coin, pen or lipstick only to reveal the hideousness of the tattoo thus:

A previously attractive girl then lost any notion of individuality, originality or common sense.

If you really like the image then take a picture/print one off and carry it in your pocket! Then when it gets tired, stretched or faded you can print another. Alternatively buy a load of transfers. They look just as effective and you can change them when you want.

Let's say that something actually transpired with one of those girls (a long shot I know). The last thing I'd want to do in the heat of the moment is try to translate a Celtic script or work out why this girl likes angel wings so much that she'd want to put them on a part of the body that she can see only slightly better than the back of her head.

Letting agents

Living in London I find myself moving on average once a year. The most unfortunate consequence of this is that I have to deal with letting agents. It's pretty clear to me that evolution has taken a strange course with these 'people'.

As I write this, there is a loud camp guy standing outside my house waiting to show some strangers around. He was due to show them round 35 mins ago and yet he hasn't come and apologised and acknowledged that they're unlikely to turn up. Nor has he thought that it's a rainy night and it might be better to come in and have a cuppa with us in the warm. No, he's standing shivering holding on to the vain hope that they turn up. I might take him a hot water bottle.

While I slightly pity the guy, I'm more annoyed than anything. The last couple of weekends they've been due to show people round but they haven't showed up. If I was supposed to go round to someone's house and intrude on their weekend then I'm certain I'd let them know if I was going to turn up. The thing troubling me now is that they might've actually been here all the time, waiting outside. Now I'm not scared or anything, it's just odd that someone would hang around outside other people's homes at the weekend. What strange people.

He's still there by the way

I get most annoyed by hearing them speak about houses, which they insist on calling properties. That winds me up. It's a house or flat, they only say property so that they can tell their mum they used a word with 3 syllables. This guy has been telling people that our sofa will be replaced. We were told that 14 months ago. It hasn't been replaced. They make bullish predictions about the amount of time it takes to get to the tube or the shops. And the worst thing of all is we lap it up! When we want to be convinced that somewhere is good enough why do we take their advice? They hang around outdoors in the rain, they're unable to control the volume of their voice and they're not even good enough to sell houses! They're only deemed worthy enough to show people lettings.

Hopefully soon I'll be able to buy somewhere, part of me hopes that the sales people will be a new breed. That they'll talk sense at a reasonable volume and that they'll let people know when they're not showing up. I think I might be disappointed...

Anyway, got to go, he's just rung the door bell and they've arrived. 50 minutes late. I'll get him a towel, he's a little damp now.