Tyred

We were out in the motor today. A car approached us at some speed from the opposite direction. I was shocked, not at the velocity but because the woman in the passenger seat was yawning. She was brazenly yawning, she did not hold her hand to shield her gaping mouth. Why are cars capsules against polite society? Why do people think they can do stuff in them that they would not get away with in company? Men pick their noses, young girls sing at the top of their voices, labourers rearrange their genitals, old men suck on Worthers Originals whilst fingering their ears. Why is it that whatever happens in the Vauxhall stays in the Vauxhall?

Blood on the streets

Strikes have been breaking out across the UK in support of a mass walkout by energy workers in Lincolnshire angry at the use of foreign workers.

I don't know if it is deliberate but one can't help but wonder if the BBC chose this picture because of the nazi right arm? Heil Hitler anyone?

Dial Up, Dial Up

I've had time to consider and I have decided that on the good versus evil see saw of life the internet has hit my rock bottom. Oh where were the luddites in the nineties who could have smashed the Macs?
I awoke quite early this morning feeling fidgety and my young girls thoughts turned to industry (as they do) and I began to wonder about all the good things the internet has brought us (me to you obviously) but the down side too.
Our ability now to book our holidays online has done away with sending an SAE for a brochure, we are able to buy household items at great savings yes but by cutting out the middle men we are leaving gaping holes in the high street.
People need work and I have seen with my own bloodshot eyes how a newspaper that employed two hundred people could slash jobs faster than you can hit 'refresh' when it embraced the web. It is now possible to produce a tabloid in India before tiffin these days, give or take a few spelling mistakes - which makes one wonder if the Guardian have already shipped to Shilpa Shetty.
In the days of expensive dial up and slow download times we became conditioned to scanning pages quickly because time was money, I believe this conditioned society into becoming impatient, wanting everything NOW, skipping to the end and now we have become a monster of greed caught up in a feeding frenzy of imagery.
Sods and their iPods, fat birds in Rotherham emailing jail birds in Texas, me bankrolling the BBC so Babs in California can watch New Tricks on her laptop, the enviromental cost of all this electricity! Oh, you get my drift. I have not even begun to talk about sexual exploitation but to be honest I think I shall leave that stone unturned.

Roll Up, Roll UP

I have just been to lunch with my pal Shanna to the Harvester. We are two girls with one keen eye on our waistline and the other on our purse so we tend to have a visit to the salad cart and a fizzy drink. The one which is not far from work has had a re-fit but they have scrimped on some of the details as some of the wood work looks like a packing crate which has been slapped on the wall with a staple gun - The Ivy it aint.

As we were leaving, a beautiful Jag was making its way out of the car park. It was crammed full with people but on the back seat/driver's side was a little woman - a REALLY little woman. Shanna and I both agreed that the Jag was obviously hers which she had finaced through her work in the circus as she was a thing of genuine wonder and amazement. We imagined several succesful tours in Eastern Europe where she would ride standing on the back of a shetland pony dressed in thick tights (it's chilly in Poland)

Retired now and having amassed a considerable fortune she holds court once a week at the Harvester, she probably treats her friends (there were a good many crammed into the Jag) to a surf and turf on the one proviso that one of them gives her a lift up to reach the salad cart.

Is there anybody there?

I got a slap on the wrist from a psychic at the weekend because I've stopped writing Lola. It's not because I have followers in the next world (perhaps I do, who knows) but apparently this caper is my calling so that's it and all about it. Trouoble is, I'm a bit rusty so I shall make tentative steps to get back on form, imagine me if you will like one of those wheelchair bound people trying to walk again - I daresay I shall shake on the rails and yell "I can't do it!" but I must, who know's I may one day be published in People's Friend.