The oppression of modern times seems to know no bounds - if it's not the man, it's the man. Etc. I think.........ah, shit; I'm not very good at this revolutionary, railing against the system/machine thing, am I? I suppose it comes from being a member of the establishment for so long. My heart just isn't in it.
Anyway, here's the bloody thing(s) bothering me today:
Rant 1: Why do people delivering things/performing their trades have an expectation that I can magically be in the house (and not at work) whenever it suits them? At the moment, with our domestic bliss still in disarray courtesy of that BLOODY water leak and ruined floor, I am experiencing what might be considered a trades overload. I'm getting just a little tired (i.e. verging on the homicidal) with those cheerful voices on the other end of the telephone telling me of their plans to be at my house at inconvenient-o'clock, and asking how does that sound. The latest example was yesterday evening at 4.30pm (what a great time to be calling) to ask me that she would be at my front door at 9am today, and how did that sound? I took a deep breath and advised her that it sounded like the most fucking stupid idea in the history of brainless stupid fucking ideas, and that if she did indeed turn up on the doorstep at that time, when any normal person would of course be at work, I would probably attack her with a fucking chainsaw, followed by my dog.
Actually, it didn't quite happen that way. What actually happened was that I made a number of mental notes in my head to change my plans for the morning, and in my sweetest, most accommodating voice, said that yes, of course, I'd be there at that time, even if I had to chew my own fucking leg off to escape a bear trap in order to be there in order to not mess up her fucking day. Only, I left the second half of that sentence out. Basically I just said that yes, it would be fine.
Shit. Why does this keep happening to me?
Rant 2: I saw a trailer for the latest Batman/Superman/we haven't got enough money for decent lighting movie yesterday evening. It looks very...dark, which seems to be the thing these days. Dark and rainy. Hmmm...a bit like living in Britain, then. However, what struck me was not the weather, but the voice which seemed to be dragged out of the Batman character. It was something akin to a dry dog turd being slowly dragged across a sheet of very coarse sandpaper. Husky, low and - I assume this is the desired effect - menacing. I'm not sure what this entertainment industry fascination is with such voices, but it's a bit silly. Although, it may explain why all the superheroes have to get nose-to-nose with their most dangerous foes - their voices don't carry very far due to chronic laryngitis.
Rant 3: Cold sores. Firstly, I have to ask why. Just why. Secondly, I have to ask why it is that whenever one of the little bastards shows up on my face, it does so in exactly the same place - the middle of my top, rosebud-like lip.