Good luck with that. And so I rant.
Monday, 11 January 2016
Monday, 1 December 2014
Tuesday, 18 November 2014
every day. Every single, no-I'm-not-pulling-your-leg day. Go on, read the linked article at least three times. It's staggering. I mean, even looking at this post requires you to download it onto your PC, at least temporarily, so you can read the damn thing. In doing so, it made a copy of this file to store on your computer, but you didn't ask me if I'm okay with that, did you, you dirty thieving pirate, you?! Just kiddin'. But that's the problem. If you're mad keen on copyright, contact the PRS and pay for a licence before you sing Happy Birthday in public. Seriously, that's where we're at.
Friday, 19 August 2011
It used to be said that the customer is always right. These days I'm convinced it's being said that the customer is a chump. A bit of respect, please?
I used to try to be a bit considerate about them, having worked in customer service myself, but eventually I came to the conclusion that people who can't or won't do their job and make no effort to be helpful deserve what they get, and if they annoy me I give them Hell. And nothing annoys me more than dun dun dunnnn...
Saturday, 30 July 2011
Early one morning, Narisa Siddiq arrived at St. Tristan's to get a bit of admin and marking done in the peace of her classroom. Just as she sat down and began to pull sheets of paper out of her big rattan shopper, the caretaker, Mr. Wilkins, came in.
"Miss Siddiq," he said, his bushy grey eyebrows raised in a worried frown, "you shouldn't orta be 'ere."
"What do you mean, Mr. Wilkins?" asked Narisa. "I usually come in early on a Monday to get my marking done."
"Ah, but 'aven't you 'eard?" he asked, as if afraid that a bomb was about to go off. He looked for all the world like a rabbit caught in the headlights. "Your job's been outsourced to India, innit? You've been laid orf. Didn't you get the lettah?"
I've had a few ideas for the next episode of The Teacher, but it never seems to get beyond Narisa facing her old adversary,
stairs The Tory, who is trying to do something dastardly to the kiddlies and she has to intervene. Then her brother Baltiman trumps to the rescue. The thing is, flatulence jokes can only go so far before they get old. I mean, really, once is enough. Unless you're writing a send-up of Astro Boy.
One of the scenarios I came up with was Narisa's class going on a school trip to the beach. The Tory shows up and decides to bomb the bus. Cue a Speed-like plot and resolution.
Friday, 17 June 2011
RE: the change in my profile description, when friends came round for pizza and a chat last night, one of them, Tom, was amused when I told him about this blog after hearing about the fish pedicure treatment thingy you can get in the Arndale Center, Manchester. The conversation turned from a rather horrible-sounding beauty/pamper treatment option to what would happen if a Kingsian event* occurred while someone's foot was in the bowl.