I filmed this game of senior citizen Jenga on my phone in a bar area at a local hotel during a break in my salsa class. The lady’s reaction to toppling the jenga tower is just fantastic!
Important note: no old people were harmed in the making of this film… 
I was using a supermarket self-checkout today, processing my items to the repetitive drone of “please place your item in the bagging area.” Next to me, an older couple were battling to put through their items of shopping, some (most) of which included bottles of alcohol. Most of you will be aware that when you buy alcohol at a self-checkout the attendant has to check your age. So, in this instance, their checkout light went red and a message popped up on their screen. Here is a transcript of the conversation that followed:
Lady: “Why is it telling us that we have to wait for assistance?”
Attendant: “We have to check your age to ensure you aren’t underage”
Lady: “Ah, ok. I suppose I should take it as a compliment, really? Ha ha ha…”
For some reason, I took umbrage at her stupid remark. I just about managed to hold back from vociferating in response:
“So, you think this piece of electronic equipment has a brain, do you? That’s mistake number one. Mistake number two is thinking that if it did have a brain, it would be stupid enough to think that you, a haggard old alcoholic woman who smells of musky piss and morning fresh, are actually a voluptuous 17-year-old woman with the face of an angel.”
“Oh, and, by the way, you should assume that the card payment machine thinks you’re trustworthy, that the supermarket’s automatic door likes you and that your trolley knows where your car is parked. Good luck!”
Today, I have decided to work from Costa; as a break from being at home. I’ve got my coffee, I’ve got my sandwich and I’ve got my berry muffin. Unfortunately for me, I’ve also “got” a teenage couple sitting on the table next to me. These two teenagers have clearly just discovered the delights of kissing (they’re sitting there sucking each other’s faces off). Now, anyone normal would find a corner somewhere to engage in this private and newly-exciting activity. But, no, they’re literally sitting right in the middle of Costa.
I could move all my stuff (laptop, jacket, bag, coffee, sandwich) onto another table nearby. But, instead, I’m going to sit here, moan lots and think up some mischievous ideas for what to do next. I could:
They clearly think they’re invisible to everyone and that everyone in Costa is hard-of-hearing. I am, at this very moment, wondering whether such a public display of teenage passion is a decent motive for murder.
Maybe I’m just jealous. Do you think I’m jealous? When I was a teenager, I was just happy for a girl to notice me (usually followed by a face of disgust or a comment of “why are you standing outside the girls’ changing rooms?”). I’m not bitter…
Oh crap. I’ve just noticed. I’m looking around at the other tables in here and EVERYONE is a teenager. I’ve accidentally walked into the local puberty asylum. There’s only one thing for it, I’m going to have to put on some tracksuit bottoms, spray myself with 13 cans of Lynx deodorant and don a baseball cap.
You know what, I’m going to be a bit nicer to this couple. I mean, we were all young once. I haven’t eaten my muffin yet, so I could give them that… in small pieces… projected with velocity at their faces!! No, you know what, I’ll go and buy them a present… do they sell Chlamydia Test gift tokens in Boots?
When I was deliberating over whether to write a blog article about my time in Sofia, Bulgaria, I considered putting it to a public vote. It would have been simple – shake your head to vote ‘yes‘ or nod your head to vote ‘no‘. Notice the problem with that? No, don’t nod for your answer, that just confuses things…
I was in Bulgaria for one week and I must say that during that time I felt both baffled and bemused with the whole ‘head nod’ means “no” and ‘head shake’ means “yes” idea. Bulgaria is, apparently, the only place in the world where this is the case – it’s the opposite of everywhere else. I have to say that I’ve never felt so popular with women and then been hit by such esteem-crushing realisation… I wish women in the UK would give me similarly enthusiastic head-nods when I ask THEM if they want to sleep with me…
I find myself puzzling over where this communications concept came from. I mean, Great Uncle Bulgaria (the womble who founded Bulgaria as a nation) must have been smoking pot when he decided:
I know, let’s switch things around and make this country like no other in the world. Let’s make the head nod mean no… oh, and let’s change the body language so that when someone says ‘yes’, they shake their head and act utterly miserable and pissed off! Yeah, that’ll really confuse the foreigners and keep them out of our country and away from our rubbish bins… (ok, enough of the womble jokes!)
On to transportation now. The tram and bus systems seem quite well organised in Sofia. They go underground, overground (wombling free…). However, their ticket systems really do need a re-think. You buy a book of ten tickets and use one ticket each time you get on the tram / bus. You punch it using the little machines attached to the sides of the bus. Obviously, when I say you “punch it”, you don’t stand there in the middle of a crowded bus jabbing it with your fist… “take that you little bastard!” Instead, you subtly lean across the seated passengers, thrust your armpit in their face, push the ticket into the little hole punch and then push down on the puncher. If you’re very unlucky, a miserable-old-bastard ticket inspector will get on during your journey, look at your ticket and then demand to see your next / previous / previous year’s ticket in order to satisfy himself that you do own your ticket and that someone else hasn’t given it to you in an act of amazing hospitality rarely seen anywhere in Bulgaria (no, I am being unkind there!).
Onto the subject of sex now (well, I like to include the subject in most of my blogs). During my Bulgarian experience I noticed that the hotels like to accessorise their rooms with little luxuries – some expected and some not quite so expected. I took a photograph of some of them (left): soap, shower cap, shower gel, condom….
It’s a Bulgarian’s mini prostitute bathroom kit (prostitution is legal in Bulgaria). Get em to have a good shower beforehand… (I don’t mean a bathroom kit for Bulgarian midget prostitutes, by the way…)
When it comes to patience, Bulgarians seem to have little of it. I experienced this first-hand with my plane flights. No sooner had the plane touched down on the runway than the seatbelts were off and people were up on their feet opening the overhead lockers (which were crammed to bursting with cases). The fact that the aircraft was still travelling along at 80mph was seemingly unimportant. However, their desperation to get off the plane was not matched by their attempt to get to Passport Control. Indeed, their enthusiasm seemed to dissipate as soon as they took a step off the plane… switching to a slow-motion amble. Having waited until last to leave the plane (for my own safety), I found myself weaving in and out of people like a formula one car overtaking milk floats.
The impatience of Bulgarians is also demonstrated when it comes to driving. From weaving taxi drivers, whose idea of screenwash is to stick their arm out of the window and throw bottled water across their windscreen, to drivers who will not be defeated by steep hills covered in ice. They’ll find a way to do what they want if it kills them. And if you get in the way, you’ll get the horn (so to speak)…
I very much enjoyed my trip to Bulgaria and meeting the people there. But, I have to say that their mannerisms took a bit of getting used to. Honestly, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry…
Whether you love it or hate it, texting has become a major part of our daily lives. From keeping in touch with our friends to competitions and promotional offers on television and radio, these days we struggle to be away from our mobile phones for any length of time.
I saw a classic example of the promotional use of texting today whilst watching daytime television. A quiz was sponsored by a de-congestant and they were enticing people to find out more information by texting the word “mucus” to them. Lovely! What next?…
Latest offer: Win a pair of underpants. Simply text the words “I’ve soiled myself and my spare pair are in the washing machine” to 63352
Over the past few weeks, I’ve had numerous discussions with friends about frustrating text message conversations. Based upon those stories, I thought I’d write a post listing some typically frustrating types of text chat. You’ve probably been involved in some of the following types of conversation before:
This label applies to those people who bombard us with text messages. I’m sure you’ve been in the situation before where you finish writing a text message, hit send and a reply arrives back on your phone before you’ve even had the chance to put it down and take a sip of your tea. By replying, you’re signing a mini-contract to waste the best part of your day engaging the other person in pointless chatter. What a waste of bloody time!
Textual harrassers will, invariably, end up becoming stalkers and/or participants in late-night radio phone-ins. Continue reading
Yesterday, I was strolling happily through a London tube station when I spotted an attractive lady with the word “love” emblazened across her chest. As I passed her by, a question popped into my head: does she love her ample bosom or does she want me to love it? Furthermore, does she have two different t-shirts, with the ‘hate’ one being reserved for her ‘time of the month’ or moments where she suffers with particularly low self-esteem?
I was clearly giving the whole moment too much thought, as I began debating whether to go out looking for a t-shirt with “marriage” written across it. Afterall, if the saying is correct, her and I would go together like a horse and carriage! That’s a very old phrase though – these days it should probably be updated to “love and marriage, love and marriage, he’ll end up an alcoholic and she’ll smell of cabbage.” Yes, I know what you’re thinking – it is a rather sad statement. But, there is some truth in the thought that marriage is like a deck of cards – at first, all you need is two hearts and a diamond. Years later, all you want is a club and a spade.
Anyway, I very much enjoyed the lady’s outburst of love (I suspect that the wonderbra helped quite a lot with that).