Archive for the ‘humor’ Category

Well that’s the last night of taxi surveys and ‘ Next week I will mostly be installing garage doors’.

My 10 till 4am shift being the last , had to be the worst for weather and decibels ,courtesy of the particular brand of drunk that hangs around that area of the town centre.

You see its my observation that different socio-economic groups are attracted to particular areas of the city. Which is odd to me as neither appears distinctly  up-market or down-market.

Now the drunken staggering was more brutish last night near the train station and the bouncers were really having to throw people out of the clubs; and I mean throw them out, into a heap on the pavement. Women somewhere between 18 and 20 stone dressed as school girls (I have a nerve in my face that still twitches when I recall that vision) teetered on stressed stilettos  and weaved  in and out of cars in an almost suicidal attempt at keeping up with pub crawling friends crossing the road.

I quickly found a doorway refuge to avoid the shoulder barging from the inebriated punters.

I was soon joined by a tramp who asked politely if he could sit in the doorway. How could I refuse; the furniture store doorway was large enough for two .It had the unfortunate effect however of making us look like a duo. When he started to ask passers-by for small change; and always politely, I was marking taxi figures on my clip-board but surely it appeared that I was marking his success rate or at least assisting with some accountancy work on his behalf.

‘This is what I have come to then’ assistant to a tramp.

In my defence he was a gentleman tramp and always courteous; even wishing people who declined to give money with “have a nice day”. Just thought I would mention my business partners meritorious politeness for the benefit of all those who said I would come to  Nowt. 

I’m moving on now with my spotted hankie on a stick, (no I didn’t steal his) to seek my fortune in garage doors.


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Taxi Surveys II

It was alarming rubbing shoulders with the boisterous youth in the strong winds and rain of Leeds town centre.

I was surely the same at that age: leaping about and very loud with the beer and all.

I suppose I had a feeling of apprehension, about being jostled and caught up in the aggressive carnival of it all, and being so  cold on that Saturday night that I suspected the slightest nudge and I would shatter into tiny pieces.

Being slightly nervious  standing between two club doorways ; a throng of bouncers and drunken revellers on both sides, I sought refuge in a shop doorway, whilst watching the ridiculous spectacle of young women wearing one stitch beyond stark naked struggling with inside out umbrella’s.

Out of the blue a stranger arrived to cheer me up.

Young lad completly drunk, staggers up to me in my adopted doorway and says “Can I come in”

Now this lad was obviously an experienced drunk and when confronted by a pair of anything, ie two night-clubs, suspected the truth lay somewhere between the two.

Feeling rather mischievous , I just said “Sorry mate your too drunk”

           “AAAWWW Go on let me in” says he swaying violently.

“Sorry mate not tonight” I replied  

He staggered off completely missing the real club ,and it was perhaps for the best.

I thought of looking at my clipboard with my taxi survey results, and pretending to see if he was on the guest list, but thought the humour would be too advanced for someone in his black belt state of inebriation.

I wonder if he will tell his mates about the new club in Leeds and the miserable old sod in the woolly hat who wouldn’t let him in.

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Mystery Shoppers

Sitting at home yesterday and waiting for a call from the work agency that never came.

I thought I would be pro-active and search the Internet for other avenue’s of gainful employment.

Some things just jump out at you when you are surfing; and this is one I just have to share with you.

I had tears running down my face with laughter.

The aspect of it all that made it funny was that I was looking for the ideal job, not realising that some smooth American marketing guy was lying in wait for me.

OK! I don’t really know if it was an American, but most of the crafty and real clever marketing strategies usually are.

Please click on the link to biotrax below and read this page top to bottom.


So in conclusion I can advise all of you working in (I don’t believe I’m going to say this)

                                                ‘Customer focused role’s’

If like Mr Black in that excellent series Black Books you like abusing your clients but fear the mystery shopper grassing you up to  head office; then there are a few tell tale signs to look out for.

1) Green skin

2) Client rushes into toilet frequently

3) Hair falling out in clumps

4) Twitching of the face muscles

5) Or perhaps orange perspiration

If you see any of these signs be kind and professional.

            Remember you can always roll your eyes and tut-tut the next customer.
  Heres a good customer for you from Black Books 


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Its that time of year again.

The ugly subject of money  raises its head, and alas I have returned to blighty to earn some dosh, accompanied this time by she who must be obeyed.

My first job from the agency has been drivers mate for a well known company who deliver and install white goods for a well known high street electrical retailer.

Get the impression that I am going to slag them off yet!

Well I am.

This company are the keepers of The National Collection of Miserable Old Men.

I have never met such humourless miserable old gits in my life, but to find so many gathered under one roof is just an impossible coincidence. The only explanation is that they were collected under one roof for some evil purpose, yet to be revealed to us by some wailing hermit from Uddersfax or somewhere really hilly and cavy!

I and the miserable old git of the day, have been mostly delivering and  not installing plasma TVs.

Why ‘Not Installing’?

Well the salesperson at that well known high street electrical store has not explained the ‘ins and outs’ of wall-mounted plasma and LCD TVs.  People who buy them and want them wall-mounted have certain expectations, and so you would think, would the salesperson ; and having a measure of empathy mention the ‘ins and outs’.

Not on your Nelly!

My image of this technology I must admit, comes entirely from Star Trek. So let’s imagine that Captain Kirk has ordered a wall-mounted screen from that well known high street store.

SPOCK : “Captain a Clingon battle-cruiser has just de-cloaked  ”

KIRK :  “Shields and on-screen”

KIRK : “On-screen”


KIRK : ” I thought you said it had de-cloaked Spock; yet I cannot see anything”

SPOCK : ” Affirmative Captain, that well known high street electrical retailer sent round that well known company that installs electrical goods and installed the screen you see before you”

KIRK : ” So why can I not see anything?”

SCOTTY : The installation chappy mounted the screen Captain and everything was just fine until he tried to plug it in”.

KIRK : ” I don’t understand Scotty”

SCOTTY : “Well its like this Captain, the power lead just hung down from the screen and was too short to reach the socket where we used to have the telly in the corner of the bridge”

SCOTTY GRIMACES  ” It was just So, So  un-modern Captain”

Yes this is the reality for most households who have not been told  to make provision for power supplies.

A black lead hanging down ! Or should I say if you spent £1500 smacker-roonies or more

                                                      ‘A f****** BLACK LEAD HANGING DOWN’

Luckily for the customer the installation guys point this out to the client before it is mounted on the wall, and usually agree not to mount the screen. I wonder if this constantly failing to do what they set out to do; that day, is what turns them into miserable old sods.

                                                   On the bases that zero job satisfaction will do that to anyone.

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Its a pissy day in the Limousin, sorry to get all meteorological with you but there it is.

That and my bad back have conspired to put me in a bad mood. If I cannot leap up and do physical tasks at a whim I get all melancholic then positively gloomy.

Even my collection of unread books have no appeal. I once heard a description of someones book collection; which was obviously just collected to make the owner appear erudite, as

‘Wall to wall fitted Sartre’ .

The unread part of my collection; I hasten to add is to make me feel protected from too much Frenchness.

Yes! I had better keep hastening now I have said that.

Its like this; I can reach out my hand and fully grasp the words in my English language books when I am feeling: not so much home-sick as isolated I suppose. There is no obligation to stick with the book for better or worse, in fact the potential in them to communicate with me is usually enough to calm my nerves.

I have always liked books you see.

I have no standards however; and if you offer me a book on ‘Practical Widget Polishing’ cheap enough I will snatch it from you and run home chortling and feeling like I have got one over on you.

After all if widgets need polishing round your house your going to feel a right ninny.

She who must be obeyed is upstairs polishing her CV as we are returning to the UK soon to earn some well needed cash.

She worries about exaggerating her experience and skills on the CV, and I have reminded her that exaggeration is the norm these days; and as long as she just falls short of actually claiming to have ascended to a higher plain of existence the tone will  be about right.

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I am starting to wonder if one or more of my ancestors were hanged from tree’s as cattle rustlers, as the combination of tree and rope seems to be very dangerous for me.


Last year Martin and I set about chopping down a rotten fruit tree in the garden. All was well till I tied a rope round a branch that needed to fall in a particular direction.

As soon as I turned my back to pull the rope the branch, which was only a third sawn through, fell. The impact on my head was so hard it knocked me to my knees.


The curse is not finished with me yet however.

Yesterday was a good day in the Limousin for cutting wood. Sunshine no wind to speak of and fairly dry under foot. An excellent day to tackle the cutting of dead coppice for the fire. It was just for experimental purposes; to see if the standing dead wood can be burnt on the stove straight away, without storing it for the usual length of time.

The plot is only about a quarter of an acre but it is good coppice and densely planted; producing long straight tree trunks. The dead wood left standing is probably because deer have chewed on the bark of the young shoots and killed the odd trunk here and there.


So there I am in the woods with my chainsaw.

I am already scared because I read a book called The Ax last year and am aware how many things can go wrong when cutting tree’s.


Unfortunately I have to cut the wood to fall into the other tree’s as I have no clearing before my neighbours  land. I know this is going to make the fall of the tree slightly unpredictable. When you have cut through the trunk and the tree start’s to fall you put down the chainsaw and walk away; which in itself is tricky;  because of the dense growth.


What I saw after my first cut was spectacular. The tree trunk released from its base by my cut started to spin, lifted in the air, and sat back down 6 feet away. It stood perfectly upright, held in place by the slender top branches of the other trees.


Five minutes later I am back from my car with a rope, which I tied on to the base.

I heaved on the rope for a good while, not realising that my rope had a knot in it that suddenly released. This was at the point where my tugging was at its most reckless.

I flew backwards and landed flat on my back with a fallen tree trunk just at the base of my spine.

I am laid up now on the settee and furious; nowhere in that book did it say Warning you may be an unobservant silly old git, or check for family curses.

In these days of rampant Health and Safety warnings, where chainsaw’s come with scary labels such as;  




 Where was the label on the rope?

I think I shall buy one of those label gun thingy’s and start producing my own warning stickers.


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Stuff happens in Leeds

Okay that’s the nutter in the wheelchair mentioned then came Lady Nutter.

How I got myself a decent wife I will never know, as my inclination is always to gravitate towards the nutters. Or perhaps  its the other way round ,when I have it, bad luck is like a centrifuge that  pulls the particles that are generated by nutters(that would be Nutons) towards me in a way that they  have no choice in the matter but to interact with me. They have to sit next to me on the bus, and it makes them doubly mad and pissed off.

 So anyway that’s me on the street again with me clipboard, unknown forces at work while I take taxi numbers and passengers numbers yarrda, yarrda.  Three o’clock in the morning I.m pretty knackered and  two club bouncers who I have been standing with all night have been including me in their tea round, but they are too busy now as the punters numbers grow.At this point  without a warm mug of tea I am starting to feel a trifle uncomfortable. Were I have been this past 7 months  five people is a crowd, this  is an oppressive mass of people to me, and many of them worse for drink.

Then she appears my crazy woman, drawn to me by my bad luck and its centrifugal  attraction to Nutons , which begin to whirl around me, “Aaaah lovy” she says “yours ears must be freezing”

and she rubs the ears of a perfect stranger in the street, my ears to be precise. Then she is completely trapped within my event horizon, and begins to rub the top of my head vigorously like a pair of mucky boots about to go on parade. “Aaah and you have not got any hair have you luvy” “Never mind I,ll warm you up”.

At that she walks off, phew! that was close.

Twenty minutes later there is quite a commotion behind me and my bird is being ejected for starting a fight in the club.

Some geezer with a bigger centrifuge problem than me got a smack in the mouth, it wasn,t her fault he was asking for it.

Then the club bouncer got his tirade of abuse, and bless him he took it like a man; well like a small boy scolded by his mother to be precise, except he had a shifty look about him as bouncers do, in case he gets blind-sided by some demented associate. She called him all the names under the sun for not allowing her to finish off the fellow in the bar, there was perhaps only me and her in the world at that time who new that the man needed to be bludgeoned to a pulp, as evidenced by his cocky centrifuge still teasing her Nutons through the window. Somehow at this point I got the idea that this was now all some one else’s problem, as she grew tired of the bouncer who professionally on his part refused to react.

She began to withdraw, well stagger off down the street to be exact, but then she spotted me!

Would I get my ears rubbed within and inch of dismemberment.

I should be so lucky.

“And you” she said pointing at me from the centre of the street; yes with cars weaving around her

” you f****** nosey bastard” She wound herself up to full height from her previous drunken slouch, certain she had found the source of all her troubles. “what the F*** do you want”

Oh there was more.

“You and your F****** clipboard, F*** off now ”

By this time I am certain I was trying to hide behind my clipboard, even though I am some what larger with an increasing big vortex of Nutons whirling around my head. Everyone in the street is looking as much at me as they are at her. Well what is he doing in the street at 3 o’clock in the morning with a clipboard and pen ?

Perhaps he is some kind of professional stalker ever vigilant for the actions of his intended victims. Drawing plans and scheming like Willey Cayotee, for some devious purpose aided by Acme Co.

Well this verbal abuse went on for some time, but lucky for me I copied the club bouncer and did not react to this abuse in anyway, and it worked. The Nutons were dispelled as they obviously need fuel from their victims, to survive.

My interaction with these particles left me with nothing more than a red face.

The moral to this story; stay at home..

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