Ode to Weatherseal

Over the weekend I mentioned (on Facebook) that we had been receiving some weird silent calls. On Saturday I traced the number and found out it belonged to Weatherseal. Thankfully, the silent calls have stopped, but they have been replaced by sales calls. Oh, except apparently they aren't sales calls, they want to do a survey. Yes, right, of course they do (rolls eyes). A little tip for whoever comes up with the marketing strategies for Weatherseal - I used to work in sales and marketing and can tell you that it's never a good idea to insult the intelligence of a prospective customer - not that I am, but you don't know that do you. No one is falling for the 'just want to do a survey' line, and anyone who appears to is probably having you on. Trust me!

Anyhoo, rather than rant on ad infinitum about this, here's a little poem explaining my position.

Dear People from Weatherseal

Your constant calling is a pest,
The silent calls I do detest
And so I feel I must insist
You take me off your bloody list

If you should choose to persevere
Please heed this warning, though severe
I'll lift the phone and with aplomb
Report your bottoms to Ofcom

Yours sincerely,



Updated to add: Coincidently, this is in the news today.

Currently listening to: Someone outside drilling something



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My baby is now a smelly student

Just been speaking to Number Three Son who actually isn't smelly, but is safely installed at uni. It's freshers week at the moment so he hasn't started studying yet, but has got to know some people which is a Very Good Thing. I was quite worried that he might find that side of university life a little overwhelming. He's always been quite shy and it took him a while to get to know people at school, having brothers who were only to happy to jump in and speak for him didn't help. Anyhow, my fears were unfounded, he has made some friends, joined a few societies (even one for bell ringers, oddly) and likes the city.

The downside is, one of his flatmates came completely unprepared, helps himself to everyone else's plates, pans and utensils* and leaves the kitchen in a mess. Apparently his excuse is that he was under the impression everything would be provided, including a maid service, but I don't think anyone is falling for that because a loooong list of essentials was sent out well in advance. I suppose there is always one.

So that's the latest from us. If you have your own little fresher I hope they are settling in and enjoying student life.

* Mr Blogs thinks this is karma for all the times we found ourselves with 3 plates in the cupboard because N3S had 15 scattered around his room.


Updated to add: We've just had a sales call from someone wanting to know if we need a stairlift or one of those contraptions to get you in and out of the bath. Do these people not check who they are calling! I'm not sure if I would want a stairlift even if I did have trouble with the stairs. Whenever I see one, that scene in Gremlins comes to mind. And now I really must go, I need to put some food on my family.

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Losing my religion

I did have a really good post* all written in my head, but gave up trying to actually convert it into pixels because I've had a cat sitting on my arm for the past hour. I suppose I could have moved him, but he looked so comfy. Instead here is a filler post are 3 random things about me to do with religion** - yes, another one of those.

1)  As a child I had to go to church every Sunday which I found mind-numbingly boring. To amuse myself I used to make up stories (in my head) about the other members of the congregation.

2) Still at mass - I was terrified of the priest, Father Richardson. Not because he was nasty, or weird (I know some are apparently) but because he seemed to be so incredibly holy. Remember Father Merrin in The Exorcist? This chap made him look like a loose-living womaniser. I was pretty sure that while other priests had a hotline to God, God had a hotline to Father R and was grateful for it.

Anyhoo, Father R did the works at my aunt's wedding and came along to the reception afterwards. I was a bridesmaid so ended up sitting at the same table as him, much to my consternation. I mean, imagine the chap God calls sir sitting next to you at dinner. It turned out he was really nice, just a bit reserved and thoughtful. He listened to me prattle on for ages, showed me which knife and fork to use, explained why the wine glasses were a different shape and all in a way which didn't make me feel like a silly and annoying little girl, even though I probably was.

3) When I was 18 I went to stay with my uncle and his new wife who happened to be a Baptist. On the Sunday morning she asked me if I'd like to go to church with her. Biting down my initial response of 'ha ha ha ha, obviously, you jest', I reluctantly agreed because I didn't want to appear rude***. However, once there I underwent the strangest crisis of conscience.

Despite being a very, very lapsed Catholic it seemed like an enormous betrayal to be attending the service of another faith. (Yes, inter-faith dialogue was lost on me.) If I was going to not want to go to a church, I was going to not want to go the church I had been baptised into. Fortunately, I came up with a cunning plan. I muttered during responses and hummed along with the singing - I think I got away with it.

* Yes, I know, it would be a first.

** It was either this, or forget the whole idea and read the email I've just received about the dangers of popcorn, but quite frankly, I've become so tired of health warnings -  especially since the great marmite debacle -  I don't care if the stuff makes one head explode.

*** She is very nice, but a teacher, and sometimes she forgets she isn't working and we aren't her pupils. Refusal could have meant 500 lines and/or a detention.

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The world of fashion is full of boobs, but not the sort that go in bras

I've just been reading this post over at Rants, Thoughts and Other Things and I had to go through it twice because I really couldn't believe what I was reading. Click over and have a look . . . bizarre or what?! How on earth can a part of someone's body be out of fashion?!

It's pretty much a given that the fashion industry is so far up it's own bottom it can see it's own back molars*, but over the last decade or so it has turned into a parody of itself. I could honestly believe they are using Ab Fab as a training aid. Once again, how can a body part be out of fashion? And, what's next? Will ears be out next summer? Feet a definite no-no for Xmas 2009?

Being serious, it is apparent that anyone manufacturing womens' clothes which can only be worn by the flat chested are making a product which is not fit for purpose. We wouldn't accept that in any other area of life, so why do we accept it when it comes to our clothes. Who would buy a car that was too small for anyone over 4'2" to fit in, no matter how good it looked? Apart from collectors and the small number of people under 4'2" I'm guessing the answer is no one. The same should be true of clothes.

Oh, and as for the man who thinks only men can design for women, well, the words self-indulgent plonker come to mind. I'm trying to work out whether he comes from the Oliver Cromwell school of design, or just has a thing about very thin boys people clad in lots of tweed**.

* I mean, these are the people who invented puffball skirts, culottes, neon cycling shorts (for men) and in the '90s those huge 'Frankenstein' shoes which made their wearers appear to have size 19 feet and legs like twigs.

** A look favoured by the Nazis.





Currently listening to: A man calling his dog. He was out there a few days ago so I'm guessing it's a bit of a Houdini.



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The scourge of frilly fonts

I like Blogger. Really I do. I came back here from self-hosted WordPress, so I think that tells you I like Blogger. I do, however, have one small quibble. Why do the fonts used in the captchas - the letters you have to type into a box when you make a comment on some blogs - have to be so elaborate? Are spammers only able to read sans-serif? Do the designers at Blogger have a huge folder of fancy fonts that they want to share with the world? Are they attempting to ruin our eyesight because of secret deal with opticians? Seriously, can someone please tell me if there is a reason for this ever-more swirly text?








Currently listening to: Nothing really, it's very quiet, but I can hear an owl now and again.





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Tea and coffee are very different drinks

A little ago I decided to make a cup of coffee, so I went into the kitchen, put the kettle on, put the doings in a mug and went off to do something else. Ten minutes ago I suddenly thought 'ooh, my tea', so I went back into the kitchen, popped a tea bag into my mug and poured water over it. Just took a sip. It was vile.

BTW, if you are a female blogger in the north of England, your thoughts about this would be appreciated.






Currently listening to: The neighbour's dog



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Musical Monday

Thought I'd dedicate this one to the PM.

The thing about bullies is . . .

. . . they tend to crumble when someone stands up to them.

And speaking of bullies - Diddums links to an interesting article about the hideousness that is the Jeremy Kyle Show.

I confess, I watched it once for about 10 minutes but had to turn over because I developed an urge to hurl things at the television*. However, that said, I would really love to be trapped in a lift with the bullying Mr Vile, but only because I suspect it would take me all of 5 minutes to have him crying like a little girl.

Updated to add: Meant to include this but I was too busy thinking of cruel and unusual punishments to inflict on Jeremy. Anyhoo, click here for something far more sublime, an Arthurian wiki!

* It's the sort of programme that helps you understand why Elvis shot his tv.


.

Currently listening to: Silence

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The funniest thing I have read for ages

Read this and this. That is all.





Currently listening to: Number Two Son playing his guitar, he's pretty good!




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Be afraid, be very afraid

I wasn't particularly worried about the Hadron Collider until I read this story in The Sun. Apparently, "terrified YouTube users have posted their fears that while scientists are rapping, the world could be preparing for catastrophe". Now I fear the worst because, as we all know, comments on YouTube are always a good substitute for real scientific knowledge.


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The best decade?

This is a subject under debate on the BBC website at the moment following a poll topped by the '80s. It's kind of an odd thing to argue about because surely all decades have their high and low points. Having said that I can see the appeal of the '80s, especially for people who were teenagers at the time, it was a good time to be young.

On the radio last night, I heard someone from a '60s band dismissing the 1980s and saying the decade wasn't a patch on the '60s. I'm too young to be able to make a real comparison, but I do think we had more freedom as '80s teenagers. Not just to dress like idiots, but in terms of choices and opportunities. I suppose that may be because I'm female and lucky enough to be part of the first generation to reap the benefits of the women's movement. So, yes, for me the '80s were good. However . . .

. . . if I had a favourite decade, it would be the 1990s. It was a good time. The Berlin Wall had come down, perestroika and glasnost had swept through the Soviet Union and us human beings seemed to finally be getting somewhere. Of course, that all changed in the '00s, but it was nice while it lasted.

Updated to add: The '60s chap was from the band The Scaffold - I found it somewhat ironic that a man who gave us Lily the Pink should criticise '80s music. I mean, it's an ok song, I liked it as a little girl, but it's hardly U2.

Currently listening to: Rain. Yes, more of the bloody stuff!



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Fancy that! A Mancheron isn't a cigar.

It's actually a short sleeve. I discovered this tonight. At the time time I realised I've been singing the wrong lyrics to Golden Brown for years, occasionally, if I've imbibed enough alcoholic, in public and in a very loud voice.

It's actually my second mondegreen this week. As most people in the UK will be aware the song featured in the video above has been playing during an advert for sofas and it's been driving me mad because I couldn't understand the line 'I want a brand new arse on an episode of Friends'. Finally, curiosity got the better of me and I asked Mr Blogs what it meant. He informed me the line is actually 'I want a brand new house on a episode of Cribs'. Mind you, that still doesn't make sense.


Currently listening to: An advert for face goop - it makes you young, don't you know.





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Who knew the Ancient Greeks had time machines?

Last night, as I was drifting off to sleep the following memory popped into my head - and made me burst out laughing which must have been alarming for Mr Blogs. I thought I'd share it with you.

The scene: A pub in Scarborough in which a geeky man is trying to impress a hot girl with his intellectual prowess.

Geeky Man: I've read Lord of the Rings once a year since I was 12.

Hot Girl: I've always thought some parts of LOTR were reminiscent of The Illiad and The Odyssey

Geeky Man: Are you trying to say Tolkien stole his storylines?

Hot Girl: No, just that . . .

Geeky Man: He didn't! It's far more likely that the writers of those books ripped off Tolkien.

I had to leave then, but I suspect he didn't pull.



Currently listening to: My offspring playing a shooting game.





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