There I was in the supermarket the other day when I came across what I thought must be an early display of selection boxes. Trouble was I was in the toiletries section and these big shiny red boxes contained not chocolate but condoms.
Some of you may remember the story from a few months ago which claimed that Bradfordians were the bonking champions of the UK. At last a league table we were proud to be astride.
Apparently – our survey said – we are all at it; now that’s what I call a Northern Powerhouse.
Durex have clearly decided this bit of the George Osborne fairy tale is actually true and are now selling in bulk quantities. Little chance now of hiding a three pack under your sliced ham at the self-service checkout just in case you bump into your mum.
The super-sized packs contained thirty – it was easy to think I was missing out on something here – and better still they were on promotion working out at 50p a…(stop! Ed)
It felt like there should have been one of those signs they have at the Pleasure Beach…(no more…Ed)
I began to think about those internet purchases where clever old Google Bollocks suggests other products you might like to buy to go with your purchase.
Imagine strutting up to the checkout and a growling checkout girl sat there, swivel seat groaning under her, chewing away, the highlight of her night a snoring husband, a can of Stella and Corrie.
And here comes your grinning mug about to ruin her already shit day.
The belt whirrs into action as you nonchalantly and extravagantly accept the 5p cost of a plastic bag…because you’re worth it!
Down the belt your purchases glide like the Generation Game…“good prize, good prize…”
Doritos with a spicy dip, a Luther Vandross Greatest Hits CD, a bottle of Paco Rabanne, some Johnson’s Baby Oil (she’ll never tell the difference) and riding nonchalantly astride a 12 pack of Budweiser like a King…your family Durex box-set.
And the funniest bit? On the packet is Durex’s new strap-line which must have been an advertising copy-writer’s dream assignment.
Demonstrating doubtless hours of creative input here it reads “love sex”. Well don’t we all!
One Lump Or Ten?
The sugar debate has provoked extreme reactions, inevitably perhaps with it being led by Jamie Oliver. Like him or loathe him, the man surely has a point given the soaring obesity levels in the UK and the rest of the world.
Tim Martin, founder of JD Wetherspoon also waded in claiming “Jamie Oliver will close pubs“. The PM is disinterested as is his Health Secretary.
You may view this as the Nanny State being promoted as a cure-all but the fact is that the link between sugar – often in quantities beyond comprehension in soft drinks – and obesity is undeniable.
To take the view that it is the individual’s responsibility is as dumb as most individuals; people are stupid and many need nannying, like it or not. That’s why they vote for stupid politicians to make choices for them.
Cameron seems too afraid to tackle big business – no Chinese Wonga cure here it seems – preferring to accept the ever increasing cost to the NHS, measured in terms of billions.
At a time when the NHS is under ever-increasing pressure, wasting billions on obesity that could be avoided seems ridiculous. When hard choices need making between dopey Coke swilling fatties and our old people, big business should not get a look in.
Hacked Off
I woke up the other morning to find out I had been hacked, though what could possibly interest anyone with the drivel I receive daily into my inbox, God knows.
Still, it was a complete ball-ache to start to resolve, not least in having to seek the help of teccies who may as well have been speaking in Mandarin.
And then I saw the story about the arrest of a 15 year-old boy on suspicion of the Talk Talk hack.
Why is the little turd not out “progging” for bonfire wood on dark nights or throwing bangers at old people’s roofs like we used to do as kids at this time of year.
Has he never experienced the gut-wrenching excitement of garden-hopping or “Penny For The Guy” – especially funny if it’s your brother playing at being a dummy then magically coming alive out of the wheelbarrow and scaring old dears witless – instead of jerking himself off over his keyboard.
If I could meet the nerd who hacked me it would give me great joy to stuff a lighted Catherine Wheel up his arse, politically correct or not.
Grandma Ada
Some things never leave you and nor should they. My grandma instilled in me a respect for money as, like many of her generation, she was a saver.
A short Saturday morning trip to the local building society agency to deposit the weekly loot – the bit left from the paper round after Curly Whirly deductions – was often followed by a slow walk home as I scrutinised the newly input figures.
Her generation had little so were not keen on frivolity.
Once I took her shopping, loaded the trolley almost to the brim with cans of soup for the long winter, only to have to unload it because the next brand was a penny a can cheaper.
It was almost as if she was preparing me for a life as a shelf stacker…there by the grace of God?
Being young and dim I could not see the importance of this as I nonchalantly offered to pay the difference – hey big spender – which nearly got me a clatter around the ears by an irate soup-can wielding grandma.
She had another wonderful trait which stays with me today as an automatic action; each time she uncovered a new tub of butter – always butter – she scraped the paper with her knife.
This did not stop the half a loaf she supplied me in return for our fish & chip lunches having each slab coated with an almost inch thick layer of butter.
And so when the flip-top lid on my fancy kettle which lights up blue when I boil it – why? – snapped the other night, I was about to consider a replacement when a voice came from afar.
“Does it still boil water?” demanded Grandma Ada. Good question I thought, yes it does.
“So what’s wrong with it apart from having to take the lid off?” Again she had a point as it still worked perfectly, even the irritating and pointless lights.
“Then shut thi’ wallet lad before them moths escape and stop being so daft!”
And that was that.
Christine says
Very funny and I have to say that your gran was spot on. Even I still scrape the butter paper!!