Sunday, November 25, 2012

Number 91

Cold Call
I sat down for my coffee break, on Thursday, got my phone out and I'd missed a call, but there had been an answer machine message left. I was listening to it when another call came in on the phone, from the same number.

It was a company in Wellingborough who had got my number and my first name. The conversation went something like this:
"Hello is that Phillip?"
"Phillip who?"
"Er..."
"If you know the person who owns this phone is called Phillip then presumably you know their surname?"
"Is that you Phillip?"
"I'd presume you know me as you speak as though you do, but as I haven't been called Phillip for 25 years, I have to presume you are trying to sell me something." Seemingly oblivious to my points, she continued.
"I represent [some company] and I'm ringing you about the PPI you may have paid on a former loan."
"Okay. Can I ask you a question? Are you calling me because you have evidence of me having bought PPI or is this just a cold call so that you can get hold of my details?"
silence.
"Well?"
silence.
"This is a cold call isn't it?"
click.

I get more and more of these calls. I wouldn't mind if I'd been fucking stupid enough to get PPI when I took loans out in the past, but I'm loath to spend anything extra on anything I don't think I need and PPI is the kind of thing I would avoid like the plague.

There is also this point that any 'proper' company that may have sold you PPI or some similar product is duty bound to inform you, if you feel you've paid it and shouldn't have. You don't need these fly-by-night company of cunts to take their own 50% cut of what might be rightfully yours.

What has pissed me off more than anything about this is it must have been O2 who have sold my details to someone because, much to the sometimes ridicule of the kids at school, I have an old phone and I use it to make phone calls and send text messages and as sad as this might seem, you can trace my use activity back a year and I have never used it for anything other than talking or texting friends - a select band of friends at that. So unless someone like Roger, Billy or the wife have been selling my details to opportunist companies...

Supermarket Shits

Friday was a mare of a day at work - it was windy and windy is actually worse than wet, cold or sunny; it seems to have a very wrong effect on the kids. I got home and the wife was already out with the dogs which meant that we had more time to go get the weekly shopping.

We have avoided Sainsbury's in Duston for months; the store is being rebuilt and the few times we have been there it has been a stressful affair and on the whole unsatisfying visits, because the store had been in such turmoil we ended up forgetting loads of stuff.

However, I read in the paper on Thursday that the store was having it's grand reopening on Wednesday 28th. Reopening seemed a bit steep a description as the place has steadfastly remained open despite the builders, idiot car park attendants and ongoing chaos. In fact, they have been going to great lengths to tell people that the store is still open and not to forsake it.

Friday evening in Shoesville. It's a fucking nightmare to get anywhere at the best of times, but the 5 miles between the Headlands and Duston was always going to be the stuff of madness; but we figured that it would be worth it to see the almost finished new superstore and hopefully get some of the things that Sainsbury's in Wellingborough doesn't stock. We set off at 4.40 and got to Duston at 5.10. I should be grateful that the journey only took half an hour, but our journey was to prove fruitless and futile. There was a man, who barely spoke English stopping people from going into the store. "It is closed now until Wednesday."

"But I've just driven across the town in rush hour to get here."

"It is closed now until Wednesday," he said either ignoring what I'd said or choosing to ignore it. So we had to continue driving through rush hour to get to Tesco Mereway as this was the closest store and we needed some food.

What has pissed me off the most about this has been a) the fact that Sainsbury's have been banging on for months about the store remaining open throughout the chaos, and b) there's a fucking great advert for the store and it says nothing about the shop closing Friday.

As you can imagine; there was an almighty pissed off email sent off to Sainsbury's about this.

The Impending Garden Wars?

Someone, somewhere (on the Internet), said to me on Friday morning, "Why are you so angry?" It's actually a fair question, the irony being that someone as foolish and foolhardy as I am can't suffer fools at all. It's why I've said I will probably die of an aneurysm or heart attack as a result of going apoplectic at something or someone. Friday lunchtime was a perfect example; standing in the street shouting at three adolescents on bikes; offering to 'ave em all' while standing there in a suit, by my front door. I got so angry I resorted to just telling them to fuck off...

So why am I so angry at times? Especially as most people think of me as being particularly mild mannered (or at least that's possibly my warped perception of what others think of me). I might be able to answer that, but frankly I can't be arsed. Instead I'm going to tell you about me doing my nut, again, this morning when the wife suggested we needed to spend some money on the garden next year.

"If Fishwife thinks I'm going to pay for the replacement of the fence panel in the duck run he's got another think coming."

"I wasn't talking about that side of the garden."

"Well, we need to think about it as the buddleia is the only thing keeping it up and I'm not paying for the fucking thing because it was his fault the poxy thing went rotten in the first place..." Rant rant rant rant.

"What about the other side?"

"I've been spoiling for an argument with that fat cunt for ages. I'm going to tell him that the fence needs replacing and that I'm not paying for it alone. He's got to pay half of it or I'm going to leave the fucking thing and he can put up with Marley eating the cat food they stick out for all the stray fucking cats that shit in our garden. The fuckwit needs to fucking understand that he doesn't own this street, especially the way he fucks with people with his parking antics." I then realised the wife had gone upstairs and was ignoring me. Can't say I blame her...

I am becoming a bitter and twisted version of Victor Meldrew and I need to chill out a bit.

But it doesn't escape the fact that Fuckwit isn't going to use his disability card with me on this one. I will put it to him very succinctly - we need to replace the fence and that means we not I. I will get it done, but he needs to contribute 50% of the cost or it won't get done. If he uses the lack of money argument I will point out to him that the wife and I can't afford to employ gardeners or car valets which he seems quite keen on having; so perhaps he should forsake his car being valeted for a month and pay for the fucking fence to be fixed. I might even remind him that as I have a lung condition, a fucked up arthritic back and an anger management issue he had better not remind me that he's on DLA because I might rip off one of his fucking legs and beat him around the head with the soggy stump. Then he will be fucking disabled ...

And breathe...


স্টাফ এবং নিরর্থ
  • Obviously Levitation has been played to death this week, but thanks to Al the Landlord at the Vic I also discovered the band called Other Lives. I downloaded their two albums on Wednesday; gave them a listen to over the last couple of days when I haven't been Levitating and found them to be so good I'm adding them to my Christmas wishlist. Oh and I'm listening to Astronautica at the moment by the wonderful Hidria Space Folk!
  • It's been a difficult week being a Spurs supporter, especially with my boss who supports the Arse and a Spurs manager who clearly wouldn't know an arse from an elbow if he was poked in the eye with either. And now the Saviour has gone to QPR...
  • Isn't condensation a bitch?
  • Can I just say that it's terrible that all the places in the country have been flooded; but you really need to understand that the government - any government - doesn't really give a shit, despite making sympathetic sounds and making idle promises about looking into improving flood defences. It costs too much money and no one has any money. I'd also like to point out to those of you who hadn't noticed, we were in drought conditions 8 months ago and everyone was panicking and claiming water would be rationed by August. The last three droughts we've had in this country have all had the same fears brought to the fore and within a couple of months the country has been under water. We get dry spells; we get very wet spells; the country has been like that for millennia.
  • My mate Will has been bemoaning how, as he's got older, he has developed intolerances to some foods - wheat and mushrooms to name but two things he has to avoid if he doesn't want to be ill. I've noticed over the last couple of years that my guts aren't big fans of mushrooms any longer, but my love for them has meant that I'll put up with some mild discomfort. Now it appears that the same can also be said about beer. Not only am I getting old, have had to stop taking drugs, smoking and exerting myself too much, I now have to stop eating and drinking the things I love the most. Getting old is a complete and utter cun

2 comments:

  1. Ah. my dear boy, you and Will are not alone. Almost everything I eat these days makes me swell like a World War Two Zeppelin and produce farts that should be outlawed under the Geneva Conventions. Certainly makes going to the pictures after Thai food a laff riot, I can tell you (as can the patrons of the Muswell Hill Odeon).

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  2. remind me to stand up wind of you next time we're out :)

    ReplyDelete