Happy Easter, everybody …
Now you may have begun to get the impression from previous posts, I’m not the most religious person around. However, I do respect beliefs and the reasons for celebrating this time of year. Easter – That’s the time we rejoice in the swapping of chocolate and force our kids to make silly crepe-paper hats. Right?
Somebody I know who is dear to me, is going to kill me for that picture but in my defence, it was me who spent all night gluing their fingers together, nearly twenty years ago today.
But back to the chocolate. I recall an incident from a couple of years ago when I bought a load of eggs at a local supermarket. The offer was that they were all half-priced. Great, I needed nine. It was only when I got to the checkout that the cashier said there was a maximum allowance of six per customer.
‘Where does it say that?’ I asked, dumfounded.
‘On the advertising board.’
They were right. On a 6×3 placard, hanging above me, it said, “This offer is limited to 6 per customer.” The thing was, these words of guidance were ten feet high in the air and in a smaller font than the one you’re currently reading.
Undeterred, I smiled at Mrs Unhelpful Jobsworth – Happy to Serve, and promptly separated my eggs into two piles of 5 and 4, dividing them with a next customer please, thingy.
Mrs Jobsworth looked at me, aghast. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m buying five.’ I then pointed behind. ‘And he’s having four.’
‘But … there’s nobody there.’
I looked at her – stern. ‘Don’t you ridicule my paranoia.’
And then she served me, unable to come back from that. I don’t know what troubled her more: the fact I’d challenged her concept of natural order or that I was wearing a t-shirt that spelled, “They don’t let me have sharp knives any more.”
Hah! Jobsworths. Mess with me and you’re messing with an expert.
What a load of rubbish.
Okay, I get it now. I know why my bins are not being emptied until late in the afternoon. The refuse collectors are all hiding and congregating in some kind of refuse collector bonding session.
And what’s more … My bin goes back outside my house and not, on its side in the middle of the road.
Pride comes before a fall.
Okay, I get it now, you girls; I see where you’re coming from. There really is nothing more surprising that lowering yourself onto the lavatory and finding some bastard has left the seat up, meaning you end up falling down the pan.
Optimising your potential.
I’m still getting to grips with this blog-site lark. It was fine on Myspace because everything was done for you but now, I apparently have to optimise my search engine potential. To do this, I need to use keywords and also have them as tags, so that they attract more visitors to my site. With this in mind … sex, masturbate, transsexuals, porn. How about that for starters? Be interesting to see if I get any more hits this week.
Nob of the week.
I reckon this has to be rugby ponce, Gavin Henson. Henson, had the incredibly stupid idea of flying on a plane, then while thousands of feet in the air, endangering everybody on board by having an ice-cube fight.
It’s not the first time he’s courted idiotic publicity and none more so than appearing on his own show, The Bachelor. In the programme, 25 women fought for the right to become Gavin’s girlfriend. Good to know relationships are made from solid foundations.
The Bachelor – The words, barrel, bottom and being scraped spring to mind
The winner, Carianne Barrow, told how they split after she realised Henson had no true feelings for her.
Jaw drops – NO!
With that sort of effect on women, it’s no wonder he has to resort to playing with ice cubes. He should have stuck with former wife, Charlotte Church. He and the Voice of an Angel, divorced a few years back and Henson’s life has gone to pot ever since. Perhaps next, he’ll turn to religion. Well, he did spend most of his married life inside a Church.
Footballers behaving badly.
Manchester City striker (and perennial nob-head), Mario Balotelli, is being quizzed by police after allegedly soaking some teenage girls at a nightclub. What a crime. Does he not realise there’s a hosepipe ban?
Quick Question.
Will somebody please tell me the point of Russell Brand?
Not such a technophobe, now!
I’ve had my Android phone for nearly a year and only just worked out how to alter the size of the font on my texts.
Yay! I’m a happy android and I can ditch those glasses I bought now.
The cold callers are giving up on me.
You may remember my tale of the cold caller who I kept on the phone for half an hour, ending when I put him on standby, listening to Queen. Well, word must have got around if the call I took the other day is anything to go by.
Ring.
I pick up, say hello, hear somebody ask if they’re speaking to Mr Britt – Blah-de-blah-de-blah! Let’s progress.
‘I am ringing about the wrong selling of a PPI,’ the foreign-sounding caller said in an almost unrecognisable accent.
‘Okay,’ I replied, preparing to string him along.
However, the cold caller took me by surprise. ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you,’ he said. ‘A nice day to you.’ And then he hung up.
??? I didn’t even get a chance to say I wasn’t interested.
Word really has got out. Either that, or they can sense the word piss-taker, just by the tone of my voice.
And the conversation of the week.
I overheard this one when I was eating out, having breakfast the other day.
Girl smiles across the table to boy. ‘Would you still love me if I was fat?’
Boy smiles. ‘Of course I would.’ Face drops, horror spreads across his cheeks. ‘You’re not going to get fat, are you?’
Classic.
Happy Easter Sunday Roast to you all.
Hope you’re all having a good day. I’m off to discover the true meaning of Easter and tuck into a chocolate egg. Mine’s a Crunchie.
Cheers.
Nick
Antony N Britt - Author 