Egg of the Day: Fayre to Middling
Unaccustomed as I am to raising my meagre head above the parapet and bleating about those things which annoy me en peut, I thought that I would venture forth. One's spleen needs venting ....
Stephen Griffiths: Most of you will be quite unaware to whom I refer. This isn't some bruv of mine but a man almost certainly going to be convicted of some vile murders. However, this fruit-loop is messing with our minds at the same time. When asked his name in court, he declared himself to be the 'Crossbow Cannibal'. Now, we can take several possibilities before us here: either he himself is a naturalised ex-pat crossbow who likes the flavour of his compatriot crossbows. Alternatively, he is a bow canibal who hasn't yet decided how best to dress for a party. Further still, he could be a bow eating bow who is a tad miffed at something. Either way, he seeks notoriety - he wants some attention (as if mutilating and disembowling the daughters of other humans isn't enough). 'Stephen' isn't enough - the boy wants us all to call him the 'Crossbow Cannibal', for he is a pretender to the Crown of none less that The Yorkshire Ripper. So, world - defeat his attempt at fame and never again refer to him as ........ . Let us simly pray that right justice will be done and that in the end, he repents and rehabilitates (somehow).
Politics: The slurry is flying already, and we are only days in. Good grief.
Family Life: This week is, I believe, the Week of the Family, or something akin to that. 'I ain't getting marrid cos marridge dunt work' - no, the relationships that form the marriages in question have failed - so don't be dissing marriage. Is it me, or is Sunday Trading the key to the demise of the Family? Once upon a time, a Sunday was a time when the shops were shut (exc. B&Q) and families gathered, eat together, perhaps yelled and screamed, but had nowhere else to go at 1.30 on a Sunday, so worked through it. Some of us learned to ride our bikes on the empty supermarket car-parks in the afternoons, with our siblings. As a former Sunday worker (I can hear the cacophany of comments even now) - as a retailer, I wondered if the folks in my shop on that Sunday would permanently overlook the purchase of their 80/20 10 Gauge if I wasn't there, or simply come back when I was open for business next. I can buy milk on a Saturday, so Morrisons can close on a Sunday, thank you. Family life is killed by lack of quality time, and a once good 'family day' was suffocated by the money lust of the corporations. Retailers don't get Bank Holidays off either, so if you have kids and work in a shop, you is knackered mate. Heck, let's all boycott shops on Sundays and do something radical and risky - let's spend some time at home (and maybe even sit in the same room for a bit of that time).
Kids on Reality TV shows - I watched a young teenager being crushed by the weight of defeat in front of millions tonight. She was an ok singer, but in truth, her God given gifts may well lie elsewhere for her. 'Boo Simon Cowell' they all went - no, mate: stop exposing kids to that expectation and pressure. Lord Cowell of the High Belt was right, and is only doing what he is paid to do. She needn' have been there. Remember that sprog last year? You know the one, the kids who forgot her lines and sobbed, and then got another crack at it - she was bloody 8! Her mother should have been read the riot act for exposing the wee scrap to that. The singing was horrid, and she shouldn't have been there in the first place. Leave kids to be kids, you horrid pushy parents - stop using your progeny as your pension. Bah.....
Well, that is another Bank Holiday done for us Brits. I had a good say at a Spring Fayre, and now I slink off to seek rest. I will be awakened in less than six hours, and any sane cleric would have have been asleep hours ago.
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