No nuts

This little machine does a good job of keeping me off the internet by being unbelievably slow. Windows’ days are definitely numbered on this one.

Anyway. A little while back, a man was banned from Ryanair for two years for showing his nuts. Peanuts. If mine were the size of peanuts I wouldn’t show them to anyone, but he whipped out his nuts on the plane and a girl went into shock.

Now, nut allergy is a serious matter. It can kill people. It is dangerous. It’s not the same as being a bit miffed about tobacco smoke. It is not jus a bit irritating. It really can cause death

However, most people don’t have it. And most of thoswemost-people will find it very hard to believe that even opening a bag of nuts six rows away from nut prey would do any harm. When they allowed smoking on planes it wouldn’t have but let’s not upset the drones with the problems they created.

Now there is a story of the airlines starting to fight back against the tide of ‘I don’t like it so nobody can have it.’ They have picked the wrong target but then they have to start somewhere. They have declared that they are not a nut-free airline and do not carry nut prey.

Yet they are still smoke-free. They will not accomodate those who can genuinely be killed by exposure to a thing, while insisting that those in no danger at all must have their paranoia pandered to.

Nuit allergy is serious but you cannot expect the world to accomodate you, not when it is far too busy accommodating every single issue nutcase who is offended by a smell. The real stuff gets shoved aside and it’s hard to care because mostly, those suffering now are those who started it all.

Many years ago, Marty Feldman showed these people for what they really are.

 

The Underdog has Landed.

I am safely in Wales, courtesy of a pretty fast little Fokker. The plane was a Fokker 50, a little one, and not even half full.

It’s late, there is Bushmills (not my ideal but it’s okay, I will remedy this situation tomorrow) Anyway I always supply the whisky when visiting. That’s only fair because I drink most of it.

One thing I have to do when I get back is buy some leaves. Couldn’t buy before in case they arrived after I left and ended up going bad in the back of a van. Besides, I didn’t fancy explaining a load of leaf to airport security.

As it was, the security has changed. All this stuff about confiscating uncharged gadgetry – I had my usual bag of gadgets and nobody asked me turn any of them on. Where they used to confiscate tweezers, the signs now say they will take any blade over 6 cm from you.

I also noticed that the card they give you when they ask ‘are any of these things in your luggage?’ includes… petrol driven chainsaws. Damn! I knew I’d forgotten to pack something!

Anyway, there will be a leaf order going in on my return. I have a supply of Man with a Van’s Amber Leaf rolling baccy but might have to resort to buying tubing baccy at shop prices. What the hell, I’m on holiday, I’ll cope for a few days.

Which supplier should I use? The one I’ve always used.

See if you can guess which one.

Oh and I’ll need to buy a cheapo keyboard to plug into this little Acer. I can type on it but not very fast. The keyboard is too small. If I get used to it then I won’t be able to continue on the full size keybaord when I get back. A cheapo USB keyboard will do and it’s always handy to have a spare anyway.

Right, offline for a while… the future won’t write itself, you know.

Holiday time.

Off for two weeks. The little Acer seems to be working now, albeit at a snail’s pace, and will do for typing. I can access this blog and most email accounts with it, that’s good enough. As long as I can get an internet connection. Farcebok can wait. I might try to get in while away but don’t really care if I can’t.

When I get back and later, when the new battery arrives, I will try to upgrade this old toy to Linux and see if I can make it actually useful. For trips away, it’s so much lighter than the laptop.

And I have to get a new desktop computer. The rattling fans in the old ones are driving me nuts, and I have not yet fixed the broken one. Fortunately these don’t look expensive, especially as I already have DVD-RW drives etc.so don’t need new ones.

But that is after-holiday stuff. I have the part-written Panoptica stored to take away and have a better idea of where it should go now, and why the idiot drone does what he does. There are fewer blocks than there were.

Two weeks. Can I finish it? I’m going to give it a go.

If I am off the internet it’ll go faster.

 

I bet he would have smoked too, if he’d known about it.

It’s getting very difficult to find a Daily Mail story to poke fun at. There are so many every day now. It’s not a case of finding the silly story. It’s more a case of being spoilt for choice. I’d need a team the size of the Daily Mail staff to rip every one of the daft babblings to bits.

Tonight I selected the utter rubbish that King Richard III drank three litres of alcohol a day.

The whisky, my preferred tipple, comes in at around 40% alcohol in the good stuff. I can get through most of a bottle in an evening but at my pay rate I try to make a bottle last two nights at least, especially since I won’t drink the own-brand ones. Even if I did manage to dispose of an entire bottle (probably have at Smoky-Drinky, where there are no measures and nobody’s counting) that would be an alcohol intake of 40% of 0.7 litres. Oh heck, let’s say it was a litre bottle for the sake of easy sums. If I drank a whole litre bottle I would have taken in 400ml of alcohol. It probably wouldn’t kill me but I would be unable to function for most of the following day. I’d be a wreck.

Three litres of actual alcohol is equivalent to 7.5 litres of whisky. Ten and a half standard 70 cl bottles. That would kill the most determined alcoholic in about an hour and King Richard III is supposed to have managed that every day. No wonder his spine melted. It must have bent under the weight of his liver.

It’s total hype, of course. Like everyone in the 1400s, the King would have never touched water. Water treatment plants, sand-bed filters and chlorination were a long way in the future. Pretty much everyone drank ‘small beer’, a very low-alcohol beer that was much safer to drink than water. Three litres of that stuff in a day wouldn’t even get you tipsy. Especially since everyone was used to it.

What made the beer safer than raw water was the boiling at the start of the beer making process. Now, in King Richard III’s time nobody knew about bacteria. They didn’t know that all they really had to do was boil the water and let it cool. Although really they’d need to Tyndallise it – but I’m getting unnecessarily technical.

The point is, they didn’t really need to make beer with it but they didn’t know that. Or maybe they did but thought ‘Well, once it’s boiling, it’s already on the way to being beer so… Ah, I’ve started so I’ll finish’.

No, the three litres is a total-volume-of-liquid figure. He could not have imbibed three litres of actual alcohol a day and stayed on a horse. He’d have been pulled over by the Flashing Blue Knight and had his horse licence revoked. Heck, every time he exhaled, the horse would have forgotten how to synchronise four legs, and his breath would have corroded his armour.

He was King so there were banquets with wine. Lots of wine. Possibly quite often, in between battle times. As King he was allowed to eat swan. Mrs. Queen is still allowed to do so, even now, but I don’t know if she ever has. All swans in the UK belong to the reigning monarch. Nobody else can eat them – and I’d never try. Catching one of those vicious sods is not on my to-do list. I’ll stick with fish and rabbits.

I was surprised to find quite a few commenters pointing out the ‘beer was safer than water back then’ thing. The dumbing down of history hasn’t been as extensive as I thought. Good.

So anyway, he would have downed three litres of fluid a day on average, more in summer and less in winter. He would not have touched raw water other than the Royal once-a-year bath whether he needed it or not. Every drop of liquid he – and pretty much everyone else – drank had been fermented but the bulk of it had not been fermented very far. It had been boiled during the process so it was safe to drink.

I don’t think small beer had hops in it. They didn’t want it all bitter. Unlike the bottle of Dead Pony Club (had to get some after reading this) I had earlier. Oho, it’s the kind of beer that could cause a hop shortage! Very nice indeed. Reminded me of the old days when not all beers were the same.

Sometimes King Dick (I used to have a large spanner with his name on it) would have had wine. Probably not all that much, really, since small beer does not prepare you for the hard stuff. It’s not likely he would have had wine every day, just at banquets. Unlike modern politicians, he was required to actually act as the head of a country and not be a totally feeble dick almost all the time. So I suspect he was rarely drunk and never drunk in battle or on a hunt. He drank small beer because if he drank the water he would have overwhelmed the rudimentary sewage system of the time.

The Mail story tells us less about the past and more of this modern, post-scientific age where drinking that canned shandy that children are allowed to have (are they still? about 0.1% alcohol or less. Less than they get in cough medicine). counts as ‘drinking alcohol’. The degree of dilution doesn’t matter. Shandy is the same as whisky in the Puritan’s eyes. It’s all alcohol.

Might as well drink absinthe. When you’re going to get castigated for drinking any alcohol at all, you might as well go straight to the top.

 

 

Darkness falls.

Today was the first day of real summer since I finished work last Sunday so I was out in the garden trimming my bush. I do think it’s just common courtesy to keep your bush well trimmed. Nobody likes an overgrown bush. I mean, for the sake of the neighbours, I have to keep my bush under control. They don’t like to see it poking out all over the place

I think the pile of branches ended up bigger than what was left of the bush (why, what did you think I was talking about?) but this swine never fails to grow back. I could give it a haircut to ground level and it would come back from there. It had overgrown the eating-apple tree and if it does it again, its days are numbered.

The cooking-apple tree lost a few during the rotten weather and so I made an apple and gooseberry crumble. Very nice it was too. For the crumble (this was just a little one)  – 4 oz plain flour, 2 oz sugar and 2 oz butter. The 2-1-1 ratio works in any measurement system. Rub it all together into a crumble, add some extra sugar over the fruit, cook 200C for about 30 mins until the top turns golden brown and then add copious amounts of custard.

This does not work with fake butter. You have to get the real thing.

There are blueberries almost ready, the eating apples are edible but still a bit tart, the plum tree has produced well although not the excessive quantities of last year and one carrot grew. Apparently slugs also like the tops of carrots. Swines.

Tobacco plants are doing well too. Unfortunately this is coming just as I prepare to visit the home planet (Wales) for a recharge. Those plants have to take their chances. I can always just buy leaf – but can’t order it now since there’ll be nobody here to look after it for a while. There is someone to keep the plants watered but they can’t do anything about the weather. I might lose a year of seed-acclimatisation this year. That does assume the weather forecast is accurate, of course. Might not be any problem at all.

Also, I see Cardiff is preparing for my arrival. Dammit. I have to get to Glasgow to fly to Cardiff and I carefully timed it to avoid the Commonwealth Games. I did not expect to have my plans screwed up by Barry O’Blimey’s dinner!

I don’t know how much internet access I’ll get while away. Could be two weeks of silence or a constant stream of drunken babble or anything in between. When I get back I hope to have news of the totalitarian shithole Wales is turning into and quite possibly, some new ideas for Panoptica.

The trip starts Monday. There is one more day to pack up everything I’ll need (not much) and deal with the final few things I have to have ready on my return. There will be a babble tomorrow night but it might be short.

I have that holiday feeling…

Beware the Botty Bugs.

Salmonella is a very unpleasant infection but not usually fatal. Even the Mail has to admit that the three deaths linked to this current wave of wet poo washing over the cities of England weren’t directly attributed to the nasty little gut-emptier.

If you catch this one, you probably won’t die but you’ll spend a week wanting to. You’ll feel as though Dyno-Rod have been letting their apprentices practise on you.

It’s not hard to track its source because it tends to start throwing out your neatly stored gut contents and redecorating within about six hours of moving in. So what and where did you eat in the last six hours or so? When you have thirty people suffering the double deluge at the same time, it’s fairly easy to find the common factor.

Which they have. Several common factors. Two restaurants and a hospital, so far. Since these cases all came up (sorry) at once, what they’ll be looking for next is a common supplier for all those outlets (ahem).

It hasn’t ‘spread’ at all. The cases are from a batch of food, most likely chicken and most likely imported since most big UK producers vaccinate their birds against Salmonella and check the vaccine has worked. The one to watch out for in chicken is Campylobacter – it gets into the meat, not just on the surface. It’s far nastier than Salmonella but fortunately both are killed by cooking. As long as every part of the meat, right through, gets above 80C, it’s fine. Note that freezing is never a reliable way to kill bacteria, and freeze-drying is in fact one of the best ways to store them long term. Heat will kill them, cold inconveniences them.

The bigger risk with these beasties (Salmonella especially since it’s mostly surface contamination) is handling the raw meat and then handling salad. Get the bugs on the salad and there’ll be no heat treatment. Nobody is going to buy boiled lettuce.

When you have a central distribution system with a supplier sending stock all over the place, this is going to happen from time to time. Sure, food gets tested in microbiology labs but here’s the thing – it can take four days to declare a sample clean, and if it has Salmonella in it, it can still take two days to find it. That’s why you see product recalls. By the time the lab results come back, the shipment has gone out.

Also, the lab will be sent a chicken (or anything else) from a huge batch and will test 25g of that sample. It is quite possible that there are no Salmonella in the test sample but plenty on the rest of the batch! Add to that, Salmonella grows. If there is a refrigeration problem it will grow faster. So a sample which tested clean might only have a little contamination, but that little contamination can grow into an army of gut-hating rabid little sausages. Salmonella is pretty feeble in low numbers. It has to arrive in the thousands at one time or the resident bacteria in the gut kick its ass.

The report is an overhyped scare story. This is Salmonella, not Ebola. It’s going to make you into a double-ended fountain of foulness for about a week. It is not going to dissolve you from the inside. Most people need no treatment at all, just keep getting loads of fluids to replace the stuff coming out. Oh, and apples. Eat apples. They won’t make you completely Salmonella-proof but you’ll have to get a far bigger dose than someone who thinks apples are what grannies and old farts eat. Not too many apples mind, too many of those can give you the squits too. At least with apples, it only comes out of one end.

One thing worth knowing if there is a Salmonella problem in your area is that a very good way to keep them viable long-term is to mix them with dessicated coconut. So avoid things made with dessicated coconut when Salmonella is on the prowl.

Well, this is an early posting because it’s Smoky-Drinky night and I’m off out. Co-op has the Singleton of Dufftown on special offer at £23, and I was paid today, so the outcome is inevitable. Besides, I haven’t been to Smoky-Drinky in a while so it calls for something a bit better than the usual stuff.

One last note on Salmonella. They aren’t green and they don’t have legs. They are sausage-shaped though.

Oh, and they have never, ever been found in whisky. Right, I’m off before the Co-Op runs out of cheap single malt.

 

 

The Salt War warms up.

Finally, the cloud cover broke here. Too late for the supermoon and the Perseids but maybe, just maybe, it won’t rain tomorrow. The grass is at the stage where tigers can hide in it now. I have to cut it before the tigers realise that. A well-trimmed lawn is an effective tiger deterrent, although it doesn’t work on bears. Fortunately there aren’t many bears around here.

Here’s tonight’s moon. It was still there, behind all the clouds.

moon140814These days, as everyone knows, it’s just a big dead rock. Once it was teeming with life and civilisation, with green valleys and azure oceans. A population of little hairy people lived there in perfect peace and harmony, digging away in their cheese mines. What happened, you ask?

See all that white stuff over the surface? It’s salt. The little hairy people loved salt so much that they used to come down to Earth to suck it out of the sea. There is much less salt in Earth’s seas than there used to be, which is why people can no longer walk on water.

But the little hairy people overdid it. The masses of salt they imported dried out the oceans and killed all the plant life. And so the little hairy people are no more (apart from a few colonies hidden in sink estates on Earth, always very close to fish and chip shops). Salt, the great destroyer of life, killed their entire planet.

What a load of cobblers. Yet I am certain I can get a few drones to believe that rubbish. Looking at the comments on the latest salty news article, it seems that medics are seeing quite a few cases of salt deprivation lately. I especially liked this one:

rebel chick, booger county, u.s.a., 2 hours ago
When we admit a patient with hyponatremia (critical low salt) the dietician puts them on their one size low salt diet. The Dr puts them on a sodium drip.

Even when people are dying from lack of salt, the dietician still insists on a low salt diet. Fortunately it seems the doctor has more sense.

In the West, where salt is probably the cheapest food item in the shops, people are turning up at hospitals suffering from critical low sodium. There’s no salt shortage. It can only be because these drones have cut, as far as possible, all salt from their diet. Then there is the dietician who, faced with a patient dying from lack of salt, still believes salt will be bad for them.

So yes, I am certain that I can get a few drones believing in the little hairy moon people. They have believed far more outrageous nonsense than that. Here’s an example of a scared-of-salt drone, destined for a spell in the emergency room with a low-salt diet and a saline drip:

Michael of NJ, Princeton, United States, 1 hour ago
Seems like an absurd, contradictory study. No need to limit your salt but the spice leads to 1.7 million deaths per year. Anything you drop on your driveway to melt ice probably should be used with caution.

Anything that grows in dirt should never be eaten, neither should anything that produces faeces nor anything that is just a rock, like minerals. There you go, the perfect diet. You’ll lose weight fast and will continue to lose it even after you die. I guarantee you will be a very svelte spectre.

The article itself is a bit of a turnaround. A very large study – 100,000 people in 17 countries – concluded that the ‘no safe level of salt’ mantra of the Health Righteous is utter crap.

Meanwhile another study, done with no experimentation by the Salties who read a lot of studies they agreed with, concluded that anyone who dies of a heart attack was killed by salt. Guess which one gets attacked, and which one is lauded as credible by those who insist they have the right to control our lives?

Nonetheless, this ‘salt isn’t all that bad, you know’ story is something new. The MSM have begun to allow dissenting voices to be heard. They include the opposing view that ‘salt is bad, m’kay?’ but the MSM never included our opposing view when the story was all in the hands of the Righteous. Things are changing.

The cracks are getting wider.

 

Is it really the religion?

Most Muslims don’t want to die. That’s why they have so many doctors.

Most Christians, Hindus, and most of those of every other religion don’t want to die either.

In all religions there is a paradox. If the life after death is so wonderful while this life is complete garbage, why aren’t they all jumping off cliffs and tall buildings or supergluing themselves to the buffers in shunting yards?

Why is there such wailing and misery at funerals? They should all be like those New Orleans jazz funerals. Religious funerals should be less of the doom-laden ‘We are dust, and to dust we shall return’ and more of the ‘Yay! He made it to the good place!’

They aren’t though, on the whole. Because most people, religious or not, don’t want to die. They don’t want their friends or family to die either.

The mad ones do want to die. Those idiots who run to sign up with ISIS are doing so because they think that death at the hands of the Infidel will guarantee them 72 virgins and a bottle of flat stale beer (He doesn’t have to give them the good stuff, they aren’t supposed to have tried any before). It does not say whether the 72 virgins are male or female. Could be 72 fat geeks, pallid from an eternity in their parents’ basements playing World of Warcraft. Oh wait – World of Jihadcraft.

Maybe it’s the same 72 virgins each time but they all look like Bella Emberg’s ugly sister so no Semtex-shredded Jihadi ever touches them. Or perhaps they are 72 stunningly beautiful women but still the same 72 each time because everyone who gets to meet them does so in instalments. When the vest blows, I wonder which part arrives in Heaven first? I bet Heaven’s janitor has a hard time of it. Boom. Then the tannoy. ‘Clean up at the gates again.’

Anyway. They really do want to die. But this is not something unique to the lunatic fringe of Islam.

Some religions believe in reincarnation. The ancient Celtic and related peoples believed so absolutely in reincarnation that they would loan money to each other and agree that the loan would be repaid in the next life. I wish I knew a Celtic bank manager. So they didn’t care about death. It was just an inconvenience.

They also believed absolutely in predestination. This made them fearsome foes. No point in weighing themseves down with a lot of armour. If today was your day to die, or lose an arm, or get a bruise, no amount of armour would stop it happening. If today was not your day to die etc, then there was no need of armour. They fought battles knowing that whatever happened to them was predestined to happen anyway so there was no need to hold back.

But I don’t think the ancient Celts wanted to die. They accepted the inevitability of it but they did not deliberately seek it. They would never have been seen dead in a Semtex vest.

What makes people want to die? Well, I nicked the following from Farcebok (a friend-link from one of my other incarnations). It’s a snippet from a book called ‘The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire’ which I once tried to read but the start, at least, is so damn dry. Seems it livens up later. I’ll try it again. Here’s the clip -

“…the fervour of the first Christians, who, according to the lively expression of Sulpicius Severus, desired martyrdom with more eagerness than his own contemporaries solicited a bishopric.” Apparently not an exaggeration (at least from the Roman Empire perspective, which absolutely could not fathom the motives behind such zeal and fanaticism) because it went on with references to some thrown into the amphitheater and promptly irritating the lions to ravage them; cheerfully jumping into the fire (kindled for their execution) and actually seemed to enjoy the sensation of being burned alive; some coming forward to the magistrates and voluntarily accusing themselves, ect. The educated philosophers, themselves were baffled as to the Christian motive and were left to conclude: “…such an eagerness to die as the strange result of obstinate despair, of stupid insensibility, or of superstitious frenzy. ‘Unhappy men!’ exclaimed the proconsul Antonius to the Christians of Asia, ‘unhappy men! If you are thus weary of your lives, is it so difficult for you to find ropes and precipices?'”

Those early Christians were not Celts (as I recall, of Northern Germanic origin) nor were they British or Viking or Maori nor any of the other fighting peoples of the world. They were Christians but they, and their religion, originated in the Middle East. They wanted out of their lives and into the Heaven beyond.

It’s not the religion. It’s the people.

Converts to a new religion – whatever it is – tend to be ultra-zealous about it all. They take it all literally, whereas those brought up within a religion have mostly learned the value of interpretation. Still, even Christianity occasionally throws up a Westboro Baptist Church from time to time. Even out there on the fringe, the Westboro loons don’t want to die. Their founder died recently and I’m betting his reward, if there is one, is more like 72 red hot pokers. Something those ISIS loonies should consider – after all that dismemberment, beheading, crucifixtion, live burials and all of innocent and defenceless people, do they really believe they will go to Heaven for doing all that? Really? Which god are they really worshipping, if he rewards that sort of thing? Think, people. Stroke your beards if it will help. He’s not called the Great Deceiver for nothing, you know.

Christianity does not approve of homosexuality. It says so several times in the Bible but it does not say in there that gay people should have walls pushed over on them, or be thrown from cliffs or hanged from a crane. It’s more of a ‘Gonnae no’ dae that?’ rather than ‘See you pal, you’re gettin’ it, so y’are‘. There is a big difference between ‘ I disapprove of the way you live’ and ‘The way you live is wrong, you must die’ (medics take note).

The Quran does not mention hanging gay people from a crane because the mechanical cranes had not been invented back then. ‘Hang them from a wading bird’ would just have confused everyone.

Religions in general do not approve of homosexuality because organised religion depends on an ever increasing congregation… but that’s a different argument entirely.

The Westboros do not just disapprove of homosexuality. They actively wave banners and shout obscenities at the funerals of soldiers (who were almost all not gay) because they believe that defending the country they live in is tantamount to encouraging blokes everywhere to go in through the out door.

Most Christians do not do this. They disapprove because their religion tells them it is wrong but they nag individual gay people or tell them they will spend eternity having things shoved up their bums (like that’s a deterrent!) or other frivolous things I could think up. I’m on the Ledaig tonight, incidentally. Lightly smoky and pale in colour and at a far better price in Morrison’s than in any other shop in town.

The point is that Christianity does not call for the death of anyone who does not agree with them. It used to, in the Old Testament, but Jesus showed up the New Testament, gatecrashed a wedding, boosted the booze supply and generally gave out a message of ‘Hey, just chill, guys. Stop killing people, yeah?’ then he stuck flowers on the end of all the Roman Soldiers’ little swords. Didn’t help. They killed him anyway.

Christians nowadays mostly don’t want to die. Most of them don’t want to kill anyone else either. Sure, they disagree with a lot of people (including me) on many things and they can get quite vociferous about it but I’ve never had a death threat from a Christian. No matter how far I take my inherent blasphemic nature. They have never threatened to kill whole groups of people just because they think their lifestyles are wrong. Take note, medical profession.

Islam still has that ‘kill them all’ instruction but most Muslims don’t do that. Most just live their lives and prefer to try for conversion rather than extermination, or just ignore the rest of us entirely. For the lunatic fringe, they believe that death at the hands of their perceived enemy is the only true way into Heaven. It is what they crave.

In that clip from ‘Decline and Fall’, the Romans cannot fathom why those who want to die don’t just kill themselves.

It’s because suicide is forbidden in religion. If you want the fast-track to Heaven you have to be killed by the enemies of your God. There is no other way. If you kill yourself then you go to Hell and its eternal dole queue where you are always late to sign on.

The Westboros do not try for this. They don’t want to be buggered to death even though, according to their beliefs, that would get them a soft, chilled seat at God’s right hand. They want to taunt and hurt people but they do not want to die at their perceived enemy’s hands.

The ISIS and their ilk want exactly that. They don’t want to live. They want to provoke their perceived enemy (who had never heard of them until they started their indiscriminate massacre) into killing them.

Both are at the extremes of their religions but the Westboros are American while ISIS are from the Middle East. As were those first Christians.

The death wish isn’t in the religion. It’s in the people. A whole people just looking for a good reason to die.

That’s really quite a sad thing to consider, isn’t it?

People really do this.

Many strange things happened in Local Shop. There was the regular occurrence of nappies in the waste paper bins in the disabled toilet/baby changing room, for one thing. A proper nappy bin was provided but they didn’t all notice that huge yellow thing with ‘Beware – Infant stench within’ written on it. I never had to empty that bin. Operatives in HazMat suits and very big pegs on their noses dealt with it.

I never knew, when people locked themselves in the baby changing room, what they changed their babies into. Experience suggests they changed them into some bizarre mix of enraged seagull, crack-addicted wolverine and banshee. Why they would do that is beyond me, but that seems to be what most of them ended up with.

There were odder nappy instances. Now and again they would turn up in the ladies’ toilet bin and once in the gents. Not entirely inexplicable, there was only one of each toilet so the parent holding a wriggling, screaming bundle of stench would sometimes have to make do with whatever they could get.

There was one that surpassed all others though.

One day, there was a commotion in the little cafe. The staff had discovered a nappy – not just used but very thoroughly used and then some – beside one of the recently vacated tables. Someone had disposed of a child’s arse-bag and (presumably) fitted a new one while at the table. Then dropped the full one on the floor. Full disinfection mode was engaged.

How can someone change a fully-charged improvised bottyweapon at a table people are using to eat their food at? What goes through those people’s heads? Probably anything at all, there’s little resistance in there.

Yet the Local Shop shit-donor managed to sneak out undetected. He, she or it at least had the decency to realise that what they did could be described, at best, as unhygienic and at worst by using words that would get any blog closed down forever.

In America they do things differently.

Covering an eatery’s table with baby-shit and then getting thrown out for being utterly disgusting and for putting the intestines of subsequent diners at risk of rapid evacuation at both ends is grounds for a complaint to the Better Business Bureau over there.

At least our Local Shop shit-bomber had the decency to keep quiet about it.

So far.

The ‘I am right no matter what the law says’ attitude is becoming ingrained. The dimmer the drone, the more they believe the world revolves around them. This starts in schools with the ‘none are failures, not even the failures’ attitude. It is not true. Some people in every generation are just totally useless. Not many, but there are always some.

Telling them they are perfectly okay is not helping them, nor anyone else. We really must go back to the days where such people were kindly but firmly told ‘you are a dolt, learn to live with it’.

And can we please stop letting the dolts take up politics?