A random series of disconnected thoughts…

I am exhausted. The job was supposed to be part time. Just to cover the regular monthly bills and let me concentrate on writing. I haven’t even kept up with writing responses to emails (for which, apologies are due).

We are short staffed to the point where there is only me and Mopman left. Each of us lives in constant terror that the other will find another job first. Then there are the audits – the auditors are of the vindictive idiot variety who love to ‘fail’ things by finding hidden ledges nobody knows about and claiming they have not been cleaned. I have searched out every hidden ledge and informed Mopman of their locations. The auditors are in for a hard time. We are cleaning the ones they haven’t used in their mock ‘fail’ assessments yet.

So, three shifts in two days. That is not part time. I must move, but what shall I do next? To paraphrase Elvis Costello, I don’t want to go to Tesco (there is a song corruption floating around in here). In fact, I am thinking of looking for another job I have never tried before. Might as well have a go at everything before I die.

But enough moaning.

On the radio there is often mention of something called ‘Cash for Kids’ which is somehow connected with the Commonwealth smokefree games. I have no interest in the running jumping bouncy people, watching them gives me motion sickness, and since it is nonsmoking within a hundred miles of said bouncy people, I will not be going. I’ll be going to Wales instead, some time in August. I have not yet renewed my passport, no hurry, there is a backlog due to the plethora of applications from names composed almost entirely of the letters C and Z. Anyway I will be back before the referendum so even if Oily Al, history’s Bletherfart, manages to win independence I’ll be back before I need the passport to get in.

That ‘Cash for Kids’ interested me. Local Shop is infested with them. I wonder how much you get for each one? Do they do it by weight? Is it worth catching fat ones? They don’t move as fast. Then again, Local Shop likes the fat ones. They make thousands per month on sweet sales and I suspect they get a kickback from the local dentist.

In light of the previous post and the current paedomania, calling any kind of appeal ‘Cash for Kids’ has to be the decision of either a total moron or a committee. Those kids who were ‘adopted’, never to be seen by their parents again – where did they go and who paid for them? Very dark thoughts indeed develop from that line of thinking. The sort of darkness you’d get during a Cyril Smith solar eclipse. It makes a change from ‘do you want to see some puppies’, which was the catchphrase of the pervs in the old days. ‘Do you want to see a solar eclipse, small boy?’

I had That Writer Conversation this weekend. The whole work thing was a blur so I don’t remember exactly when, but it was over the weekend. It’s the one seasoned writers warn us wannabes about. They’ve all had it.

‘I hear you write books. Have I read any of them?’

‘I’ll tell you, if you tell me how many things I bought from the shelves you stacked today’ (thinks) ‘fucking idiot’.

Maybe it means I have arrived at writerdom. More likely it means that most people are idiots. Yes, that’s more likely.

In the evenings, outside Local Shop and elsewhere, the young drones gather. They park their cars stupidly close together and play their mad sound systems at full volume resulting in a blare of white noise because they are all playing different tunes. I have considered getting a car done up with the huge sound system, sidling up to their gathering, and turning mine on. But what should it be playing? I am torn between many choices. Rossini’s ‘Barber of Seville’. The ever-irritating ‘A Walk in the Black Forest’. Good old Terry Wogan’s ‘The Floral Dance’ or maybe that horror set to music, the ‘Birdie Song’. None of them are as terrible as the crap the young play anyway. They play stuff that sounds like a lot of amateur DIY enthusiasts nailing a chair to a bouncy castle and occasionally hitting their thumbs.

Boing boing boing boing boing boing ow.

One of the younger store staff thinks that the next stage in human evolution is imminent. Personally I was looking forward to the next mass extinction. He thinks we will evolve to cope with the vast amount of information blasted at us by the internet. One look at the next generation gathered outside in closely stacked cars playing music that would make a Neanderthal wince suggests that the next step in human evolution will be to assimilate no information at all.

They don’t think any more. They have phones instead of brains. Everything they believe to be true is gleaned from that randomly compiled source, Wikipedia. This is their hotline to God. They question nothing, they analyse nothing, they just believe. Not in any God, oh no, they consider religion to be just silly while carrying around a shrine and a prayer mat in the shape of a phone. Anything the shrine says is Gospel. Unquestionable. Unless it disagrees with what they already consider reality.

Reality, for the drones, is now what their personal prejudices say it is. Even though nobody has ever died or been made ill by second hand smoke, they are convinced they will die of it. Convince them harder, we could do with being rid of these cretins. The world would be a far happier place with the miserable git gene removed.

Well, that’s enough babbling. I have a few days of easy shifts coming up so I have time to recover and get some of this writing sorted out. It also gives me time to consider where to go from janitor land. Somewhere that isn’t understaffed…


21 thoughts on “A random series of disconnected thoughts…

  1. To really send them all screaming into the night, you should play ‘Jake the Peg’ by some totally unknown non-person, and that one about Gilly Gilly Osenpheffer- Katzenellenbogen by the sea.
    Val Doonican?
    Go on! You know you want to : )


    • Max Bygraves, I think, did Gilly-gilly….and “I’m a blue toothbrush, you’re a pink toothbrush” – oh – not to leave out the classic “I saw a mouse”


    • I recall a tale of an American shopping mall where the shopkeepers were suffering under a plague of teenagers. Said plague didn’t buy very much, but did shoplift quite a lot and were an intimidating bunch to boot, hence actual adult trade with money to buy stuff was dropping right off.

      So a Lovecraftian sonic weapon was deployed. Codename “OLD BLUE EYES”, AKA a mobius loop of every song Frank Sinatra ever recorded, played over and over and over. Most of the shopkeepers could tolerate it; some even rather liked it.

      The effect on teenagers was rather like that of dropping caustic soda onto slugs.

      An hour shifted the problem down the road to the rival mall, and a few days kept the problem down there. Yes, the teens did still come in, but just to shop. It was IN, SHOP, OUT and no hanging about, malicious lingering or anything nefarious at all.

      A similar effect can be obtained using BBC Radio Three, I hear.


    • Oh, Max Bygraves’ Greatest Hits, followed by Frank Ifield (I think I still have the 7″ vinyl ‘She taught me how to yodel’. because my mother was a fan). Lonnie Donegan, and of course, Des O’Connor!

      ‘Tis mental torture for today’s teens! I like it.


  2. Frank Ifield. Or any yodeller. In the 70s I once booked three separate yodelling acts among others for a fundraising concert at a Yorkshire working mens club. All acts welcome, all were volunteers. Spaced them out carefully. First one got on and off stage safely. Second one was jeered loudly and some stuff thrown. Third and last one (everyone v v drunk by now) created a riot and made that final pub scene of Boys from the Black Stuff look like The Sound of Music.


    • That’s officially discrimination, that is…

      In a recommendation unanimously adopted today, the Assembly [the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe ] said the “highly offensive” device discriminates against young people, treating them as if they are “unwanted birds or pests”.

      It could also breach human rights, such as the rights to private life or freedom of assembly, the parliamentarians said, and may constitute degrading treatment because it inflicts “acoustic pain”.



      • It doesn’t breach ‘right to a private life’ if it’s in public, and it doesn’t affect ‘freedom of assembly’, they can assemble freely elsewhere.

        Just set it up and keep quiet about it. Any investigating adults won’t hear a thing 😉


  3. XX I am exhausted. The job was supposed to be part time. Just to cover the regular monthly bills and let me concentrate on writing. I haven’t even kept up with writing responses to emailsXX

    Which is why NO one should EVER trust a Mother fucking cunting boss that griningly sais at the interview, “We like our workers to be flexible.”

    THIS, what Leggy has written, is what they REALLY mean!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Both myself and Mopman are now refusing to cover any more blank shifts. The manager gets a new employee or the work does not get done. We are working to our contracts, and that is it.


  4. One of the younger store staff thinks that the next stage in human evolution is imminent. Personally I was looking forward to the next mass extinction. He thinks we will evolve to cope with the vast amount of information blasted at us by the internet.

    If it were information needing to be processed then evolution might be necessary, but if you consider the internet white noise, and background noise at that, you realize that animals quickly adapt to noise. No evolution needed. If you live next to the brook you do not even notice the babbling. I rented a house next to a railroad track and soon found that the nightly trains didn’t even waken me.


  5. Oh, I think the Grampian Police Pipe Band’s Greatest Hits would do it…

    EVERYWHERE is understaffed these days, Leggy – we don’t hold the record for Longest Working Hours in the EU for nowt. Employers are the new Barons and employees the serfs.


  6. I am your indisputable resident expert on insane car music systems. I will brook no rebuttals.
    Really loud music just hurts. To really disturb, you need the subsonics. Not all music has that, it wasn’t worth recording it in the days before systems could deliver it. And in the days of vinyl grooves, the needle would swing too far and cross into the next groove. So if it was there in the material, it would be filtered out by the sound engineers.

    But there exceptions in some of the old stuff.

    Leggy, you haven’t really heard Tangerine Dream, unless you’ve got seventeen 12 inch subwoofers (it should be eighteen but I haven’t finished) driven by 5500 watts (5500 true rms watts – 16,000 peak) of Class D amplifiers connected by two inch copper bar to five batteries.

    “Song of the Whale”, especially part two, makes your eyeballs (and wing mirrors) contrarotate, and even approach escape velocity. It’s like being in an earthquake. You feel stuff you can’t even hear.

    Of course, the 1812 overture performs well, too. And the climactic bits of Mahler, Wagner, etc, if it’s a modern recording.

    The “new” stuff tends to have more sub in it. “Walk this Way”, “Driven by You”, anything by Marilyn Manson or Limp Biscuit, much of Vangelis, ZZ top, I could go on. Even Enya and Cowboy Junkies have hidden “depths”.

    Led Zep, surprisingly, doesn’t have much sub bass in it.

    What’s so good about vibration? Well, that’s all music is, vibration with a pattern.

    There are clever systems which seem to deliver good deep bass without using square yards of cone, they use trickery with vents and ports instead; but they lack punch. They don’t kick you. They don’t vibrate the hairs on your arms. You need sealed pistons for that.

    Don’t try this unless you drive a Transit van and you don’t need to fit anything else in it.

    I’m only 63, I may grow out of it. 🙂


    • I seem to recall that a subsonic blast at somewhere around 19Hz causes involuntary bowel evacuation.

      Set that up next to a stall selling underwear and trousers (with reasonably-priced disposal of any suddenly unwanted items). A business opportunity for a right bastard with no sense of smell 😉


  7. Whenevr I want the cops called, I don’t bother with the phone, I just put on “Sweet Jane” by Lou Reed on the live Rock and Roll Animal album at force 10 on a 200 watts stereo I have hooked into the back yard. My third world nieghbors have the cops at my door before the third verse…then I turn it off and explain why they were really called here…


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