(The phone post is still bent over but the engineers have rewired it. I have internet again. At some point they will disconnect it to fix it properly but I have downloaded the last three months’ sales in case I can’t get to tomorrow night’s final numbers for this quarter. It’s not likely there will be a last minute rush but I always live in hope…)
The Mockney slimeball is still at it. Having proved he can’t run a restaurant business he is now trying to ruin everyone else’s business so he won’t feel so bad.
His latest wheeze is to attack things that have existed before his mother plopped him into the world like a pink squalling turd with a thick tongue poking out of a face that should have been roundly slapped from the beginning. And should still be getting a daily slap to this very day.
Seriously though, what in God’s name is our government thinking? They are not only taking policy advice from the caterers, they are bragging about doing so and then actually acting on it as if Jimmy the Oil and his sidekick Huge Feathery-Wailingwall were more than just jumped-up kitchen staff.
The people we elected to run the UK are genuinely taking advice on packaging that’s been around for decades, and on the ‘future of the NHS’, from the kitchen staff. A chef who, incidentally, is presiding over the collapse of a business that is based on cooking. His area of expertise. He can’t get that right and yet our utterly cretinous ‘leaders’ laud him as an expert on the NHS and on the marketing employed by actually successful businesses who have been around longer than he has.
Personally, there is something I find more depressing, more humiliating for this country than having the caterers decide how to run it. And that is that the people we elected to do the running of the country are so bereft of any form of rational thought that they jump on any idea being promoted by any available idiot just so they can (they think) look good.
Newsflash, Gubblement Monsters: You do not look good. You look like a bunch of children being mesmerised by the Magic Roundabout and actually believing cows and dogs can talk, that living with a lorry suspension spring up your arse is a viable option and that rabbits spend their days spaced out on dope. You halfwits will believe any old shit, won’t you? Why are there never any candidates with actual sense available?
Next up, if it hasn’t already happened, the Rice Crispies elves are an insult to short people and the Coco Pops characters are racist. Well, even cycling is racist now so there is no limit.
Breakfast cereals are being marketed to kids. THEY ARE FOR FUCKING KIDS! That has always been their target market. It’s their reason to exist. Okay, adults like them too but then adults like chocolate and toffee and custard and pretty much all the things they grew up with.
What is the Jamie Oliver generation going to grow up on? Tofu and water and hardtack with a side order of smug catering staff presided over by a ruling class with minds so pure they are totally untouched by the ravages of intelligence.
Today’s children are going to have a really shit childhood thanks to the likes of Oliver “Please sir, can I have some more bans” and Huge Farty-Shittingstall and the upcoming wave of Militant Caterers. All enabled by a government that is far, far worse than useless and shows no sign of getting any better.
This is not going to save your restaurants, you idiots. According to the rules you are demanding, nobody will be allowed to eat in any of them.
Won’t affect me, really. I have never visited a ‘celebrity’ kitchen staff restaurant and never will.
The sooner all your businesses collapse, the better. You can beg on the streets for scraps and I won’t give you any. I’ll eat my MacDonalds with fries right in front of you and express exaggerated, almost orgasmic pleasure until you drool out the last drops of water in your bodies and blow away in a dust-cloud of dehydrated despicability.
Next election I will not vote for any of the current ‘main’ parties. Every one of them is utterly mindless. Not a single one of them has the intelligence to run a whelk stall.
When they look to the kitchen for policy, they have lost their last shred of credibility.