Grandad October 3rd, 2010
It rained yesterday.
Actually, it wasn’t so much rain as a deluge. It was like a herd of incontinent elephants all letting rip incessantly.
And when it wasn’t pissing down in buckets, it was just raining normally.
You may have gathered by now that it was quite wet yesterday?
I wanted to go down for the paper, but I put it off until very late in the afternoon when the deluge had subsided a bit.
I went out the front door, and then I remembered.
On Friday, the car battery was showing signs of lacking that vital spark. You know what I mean? You turn the ignition key and the engine sounds like a dog who is about to throw up? Not a pleasant sound at all, at all. Undeterred, I hooked up the battery charger, and plugged everything in. I left it on slow charge, and reminded myself to remind myself to unhook it before going to bed.
I forgot.
So there was the car in front of me, sitting in a puddle and all gleaming wet and the bonnet wide open. Fuck!!
I unhooked it all, and drove down for the paper.
The battery is singing along and I have a nice clean engine.
Having a bad memory isn’t all bad.
Grandad October 2nd, 2010
What is this obsession with stupid fucking words?
Since the financial crisis started we have been subjected to a whole new batch, and they really fucking irritate me.
The three that are bandied about most are “subordinated”, “hair-cut” and “tranche”.
The problem with these words is that no one has a fucking clue what they mean, but people use the words as it makes them sound important. I can just imagine an economics correspondent having a wild orgasm as he types “tranche” into his latest report. It makes him feel good. Like the rest of us, he doesn’t know what it means, but it makes him sound like an insider who really knows what he is talking about, and it makes him feel oh so important.
I know what “hair cut” means. It’s that thing that we used to get for a shilling on Saturday mornings back in the fifties and sixties – that thing that is now called a hair style. Not any more though. Now apparently it means a discount or something. They keep waffling on about NAMA buying debt with a fucking hair cut. What in the name of all that’s fucking holy are they talking about. What moronic idiot came up with that expression? Why can’t they just use the word “discount”?
I had to look up the words “subordinated” and “tranche”. They are both words that are used exclusively by financiers and accountants. Now few of us are accountants and even fewer have aspirations in that direction so why use word that only an accountant will understand? After all, a doctor may talk about “infectious mononucleosis” but we talk about Glandular Fever, which is the same thing but in layman’s terms. If a layman talks about “infectious mononucleosis” it just makes him sound like a pretentious wanker.
I am begging everyone to please stop using those words. There are many alternatives. You can surely talk about a batch of loans that are bought at a discount, instead of a tranche with a hair cut? You can surely come up with a better word than subordinated? You see, if you do that, we will all know what you are talking about.
And you won’t sound like a fucking arsehole.
Grandad October 1st, 2010
I have been up to my eyes today.
I have had a bellyful of talk of taxes and difficult budgets and hair shirt times. Listening to the news these days is a fifty Prozac job. Even Sharon looks depressed.
I decided to do something about it.
So now all my spare cash is nicely tucked away where no fucking tax man can find it. I also now own a nice little drop of gold bullion. The little I have for day to day expenditure is in a foreign bank too. Just in case the tax man does hear about my shenanigans, I have registered myself as a charity.
That takes care of tax.
The problem then is how to avoid VAT and duties.
I have established a nice supplier of tobacco that the excise men are unaware of. I’m not bothered about the excise on drink as I know Pullit has his own dubious sources for the village pub. That just leaves petrol. There isn’t much I can do about that, as I refuse under any circumstances to go electric. I would rather be castrated with rusty shears than satisfy that fucking Green Party. I’m thinking of converting the car to run on waste chip-oil from the chipper in the village. That would have the nice advantage of stinking the place out, too. Just to be on the safe side, I have told the tax people that I am back in business, so if I do inadvertently pay any tax, I can claim it back.
It has been a lot of trouble, but it’s worth it.
There is no fucking way that clusterfuck of a government is going to get any cash from me to bail out their buddies.
I earned my nest egg.
They can go fuck themselves
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