Things that make me go ooooooooooh

As we hurtle through 2012 - the year of that sporting event that you probably didn't get tickets to either, Liz 'n Phil's Diamond jubbly and a Euro Football thing that will probably involve Wayne Rooney breaking something, or someone, I thought I'd have another little rant about those things that made me just a little greyer than I'd planned.

CAMPING
I can't think of anything worse than going on a camping holiday. I'd rather eat Ghandi's sandals. As if having to sleep in an airless canvas coffin with your face too close to your shoes wasn't bad enough, the thought having to dash across a field for a 3am wee or not being able to plug in a hairdryer is just ruddy ludicrous. Or even worse, having to pack it up every night in order to hike to another rain-sodden field only to have to put the wretched thing up again. It brings back awful memories of Girl Guide camping trips from which I normally returned home with a bag of muddy clothes, scurvy and constipation. So far, 3 people have told me how much they're looking forward to their camping holiday this year. I've been twice. Two times too many!

Speedos
GENT. DO NOT WEAR SPEEDOS. Unless you're under 12. Or Johnny Depp.

Stupid Words
Did I miss something or have a whole new bunch of ridiculous words been invented. I bought my daughter a cupcake. "Is it nice?", I asked. "Nom nom nom", she replied. What's that all about? It's not a word, it's a sound. But now, apparently, it IS a 'word' that means something 'tastes nice'. According to the Oxford Dictionary, bajillions of new words and terms, like fnarr fnarr and bloody nom nom nom, mankini and fish pedicure make up some of 400 new entries in the 2011 edition. Other stupid words that have appeared in this glittering 100th offering are 'domestic goddess', 'gastric band', 'sexting', 'red velvet cake', 'wonga' and 'textspeak'. But I guess it's inevitable. As the world evolves and events happen, then so does language. Completely unbeknown to me, a lot of everyday words are actually down to Shakespeare. Believe it or not there's at least 1,500 different words and phrases that don't appear anywhere prior to the Stratford's finest putting them on parchment. Puking', 'Advertising', 'drugged', 'torture', 'obscene', 'blood-stained', 'champion' and 'buzzer' had never been heard until the crazy bard came along. These days, new words come courtesy of today's poets - mainly kids and The Sun. But what about all those words that have been confined to the 14th Century. Why not bring them back? In fact, tomorrow, I think I'll walk into Tescos and say 'Huzzah, Wench! Prithee tell wherefore art the mead? Some lowly clapperdudgeon, nameth my betrothed, dost lie drunken hither. And can I pay with my Clubcard vouchers?'. Methinks I may end up in gaiol!

Foreign Call Centres
Seriously folks, I’m not trying to be offensive to anyone here, or any culture, in fact I love travelling and I love all foreign people (even the French) but everytime I get a little “taste” of some far away culture whilst trying to get some customer support, it just makes me want to shout at buses!

Recently I had to call a well-known banking establishment of ill-repute. For a start, I must have pushed more buttons making sure I get put through to the right department than if I was typing the complete Harry Potter series. And then I was subjected to a highly inappropriate monotone version of Rhianna's S&M for what seemed like the entire Harry Potter series. So when I finally heard the music stop and the actual ring tone begin, I almost wept.

Well, for a start, Sir, I doubt your name is Dave. Who had the bright idea that we'd be fooled into thinking it was a UK based call-centre by changing all the poor employees names. I was almost tempted to ask to be put through to Brian, or Julia, just to see what happened. But I guess it wasn't 'Dave's' fault he'd been re-christened. I've since found out that all workers in the Indian call centre industry are trained in specifically American and British accents, as it allows workers to be shifted around to serve various markets without additional training. Sadly, Dave couldn't help me. I genuinely couldn't understand what the poor fella was saying. Maybe he was new to the job, or was just trying to hang on to his own culture. But for fear of ordering a lamb vindaloo for 30 people, I thought best I hang up and send them a letter. But I don't feel too bad. Seeing as, by default, I actually pay his wages!

Things that make me go ooooooooooh

As we hurtle through 2012 - the year of that sporting event that you probably didn't get tickets to either, Liz 'n Phil's Diamond jubbly and a Euro Football thing that will probably involve Wayne Rooney breaking something, or someone, I thought I'd have another little rant about those things that made me just a little greyer than I'd planned.

CAMPING
I can't think of anything worse than going on a camping holiday. I'd rather eat Ghandi's sandals. As if having to sleep in an airless canvas coffin with your face too close to your shoes wasn't bad enough, the thought having to dash across a field for a 3am wee or not being able to plug in a hairdryer is just ruddy ludicrous. Or even worse, having to pack it up every night in order to hike to another rain-sodden field only to have to put the wretched thing up again. It brings back awful memories of Girl Guide camping trips from which I normally returned home with a bag of muddy clothes, scurvy and constipation. So far, 3 people have told me how much they're looking forward to their camping holiday this year. I've been twice. Two times too many!

Speedos
GENT. DO NOT WEAR SPEEDOS. Unless you're under 12. Or Johnny Depp.

Stupid Words
Did I miss something or have a whole new bunch of ridiculous words been invented. I bought my daughter a cupcake. "Is it nice?", I asked. "Nom nom nom", she replied. What's that all about? It's not a word, it's a sound. But now, apparently, it IS a 'word' that means something 'tastes nice'. According to the Oxford Dictionary, bajillions of new words and terms, like fnarr fnarr and bloody nom nom nom, mankini and fish pedicure make up some of 400 new entries in the 2011 edition. Other stupid words that have appeared in this glittering 100th offering are 'domestic goddess', 'gastric band', 'sexting', 'red velvet cake', 'wonga' and 'textspeak'. But I guess it's inevitable. As the world evolves and events happen, then so does language. Completely unbeknown to me, a lot of everyday words are actually down to Shakespeare. Believe it or not there's at least 1,500 different words and phrases that don't appear anywhere prior to the Stratford's finest putting them on parchment. Puking', 'Advertising', 'drugged', 'torture', 'obscene', 'blood-stained', 'champion' and 'buzzer' had never been heard until the crazy bard came along. These days, new words come courtesy of today's poets - mainly kids and The Sun. But what about all those words that have been confined to the 14th Century. Why not bring them back? In fact, tomorrow, I think I'll walk into Tescos and say 'Huzzah, Wench! Prithee tell wherefore art the mead? Some lowly clapperdudgeon, nameth my betrothed, dost lie drunken hither. And can I pay with my Clubcard vouchers?'. Methinks I may end up in gaiol!

Foreign Call Centres
Seriously folks, I’m not trying to be offensive to anyone here, or any culture, in fact I love travelling and I love all foreign people (even the French) but everytime I get a little “taste” of some far away culture whilst trying to get some customer support, it just makes me want to shout at buses!

Recently I had to call a well-known banking establishment of ill-repute. For a start, I must have pushed more buttons making sure I get put through to the right department than if I was typing the complete Harry Potter series. And then I was subjected to a highly inappropriate monotone version of Rhianna's S&M for what seemed like the entire Harry Potter series. So when I finally heard the music stop and the actual ring tone begin, I almost wept.

Well, for a start, Sir, I doubt your name is Dave. Who had the bright idea that we'd be fooled into thinking it was a UK based call-centre by changing all the poor employees names. I was almost tempted to ask to be put through to Brian, or Julia, just to see what happened. But I guess it wasn't 'Dave's' fault he'd been re-christened. I've since found out that all workers in the Indian call centre industry are trained in specifically American and British accents, as it allows workers to be shifted around to serve various markets without additional training. Sadly, Dave couldn't help me. I genuinely couldn't understand what the poor fella was saying. Maybe he was new to the job, or was just trying to hang on to his own culture. But for fear of ordering a lamb vindaloo for 30 people, I thought best I hang up and send them a letter. But I don't feel too bad. Seeing as, by default, I actually pay his wages!

Don't put your routers in the post, Mr Murdoch!

I think it was a Saturday morning. Maybe a Sunday. The birds were singing. The sun may have even been shining through the windows. But somehow, I sensed danger, fear and foreboding. The feeling that something terrible was about to happen. I could hear voices. Slightly raised. Doors slamming. Voices were getting louder. And more frenzied. Then the footsteps coming up the stairs. At first slowly. Then gathering pace. Towards my door. Outside it became dark. A murder of crows, disturbed by something malevolent, flutter furiously past the window. And suddenly, the sun goes in. A dog howls in the distance. The room goes cold. My door flies open. Standing there, with faces as white as ghosts, my children stand before me and utter those words. Those words any parent of teenage children dreads. I braced my self. My knuckles white. And waited for my son to speak.

THE F*****G INTERNET IS DOWN!!!!!

It was pointless trying to scold him for swearing (he gets it from his nan). I could see the terror in his eyes. The horror of not being able to hook up with some borderline Columbine weirdo to shoot merry hell out of virtual paratroopers. My daughter, close behind, wailing like a wounded animal, at the unspeakable prospect of not being able to get on My Face or TwitBook to look at pictures of someone she doesn't know.

It appears that, in the switch from one rubbish service provider to another, the 'seamless process, Mrs Hards' was about as seamless as something with absolutely no seams whatsoever!

I really wanted to spare them the 'in my day' speech, but alas, it was inevitable. "How about a game of Monopoly? Or we could go for a walk? Make cup-cakes or go to a museum? There's ....."

They're looking me in utter disgust. Like they've just caught Mr H and I in a compromising position involving gas masks and hot wax (which, trust me, will never happen). The kitchen window in the house 3 doors rattles as they slam the door and retreat to their lairs.

And so, I spend the next week on the phone to one of Rupert Murdoch's employees (please leave brain at front reception) while hormones rage around me. New router on it's way. Should take 2 days. But will probably take a week.

But at least we got to play Monopoly! And I got to be the Top Hat. And I beat 'em. Stick that in your Facebook and shoot it!

C+nt Alt Delete!