The Hildy works with vulnerable people. They’re vulnerable because they are so bloody stupid that they really should be prevented from passing on their stupid genes to the next generation. I’m not even joking about that.
A recent example is a woman who has a couple of kids who don’t go to school. They don’t go to school because their single mother can’t be bothered to get out of bed and take them to school or she may possibly just be hung over. Either was she doesn’t get them to school and then she shouts at them for making a mess or for waking her up. She generally just a bit rubbish. OK, a lot rubbish.
She recently saw an advert of a dating website* that she was very interested in. It read a bit like this:
Mature man seeks young lady for fun. Especially interested in women with school age children.
My (and maybe your) interpretation of this after the initial “ew that’s a bit strange” reaction is:
Sick pervert seeks naive slapper for sex. Also wants to groom children for paedophile ring.
At the very least any mention of children on a
sex exchange dating website would raise alarm bells with most people. I’d hope so anyway…maybe I’m just jaded.
Another example is the 18 year old son of one of The Hildy’s clients who sold his younger 11 year old brother to his abuser who took them both to Amsterdam for a week. The parents were surprised when social services** became involved because “it was nice for him to have a holiday”.
A slightly better example is the brother and sister who have no friends at school because they smell and they have no social skills. The older sister knows that they have no friends and has started self harming for attention while the younger brother interacts with other children by screaming at them and punching them. They have an 11% and 8% school attendance record. The teachers prefer it when they aren’t there to disrupt classes. They smell because they’ve never been taught to wash, probably because no one ever taught their parents.
Germaine Greer once advocated sterilising all male children at birth. The operation would be reversed only when they could pass a test proving their suitability for parenthood and an appropriate level of responsibility. Until quite recently I’ve always disagreed with this (admittedly unworkable) plan but the more The Hildy tells me about the sort of people who she gets to try to help the more I lean towards it being a good idea.
*All poor people can afford a whizzy new computer thanks to Bright House. They also have mahoosive High Definition teleboxes and snazzy sound systems…..at least for a few months until they get repo’ed. Then they just do it all over again.
**Social services only deal with one in four cased in my local area raised because they don’t have the manpower to deal with the other three. The Hildy says that it is only luck that they so far haven’t had a headline grabbing child murder than social services did nothing about.
I received a very kind “Thank you” email from The John Aspinall Foundation today. I’ve been donating ten whole English pounds to them for a while now and this is the first time they’ve sent me anything. Not that they need to but I was starting to feel as if they’d forgotten about me.
Why give money to The John Aspinall Foundation? Well, it’s mainly the work that they do to protect gorillas. These gentle creatures are significantly more deserving of charity than most humans…at least most humans that I’m aware of. Although The Hildy insists on giving money to human charities as well. She has much more charity in her heart than I do. This is probably why she works with the dregs of society while I work with machines. Machines are predictable and clean (even if they can catch viruses) and there’s no maliciousness about them. People do horrible things that make me hate them.
The Hildy told me that one of her clients’ 12 year old daughter has contracted an SDT. This is probably from her client’s boyfriend. It isn’t the worst thing that she’s told me about her clients but it is the most recent. Anyway that’s probably something that you don’t want to hear about so I’ll go back to talking about apes.
Apparently that nice Dermot O’Leary is off to do a documentary about endangered gorillas and illegal hunting of them in Africa soon. I think he’s working on some telebox program or other at the moment but he’s off to the Congo when it’s over.
*Yes, I do know that gorillas and other apes are not monkeys. The title was just for effect.
I happened to find myself in the Big Pet Shop the other day looking at the pet rats. I’m not sure how I got there…I think I may have tripped or something. I wouldn’t normally go to the Big Pet Shop because they don’t play with the animals very much so they aren’t well looked after really. The staff there are those faceless teenage clones that you find in chain stores. The ones who don’t give a shit about the company (the company that pays them in buttons and maxpax coffee) and so don’t have a lot of interest in doing anything more than the minimum necessary.
The Little Pet Shop is run by tiny people who really love the animals. They talk to them, play with them and keep them clean and well fed. They refuse to sell pets to small children with disinterested parents and always offer helpful advice on pet care. They can be quite forthright about it too despite being Lilliputians. Sadly the Little Pet Shop has no pets rats for sale. It’s part of their policy of only buying from rat breeders with reputations for healthy rats.
Anywho, Big Pet Shop have these adorably cute little baby rats. There are ten of them in a small cage and, when I saw them, they were all sleepy and cuddled up in two big ratty heaps. They really were too young to be separated from their mummies and I had to scowl at the number of them in such a tiny cage.
Then a teeny grey boy rat (who I named Oliver* when I saw what a straight arrow he was) ambled up to the edge of the cage and climbed up to get a better look at me. He was that bluey grey sort of colour that you get with really soft rat fur (Russian Blue Cats sometimes get the same) and he was holding on to the cage with all four of his tiny little rat paws. Then he looked at me with his deep black eyes that said “Please buy me. I would be the best rat ever” in that silent way that rats have about them.
You can imagine the sort of strength of will** it took for me to escape from that yearning little face. I’m going to have to avoid the Big Pet Shop in case he’s still there with his cute little “buy me now” face and those twitchy whiskers….at least until I move into le château de grenouille and can splurge on half a dozen rats and loads of rat toys.
*Oliver Queen aka Green Arrow
** A bit like Hal Jordan aka Green Lantern
Cheese is the greatest and best food in the world.
It saddens me that Snarly prefers the milder cheese that slices easily rather than the must stronger and crumblier mature cheddar that I like.
Edam is not real cheese. Well it is, but it shouldn’t be.
Buffy: Nothing’s ever simple anymore. I’m constantly trying to work it out. Who to love or hate. Who to trust. It’s just, like, the more I know, the more confused I get.
Giles: I believe that’s called growing up.
Buffy: I’d like to stop then, okay?
Giles: I know the feeling.
Buffy: Does it ever get easy?
(Ford rises as a vampire, and Buffy slays him.)
Giles: You mean life?
Buffy: Yeah. Does it get easy?
Giles: What do you want me to say?
Buffy: Lie to me.
Giles: Yes, it’s terribly simple. The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after.
I, of course, never lie but if I did my lies would be the kindest lies that ever could be and I would use them only to help people.
What was the last lie that you told?
Tiny Tash is writing a letter to Tesco to protest against their harsh treatment of amphibians. I wish I could say that I’d had a direct hand in this but it is entirely her own idea. She’s even designed a header for her letter with a picture of a tortoise on it and she refers to Tesco as “an evil shop”.
Cake Worm responded to this by claiming that it doesn’t do any good to protest because it doesn’t change anything.
How did I manage to raise someone as cynical as this?
The Hildy (who is faster off the mark than I am) cited Rosa Parks and her refusal to give up a bus seat to a white man in 1955. Her protest prompted a mass black boycott of buses and was instrumental in raising racial awareness issues in North America.
Now Cake Worm is aware that one person can make a difference and Tiny Tash is ready to take on the world in the defence of amphibians at nine years old. I didn’t start protesting till I was a student and we marched against the poll tax.
All is well in the hoverFrog household.
What rouses you to protest?
Some people should not be allowed to use telephones.
I’ve just had a call from an utter twonk to reschedule a meeting and rather than pause between comments he kept muttering “do de do de doo”. What’s that about?
Also The Boss has sent round a shittygram to all staff. Apparently someone has been stealing bog rolls. Yeah, that’s right. Now if I were going to rob my work place I’d steal something worth having. To risk your job for the sake of some arse paper is just about the stupidest thing I’ve heard all day.
It is only 9:15 though.
Finally, the walk to work this morning was plagued with nutters. I saw mumblers, drunken stumblers, vacant grinners and even a soap box preacher in the 20 minutes it took to walk from the train station to the office.
It must be a full moon.
The beauteous and glamourful FloatyKatja has tagged me.
‘The rules are simple. There are 9 questions (3², each of which has 3 answers, to give a total of 27, or 3³. The whole point is that the questions are somewhere between eclectic, banal and downright bizarre, so that you can answer completely truthfully without actually giving much away. Just put down the first three answers that come to mind if you can’t work out the “most appropriate” three.’
Objects Within One Metre Of You
- My heart. I keep it very close to my chest or so I’ve been told.
- A jar of Carte Noire. It says on the jar “Un café nommé désir” but it isn’t named “Desire”. It’s named “Carte Noire”. I’m pretty sure that this contravenes some sort of trade description act.
- A loaf of Soreen fruity malt loaf which will be my lunch in an hour or so. I really wish I had a proper knife at work to cut it up with instead of those pesky butter knives. Something serrated and sharp.
First Names of People You Sat Next To At School
- I have no clear memory of sitting next to anyone at school. I was probably too cool to sit next to anyone. Yes, that’s it. I certainly wasn’t the strange loner kid that no-one wanted to speak to. Uh uh, no sirree.
- Seriously I can’t think of anyone.
- I’ve probably blocked it out.
TV Programmes You Won’t Watch
- Soap operas like Eastenders, Coronation Street, etc
- Those day time shows where they get the dregs of society on to tell the world why they slept with their sister’s dog or some such. It’s car crash TV and it’s just plain bad.
- Football and most other sport programmes. I mean, seriously, what is the point? If you want to watch sports then go and watch them. Sitting in front of the telly loses all the atmosphere of a sporting event. You may as well just read about it in the paper.
Favourite Trivial Pursuit Categories
Superpowers You’d Like To Have
- Flight. I don’t mean in an invisible jet or anything daft like that. I mean proper flight under my own power. Wings are optional
- Telekinesis. Other than the ability to manifest “mind bullets” I like the idea of being able to lounge about while moving stuff around with my mind. I suppose I wouldn’t need flight if I had telekinesis because I could just lift myself up into the air.
- Telepathy. I know what you’re thinking. He he, how rude.
Newspapers, Magazines or Periodicals Read Regularly
- The Sunday Times
- The Guardian
- The Dragon, although it reaches it last print next month. 😦
Songs You Dislike (…oh so many….)
- Cover versions of great songs that are done badly. I include almost all tribute songs for Freddy Mercury.
- Anything sung by Elton John. I’m afraid those whiny lyrics and that simpering voice just grate on my nerves and make me want to slap him like a red headed step child. It’s worse when I see him actually perform these “songs”.
- Most…no, all songs by boy bands. Seriously guys, less synchronised dance moves and more music please. Learn to play an instrument each and you’ll have some credibility.
Blog Posts of Your Own That You’d Recommend.
- I would simultaneously recommend hanging on my every word like a faithful sycophant and avoiding any of the garbage that I spew out on a daily basis.
- The blog entry on my now dead 20Six blog about the time that I drew faces on my fingers during a meeting. It was so good that even kept the pictures.
- The various attempts at a Deathblog Grudgematch. One day I’ll finish one.
People you’d like to tag.
- She who must not be named
Feel free to give it a shot on your own though, especially if you’re one of those people above with a bazillion blogs who likes to keep their name a secret.
A surveyor came round to …um… survey my house yesterday. It actually looks like we’re going to be able to sell it and afford le château de grenouille. It’s just so tiring sorting out the move. Every time it rains I’m convinced that the garage will flood and all my valuables that I hid there to make my house look bigger will be ruined forever.
I just want to be able to leave the washing up in the sink for when I get home or not care that the loo seats are left up or all the milk bottles are put out rather than being left on the windowsill. I hate all the tidiness and lack of clutter.
I hate having to deal with estate agents and their irritating falseness and lies. I know they have a job to do but why not be honest about it. Is there something in their blood that makes them choose lie over truth? I really hate that the government will be getting a nice big chunk of tax money in the form of stamp duty from me just when I need to spend a lot of money of legal fees. I hate the legal fees and the huge mark up the conveyancer adds on for even the most basic local searches. I hate the greed of it all and especially the greedy part of me that covets the bigger house.
I am looking forward to each of the kids having a bedroom of their own so they have less reason to try to kill one another. I’m looking forward to the clutter of unpacking, of getting new pet rats to share the house with us (boy rats this time), and to finding my way around a new neighbourhood again. I’m looking forward to getting to know the neighbours and I’m hoping that they are at least half as good as the ones I’ll be leaving.
I’m not looking forward to sorting out all the utilities again or mail forwarding but it might be good to just write to everyone in my address book and give them my new address. I could even use it as an excuse to renew a few old acquaintances. You never know, it might be good for an antisocial git like me.
Now all I’ve got to do is sort out the new mortgage, get a surveyor of my own, pay everyone, pack and move.
June the Nineteenth is Emancipation Day in many states in North America. It is the oldest nationally celebrated commemoration of the ending of slavery in the United States from 1865.
Of course we English made the slave trade illegal in 1802, 1807 and again in 1833. In practice it was illegal in England from 1772 but not formerly enshrined in law till much later. Of course that’s nothing compared to the forward thinking Japanese. In 1588 Toyotomi Hideyoshi ordered all slave trading to be abolished.
The UN formerly banned slavery in 1948 as part of the Declaration of Human Rights.
Juneteenth is also a fine example of a portmanteau. No, not the travelling case but a fusion of two words and their meanings into one.