Hw hrd cn it B?

Someone once said, “Life's a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get” Whoever said it was a fool. A 24 carat jackass. A buffoon. Because as you get older and you’re part of the working class, I’ll tell you what you get. Cacked on, that’s what. Not content with cacking on you, they do it from a great height. They’re quite open about it. Your position in life is under them. You are there to be cacked on.

Perhaps it’s me? I’ve almost reached a half century and… God that sounds bad. A half century. That’s, whisper it, fifty years. FIFTY YEARS! Buggeration!! And that deserves a double exclamation mark. I’m older than my dad was when he told me off for listening to music “too loudly”. I’ve lived longer than Gordon Ramsay for goodness sake and look how gnarled he is. I’m older than the leader of the opposition/PM in waiting! And have you noticed that the policemen are looking younger these days?

No, I’m not having that. I still think The Who had it right when they sang “I hope I die before I get old.” Put the age thing out of your head Rob. I work with young people. They keep my outlook young. I’m in the loop regarding what’s hip and what’s not. Believe me, if you utter some “old man’s” garbage in front of teenagers, they’ll let you know soon enough.

I’m pretty well up with technology too. I can find my way round the innards of my PC in no time. I’ve streamed tunes over the net. I’m a geek! So why is it that some smart assed kid from a phone shop can upset me so? No, I take that back, she merely contributed towards the cacking from on high that I received today. She, if you like, positioned the defecator (or is it defacatee?)above my head.

Look, last week, rushing about as is far too normal in this hectic world, I stormed home and quickly changed from my work trousers. Got to get them in the wash at night time, it’s cheaper electric. It was only an hour later that I found that I’d also washed my mobile phone. The poor thing gurgled a bit but even after mouth to mouth it refused to jump back into life. It had died. I’d even given it a burial at sea with full honours. I’ll be honest here. I don’t even like mobile phones. Intrusive little shits they are. If someone wants you so badly, they’ll get hold of you. But, damn and blast it, they do come in handy. I tried doing without over Christmas. The silence was deafening. The trill “toodley doot de doo” of an incoming text message never sounded. I never thought I’d miss reading “mry xmas m8” or even asking me “hw r u m8, u ok?” I never have any idea what they mean but they are quite comforting to know that some illiterate person somewhere cares for your wellbeing.

So today, I’d decided. I was going to buy a new mobile phone. That’s a work of art in itself. But strolling through a well known Rochdale supermarket I spotted one for the right price. Basic as they come. Small enough not to get in the way and on the same network as before. What’s more, the price included £10 of credit! Result.

Hopes high, I marched into the Orange shop in town. I wanted them to transfer my existing credit onto the new sim card and apply the new credit. Can it be that difficult? Oh damn yes, of course it can! Believe it or not, the “Orange” sales representative couldn’t touch my “Orange” phone because I’d bought my “Orange” phone at another store. No matter that the “Orange” phone is locked to their network. No matter that my old sim card was supplied by “Orange” Aaaaaaaaargh!


No matter, I’m a geek, remember? I’ll do it myself. One hour later and the phone is up and running. All I need to do now is get the £10 voucher validated and added to my account. A quick look on the net and it all comes to an abrupt halt. I have to be registered to use the “Orange” site. No matter, I’ll phone them up! Twenty minutes and I’m still being told that it’s a busy time and they really value my call. Ok…. Take a deep breath. Try another sequence of key presses. Bingo! I’m through to some lady in Delhi. For a one off fee of 25p. Aaaaaargh!

Ok, let’s get through this. I explain to the lady that I have a voucher included as part of a package with my new mobile phone. I need to add the voucher to my account on this phone, with my old sim card. “Not a problem”, she assures me. “Just read the voucher number out and bob’s yer uncle” ok, I made the last bit up. You’ll not believe this. Eleven numbers in the code. “Orange” codes have to be twelve numbers. “You need to take it all back to the supermarket and tell them the code doesn’t work” Aaaaaargh!

So here I sit on New Years eve, a bottle of Stella by the side of me, a bottle of wine warming nicer for later. Goodbye 2009. Hello 2010.

A resolution? Yeah, the first person that texts me “Hppy nw yr m8!” is gonna get “pss off” right back at ‘em!

Katie's Tits

Oh no! How will we manage? Katie Price, AKA Jordan, has quit the jungle! Bless her, she only went on the show to avoid publicity and seek “closure” on her relationship with six pack Olly from Oz, AKA Peter André. Those nasty viewers continually used their own money phoning premium phone lines so she could participate in the latest “Bushtucker trial.” Nasty viewers! Now look what you’ve done. She may even have to forfeit the reputed £350,000 fee for appearing on the show. Listeners to the Radio two’s Jeremy Kyle’s phone in programme couldn’t get on the air quick enough. She’d worked hard to get where she was battling adversity along the way. “I met her and she seemed genuinely interested in my life” shrieked one listener. The British media love it! Eager to satiate the public’s seemingly endless hunger for frippery, they’ve whipped out their collective genitals and worked themselves into a mass frenzy over this collagen enhanced, overpaid, talentless nonentity. It’s a money-shot for the masses.

To be honest, I couldn’t give a flying fig. There are more than enough things in this world to get upset and angry about. Now, at this point, I could quite easily reel off a list of causes close to my heart. Deforestation, climate change (when did that change from global warming?), world hunger, the rise of the far right and the demise of standing areas at football matches. But I’m sure you have just as many and we could be at this all night. On ITV’s “This Morning” programme, the saint like Phillip Schofield could barely contain his crocodile tears over our Katie’s departure. Luckily, he regained his composure so he could rationally discuss Jedward’s departure from the X Factor. For goodness sake! Has the world gone completely mad??

Look a bit deeper into the news. Buried deep within their world sections comes news of an explosion in Assam. At this point, perhaps it’s appropriate to thank goodness for online editions of newspapers. Seems like persons unknown, parked their bomb laden bicycles outside a police station and calmly left them to detonate, killing whoever in the blast. The bicycle bombs killed seven people and injured another twenty five. You can bet your life the folk caught up in this mayhem were ordinary folk struggling to get by and put a crust on their family’s table. However much we might feel repulsed by the acts, one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter. The people who carried out this vile act have obviously done it to promote their cause. Now the next bit I’ll never understand. The perpetrators are believed to be the ULFA, who are pursuing their intended goal to cede from India. They haven’t claimed responsibility. Nor has anyone else. So then, what was the point of it? Have innocent people lost their lives for absolutely no reason? As you know I’m off to Assam in February, The FCO website gives out advice to tourists about countries. It advises “Although foreigners have not been the deliberate targets of violence, attacks can be indiscriminate. Kidnapping, banditry and insurgency are rife throughout the region.” That’s good to know then. I like a challenge.


Top and bottom of it all is, if the worst comes to the worst whilst I’m over there. Don’t expect to hear about it from any national daily newspapers. Don’t for one second think that British editors will be in the remotest bit interested in what happens to a working class lad from Rochdale, foolish enough to try and explore some remote part of India. Not that I care less if I’m honest. Well, not for me anyway. I care about the poor people that have to endure random acts of violence on an almost daily basis without any recognition from the western media. After all, they’ve only just come through a couple of earthquakes; a few explosions should be easy to cope with. The Sun, The Mirror, The Daily Star, even the BBC will be more interested in the size of Jordan’s breasts, or who’s been voted off “Strictly Come Dancing”. Hey, I’ve just had an idea! Perhaps I should take a camcorder with me? Then, if I get taken hostage all I have to is make one of the kidnappers fall over face first into a plate of rice. I could smuggle the film out on the back of an elephant. Maybe it’d get on “You’ve been Framed” ?