as corrupt as inept as inefficient. from brighton & hove council all the way up the current (short-lived) government of gormless gordon brown (the chancellor of the exchequer who sold half of britain's gold reserves - against advice from everyone in the markets - at the bottom of the market, $250 troy ounce; we're now closing back in on $1000 oz). just one of many examples without mentioning the billion pound-plus private pensions screw up. no wonder phoney tony and the daughter of housing benefit fraudster tony booth got out before the back office fuck ups hit the fan.
but it all begins or ends at the grass roots. the local councils.
council tax has doubled in ten years. services and efficiency have halved. bureacratic shite rules with the minions run by corrupt and incapable managers and officials who when challenged publically seem to either take early retirement or disappear up their own nether worlds.
and these people, many poorly paid, still have the cheek to ask for a 6% pay rise.
they are not skilled or trained, like nurses, doctors, firemen or policemen. none of them would get a job in the City as a clerk or a "runner" of old - 'chase me, chase me' (a huge number of poofs are employed there).
50% of them are surplus to requirements and should be fired. the other 50% should be reinterviewed by professionals in the private sector, sacked or paid a wage that warrants their capabilities.
no wonder the polish are going home to a properly run society or a properly run run police state like france.
these people are having the cheek to expect council taxes to be raised to pay for their wage claims....
i pay the police, the fire brigade but not the hopeless council.
fuck and sack these ignoramuses. whilst they're lying in bed on a wednesday morning waiting for staff training to finish.
Wednesday, 16 July 2008
Friday, 27 June 2008
love and death in the british isles
long time since i've been on.
one of my two labs, the ten year old golden, has just died in my girlfriends arms after forfeiting a third cancer operation. there was a night of banshee-howling pain so the right thing was done.
it's cold, windy and empty for end-june in brighton.
coming back into the flat there's a fucking great hole of silence. no thumping of a wagging tail on the floor-boards. oscar, the black lab, keeps looking for the late widdle jack and is confused. they were together eight and a half years.
a scenario:
wakes at 5.30am and listens to the financial news on the world service. has a slash. girlfriend's up at 6am and takes the dog out before going for a swim at the gym. doze and listen to the news on radio 4 for a couple of hours. basically negating the guardian which has turned up in the meantime; except for the obituaries and crossword.
she leaves at 8.30am and the pc goes on with a second cup of lemon tea with honey. even tough i've listened to the shipping forecast i still gaze out at the eastern, southern and western horizons to check on the day's weather. in my dressing gown.
the first thing i'll check on the pc (e-mails & skype aside) is spot gold, oil, currencies and overnight asian markets. i don't know why but it's habit having been involved for over twenty years.
then i'll have a look at some porn and maybe wank, or maybe not.
there will probably have been a phone call with an automated message from a creditor by then. i, however, do not accept unacknowledged phone calls - unless i'm pissed, when they're told to jog on.
probably 9.30am by now so we switch from radio 4 to ken bruce on radio 2 (after that bore wogan has left his seat).
any business calls necessary are made over the next couple of hours - except during pop meister (sacred) at 10.30am.
either bath or shower and get dressed, write notes down for an unwritten song or book and look out of the bedroom/office window to see if the medusa (bar) is open. should there be a glass of red left from the night before, i'll quaff that as it's rude not to.
11.30am/12 noon it's down to the bar for a couple of pints with the guardian crossword and politely ignoring people you certainly wouldn't ask back for dinner.
maybe a game of backgammon over lunch with the odd mad friend, or not. the cricket could be on long wave, anyway.
if there has been backgammon, that means a few bottles of red and that means bed around 4.30pm for a quick siesta.
back up an hour later and clear the place and start doing the washing-up before the maid gets home to walk the (sole) dog at 6pm.
cook a mea. watch rubbish or sport on tv and slink back into bed with papers or a book.
it's a hard life. oh, then you worry about how to pay the rent and bills all night over the pack of cigarettes and bottle of merlot.
one of my two labs, the ten year old golden, has just died in my girlfriends arms after forfeiting a third cancer operation. there was a night of banshee-howling pain so the right thing was done.
it's cold, windy and empty for end-june in brighton.
coming back into the flat there's a fucking great hole of silence. no thumping of a wagging tail on the floor-boards. oscar, the black lab, keeps looking for the late widdle jack and is confused. they were together eight and a half years.
a scenario:
wakes at 5.30am and listens to the financial news on the world service. has a slash. girlfriend's up at 6am and takes the dog out before going for a swim at the gym. doze and listen to the news on radio 4 for a couple of hours. basically negating the guardian which has turned up in the meantime; except for the obituaries and crossword.
she leaves at 8.30am and the pc goes on with a second cup of lemon tea with honey. even tough i've listened to the shipping forecast i still gaze out at the eastern, southern and western horizons to check on the day's weather. in my dressing gown.
the first thing i'll check on the pc (e-mails & skype aside) is spot gold, oil, currencies and overnight asian markets. i don't know why but it's habit having been involved for over twenty years.
then i'll have a look at some porn and maybe wank, or maybe not.
there will probably have been a phone call with an automated message from a creditor by then. i, however, do not accept unacknowledged phone calls - unless i'm pissed, when they're told to jog on.
probably 9.30am by now so we switch from radio 4 to ken bruce on radio 2 (after that bore wogan has left his seat).
any business calls necessary are made over the next couple of hours - except during pop meister (sacred) at 10.30am.
either bath or shower and get dressed, write notes down for an unwritten song or book and look out of the bedroom/office window to see if the medusa (bar) is open. should there be a glass of red left from the night before, i'll quaff that as it's rude not to.
11.30am/12 noon it's down to the bar for a couple of pints with the guardian crossword and politely ignoring people you certainly wouldn't ask back for dinner.
maybe a game of backgammon over lunch with the odd mad friend, or not. the cricket could be on long wave, anyway.
if there has been backgammon, that means a few bottles of red and that means bed around 4.30pm for a quick siesta.
back up an hour later and clear the place and start doing the washing-up before the maid gets home to walk the (sole) dog at 6pm.
cook a mea. watch rubbish or sport on tv and slink back into bed with papers or a book.
it's a hard life. oh, then you worry about how to pay the rent and bills all night over the pack of cigarettes and bottle of merlot.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
