When Love… Turns To Hate…
I love books.
Proper books, that is.
These days I am sick of the sight of the bloody things. Fuckwit Handy Andy’s bizarre ideas about cocking up a Victorian cottage springs to mind… as does the pair of twats, Ginnie & Sultana, or whatever they’re bloody called, wittering on about what I, you or anyone should or shouldn’t wear. Then add to this the bizarre assortment of shite “famous people’s biographies” (right, they can put a string of words together and form a sentence) that blight us… added to the political memoirs of a knob like Blair and, frankly, I feel like the world has gone fucking mad.
I know that I have these books on my website. I am deeply ashamed. I cannot, really, see the point of them. I have an iPad (is that how you capitalise it? If not, who cares, it’s a mac with a touch screen as far as I can see and quite good. Let’s call it a tampon, shall we?). Now this is, indeed, quite good. I can even do the Times crosswords on it. However, what I would not do is read a book on the bloody thing.
And another thing. What is it that has driven our entire society to continually reinvent the bleeding obvious? And then pay through the nose to have it? We have books. We have computers. Brilliant. That’ll do me, thank you.
And now look what we’re doing in England. Reinventing the NHS, for (I think) the 12th time since I got the chance to vote in 1865… and the moron is giving financial control to, er, the doctors… I can see that working well.
Oh, no. I see. They will simply employ all the people that will lose their (tax-payer funded) jobs at the PCTs (no, I have no idea what they do or what the acronym stands for either) under the scheme. They will also replace NICE (and a-bloody-gain, can no one give something I pay for a name that makes fucking sense?) with, er, nothing. Brilliant.
I don’t care any more. I am so fucking bored of meaningless (but not harmless) people, overpaid and utterly beyond reproach, rearranging the chairs on this Titanic that I think I might move to Greece.
At least, there, they have the grace and sense to know that it’s a complete fucking farce… the people running our countries are so far away from us they may as well be aliens. In most cases, it appears that they are. Oh, and if you’re going to the world cup after next… try not to be too gay! (courtesy of Sett Blatter, that one, another “important” person with a foot where a tongue should be and the sense of a hedgehog! Twat.)
So, started on books, ends with emigration.