Itisi

The nebulous ramblings; grammatical & punctuational experiments of a girl born on the fifth of November

Month: September, 2009

From the Hounds of Hell to topiary

Dogs And Owners Gather For Annual Crufts Dog Show
One of my neighbours has bought a dog. I’m sure they love it, and I’m sure it’s delightful if you get to know it, but, it is still, quite possibly, the single Most Annoying Dog on the Planet.

I was going to say it yaps, but that doesn’t adequately convey the unique hideousness of the noise it makes. How to describe it? Imagine Jane Horrocks catches a terrible head cold and in a dash for the bathroom to find much needed Lemsip, stubs her toes on a door frame. Think of the screech she’d emit. That’s what this dog sounds like. For hours, and hours, and hours. Oddly, my neighbour/it’s owner thinks it’s “cute”. Hmm.

Anyhoo, after nine days of living two doors away from the Most Annoying Dog on the Planet I started thinking*. You know how the Hounds of Hell are always depicted as huge, black and menacing. That image is wrong. Big dogs are nearly always softies who want to love you and hug you and be your bestest friend forever, and most importantly, they aren’t particularly noisy. They bark when someone comes to the door, or if anything out of the ordinary happens, but most of the time they’re the silent types. However, small dogs nearly always try to compensate for their lack of stature by behaving like homicidal maniacs, and making as much noise as caninely possible. Which do you think Satan would own?

To me the choice is obvious: Satan would own Yorkshire terriers. A whole kennel of them. All of which make weird, shrill Jane Horrocks noises, from the crack of dawn till the dark of night. And Satan chuckles, and remarks on how cute they are. In fact, that is why Hell is hell. It used to be quite nice back when he kept labradors.

In other news: Last night I dreamt I was doing topiary (is that correct, does one do topiary?). It was someone else’s – I could tell, there was an immaculate bowling-green-style lawn, I wouldn’t have one of those. What surprised me was that I was quite good at the topiary. I wonder if this is a sign. Should I take it up? I hope not, it looks really dull.

* Ha ha, yes that was the clanking noise you heard.


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Meet Britain’s Most Stupid

Unfortunately, Noel Coward isn't the norm in Britain; compared to many Brits, Noel Gallagher is quite impressive (Photo courtesy of Wikipedia)

Unfortunately, Noel Coward isn't the norm in Britain; compared to many Brits, Noel Gallagher is quite impressive (Photo courtesy of Wikipedia)

A couple of days ago, a friend of a friend on Facebook asked me about the reaction in the UK to the protests against US president Barack Obama. I had to tell him we found it quite perplexing; we’ve never had a prime minister subjected to such a degree of vitriol. It would be easy to use the current outbursts as evidence of the stupidity of Americans, especially here, where we do like to think of ourselves as above that kind of thing. However, that would be unfair because not all Americans behave in that manner – I’d guess we’re talking about a minority who do – and we aren’t exactly devoid of the stupendously stupid ourselves.

It would nice to be able to say all British people are charming, witty and sophisticated, that a conversation between two Brits is akin to watching Noel Coward and Oscar Wilde at their most eloquent. But I can’t. We try to keep them hidden, but we do have a dimwitted contingent who continually let the side down. If you live in Britain you’ll be familiar with them, if not, here’s an introduction to Britain’s Most Stupid …

The Thoughtless Voters: These are people who routinely vote for the same party, election after election, never giving any thought to what they are actually voting for. They don’t study the policies, or take any notice of televised debates. Why would they? They are Labour/Tory/Monster Raving Loony party through and through, just like their dear old dad. It wouldn’t matter if their party of choice was now advocating a 99% tax rate and the public flogging of anyone called George, they’d still vote for them – even the ones called George.

Individually, the Thoughtless Voter is harmless; problems arise when they congregate in numbers in one area and persistently vote in the same old political retainer, who then disappears back to Westminster with no intention of improving the lot of his/her constituents, because there is no need. The Thoughtless Voters will return them anyway.

Mr and Mrs Why-Oh-Why-Oh-Why: You remember when you were at school, there was one child who seemed to be middle-aged by the time they were 9? They grew up to be either Mr or Mrs WOWOW. If you’re wondering what they do now, I’ll tell you. They spend their time watching programmes/films they highly disapprove of and reading the Daily Mail. When they find material they particularly disapprove of, they write angry missives to the Daily Mail to express their disgust.

Mr and Mrs WOWOW hanker for a Britain that never really existed outside Enid Blyton books, but you must never tell them that! If you try to explain the grim reality of life in the ‘good old days’, they’ll stick their fingers in their ears and label you an apologist for a socialist conspiracy to exterminate decent middle class people like them. This is ironic, because Mr and Mrs WOWOW don’t actually know what it means to be middle class; they think it’s about income, which is why, to their consternation, they find themselves constantly rejected by genuine middle class people.

Mr and Mrs What-The-Feck: Mr and Mrs WTF are the downmarket cousins of Mr and Mrs WOWOW. They actually quite enjoy the programmes/films WOWOWs find offensive, but only if they feature people who are just like them. In other words, only if they feature white people. Mr and Mrs WTF also bewail the loss of a non-existent Britain, although in their version of the myth wife/child beating was acceptable, Love Thy Neighbour was considered funny, and no one had a problem with a man shoving his hand up a woman’s skirt. Once again, you must never try to disabuse them of these notions, they will resist, often violently. However, more reasonable ones will insist black people thought Love Thy Neighbour was hilarious and any woman who didn’t like having her bum felt was obviously a lesbian.

Mr and Mrs WTF are also guilty of irony; although they deplore anything ‘foreign’, they regularly holiday in Spain, and think a Friday night isn’t complete without a curry. They will of course, hurl racist abuse at the staff in the curry house, because it would never occur to them that being rude to people who handle your food is a seriously bad idea. They’d also be quite puzzled if you pointed out the aforementioned irony; they’d think it meant they were made of iron.

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