Comeback

Back in the world of writing crap on a blog, given I've managed to land myself in some half-decent temporary accommodation (and many thanks to Mark, Cathy, Helen and Mrs A for putting us up while I sorted it out), I've been allowed time to get irritated by a couple of things.

a) Booking fees. The great scam of the 21st Century, I reckon. On seeing Chameleons Vox were playing the Ruby Lounge in August, I decided two tickets would be in order. Rather than go through those nasty websites, I trooped down to a certain record store in Manchester. After waiting for about ten minutes while the world's slowest store clerks dealt with a couple of people, I was handed what I wanted: £12 each, but with a booking fee slapped on.

It just really, really fucks me off. Why not just make the ticket £2.50 or whatever more expensive. And what is this fee for? I didn't *book* anything: I went to a shop and paid. Hardly deserving of a couple of quid labour costs, I reckon.

b) People driving like fuckwits on a Motorway. During my short spell of quasi-homelessness, I was commuting from Chester to Manchester, going up and down the M56. What this reminded of was that about 90% of drivers on Britain's roads should have their cars impounded immediately and be banned from driving until they prove themselves capable of not acting like their brain was removed at dawn. It's my belief that the vast majority of congestion on our roads is caused by people not being able to drive properly. Arseholes.

There's probably a lot more, but that's enough spleen-venting for now. I recently found out I have very low blood pressure, which apparently is good for living a long and healthy live, so I don't want to get myself too annoyed and causing it to rise up.