Tuesday, April 03, 2007 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 85. Blind Drivers. Last Sunday, my Dad insured me on the family car. After an enjoyable pub lunch (sans alcohol I might add), I drove us back home. Three hundred metres from our family home, we stopped at a set of lights. As we sat waiting for the lights to change, I glanced in my rear view mirror. "That's strange," I thought, "Unless the rapidly approaching car behind is left-hand drive, it would seem that the driver has covered her eyes". My thoughts were then rudely interupted by a loud bang and a violent jerk. Yup, for the FOURTH time since I passed my test 12 years ago (bearing in mind that in that time I have spent less than 2 years in total on the road), some TWAT has driven up the back of me when I've been stationary. Fortunately, as in all the other cases I had my handbrake on (thrice bitten, four times shy!) and so I didn't go up the back of the van in front. Getting out, we went through the now familiar motions. I have to confess, I was somewhat irked and may have inadvertantly accused the other driver of having a liquid lunch. I think I was entitled. Anywhoo, we retired around the corner and inspected the cars. We had been very fortunate. Our rear bumper was slightly dinged but all the lights worked fine and the boot opened and shut smoothly. Everyone was fine. Mum and Dad were due to go on holiday, so we decided that as the other driver didn't seem too concerned about her cracked front bumper and broken license plate, we may as well let bygones, be bygones - funnily enough, she seemed to be rather keen to leave - I wonder why? As I said, this latest accident is my fourth. The first happened shortly after my test and was a hit and run from a drunk driver on Xmas eve. The fucker drove off and although we had his number, when he was accosted by the police the next morning they couldn't prove that he had started his mammoth drinking binge the night before. Result - my car was totalled, and I only had third-party insurance. It would be 3 years before I could afford to own another car. Number two happened a few years later, when I was waiting at a junction to enter a busy slip road. The driver behind decided the gap in the traffic was wide-enough to take and took it - despite me still being in front of him. Result - I got pushed in front of a lorry (who swerved, thank god!), my car was technically written off (it was too old to repair in a garage cost-effectively), and I needed to change my clothes from the waist down. Fortunately, Dad is pretty handy with a tool kit and a sledge hammer and we were able to repair the damage enough for me to drive the car again. Number three happened on a motorway exit to Dad's car. I had come off and was waiting patiently at the top of the slip road for the lights to change. Three cars back some prick exited the motorway at high speed and set up a domino affect. Result - a redesigned rear-end and months of arguing with Direct Line. In three of these cases, fortunately, my Dad was also in the car. Obviously I'm not happy about my nearest and dearest being put in danger by morons who can't drive properly. But on the plus side, you can imagine how my father just might have trouble believing me when I ring up for the fourth time, claiming "I've been in another accident and it wasn't my fault, honest". So, to all of you who like to drive after a beer or twelve, believe that you can drive whilst covering your eyes or are perhaps unable to see a 1 tonne lump of bright green metal between you and the open road - GET YOUR FUCKING EYES TESTED AND CATCH THE BUS! Twats. Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 7:27 pm |

Tuesday, March 20, 2007 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 84. Over-age Goths. This particular Twat Award was stimulated by a rather uncomfortable reunion recently. A group of my old uni mates and I had met up for an evening of drinking and debauchery (albeit, one interupted by frequent calls to baby-sitters and an early night, since we all have jobs now and can't stand to stay up past one - wimps). Enter "Jane". Embarrassed silence. Back in the day, Jane was a goth. Naturally, we took the piss out of her, but all in all, we accepted that experimentation in one's university years is to be encouraged. I briefly parted my hair on the other side for example. However, it would seem that not all of us have grown out of our teenage rebellious phase. Jane discovered gothism mid-way through her second year. Overnight, she dyed her platinum blonde hair jet black, started wearing torn fishnet tights, painted her nails black and began wearing emulsion on her face. Indeed, for one as naturally pale as Jane, the effect was really rather startling. Of course, she also developed a few of the less desirable Goth traits, such as lecturing us all on how boring and conformist we all were, then sulking for days on end when one of us dared ask "how come, if goths are so indivdualistic, you all dress the same, listen to the same music and go to exactly the same pubs?". But anyways, she was a pleasant enough lass, and I was looking forward to seeing her for the first time in years. Yet it seems that despite reaching the ripe old age of thirty, Jane still wants to be fourteen. Even more shockingly, despite no longer living at home with her parents, she still listens to Marilyn Manson, her T-shirt proving that she has attended one of his concerts within recent memory. Now call me an old fuddy duddy, but isn't the target demographic for Mr Manson middle-class sixteen year olds who simply want to annoy the fuck out of their parents "cos they don't understand me"? Why would a well-educated thirty-year old with a proper grown-up job, who by all accounts enjoys a healthy relationship with her parents, listen to him? She doesn't even suffer from acne any more. Shouldn't she have grown out of him by now? Oh well, it was nice to see her again, and once we got past the urge to ask her which of her school teachers she hates most and how often she gets asked for ID in the off-licence, we had a great evening. But as a public service, I politely suggest that any my readers who are over the age of 21 and still listen to Marilyn Manson and dress like Ozzy Osborne - please don't. It's extremely unsettling - rather like finding that an 18 stone Rugby player still wets the bed and sleeps with a stuffed Winnie the Pooh or those Japanese business men who like wearing giant nappies and being bottle fed. Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 6:46 pm |

Wednesday, March 07, 2007 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 83. Airport Baggage Handlers. I can't decide what's worse. The utter contempt they show for your baggage. The utter contempt they show for you, knowing that you are standing, watching in horror as the fuckers deliberately and unnecessarily hurl your bags off the plane. I watched, with dozens of fellow passengers, in absolute disgust at Washington Dulles as baggage handlers lifted suitcases to chest height, before dropping them on to the floor. The windows in Dulles are floor to ceiling, so we could watch our plane being loaded. The bastards knew they were being watched as they kept on smirking at us. And it isn't just Dulles. After just two trips between the UK and Canada, my suitcase has been consigned to the bin. Even more distressingly, the backup hard disk I had in my case was smashed and required major surgery before it worked. Fortunately, I had packed my "overflow" hard disk in my hand luggage with my laptop, so all of my irreplaceable data was safe fom these cretins. And did I mention that they are a bunch of thieves? A close friend made it to Australia to find that whilst at first glance everything was still within the suitcase, her jewellry boxes had been emptied and the empty boxes placed back into the suitcase, presumably in the hope that she didn't notice for a while. All in all, I am glad not to be travelling for a while, and in future I will invest in a bomb-proof samsonite and ensure that anything that these scum might regard as valuable is kept in my hand-luggage. Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 10:32 pm |

Tuesday, February 20, 2007 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 82. Bell Canada. OK, Bell Canada have pissed me off. Firstly, I am irrationally annoyed that they want to screw me for $140 to cover the cost of my cell phone subscription now that I am leaving. Now, I am the first to admit that it was my fault for signing a 12 month contract, and that they are perfectly within their rights to charge me $20/month to cover the rest of my contract. However, the buggers insisted on making me talk to a straight man. Why is that an issue, I hear you ask? Because straight Canadian men are immune to an English accent. You see, something that I have found in the past few months is that the Canadian ladies are surprisingly susceptible to an English accent. Whether I should be thanking Hugh Grant, Prince William or every Bond actor after Connery, I don't know. Nevertheless, I have found that even my council estate drawl allows me to approach and flirt with women well out of my league and charm my way out of paying library fines or penalty fees (the lovely lady at Rogers Cable dropped the disconnection fee when I told her how I'd lost my job and was going to retrain and to work with children - similarly, I played the bumbling Brit abroad and got my astronomical library fines halved "just this once" when I convinced the librarian that I couldn't log-in to renew my books over christmas. This was partly true - I couldn't, but I then forgot to actually return the books for a week after returning to Canada after christmas). But no dice. So I was already somewhat less than enamoured with Bell on saturday, when I missed my bus out of town and needed to check my hotmail to lookup contact numbers to tell my friends I would be late for a party. I found a public access terminal, run by Bell, in the train station that charged the outrageous sum of $2 for 10 minutes. Depositing my $2, I logged onto Hotmail. Nothing. After several attempts I gave up and decided to check www.bbc.co.uk. The odds of either site being down is miniscule. Nothing. The access terminal had no internet connection. It also had no refund button. For problems with the terminal, I was advised to call a freephone number between 9am and 5pm mon-fri or email support. How? There is no bloody internet connection! So, having 40 minutes to kill, I decided to use a public payphone to call the engineer's repair line on 611. It is childish I know, but for the next 30 minutes I (extremely politely) harangued some poor call centre worker, demanding my two dollars back. The poor sod couldn't understand that I was a member of the public and kept on asking me my business account number or my home account number. He left me to talk to his supervisor three times. However, because I was being polite he couldn't just hang up on me for being abusive (calls are monitored - that works both ways!), furthermore, he didn't have the commonsense to tell me that I had called the wrong number. I suspect that had my bus not arrived, I could still be there now. What I should have done of course, was gently place the receiver on the side and tiptoed off to the bus. Instead I took pity on him and said that I would call back during office hours on monday. Childish? Yes. Satisfying - oh yeah! I know that call centre wages are pretty poor, but I like to think that the time wasted on me cost more than the $2 Bell stole off me. Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 5:29 am |

Tuesday, February 13, 2007 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 81. Larry King (and mini-me Anderson Cooper). Larry King, despite rarely darkening UK screens, was known to me before I crossed the Atlantic. I knew of him as the Daddy of US chatshow hosts. He's interviewed every US President since Abe Lincoln, is rarely turned down for an interview, is watched and loved by millions of Americans every night - and was impersonated in Gremlins 2. Why? Since moving here, I often find my TV tuned to CNN. Sure they aren't nearly as good as the BBC, but unfortunately BBC World is a rather stripped down affair compared to BBC24, with news bulletins every half hour and a seemingly endless parade of worthy but dull documentaries on life as a gay woman in Uttar Pradesh. Every week night, Larry King puts on his bowtie and suspenders (note to UK readers - North Americans refer to braces as suspenders - at least until I tell them that suspenders are pantyhose in the UK...) leans over his desk, and asks inane questions for an hour, interupted only by commercials every 6 minutes and the always breathless Anderson Cooper plugging his own show immediately afterwards. Now I realise it is a bit much to expect a President or former President, or even a Presidential hopefull every night, but I have to say the old boy really scrapes the barrell sometimes. For example 3 weeks ago he basically gave over his show to American Idol. He spent the entire night (for several nights in a row) "interviewing" former Idol runner ups asking if they thought Simon Cowell was a big fat meanie and then extending the 15 minutes of fame of the Muppet rejects who were canny enough to get featured in the show and bag themselves an agent. I suppose the only interesting thing to be garnered from the interview was the dizzy blonde former contestant who cheerfully (and perhaps a little too candidly) explained the intimate details of how Idol actually works. I.E you go through 3 rounds of auditions before meeting the judges, so that only the great and the freaky get through; that you sign a contract giving the producers the right to take the piss royally ad infinitum; that they own yo sorry ass. Basically, King will give any one who wants it, 15 minutes or more of airtime. If you are a bullshit artist like Deepak Chopra, you get even more. Last week, however, it became nasty. On the Tuesday, news broke that an Astronaut had completely flipped, allegedly driven 1000miles in a nappy and confronted her love rival. Despite there being no information of any note at all, every rent a shrink near a cell phone was asked their opinion. Anderson Cooper scrapped his plans (probably some trifling piffle about the Iraqi civil war - not really important) to heap speculation upon speculation and supposition upon supposition. Then Pay Dirt! Anna Nicole Smith is found dead! For a man with a bad heart, King was so excited I was worried. Only last week, he had been giving the two competing fathers of her child an unnecessary amount of airtime, and of course he'd had her on his show dozns of times previously. It was nauseating to watch. Somehow, King managed to keep a sombre expression and tone, despite the fact it was obvious that he was furiously masturbating under the desk. The thing is, I have little or no time for that type of Z-list floosy, and I found the whole public custody battle just another way of distracting the braindead masses from actually contemplating anything of worth. But I was sickened by the reaction only hours after her death. I turned over after a few minutes. When I came back about 40 minutes later (my cable box cycles through bookmarked channels in a preset order), not only were they still discussing her death - they were talking to legal representatives about when was the best time to take DNA samples - before or after autopsy. The following night, it was more of the same with added shit-slinging from the wannabe fathers. So to Larry King and Anderson Cooper, I award you a Tuesday Twat. Put it at the front of the trophy cabinet, you actually deserve this one. Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 11:48 am |

Tuesday, February 06, 2007 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 80. Canadian Online Companies Yes, I'm in a bad mood. With my pending exit from this continent looming, I have decided to take advantage of being over here to do a spot of travelling. I've decided to nip south of the border and fulfill a long-standing ambition to visit the Smithsonian Museum(s) in Washington DC. Since I will need flights and accomodation, I decided to use Expedia.ca to do so. On the plus side, I got flights (leaving Canada early in the morning and returning late at night to maximise the vacation), two nights at a seedy motel 2 miles from Capitol Hill and all the museums, and airport transfers for C$550. Not bad at all. On the down-side, the buggers won't let me pay for it! I've hit the great Canadian online "you don't have a Canadian credit card" wall of resistance. I've noticed that Visa is only international... outside of Canada. Seriously. I first had this problem booking flights home for christmas with TripCentral.ca. I had to do all sorts of shit, like photocopying and faxing my UK credit card and passport before they would accept my reservation. Relatives hit a similar block when they tried to get Amazon.ca to send me birthday and christmas presents. I tried to reserve some stuff online... same thing. I tried to phone in the credit card number - but even the supervisor didn't understand what my problem was. "Just use your Candian card". "I.. don't... have.. a... Canadian... Card" I have a Canadian bank account ("We don't take cheques sir, we are an online company"). I have a CIBC "convenience card" (That isn't Visa or Mastercard, sir. You can only use it in ATMs") I have a Canadian address ("We need the address the card is registered to"). Why is this? I'm told that this doesn't present a problem in Australia or New Zealand. Finally I gave up and switched to Expedia.co.uk. I booked precisely the same trip, using the same flights and same hotel (then also added a couple of sight-seeing tours) for £300 (actually slightly cheaper by my maths). I went to pay and found that on Expedia.co.uk if I were, for example a Canadian, I COULD SELECT A NON-UK CREDIT CARD. Visa - accepted everywhere. Except Canada. Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 11:13 pm |

Tuesday, December 19, 2006 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 79. Christmas Songs. Now I know that this is going to make me sound like a Scrooge, but if I hear one more re-fucking-imagining of "little donkey" or "When a child is born", I'll go stabby. I had always felt (based on overseas students' comments) that Britain led the way in toe-curlingly shite christmas music. Not so. Canada has us beat, hands down. Since December the first the "lab DJ" - normally responsible for ensuring a constant stream of classic rock that soothes away our daily stresses - has tuned the radio to a local station playing nothing but christmas music. In order to fill the gaps between adverts, the DJs will play anything that has a festive theme. Anything. Unfortunately, music companies are such whores that they have absolutely no lower-limit of acceptance for what constitutes something worth listening to and encourage all the stars on their books to murder re-record christmas classics to earn a few extra bucks. Whilst the novelty, made-for-christmas songs can sometimes have their own special charm (The Mexican-themed "Felize navidad - I wanna wish you a merry christmas" was amusing the first 10 times for its sheer exuberance), there is nothing worse than some "diva" warbling her way through silent night. Since they have to try and make the song at least a little distinctive, the "artists" are encouraged to use their imagination. The result is not unsimilar to the first few rounds of X-factor, where 15 year old girls with barely covered acne screech their way through Sugababes hits, cunningly skipping the difficult notes by doing that breathless warbling shit like Beyonce. Simon Cowell might be a contender for the Order of the Tosser, but at least he usually turfs those muppets out (unless they have big boobs of course, then they're straight through to the next round. X-Factor my arse - DD-Factor more like). I'm sorry, but you are really scraping the barrell when you get someone to re-record "The Drummer Boy". That song is really only for 6 year old alterboys at midnight mass. Then they are cute. Believe me, when they reach 15 it's embarrassing for all concerned (I know this, because I have watched a 6 year old alterboy for the past 10 years, as Father has insisted that he does his party piece each year. Even his Mum looks embarrassed now). So, much to my amazement I find myself longing for Band Aid or Slade. I must be more homesick than I realised. Felizes Navidad! Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 4:14 am |

Tuesday, December 05, 2006 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 78. Darren. I have no idea who Darren is. We have never met. He doesn't even know my name. But I know his. Darren is a popular bloke, with many friends. Unfortunately, few of those friends mean enough to him to warrant being given his new mobile phone number. They still have his old mobile number. Now MY mobile number. Last week was his birthday. For two days between 8am and 10pm I fielded call after call, wishing Darren a happy birthday. I am sorry to say, but I got progressively less polite as time wore on. "I'm sorry, this is no longer Darren's number. I got this number 2 months ago." "This isn't Darren's number anymore. Could you do me a favour. If you track him down, could you please ask him to let his friends know his new number". "No, this isn't Darren. Tell him to tell people his new number". "Darren's dead". Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 1:10 am |

Tuesday, November 28, 2006 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 77. Idiot construction workers. Here is an absolute gem that I feel will go down in the annals of Fuckwittery. Hell, it's a contender for the Darwin Award! I saw this example of gob-smacking idiocy out of the bus window on my way to work. It was all I could do not to jump off at the next stop, run back and present him with a redeemable token for a gold-plated Tuesday Twat Award there and then. My daily commute is slowed down (hopefully for not too much longer) by major roadworks on the bus route to the train station. Today I watched agog as a worker trimmed a piece of wood with a circular saw. Leaving aside his lack of eye protection etc, what got me was the way he used his right leg as a brace to hold the wood still. Standing, right leg extended, he balanced the 50 centimetre piece of wood against his shin, using his right foot to stop it sliding off. Using his right hand, he then proceeded to cut (and I saw the blade spinning) the wood upward toward his body. Cutting downwards, any slip would probably have meant he got 50% off at the shoe shop. Moving upwards... well, Mrs Construction worker could probably come off the pill at the very least. He then flipped the wood around and did the same on the other end. Standing watching him was the brains of the outfit, fag hanging from mouth as he waited, either for the wood his mate was cutting for him, or for a chance to test his first aid skills. I'm not sure which. I really wish I had a video camera with me. Forget YouTube, this ones destined for those gob-smackingly dull and patronising Health and Safety videos. Or Canada's funniest Home Videos. Definately worth $250, I reckon. The annoying thing is, that if this genius did slip, you can bet that the poor construction company that made the mistake of employing him would be fined and his managers sued for neglecting to tell him NOT to cut his own leg off with a circular saw. Awesome! Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 12:19 am |

Tuesday, November 21, 2006 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 76. The makers of powdered gloves. I'm sorry, but it's 2006 - why in god's name do manufacturers still make bloody powdered latex gloves? Normally, we use powder-free gloves. Unfortunately, some muppet ordered powdered gloves from stores. Being a relatively small lab, on a tight budget, we are stuck with the bloody things. We can't really justify chucking them, and we can't get a refund. For those readers whose hobbies/sex-lives don't involve the regular use of latex gloves, let me assure you that you aren't missing much. My entire work area is now covered in a fine coating of talcum powder; my progress around the lab can be tracked by following the white hand-prints and my brand-new, worn-for-the-first-time-today, black winter coat has two bloody great handprints on it (it was hanging on the back of my chair). My hands look like Kate Moss' top lip and I've found that if I clap them together, it looks like she's sneezed. Call me a whinger, but surely it says something profound about the design of powdered gloves that I actually need to wash my hands after wearing them? Of course, it could be worse. These days they are full of talc. Years ago, before people started getting alarmed at the rapid numbers of people developing latex allergies (some of my friends never suffered from exczema or psoriasis on their hands before they started their PhDs), the powder was latex. Not only did you run the risk of making yourself allergic to most condoms (I have it on extremely good authority that it does happen), when you returned to work after a weekend away, your hands still smelt like you'd finished a 16 hour shift in the Durex factory. Even an obsessive compulsive handwasher couldn't get rid of the smell. So to Sempermed et al - for christ's sake, STOP making the damn things. I've used powder free for years and they work perfectly well!! Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 3:42 am |

Wednesday, November 08, 2006 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 75 Luciano Mares BBC News Yes - the Tuesday Twat is back! And here is a classic! Nothing quite beats seeing somebody being needlessly cruel - then seeing it backfire spectacularly! OK, so you have a mouse infestation. You finally manage to capture one of the little buggers. So what do you do? A) Take the mouse for a nice long drive, then chuck it in a hedge somewhere, confident you've seen the back of it? B) Humanely kill it - easily done, HM Government's approved method is to break its neck. Equally effective and just as painless as long as you get it first time is to wallop it with something heavy. Mice are vermin, but no need to be nasty about it. C) Chuck it on the bonfire? Well guess what this sick fuck did? One assumes the mouse eventually perished - in a lot of needless pain. But it got it's own back - the flaming rodent raced back into the house - and promptly set it on fire, destroying it and everything in it. Sadly, Mr Mares was safe outside. Call me a cynic, but if Mr Mares was a 13 year-old, he would be branded a sick little hooligan, and he and his parents would be booking weekly appointments with a child psychologist for the next 20 years. But Mr Mares is 81, so he'll probably get away with it. What's next, dragging unwanted puppies beind his pickup truck? Skinning kittens with a blunt potato peeler because he can't find a burlap sack, a brick and a deep enough pond? I really hope the insurance company refuses to pay ou! Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 5:24 am |

Wednesday, August 30, 2006 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 74. Buyers of "Celebrity" fragrances. It seems that Posh and Becks have jumped on the same bandwagon as the likes of J-Ho J-Lo, Paris Hilton and Britney Spears and brought out their own scent. Feel free to insert any jokes you see fit about it not being the first stinker Posh has released. As the marketing hype swings into over-drive, queues are predicted as fashionistas and Chavs alike race to buy the most eagerly awaited fragrance since... well, the last one. Sheer Twattery. And for once I can back up my vitriol with cold, hard logic - rather than just asking you to tolerate my misanthropy. They are buying something they have never smelt and paying a premium for a fashion item that nobody knows they are wearing. The scent has just been released - the people queuing have never smelt it. Furthermore, even when they splash it on to cover the fact they got up too late to have a shower, nobody they encounter will know either! Sure, somebody might ask them "whew, what's that smell?" to which they will proudly boast "Beckham's Jockstrap" - but consider this: I can say exactly the same thing when I wear some of the dodgy bottle of Jovan Musk my Uncle picked up cheap on his travels. And how would they ever know? Thus these fools have fallen for the advertising industry's most cynical example of style over substance. I say, the Emperor's new clothes are very smart aren't they? Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 3:14 am |

Tuesday, August 22, 2006 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 73. Illiterate Bank Clerks and Innumerate Posties OK, this has been sitting on my "To Do" list for some time now, but this week has elbowed aside the planned Tuesday Twat. Of all the jobs in the world, there are some that one assumes require at least the basic ability to differentiate between the 26 letters of the Roman alphabet and the 10 westernised Arabic numerals. Two examples that spring immediately to mind are Sign Writers (although the ability to spell is not apparently top of the list of requirements) and those performance artists that take all their clothes off and contort their bodies in such away that they can spell out the word "SALE", without achieving penetration. Others would probably include Bank workers and Postal Delivery Operatives. My Postie has trouble with both. I live in a large apartment building, separated into several blocks A-M with about 60 individual apartments in each block. I live in 60J. Why then do I regularly get mail for 27J or 32J? Why do I sometimes get mail for 45B (yesterday morning) or 25C? More importantly, given that several of these apartments are empty for the summer, how often does my mail go to another apartment? And could this explain the letter I received last week dated 11th of January? (It wasn't important thank god, hence me not realising it was missing). Bank Workers seem to be little better. As you can imagine, I am up to my neck in paperwork preparing for my upcoming move to Canada. Top of the list is my application for a work permit. This requires the sending of a half dozen different forms and photocopied certificates etc etc to the Canadian High Commission. Most important it seems is the C$150 in fees. For reasons that escape me and probably have something to do with the war of 1812 (see, I've been reading up on my history!), unless I travel all the way to Grosvenor St in London clutching a fistfull of Canadian Loonies and Twoonies (that's a 1 dollar and 2 dollar coin respectively), I need a banker's draft. What's one of those I hear you ask? Don't feel too bad about asking, because the 12 year old behind the desk in LLoyds-TSB asked that very same question. After putting me on to a woman old enough to be his grandmother (ie about forty), my details were duly copied down (correctly, I checked), the sum of £15 was extracted from my battered looking account on top of the $150 (~£70) and I was promised a phone call on Friday or, at the latest, Monday. Friday passed. No Word. Monday arrived. The envelope with all of my other details in it remained unsealed on my desk. I phoned them and was told it should "definately be there Tuesday". Tuesday, a phone call! I trekked into the bank to pick it up. The woman behind the counter disappeared down to the vault. FIFTEEN minutes later, she arrived looking embarrassed. "They've made a bit of a mistake with your name. That's why it wasn't here Friday. We sent it back to Head Office because it wasn't on our list. They then sent it back here again." I looked at the draft. "Bit of a mistake" didn't begin to describe it. At first, neither of us could work out how the hell they had got the name on the draft from the name on the order (which I double-checked on the carbon copy receipt was spelt correctly in the teller's very neat handwriting). Eventually I figured it out. They had taken my (extremely common) first name, and misspelt it badly, before using it as my surname. They had then taken the first letter of my middle name and used it as my first initial and the first letter of my surname and used it as my second initial. Feel free to keep on rereading that paragraph until it makes sense. What kind of illiterate Fuckwits do LLoyds-TSB employ in their Head Office? Were they high? Having a psychotic episode? Or were they just trying to prove the CBI's claims that today's school leavers are shite? Fortunately, they hadn't fucked up "The Receiver General For Canada" in the payee line and my garbled name doesn't appear anywhere on the cheque part of the draft, so the bank assures me that it won't be a problem. I will go fucking ballistic if it delays my application though! Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 11:59 pm |

Tuesday, August 08, 2006 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 72. Professional Letter Writers Anybody who works in the service industry is aware of these people - folks with nothing more to do with themselves than write letters of complaint, over the most trivial of matters, perhaps in the hope that somebody loses their job. I have nothing against writing letters of complaint per se - last week's Twat Award detailed my attempts to get compensation for being bumped off a flight to Canada - but when someone writes in about something utterly trivial and without merit, it really pisses me off. Over the past few weeks, there have been a number of incidents that have spurned a spurious letter. The first was from a local Vicar (no, seriously). With it being the summer holidays, we have been doing badminton classes for kids. Heavily subsidised by the local authority, they cost the princely sum of £1 for one hour. Since these are introductory classes for young kids, much of the class is devoted to playing fun games to improve their fitness and co-ordination. The local Reverend had turned up with dumpy wife and 6 kids in tow and left them in the capable hands of our coach. He sat and watched through the window. After asking me, two coaches and at least one manager if he could bring his kids later - and being told that we don't actually do lessons at that time - he was in a decidedly ungodly mood. So imagine the histrionics when the coach finished the lesson 3 minutes early! She explained that first of all, they always finish a couple of minutes early with the youngest kids because getting them off the court can be rather time-consuming. Second, she was going off the clock on the court which was 2 minutes faster than his watch (and she had started the lesson using that clock) and that third, she had finished the lesson with a game, which the children had completed a little quicker than anticipated, leaving her no time to start something new in the remaining 2 minutes. Needless to say, the letter went straight to the head of sports at the council, signed "Reverend" and laments our lack of organisation, shoddy service, our only delivering half a lesson and the appalling attitude of the staff and coaches. Fuck you Reverend. The second was just Twattery. I was covering a (rare) morning shift, when a man of about twenty and his little brother (about 10) were dropped off. They wanted to play a game of badminton and had duly booked a court. The price was £5. He handed me a £50 note. "Have you not got anything smaller?" I asked, Opening the till, I saw that we simply did not have that sort of change. Our start of day float is only £50 and we had barely taken £20 thus far. We would have lost all of our coins and smaller notes. That just isn't feasible with gangs of kids coming within the hour, all wanting to pay for their £1 lesson with £10 notes. "Have you got a credit card?" I asked. "No". "Then I'm sorry, we can't accept a £50 note. We just don't have the change. You could always nip up the road to Tesco, and see if they'll change it". "No. Let us on, we'll pay at a later date." That I can't do. I don't know who he is and won't be on a day shift to grab him if he does return. The duty manager was summoned, but agreed with me. Little known fact - we are not obliged to give more than £20 worth of change. Why did he have a £50 note any way? Cashpoints don't give them, and unless you are withdrawing huge amounts of money out, the bank doesn't routinely give them out. Anyway, he wasn't satisfied. Hence another letter will be written. Dumbshit didn't ask my name though, so it probably won't find its way back to me. Ultimately though, we offered him option of going to Tesco whilst we held his court and we couldn't do any better than that. If he had turned up sans wallet, he wouldn't have expected to get on for free, so why should he expect any different if he is foolish to turn up with a £50 note? Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 1:00 am |

Tuesday, August 01, 2006 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 71. Canadian Affair and Thomas Cook Airlines. Well, after the debacle I had in getting to Canada and the fact that I missed a job interview, you didn't think I was going to let them get off scott-free did you? Anyways, it seems that it isn't illegal to bump you off a flight (why?) - however since 2004, there has been an EU regulation regarding just what rights passengers have in these situations. And despite their legal obligations to do so, the bastards won't advertise them. So here are those rights, copied directly from EU Regulation 261/2004: (PDF available at The Civil Aviation Authority ) Article 14 Obligation to inform passengers of their rights 1. The operating air carrier shall ensure that at check-in a clearly legible notice containing the following text is displayed in a manner clearly visible to passengers: ‘If you are denied boarding or if your flight is cancelled or delayed for at least two hours, ask at the check-in counter or boarding gate for the text stating your rights, particularly with regard to compensation and assistance’. I spent an hour staring at that check-in desk, 2 days in a row - I can promise you that no such sign was visible. 2. An operating air carrier denying boarding or cancelling a flight shall provide each passenger affected with a written notice setting out the rules for compensation and assistance in line with this Regulation. It shall also provide each passenger affected by a delay of at least two hours with an equivalent notice. The contact details of the national designated body referred to in Article 16 shall also be given to the passenger in written form. They offered me taxi fare - and got rid of me ASAP. I was in too much of a state to think to ask. Article 7 Right to compensation Note: this is in addition to their obligation to actually get me to my destination 1. Where reference is made to this Article, passengers shall receive compensation amounting to: (a) EUR 250 for all flights of 1 500 kilometres or less; (b) EUR 400 for all intra-Community flights of more than 1 500 kilometres, and for all other flights between 1 500 and 3 500 kilometres; (c) EUR 600 for all flights not falling under (a) or (b). In determining the distance, the basis shall be the last destination at which the denial of boarding or cancellation will delay the passenger's arrival after the scheduled time. The last I checked, Canada was about 3,500 miles. Kerching! 600 Euros please! 2. When passengers are offered re-routing to their final destination on an alternative flight pursuant to Article 8, the arrival time of which does not exceed the scheduled arrival time of the flight originally booked (a) by two hours, in respect of all flights of 1 500 kilometres or less; or (b) by three hours, in respect of all intra-Community flights of more than 1 500 kilometres and for all other flights between 1 500 and 3 500 kilometres; or (c) by four hours, in respect of all flights not falling under (a) or (b), the operating air carrier may reduce the compensation provided for in paragraph 1 by 50 %. I was delayed by over a day, so no getting out of it - the full 600 please! 3. The compensation referred to in paragraph 1 shall be paid in cash, by electronic bank transfer, bank orders or bank cheques or, with the signed agreement of the passenger, in travel vouchers and/or other services. A cheque payable to SaneScientist if you would be so kind. I've written an appropriate letter and run it by a lawyer friend. General consensus is that it's a slam dunk and I have them bang to rights. Any silly buggery and I complain directly to the Air Transport Users Council and file a claim in the small claims court. Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 2:46 am |

Tuesday, July 04, 2006 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 70. Film Distributers This is a personal gripe that has really come into focus again with the delayed release of Superman Returns over here. Years ago, there was almost always a long lag between a film being released in the US and its release on these shores. Various excuses were given, such as the different holiday traditions between the two countries - the July 4th weekend is traditionally a big one in the US for example. Another, less acceptable excuse, is the fact that it is cheaper to re-use the same rolls of film on both sides of the Atlantic. This is why, despite paying roughly the same, even on opening night it is not uncommon for the picture to be scratched and dirty. The universal adoption of digital is still some time away, so film is still going to degrade with use. The reason that this annoys me so, is not just impatience - we've been waiting for a new Superman film since 1987, I can wait a little longer. It is a combination of both jealousy and the fact that I often quite like to be surprised by the ending of a film! I visit a number of websites and bulletin boards, many of which often have an "open gossip" forum where people can talk about anything that interests them, including films. Unfortunately, these boards are often filled with Americans who simply cannot grasp the fact that not everyone in the world sees a film at the same time. Think Homer Simpson turning to Marge outside a screening of The Empire Strikes Back announcing in a loud voice in front of the queue to go in "I can't believe that Darth Vader turned out to be Luke's father!". You get the idea. I confess that I tore a new arsehole for the prick who post a topic entitled "Snap Poll: Was it right to kill Data at the end of ST: Nemesis?" - 6 weeks before it came out in the UK. For fuck's sake... But then along came broadband internet. Suddenly, it became possible for Joe Public to download low-quality copies of films within hours of them being released. Thank God, I say! Even though I have never downloaded a pirate film, nor do I intend to (I genuinely enjoy the cinema experience and have a rather low tolerance for poor quality pictures), Internet piracy has been one of the best things to happen in recent years. Why? Because it finally forced distributers to simultaneously release major pictures across the globe. Everything from X-Men 3 to Star Wars Episode III were released at exactly the same time, since it was guaranteed that copies of those films would be on peer-to-peer networks within hours of the film being shown. But now, they've changed their minds again, claiming that simultaneous release allows people to film copies in UK cinemas. Um yeah, so what? Why does it matter where the film is copied - surely it's more important to reduce demand for illegal copies? So now Superman Returns will be released 3 weeks late in the UK (and 2 months late in some territories). The only way it makes sense is if somebody in WB has shares in Bittorrent.. Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 3:51 am |

Tuesday, June 27, 2006 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 69. The inventor of the mobile music phone speaker. I confidently predict that there will be a special place in hell for the twat that decided to marry a mobile phone and an MP3 player, then beef up the speakers. In only a few short months, my daily commute has changed from a chance to quietly reflect upon the day's events, whilst appreciating the subtle bouquet of my fellow passengers' body odour into a deafening assault on the ears from some gob-shite's music player. It was bad enough listening to the muffled boom boom boom of some dickhead's iPOD, as they destroy the last hair cells remaining in their cochlea by listening at full volume - now they have speakers. I know that when people first started buying "Ghetto Blasters", some anti-social arseholes would sit in public places and share their music with the world, but the quick arrival of the Sony Walkman personal stereo soon killed the idea of lugging a stereo system the size of a small suitcase around. Either that or Mr Spock's nerve pinch in Star Trek IV scared more people than I thought... However, these are already portable. And take a look at the offenders. They fall in to 2 camps mostly. Schoolkids, who are by definition anti-social little animals with questionable musical taste and Scum. On my daily route, it's schoolkids on the way to work and Scum on the way back. Try telling the kids to turn it off and you'll just get a mouthful of abuse. Try telling the Scum to turn it off and they will smile, having finally provoked a potentially violent confrontation with someone. Says a lot about their self esteem I suppose that they live for a fight, but there you go. Unfortunately, until wearing headphones becomes cool again or someone develops a remote control similar to the ones you can buy to turn off pub TVs, I don't see it getting any better soon. I might have to invest in an MP3 player of my own with sound-supressing earphones. An alternative might be to start playing Barry Manilow at high volume myself. Or perhaps that really irritating high-pitched squeal that only the most youthfull in society can appreciate. Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 2:59 am |

Tuesday, June 20, 2006 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 68. Public dope smokers OK, no matter where you stand on the whole legalise/criminlise debate - you have to admit that people who wander down a busy high street trailing "funny smelling" smoke behind them are fucking idiots. It seems to be an epidemic near where I live and is getting more common. Sitting upstairs on the bus has always been a good way to get light-headed on the cheap. However, sitting downstairs is almost as effective these days. And with summer days inevitably leading to more people sitting outside, either in beer gardens, cafes or bus shelters, it seems that more and more people are quite brazenly smoking joints. I've also seen people wandering down the street carrying very obviously well-used bongs. Why is this? Is there some misconception about whether it is now legal or not? It seems to me quite clear that the new guidelines on cannibas use simply allow Police Officers more discretion. They can choose to give you a warning for small amounts, rather than "hauling yo ass" down to the police station for a caution or fine. The keyword here being "discretion", in all it's meanings. I humbly submit that if PC Plod is searching you or your property for some reason and finds nothing more incriminating than a single joint - he or she may choose to give you a warning. If however, you are standing in the middle of the highstreet on a busy saturday afternoon, giggling like a school girl and puffing enthusiastically on a doobee the size of cuban cigar - most Police Officers would regard that as "taking the piss" and probably arrest you just for being a knob head. I have an inherent dislike of people that behave like pricks and I can't wait for the day when some copper decides that arresting these twats is at least as productive in terms of cases solved as pouncing on someone feeding chips to pigeons in a public park. The look on their face will be priceless... Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 2:00 am |

Tuesday, June 13, 2006 The Tuesday Twat(s) No. 67. The buyers of "Celebrity" Biographies Browsing my local bookstore a few weeks ago, I was confronted by an unbelievable sign. "Jade Goody will in store be signing copies of her new autobiography" Jade Goody... autobiography... signing. What sort of a fucked up world do we live in when those four words can be combined in a sentence without any negatives? More importantly, who in God's name buys this shit? Recent "auto"biographies such as "Bbeing Jordan" have topped best-seller charts in their first few weeks, whilst still fully priced hardbacks. It's not as if they are being snapped up 2 for £1.99 from County Bookstores reduced bins. Now let's get something clear rom the off. I don't have anything against Celebrity biographies per se, just "Celebrity" biographies. I can see why people might buy the life-story of George Best or Alex Ferguson. I'm sure that "Sir" Sean Connery's forthcoming biography will probably be a bloody good page turner, depending on it's author ("Sir" Sean is a self-confessed near-illiterate, the odds of him putting pen to paper are about the same as Stephen Hawking winning the Ladies singles at Wimbledon with 2 missing wheels and a flat battery). But it is beyond me why anyone would want to read the biography of a twenty-something, one-time "Reality TV star", who thinks that East Anglia is abroad and refers to her lady parts as her "kebab". And surely, those who aren't entirely repulsed by Katie "Don't call me Jordan" Price are rather more interested in pictures than words. I'm surprised that "Being Jordan" wasn't a pop-up-book. It may be mean of me (OK, I admit it is definately mean), but my first thought on hearing that Wayne Rooney might not play in the World cup was "that's fucked his five-book deal then. I wonder if there is an opt-out clause in his contract". Of course, his "heroic fight back fom devastating injury to score the winning goal in a penalty shoot-out against Germany in the Worldcup final"(*) is probably worth a sixth book. Indeed, if you look carefully at the photos of him flying back after his scan, you can see that he is still carrying a packet of crayons, despite having lent his colouring book to Theo Walcott. I wonder what he was writing about? So, to all of those who buy this tripe. Stop it! You're only encouraging them. It's a waste of trees and ink. And for those of you have stooped so low to buy Jade Goody's autobiograph, shame on you! The Tuesday Twat Award was invented for people like you! (*) this might be slightly wishfull thinking. Labels: The Tuesday Twat(s) # posted by SaneScientist @ 2:00 am |