It’s all up the walls

8 December, 2014 (18:31) | All articles | By: Stuart Fraser

THERE aren’t many situations in which I prefer humans to animals. Not many at all.

I mention this because, as some of you may know, there has been a spectacular outbreak of multiple vomiting here at Fraser Towers.

Everybody and everything has been at it, apart from me (I haven’t got time for vomiting, and all those years of cheap red wine have toughened up my innards). I even saw a bird being sick on the roof of my car on Saturday.

Now, Management has been chief vomit scraper-upper and her reaction has been instructive. Some inhabitants, having vomited, have been kicked up the arse and thrown out of the door. Others, having vomited, have been scooped up for a cuddle amid coos of sympathy and concern.

The difference between the vomiters is, of course, in the number of their sick-speckled legs. The children, having caught the wretched sickness bug eternally circulating around their bloody school, have been spraying it up the walls, over their bookshelves, in their duvets, over their floors – everywhere, basically. They have been the recipients of love and sympathy.

Brother Bertie’s cat, Captain Pusstasticus, has also been vomiting, but daintily and in a minimalist fashion, always in the same spot in front of the piano. He, however, has been booted up the arse and thrown out of the door. The dog was also ill, and was lucky to escape with her life before being booted up the arse and thrown out of the door.

I, on the other hand, would have been all for scooping up the animals for a cuddle on the basis that if they are sick, a), it’s only briefly and b), if you wait long enough they’ll clean it up themselves.

As far as I’m concerned, the children could have been booted up the arse and thrown out of the door to continue being sick until they were empty, which seems to take a very long time. This would have saved on the washing and scraping. I see no attraction in changing a child’s bed and completing the job just milliseconds before it’s bleuuuuuuurrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhh time again.

And how do ten-year-olds and eight-year-olds contain so much anyway? A cat made sick by a rabbit will sick up a rabbit. Or bits of it. A child made sick by anything will sick up what looks like the contents of 100 of those fairground smoothie machines, no matter how much or what it has eaten.

I wonder if it would be interesting to put Management to the test? Perhaps if I ingest enough Tesco Value Gin and cheap Spanish red wine I too may be splurging all over the floor, and we shall see whether it’s cuddles and sympathy or boot and door. I’m under no illusions. I’m putting a telephone directory down the back of my trousers before that first G&T. Cheers!

Driven up the wall, 1

I forgot to say last week, but can’t let it go: did all of you enjoy the beautiful, rich, hilarious irony of the newly-privatised Royal Mail complaining about the effects of unfair competition? They’re back in trouble, of course, as all who understand the ‘benefits’ of privatisation knew they would be, and they’re complaining about competition so they can wheedle their way out of their obligation to deliver the post to people in the countryside for the same price as people in the convenient cities, as all who understand the ‘benefits’ of privatisation knew they would. But it was definitely worth a chuckle.

Driven up the wall, 2

As you all know, we at Fraser Towers have very firm views on the ‘benefits’ of privatisation vis-à-vis our broadband service. ‘Ah,’ say friends, ‘that’s the point. If you’re not happy with BT you can change your broadband provider.’

But it’s never the broadband provider that’s at fault – it’s always the line to the house. Storms fell lines. Lines go wrong, Exchanges break. And all of the above are handled only by BT Open Reach. I would dearly love to take my custom elsewhere, but I can’t. You can’t. Nobody can. The ‘benefit’ of privatising the essential telecoms network on which, increasingly, we all depend for communication, business, welfare, safety, entertainment and education is that we have no escape whatsoever from the miserably pitiful standard of service with which BT Open Reach fobs off the nation. It is one of the many scandals of our age.

Your Christmas shopping service

Now then, soon it will be Christmas. Any of you who have Christmas shopping still to do should need no instruction whatsoever, but here it is anyway: get yourself to the shopping pages of this website and buy my bloody book, will you?

It’s only £7.50! How tight do you have to be not to buy your loved ones a £7.50 prezzie for Christmas, eh? And you know your money won’t be going to any hateful corporations or big businesses or Walt Sodding Disney… it’ll be going to deserving causes such as the local licensed trade and the manufacturers of alcoholic comforts for the poor, after an all-too-brief stay in my pocket. It’s circulating in the local economy, for goodness’ sake. If you ask I’ll even sign the thing for you, though the Coconut Eating Crab knows why anybody would want my scrawl. Anyway. Buy now for guaranteed Christmas delivery. As they say.

 

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