All-purpose excuses

Are you a plumber, electrician, phone engineer or plasterer who said they'd turn up to carry out a job "just after lunchtime" but can't make it? Here's another list of fantastic excuses to use when you ring up to promise you'll be there tomorrow instead, "round about teatime, definite!"

• My nan went into labour and I had to rush her to East Grinstead hospital
• The cat ate my toolbox and we had to force-feed it caster oil
• Sorry mate I put your postcode in my satnav the wrong way 'round and ended up in Arbroath, but don't worry I won't charge ya the petrol money or nothing
• I couldn't answer the 'phone for the last week unfortunately 'cos it fell down a toilet and the missus has been drying it with a hairdrier so I only just got your 14 messages and 7 voicemails
• I had this emergency job come up at an old people's home and had to drop everything
• I completely forgot it was my auntie Gwen's funeral and ... you're breaking up.... what... sor... charge the battery then I'll give ya a ring yeah...
• Sorry I couldn't make it, I went to sign on and got called in for a Restart interview that went on all morning
• This UFO abducted my nan and....
• The van's off the road after I got cut up by this Polish HGV and went into this geezer from Hull, makes you wonder why we even joined the Common Market dunnit
• Our house got repossessed and the bailiffs took my phone but I'll be 'round just as soon as I can get the kids settled in their foster home

I really really hate litterers

I've mentioned this before, but what possible reason can there be for people to be such total filthy idiots?

Of a weekend afternoon at this time of year it is pleasant and civilized to head for some part of Kent not covered in fuck-ugly Barratt Homes for a walk in the woods. It's especially soothing to find one of the redwood trees in Bysing Wood, for example, and to caress it's dry leathery hairy bark.

But my hopelessly outdated tree-hugging reverie is always jolted soon enough by some wank-bastard's couldn't-give-a-toss decision to chuck their old Bic lighter on the ground, ciggy packets strewn everywhere, and the inevitable communes of some of the many millions of plastic water bottles that are left to decay for the next millennium or two all over this country. An old wheelbarrow, the carcass of a bicycle, the remains of a vacuum cleaner - it's all here

As we forage for blackberries and wild fennel on the edge of the woods, wondering whether that yellow flower over there might be St John's Wort, old railway tickets have somehow found their way in among the wild poppies; the remains of a fire with beer cans strewn all over, a ziplock bag with crumbs of hashish, and several Mr Kipling boxes. Do people seriously go walking miles out of their way simply so that they can smoke a spliff then stuff their puffy faces with French Fancies? (This is a vile tiny sponge cake covered in sickly sweet icing and doused with preservatives, if you're not familiar with the brand.)

A few minutes walk away the old gunpowder works is a rich habitat for plants, insects, and birds particularly, but here too there's always dogshit, the wrappers of loafs chucked in the water, cola cans... a skip's worth of crap scattered about.

Wake up people, because if it isn't already too late it soon will be.

Why this blog does not have "like" links you can click to indicate that you like the entries

Because I am not a fuckwit and I assume that you aren't either.