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» Karma
Karmic Retribution?
I was 16, severely messed up from events I don't need to go into here, and pretty emotionally vulnerable, (not to mention very immature!) - some of the reasons I got ensnared into a bizarre underworld which, by comparison, make the shenanigans of Shameless look pretty tame...
I got pregnant at 16, and, while in such a happy condition, my partner (to give you a flavour of his lovely nature) was basically shagging anything that walked, buggering off out of our flat at 6 am to go to his mum's with the only set of keys, so I was either forced to stay at home or wander the streets til he decided to come home...he spiked my tea with lsd 'for a laugh', seduced his 15 year old cousin in our flat, sided with some of his mates who'd raped a girl by holding her down in turns (which, incidentally, was so similar to the reasons I left home as could not tell my alcoholic mother/workaholic father)...I obviously didn't know the last fact til I was pregnant and had burnt all my bridges and teenage pride...stupidly, one of the reasons I was attracted to him was because I thought he'd stop anything else evil happening to me...
It culminated in him beating me up and locking me in the car one sunny August afternoon after I'd asked for a few hours with friends instead of incessant baby care and housework - basically, even though they were all female, we were playing pool, I was 3 stone overweight, he accused me of playing around.
As we sped around the hole of the town where I grew up he told me he was going to knock me out and torch the car with me in it...
There aren't many times I've been so terrified - I did the only thing I thought I could and leapt out of the car - hey, better to kill yourself that sit by and let someone else do it. I just vaguely remember seeing out of the corner of my eye the spreading pool of blood on the road and hearing people screaming...
Fast forward a bit (I have to, I've lost months/years of detailed memories because of losing so many brain cells on the road - though, funnily enough, my dad says that's what finally knocked some sense into me - every cloud huh?)
He got it together with a younger girl (I was 18 by the time of the accident) and they had another baby. The only time I saw him cry was when that baby was born...
Before anyone starts yelling at me - this is NOT NOT NOT the karmic point (although he, the stupid bastard that he is, thought it was god's way of punishing him for being a C*nt)
She was born with Down's syndrome - and is really badly affected by it (I've got a couple of mates with Down's and you can only tell they have it by the physical characteristics - it affects different people to different degrees) and as one of the side effects had hole in her heart. Surgery to correct this caused alopecia, so little Beth is bald, she also has massive difficulties in speaking, so communicates part by speaking, part by sign language - my son (there's a 3 year age gap) learnt it, so they always got on really well - she really loves her big brother.
Anyway, the Karmic Retribution for Charlie was Beth, not because of her genetic makeup - but because she's the only woman who's ever stood up to him.
Now, Beth's perfectly able to have a conversation and know exactly what she wants, and is a loving and beautiful young lady - if you can be bothered to listen to her and learn to speak with her - but this guy's way of bringing (hauling) up the next generation is to belittle, intimidate, bully and insult them. He told me about 5 years ago he thought our son would grow up gay (as if it mattered) because he was always in clean clothes and had nice manners....
So a strong minded, 'no-shit' attitude little girl who has so far grown up to far out-weigh his 9 stone 5'6" frame seems to be just what he needed. Seeing her thwack him one in his shins when he's putting her, or someone she loves down,is quite heart warming...and it makes me love her all the more for it...
She takes no shit from him, she tells him like it is, seeing her one time tip a whole bucket of MuckDonalds fizz on his head as he was driving (his un-mot'd, un-insured car, the toss) when he was being his characteristic, knob-like self was hilarious.
She has no fear, she does not give a duck for social niceties, she's never been worried by thoughts of 'scared of being rude to my dad even though he's a bucket full of w@nk'.
She tells it like it is, and that is a gift, not a disability.
She's the daughter I always wanted, feisty, strong minded, perfectly intelligent, (just unable to communicate in the way than the majority of people can) The icing on the cake is that she is the only person who can let him know what a fuckwit he is - and know that he doesn't know what to make of it.
Heh, Beth rocks!
As a little p.s. my own son, Kieran finally got shot of his father about 6 weeks ago - he (nearly 15, skateboarding, guitar playing, Kurt Cobain lookalikee, friends with girls because they're people too, and doing bloody well despite having such shits for parents thus far) had a call from him, and nearly vomited when his father (sperm donor) informed him he was trying to impregnate a girl the same age as most of Kieran's friends - 18.
Kie put the phone down...thought about it...asked me and slimtallgoth's opinion...and promptly rang him back, and left the following message - you're a f*cking paedophile and if you ever come near me I'm going to rip a door off it's hinges, ram that down your throat and shove the knob up your ar$e!
I don't think Beth could have put it better herself.
(Tue 26th Feb 2008, 0:18, More)
Karmic Retribution?
I was 16, severely messed up from events I don't need to go into here, and pretty emotionally vulnerable, (not to mention very immature!) - some of the reasons I got ensnared into a bizarre underworld which, by comparison, make the shenanigans of Shameless look pretty tame...
I got pregnant at 16, and, while in such a happy condition, my partner (to give you a flavour of his lovely nature) was basically shagging anything that walked, buggering off out of our flat at 6 am to go to his mum's with the only set of keys, so I was either forced to stay at home or wander the streets til he decided to come home...he spiked my tea with lsd 'for a laugh', seduced his 15 year old cousin in our flat, sided with some of his mates who'd raped a girl by holding her down in turns (which, incidentally, was so similar to the reasons I left home as could not tell my alcoholic mother/workaholic father)...I obviously didn't know the last fact til I was pregnant and had burnt all my bridges and teenage pride...stupidly, one of the reasons I was attracted to him was because I thought he'd stop anything else evil happening to me...
It culminated in him beating me up and locking me in the car one sunny August afternoon after I'd asked for a few hours with friends instead of incessant baby care and housework - basically, even though they were all female, we were playing pool, I was 3 stone overweight, he accused me of playing around.
As we sped around the hole of the town where I grew up he told me he was going to knock me out and torch the car with me in it...
There aren't many times I've been so terrified - I did the only thing I thought I could and leapt out of the car - hey, better to kill yourself that sit by and let someone else do it. I just vaguely remember seeing out of the corner of my eye the spreading pool of blood on the road and hearing people screaming...
Fast forward a bit (I have to, I've lost months/years of detailed memories because of losing so many brain cells on the road - though, funnily enough, my dad says that's what finally knocked some sense into me - every cloud huh?)
He got it together with a younger girl (I was 18 by the time of the accident) and they had another baby. The only time I saw him cry was when that baby was born...
Before anyone starts yelling at me - this is NOT NOT NOT the karmic point (although he, the stupid bastard that he is, thought it was god's way of punishing him for being a C*nt)
She was born with Down's syndrome - and is really badly affected by it (I've got a couple of mates with Down's and you can only tell they have it by the physical characteristics - it affects different people to different degrees) and as one of the side effects had hole in her heart. Surgery to correct this caused alopecia, so little Beth is bald, she also has massive difficulties in speaking, so communicates part by speaking, part by sign language - my son (there's a 3 year age gap) learnt it, so they always got on really well - she really loves her big brother.
Anyway, the Karmic Retribution for Charlie was Beth, not because of her genetic makeup - but because she's the only woman who's ever stood up to him.
Now, Beth's perfectly able to have a conversation and know exactly what she wants, and is a loving and beautiful young lady - if you can be bothered to listen to her and learn to speak with her - but this guy's way of bringing (hauling) up the next generation is to belittle, intimidate, bully and insult them. He told me about 5 years ago he thought our son would grow up gay (as if it mattered) because he was always in clean clothes and had nice manners....
So a strong minded, 'no-shit' attitude little girl who has so far grown up to far out-weigh his 9 stone 5'6" frame seems to be just what he needed. Seeing her thwack him one in his shins when he's putting her, or someone she loves down,is quite heart warming...and it makes me love her all the more for it...
She takes no shit from him, she tells him like it is, seeing her one time tip a whole bucket of MuckDonalds fizz on his head as he was driving (his un-mot'd, un-insured car, the toss) when he was being his characteristic, knob-like self was hilarious.
She has no fear, she does not give a duck for social niceties, she's never been worried by thoughts of 'scared of being rude to my dad even though he's a bucket full of w@nk'.
She tells it like it is, and that is a gift, not a disability.
She's the daughter I always wanted, feisty, strong minded, perfectly intelligent, (just unable to communicate in the way than the majority of people can) The icing on the cake is that she is the only person who can let him know what a fuckwit he is - and know that he doesn't know what to make of it.
Heh, Beth rocks!
As a little p.s. my own son, Kieran finally got shot of his father about 6 weeks ago - he (nearly 15, skateboarding, guitar playing, Kurt Cobain lookalikee, friends with girls because they're people too, and doing bloody well despite having such shits for parents thus far) had a call from him, and nearly vomited when his father (sperm donor) informed him he was trying to impregnate a girl the same age as most of Kieran's friends - 18.
Kie put the phone down...thought about it...asked me and slimtallgoth's opinion...and promptly rang him back, and left the following message - you're a f*cking paedophile and if you ever come near me I'm going to rip a door off it's hinges, ram that down your throat and shove the knob up your ar$e!
I don't think Beth could have put it better herself.
(Tue 26th Feb 2008, 0:18, More)
» Dumb things you've done
Wasps and Beetroot...
I used to live in the Wilds of Herefordshire and its no exaggeration when they used to say (proudly) 'Herefordshire born and bred, strong in the arm, thick in the head'
One of the guys who played crib with my ex husband had issues with a growing wasp nest outside his front door.
Inspired by my then husband's tale of how I ridded the house of pesky flies (they used to hibernate in the thick walls in the winter, and hundreds used to reappear on warm spring days) by hoovering up the filthy little buggers with my hoover (it gave me a perverse sense of satisfaction, and made me giggle a bit madly - look, life can be pretty boring being married to a sheep farmer!!) SO, his mate took his own hoover to the wasps nest early one evening (when they start bedding down for the night) and hoovered the bloody lot up!!
Ok, so that sounds a pretty good idea so far - I may would have attempted that myself...
But not even Mr Stupid of number 1, Stupid Street, Idiot Town, would then take the hoover INSIDE, and remove the "now filled to the brim with a thousand angry stinging things" hoover bag - and open it in his front room!
OBVIOUSLY, he got stung hundreds of times, and eventually the stinging frenzy subsided and he managed to escape, desperately looking for some vinegar to neutralise the stings - but all he could find was a jar of beetroot - which he tipped over himself - and then, somehow, managed to get himself to hospital.
I can't imagine what A&E staff thought when they saw THAT coming through their doors!!
(Thu 20th Dec 2007, 15:28, More)
Wasps and Beetroot...
I used to live in the Wilds of Herefordshire and its no exaggeration when they used to say (proudly) 'Herefordshire born and bred, strong in the arm, thick in the head'
One of the guys who played crib with my ex husband had issues with a growing wasp nest outside his front door.
Inspired by my then husband's tale of how I ridded the house of pesky flies (they used to hibernate in the thick walls in the winter, and hundreds used to reappear on warm spring days) by hoovering up the filthy little buggers with my hoover (it gave me a perverse sense of satisfaction, and made me giggle a bit madly - look, life can be pretty boring being married to a sheep farmer!!) SO, his mate took his own hoover to the wasps nest early one evening (when they start bedding down for the night) and hoovered the bloody lot up!!
Ok, so that sounds a pretty good idea so far - I may would have attempted that myself...
But not even Mr Stupid of number 1, Stupid Street, Idiot Town, would then take the hoover INSIDE, and remove the "now filled to the brim with a thousand angry stinging things" hoover bag - and open it in his front room!
OBVIOUSLY, he got stung hundreds of times, and eventually the stinging frenzy subsided and he managed to escape, desperately looking for some vinegar to neutralise the stings - but all he could find was a jar of beetroot - which he tipped over himself - and then, somehow, managed to get himself to hospital.
I can't imagine what A&E staff thought when they saw THAT coming through their doors!!
(Thu 20th Dec 2007, 15:28, More)
» Have you ever seen a dead body?
sheep
I was, at 23, married to a shepherd/farmer. In the middle of lambing, my husband caught a cold, which, due to the hours he was working quickly progressed to pneumonia and pleurisy ( I think one is an infection of the lungs, the other is of the lining)
There wasn't really anything I could do apart from take over the night shift of being midwife to 800 ewes (as well as work two day jobs and run the house, and care for my two kiddies)
Imagine getting up for work at 7 am, dropping one kiddie off at school, the baby off at the gran's, working half a day at the school, the other half in the office job, picking kids up, getting home, cook tea, bathe them, put them to bed, get some housework done, get out to the lambing shed at 8 pm and work til 5 am....then get up at 7 am...etc etc...I have never ever been so tired.
One night, I see this hideous Rouge Cross (look the fucking ugly things up) struggle and strain...I calm her, have a bit of a furtle, and bring out this tiny, malformed freak of a lamb - this thing was probably 8 inches long (bearing in mind lambs are normally born bouncing crazy things, at least 10 pounds in weight, up on their feet in no time) it wasn't even breathing.
When sheep give birth, first off you see this fat tear drop shape bag of fluid (I used to call them water bombs), looks a bit like bloody piss - each lamb has its own bag - then you see its little feet - and each lamb plops out, sometimes you have to tickle their nose with a bit of straw to get them to sneeze all the mucus out of their airways, or rub their ribs, but usually ok.
Anyway, in this case, the lamb was just a streak of failed development - but the ewe was obviously in agony - so I furtled a bit more and pulled out more of these water bombs, and more, even worse mis-shapen freaks of nature - as I said, I was absolutely exhausted - the time was about 4 in the morning. I was aware of another ewe coming over to me and just lying down next to me (very unusual, even when you're Ms Doolittle like I was) I was so preoccupied with the ugly French sheep squitting out these awful foetuses - there were 7 in all.
I eventually got all of it out, and as she wandered away looking for food, I wiped my hands down my jeans, panting a bit with the effort and the emotion. I looked down at the Texel ewe (cute dutch sheep that really do look like teddy bears) and could see a pair of little lamb feet sticking out - she was really straining - Texel lambs are often massive - and just got a grip on his heels and pulled him gently out.
He'd been asphyxiated by her contractions - the poor little dude was cold and purple in the face.
I will never forget her lying so patiently next to me as I fucked about with that awful fucking horrible sheep.
I kneeled in the straw and bawled my eyes out.
It makes me cry even now - it's so rare for a sheep to come and lie next to you - willing you to help her - and I had failed so badly. That dead body I held had more effect on me than any other body I've seen in my life.
I've lost close friends, I've even lost my mum, but holding that beautiful little lamb that didn't even get chance to take a breath affected me more than those - because it was in a completely different way - I felt I had let a baby die.
It was not long after this that the whole 'farming' 'eating meat' thing, really got to me, and I could not reconcile the job that I did, with someone buying a lamb chop in the supermarket, it fucked my head up so much I gave up eating meat...I couldn't, on the one hand, care so much about the ewes that were giving birth, and the next moment just look at their offspring as units of profit...it really brought it all home to me.
(Sat 1st Mar 2008, 4:18, More)
sheep
I was, at 23, married to a shepherd/farmer. In the middle of lambing, my husband caught a cold, which, due to the hours he was working quickly progressed to pneumonia and pleurisy ( I think one is an infection of the lungs, the other is of the lining)
There wasn't really anything I could do apart from take over the night shift of being midwife to 800 ewes (as well as work two day jobs and run the house, and care for my two kiddies)
Imagine getting up for work at 7 am, dropping one kiddie off at school, the baby off at the gran's, working half a day at the school, the other half in the office job, picking kids up, getting home, cook tea, bathe them, put them to bed, get some housework done, get out to the lambing shed at 8 pm and work til 5 am....then get up at 7 am...etc etc...I have never ever been so tired.
One night, I see this hideous Rouge Cross (look the fucking ugly things up) struggle and strain...I calm her, have a bit of a furtle, and bring out this tiny, malformed freak of a lamb - this thing was probably 8 inches long (bearing in mind lambs are normally born bouncing crazy things, at least 10 pounds in weight, up on their feet in no time) it wasn't even breathing.
When sheep give birth, first off you see this fat tear drop shape bag of fluid (I used to call them water bombs), looks a bit like bloody piss - each lamb has its own bag - then you see its little feet - and each lamb plops out, sometimes you have to tickle their nose with a bit of straw to get them to sneeze all the mucus out of their airways, or rub their ribs, but usually ok.
Anyway, in this case, the lamb was just a streak of failed development - but the ewe was obviously in agony - so I furtled a bit more and pulled out more of these water bombs, and more, even worse mis-shapen freaks of nature - as I said, I was absolutely exhausted - the time was about 4 in the morning. I was aware of another ewe coming over to me and just lying down next to me (very unusual, even when you're Ms Doolittle like I was) I was so preoccupied with the ugly French sheep squitting out these awful foetuses - there were 7 in all.
I eventually got all of it out, and as she wandered away looking for food, I wiped my hands down my jeans, panting a bit with the effort and the emotion. I looked down at the Texel ewe (cute dutch sheep that really do look like teddy bears) and could see a pair of little lamb feet sticking out - she was really straining - Texel lambs are often massive - and just got a grip on his heels and pulled him gently out.
He'd been asphyxiated by her contractions - the poor little dude was cold and purple in the face.
I will never forget her lying so patiently next to me as I fucked about with that awful fucking horrible sheep.
I kneeled in the straw and bawled my eyes out.
It makes me cry even now - it's so rare for a sheep to come and lie next to you - willing you to help her - and I had failed so badly. That dead body I held had more effect on me than any other body I've seen in my life.
I've lost close friends, I've even lost my mum, but holding that beautiful little lamb that didn't even get chance to take a breath affected me more than those - because it was in a completely different way - I felt I had let a baby die.
It was not long after this that the whole 'farming' 'eating meat' thing, really got to me, and I could not reconcile the job that I did, with someone buying a lamb chop in the supermarket, it fucked my head up so much I gave up eating meat...I couldn't, on the one hand, care so much about the ewes that were giving birth, and the next moment just look at their offspring as units of profit...it really brought it all home to me.
(Sat 1st Mar 2008, 4:18, More)
» Have you ever seen a dead body?
badgers
I come from a very small Rural Community in the wilds of Herefordshire. My dad still lives there. After making some semblance of recovery after the horrific death of my mum from years of alcohol abuse, he got it together enough to not only do his own shopping (Iwas so glad not to have to find him in bed for days on end, or have to get some food in for him) but to start up with some old hobbies he had always loved - running was one, but another was campanology.
He seemed to be perking up...he'd got a whole new circle of like-minded peeps - I wouldn't go so far as to call them friends, but in a small community like we came from (less than 50 inhabitants) you can't pick and choose.
The bell ringers consisted of Jill and Aubrey (slightly odd escapees from Birmingham, but sweet and lovely - they also ran our local archery club which I was a member of) a couple of other random peeps, and, most memorably, Mr Handley - an ageing undertaker. This guy looks like one of the Adams family - he's small, very old, twisted up old body, you only have to look at him to imagine the crematorium dust wafting off him as he walks...
Well, not only does he love ringing the bells (esmeralda) he is a fervent lover of Badgers.
Now, where I come from, not only do they still advocate lamping (which is perfectly acceptable to the morons - ahem - guardians -of the countryside) they also still quite like a bit of badger baiting.
There is an organised group of people who, if they find a badger corpse by the side of the road, remove it, as if it remains where it is, is an obvious indicator of a nearby badger sett.
(I do not like badgers one bit - they are not the cute fluffy creatures you may be led to believe, but that's another story - but I also get quite sick at the thought of people using the stupid fuckers in organised fights)
So lovely Mr Handley, on his way back from a funeral in Hereford, in his gleaming, polished black hearse, whilst wearing full funereal regalia, spies an expired Brock at the side of the road, skids to a halt and retrieves his trusty Badger Burying shovel from the back of the hearse and sets to....
Cue lots of amazed/scared/freaked out people driving past this ancient Victorian looking undertaker digging a grave at the side of the road....
feck off, I don't care if it wasn't funny. None of my stories are. It made me giggle, and that is an indicator of just how sad accountants are.
so there.
yes.
(Sat 1st Mar 2008, 3:37, More)
badgers
I come from a very small Rural Community in the wilds of Herefordshire. My dad still lives there. After making some semblance of recovery after the horrific death of my mum from years of alcohol abuse, he got it together enough to not only do his own shopping (Iwas so glad not to have to find him in bed for days on end, or have to get some food in for him) but to start up with some old hobbies he had always loved - running was one, but another was campanology.
He seemed to be perking up...he'd got a whole new circle of like-minded peeps - I wouldn't go so far as to call them friends, but in a small community like we came from (less than 50 inhabitants) you can't pick and choose.
The bell ringers consisted of Jill and Aubrey (slightly odd escapees from Birmingham, but sweet and lovely - they also ran our local archery club which I was a member of) a couple of other random peeps, and, most memorably, Mr Handley - an ageing undertaker. This guy looks like one of the Adams family - he's small, very old, twisted up old body, you only have to look at him to imagine the crematorium dust wafting off him as he walks...
Well, not only does he love ringing the bells (esmeralda) he is a fervent lover of Badgers.
Now, where I come from, not only do they still advocate lamping (which is perfectly acceptable to the morons - ahem - guardians -of the countryside) they also still quite like a bit of badger baiting.
There is an organised group of people who, if they find a badger corpse by the side of the road, remove it, as if it remains where it is, is an obvious indicator of a nearby badger sett.
(I do not like badgers one bit - they are not the cute fluffy creatures you may be led to believe, but that's another story - but I also get quite sick at the thought of people using the stupid fuckers in organised fights)
So lovely Mr Handley, on his way back from a funeral in Hereford, in his gleaming, polished black hearse, whilst wearing full funereal regalia, spies an expired Brock at the side of the road, skids to a halt and retrieves his trusty Badger Burying shovel from the back of the hearse and sets to....
Cue lots of amazed/scared/freaked out people driving past this ancient Victorian looking undertaker digging a grave at the side of the road....
feck off, I don't care if it wasn't funny. None of my stories are. It made me giggle, and that is an indicator of just how sad accountants are.
so there.
yes.
(Sat 1st Mar 2008, 3:37, More)
» Cheap Tat
Asda Whisk - I embarrassed myself...
I can never believe how cheap some of the electrical stuff in Asda is - I actually got a hair drier for about £1.94 recently...
Anyway, this story concerns my little sis - she's the complete opposite to me - organised, pretty domesticated - has cookery books (and uses them!) and she'd bought an electric whisk to use for baking. Yeah, it was cheapo, she was barely out of being a student - you know how it is...
The first time she'd used it, one of the whisk attachments had sheared off somehow, twisting around the other, with part of it flying off and nearly hitting one of her cats (Henry, the other one was called Stanley - she adored her cats!)
In a tiz she rings me up, upset about the near miss, and the fact she can't make her cake! So we go to the mega huge Asda together - she wants to just buy another one, but I'm a bossy big sister (our mum died when we were young, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!) so we have a quick look, but no cheapo whisks of the same make are there, only posh ones like Kenwood, and they won't replace with a more expensive mixer.
I drag her up to the 'customer' desk brandishing the weapon of mass self-destruction and explain the situation...
You know that sketch on Little Britain? "Computer says no"...yeah it was going like that...they were refusing refund/replacement, didn't want to know...I was getting more annoyed - I start going on about how it just missed taking poor Henry's eye out - and really laying it on...this goes on for about 5 minutes (I was really seeing red, I hate Asda, I hate being made to feel like they make me feel, I was REALLY hating their cheap shit that nearly took out my cat nephew!), and my sister was looking like she's hoping the ground would swallow her up (she often looks like that when I'm with her...ahem...)
Then this supervisor type hurries up to the desk, does one of those shouty whispers like "what's going on!" and reaches over to switch their tannoy system off!!
The whole debate had been transmitted all over the store - Ha HA!!
We walked away with a much posher mixer - safe for cats and cakes!
yay
(Fri 4th Jan 2008, 12:32, More)
Asda Whisk - I embarrassed myself...
I can never believe how cheap some of the electrical stuff in Asda is - I actually got a hair drier for about £1.94 recently...
Anyway, this story concerns my little sis - she's the complete opposite to me - organised, pretty domesticated - has cookery books (and uses them!) and she'd bought an electric whisk to use for baking. Yeah, it was cheapo, she was barely out of being a student - you know how it is...
The first time she'd used it, one of the whisk attachments had sheared off somehow, twisting around the other, with part of it flying off and nearly hitting one of her cats (Henry, the other one was called Stanley - she adored her cats!)
In a tiz she rings me up, upset about the near miss, and the fact she can't make her cake! So we go to the mega huge Asda together - she wants to just buy another one, but I'm a bossy big sister (our mum died when we were young, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!) so we have a quick look, but no cheapo whisks of the same make are there, only posh ones like Kenwood, and they won't replace with a more expensive mixer.
I drag her up to the 'customer' desk brandishing the weapon of mass self-destruction and explain the situation...
You know that sketch on Little Britain? "Computer says no"...yeah it was going like that...they were refusing refund/replacement, didn't want to know...I was getting more annoyed - I start going on about how it just missed taking poor Henry's eye out - and really laying it on...this goes on for about 5 minutes (I was really seeing red, I hate Asda, I hate being made to feel like they make me feel, I was REALLY hating their cheap shit that nearly took out my cat nephew!), and my sister was looking like she's hoping the ground would swallow her up (she often looks like that when I'm with her...ahem...)
Then this supervisor type hurries up to the desk, does one of those shouty whispers like "what's going on!" and reaches over to switch their tannoy system off!!
The whole debate had been transmitted all over the store - Ha HA!!
We walked away with a much posher mixer - safe for cats and cakes!
yay
(Fri 4th Jan 2008, 12:32, More)