Recycling your recycling boxes
My lovely council in Northamptonshire don't like rubbish, if you are a good person and do as much recycling as possible and alas you require a second recycling box.

Since the council refuse to provide extra boxes ( even for a fee ) , we had to make do with reusing our old safeway boxes to which the council were very efficient to steal that box.

Got the fuckers back by screwing another spare box to the pavement.
(g256, Mon 30 Jul 2007, 0:55, Reply)

For the last three years
I have had to phone/email my council to demand a council tax bill.

"The computer says you don't have to pay it."

"I know. It said that three years ago and nine months later you stung me for the whole lot at once. You said then that you'd corrected the problem. You also said it the following year and last year."

"But the computer says you don't have to pay it."

"I refer you to my previous response. Please ask someone who understands how computers work to correct it."

...several days later...

"We're really sorry. For some reason you are marked in the computer as no longer at that address."

"I know. You've done this three years in a row and each time you say you've fixed it."

"This time we have."

"You always say that too."

"Ah yes, but this time we have."

At this point, I gave up, knowing that next April I am going to have this conversation all over again.
( finnbar has officially retired, Mon 30 Jul 2007, 0:24, Reply)

A well hung council.
I was once thought in my once childish and imaginative mind that perhaps a hung council would imply that all councillors could be well endowed. I was frequently seen to stare at a poster of all "members" in the corridor of my local leisure centre..not a looker in the bunch..and it was a labour majority at the time, and of course new labour meant no penis. Well a borrowed penis. I have no taste for the cock personally and especially not a blue one so I was uninterested.
It would not be til many moons later that after many years of shit leadership the foxy proletariat as with the rest of the voting lot would find it in their hearts to bid a fair fuck you to labour and instead vote for the other two a little more. This has lead to a hung council. And the lovely limbo land where a Conservative and Liberal Democrat alliance runs like most cities in my county. This has remained as such in the recent election.
Sadly this is most certainly a council who has the penile length (and girth!) of an earwig. And I not talking in terms of scale.
They have destroyed some delightful foreign food festivals set in the Milleni-overpriced-um square built by the previous council. And as such have cut off a link to a very favoured cheese I chanced upon in one.
That may be petty but from an artsy p.o.v like mine it hurts.
Hence I will now run down to the civic hall and doodle thereon.


You see it's big but small.
( Uncle Gilly hides from Plato, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 23:20, Reply)

On one of my house moves, about 4 years ago,
My council took 9 months to locate me and send me a Council Tax bill, despite me telling them I'd moved. So I told them to stick it, they would have to wait 9 months for me to pay them. And they did.

And I started working there towards the start of those 9 months, and they still couldn't find me.

And they've sold my job twice since then so I now technically work for an American company that I've never heard of.

Twats.
(mazzmatazz is messing it up like a blue bottle, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 23:10, Reply)

On the back of a bus...
..this morning, in Torquay.

Sex education poster from Torbay Council, and it says:

'Do you need help talking about relationships and sex with your children?'


Hmm, no, but I AM tempted to offer my services as a proof reader.
(inflateable, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 22:31, Reply)

Macclesfield Council ...
... are great! They once had a road safety van attending the local charity bikeathon but some wally forgot to put the handbrake on and it rolled down a hill and through a bike shop window.
They also built a new bus station on a steep hill with a bit of a brow so any buses trying to drive into the bus station grounded on the brow!
Genius!!!
(helenj, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 20:48, Reply)

Lying
When Mr Moogy and I started out we had too much sexy time and got pregnant a bit before we expected too. So there was him working for beer money and me in the middle of a degree living in halls/at home suddenly needed a home for us all. Anyway we assumed we'd get help, housing association or something due to our low income.
I found out though I would not get help unless I lied. Someone in housing at the council told me to pretend I had split up with Jon, get the house and then get back together.
We didn't lie and muddled through somehow, just about paying our own mortgage on our home we got honestly, albeit frustratingly so when others around me did do the suggested lying malarky and had a lot more money than we did (I'm not a daily mail reader honest!).
( moogy boobles, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 17:34, Reply)

mmm... poverty.
Mr Mazonas and I have been together for almost 5 years. When we met, I was a 19 year old uni student and he was, 21, having been homeless since he was about 18-19.

When we first moved in together, we were living off of my part-time wages and my tuition fees. Mr Mazonas was looking for work, but without success.

We were told that we weren't applicable for council tax benefit, because Mr Mazonas wasn't a student. We could only get Housing Benefit if Mr Mazonas was on Jobseekers. Mr Mazonas wasn't eligible for Jobseekers because I was a student. Even though we had only been living together a couple of months and weren't, technically, classed as a couple, we were treated as one when trying to claim.

When I finally gave in and quit my studies and got a full time job, we tried again. We couldn't get Council Tax benefit or Housing benefit unless Mr Mazonas was on Jobseekers, even though we were on a low income. Mr Mazonas STILL couldn't get Jobseekers. Why? Because he'd been made homeless so long he hadn't had much work before then, so his NI contributions were too low for him to claim anything. I couldn't apply for Council Tax or Jobseekers benefit myself, because by now we were classed as a couple.

Once my other half started lying about his past on job applications he quickly got some minimum wage factory work. Now we can claim for Council Tax and Housing Benefit, because we're both on a low income. We don't actually need it any more, though, but we're claiming it any way, because the council have been getting £90 a month off of me for the last 4 years that by rights we shouldn't have had to pay. The c@nts.
(Bunny Mazonas, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 17:29, Reply)

Jeeeeesssus
This whole QOTW is like reading the letters page of my local paper. Are you the same people who last week were boasting of keraaazzyy teen exploits? But now are basically debating the pedestrianisation of Norwich town centre? B3ta is for cheap thrills and grim stories not for airing grievances with your local council!
(insomniac girl all my best things are in hock, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 17:27, Reply)

Council Tax
I live in a student Flat, The last one left now but thats another story. Anyway I'm exempt from Council Tax as a student, so imagine my suprise as £300 squid leaves my bank account for no reason. Turns out that a young Lady that lived here as a student had forgotten to fill out her Student exemption form, so why was I getting billed I hear you ask? I had no fucking idea but I needed that £300 quid back or else I had no Rent money or bill money for that month.
After many phone calls to the council office they tell me I am not exempt from Council tax as a student as my Partner was not eligble for it.
What!? So eventually I had to go down to the offices with all my stuff, asked to speak with a superviser (The woman who asked if I was sure I couldn't help instead seemed pissed of when I said "Well apparently not"). It turns out they made the amazing assumption that the girl was my partner because I was the only one with a previous bill at the address that was paid by Direct Debit, so instead of asking her to pay her council tax bill, which would be far too much effort, they stole money from my account without permission. I now no longer pay any taxes or anything by direct Debit as they can take what every they want out of your account, even if you've stopped paying.

Edit: Oh after speaking to a lovely Supervisor who did actually do everything she could to get my money back I left with a cheque for the ammount they had billed me.
( Laird Dave Draws Now charges to take off his clothes., Sun 29 Jul 2007, 17:18, Reply)

On a positive note...
... or at least as positive as a story about divorce can be, I'd like to hand it to the people at Salisbury County Court. When I divorced the first Mrs Olembe, they couldn't have been more helpful. When I made a mistake filling the form in and asked for another, they just shrugged it off and said that as long as the right information ended up on there, they didn't mind dealing with my mistakes and crossing-outs. They explained everything clearly and made the whole process as easy as anything.

Although now I think about it, isn't it a bit weird that the only smooth encounter I've ever had with civil servants was to get divorced?

EDIT: there are a lot of stories here complaining about car parking. Personally, I find it rather odd that people expect to be able to leave their cars in public places at all. If you had a caravan or a boat on a trailer - or even a big car-shaped wooden box - would you think you had the right to store it on the highway or on any other publicly owned space? Of course not - you have to store those things on your own land or pay somebody else to store them on their land. So why is a car any different? It's not like you get any benefit from my owning a car, so why should I be allowed to store it on public land? And before you say cars are different from other objects because we pay taxes to have them, that argument is false: I pay a *vast* wodge of tax on every bottle of whisky I buy, but that doesn't mean I can expect the public to give me somewhere to store it.

EDIT 2: Oh, and a massive WOO to the Salisbury bin collectors. I was behind the bin lorry the other day when one of the guys putting bags in the back dropped some rubbish on the road. Instead of leaving it there or kicking it into the kerb, as I expected him to do, he got a dustpan and brush from the van and cleaned it right up. WELL DONE THAT MAN!
( Olembe Refuses to write in this space, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 15:20, Reply)

I'm amazed...
at how many of these stories start with "I did something stupid/wrong, and I got caught, but..." and then go on to expound how the Traffic Warden/Councilor/Librarian was rude to them whilst trying to deal with the matter and how that makes all of the world's problems THEIR fault.
(Captain Skippy pooed in a bag and left it on your doorstep, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 15:12, Reply)

not quite the council...
but in fact BT!!
When I finally managed to move into my first house! I was very organized and rang up BT a week before moving in to set up useful things like my phone line, and more importantly the Internet!!!

However after about 13 phone calls to and from BT i discovered that they have the most inefficient computer system that seems to be broken every time i ring.
This resulted in me moving in and the phone line not working!
1 week later i have a phone bill, but no phone line.
1 week later i have 2 phone bills, for 2 different number but for the same house?? and at last 1 phone line that works, but alas no Internet!!!
Finally 4 weeks after i first phoned BT i have the Internet!! BT have finally after sending me final demands for a phone line i don't have accepted that i dot have it and the correct phone line works!!!
harrahh!! i only wasted about 12 hours on the phone in queues waiting to talk to someone usually to be told the system was down!
damn my organization skills! next time i wont bother!
(hermione_not_granger, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 15:00, Reply)

Ooo OO ooo I have one!
Although it's about school bureaucracy which is sort of like Council stuff... Spose.

Couple of months back there was a happy little farce in my place of work. Scene: Science department of a large comprehensive.

The chemistry prep room door doesn’t close properly sometimes and that morning two naughty little students were found coming out of the place. About half an hour later a knock comes on my door with a teacher asking me if I know how hazardous the contents of this little pot is. Little pot is about 4cms high and contains around 1g of indicator powder. Indicator shows up pH range of ~7.5 – 8.3 for all you (interested) boffs.
“Dunno” says I, “Perhaps ask the chemistry tech.” (I be a stand in Biotechnician. I did a degree in maths & physics. Hmm)
This red indicator had been snaffled from *somewhere* by some little cherub and mixed liberally with water to create a lovely dye that has stained hands and about 40 square feet of science lab. Teacher duly sets about cleaning it up with a mop and bucket, which is no mean feat considering how much it stains. Understand that I would have done it, but my agar was setting. A nasty complaint.
Chemistry tech berates students slightly who ask “Will it kill me if I breathed it in?!”. "Unfortunately no", is the answer.

Pot had been taken from the corner of the shelf nearest the door of the prep room. Smash & Grab without the smash. I maintain that if they’d have just looked a little further along the shelf and taken the magnesium ribbon, it would have made everyone’s day a whole lot easier. All that would have occurred were four burnt eyes.
Teacher wanted to know the hazards of this material of course, and off I go to find out. Partially for my own curiosity and partly because I’m anal. I’ve no idea where the hazard cards are, so google becomes my friend. Google’s offspring says that it’s an irritant on skin… irritant on eyes… irritant to upper trachea if inhaled… the usual. Similar to what you’d get with simailr washing powder and suchlike. Heck, soap would be worse in the eye…

I present teacher with the sheets just so she’s informed, with the appropriate bits asterixed as it’s a long document of bumf. Teacher says that the kids who nicked it say they can’t breathe properly which is probably a load of tosh. Hypochondria by twumps. Teacher takes it off in the direction that the students were removed – towards the offices of deputy heads of doom.

A couple of hours later and I am glared upon as I enter the main prep room. Who was it put these people up to the idea that it was a dangerous compound? Myself, by giving teacher what she asked for. Dear oh dear. Why is this a bad thing? Well we have ambulance peeps coming to collect the evil pot of death to take it away for analysis. Oh… my… What the feck?

Titter we do. Because that’s simply stupid is it not?

Count one for the jobsworths.

But it does not end, no no no.

Teacher goes to hospital. Three students go to hospital. The bucket full of soapy water that they washed their hands in in the nurses room has to be disposed of properly. And the bucket has to be got rid of because it’s contaminated.

Count two, three and four.

Contaminated water is disposed of scientifically. Down the nearest sink.

And of course… there was the area the indicator covered. That would have been a spill would it not? Of a chemical? So… A chemical spill?

Four fire engines arrive.

There is no chemical spill of course. Although I enacted one by squirting some detergent on the desk and screaming pitifully.

Four fire engines leave.

Bearing in mind that the town is serviced by one fire station about half a mile form the school & it has two fire rigs.
The other two have come from a distance away. My mother wondered where the engines were going when she heard them blaring to the rescue a little after midday.

Count seven million, five hundred & sixty four thousand, three hundred & seventy two for the jobsworths.

Apparently as soon as they had called the ambulance, it was too late to back down… They would have looked silly… A certain deputy head takes it upon himself to basically scour the whole thing clean with as many emergency services as possible. And no, he wasn’t scientist. I don’t think anyone thought of talking to the technicians.

Drop of indicator becomes flood of chemical becomes spill of toxins. Pupils from the class queue up complaining of feeling odd, not that they’d be getting home early on a Friday of course. Office goes into a frenzy. SWAT team called in. All chemicals shot on sight.

The proper hazard cards were dug out and it said exactly the same thing as the sheet I printed out: As chemicals go, it’s pretty tame. You’d have more trouble with the agar powder and that smells awful aswell.

As the chemistry technician pointed out, “I wouldn’t even wear gloves to mix up the damn indicator solution anyway.”

Frickin’ idiots.

Mmm long. Enjoy it. It's well funny.
(tweebianmonkey Should be known as Widget, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 14:04, Reply)

Hull City Council
A couple of years ago, Leeds council wanted a big fuck-off TV for their town centre, however, they couldn't immediately find somewhere to put it, so Hull jumped on the bandwagon and snapped up the 26m screen and erected it on a temporary scaffold, all for the reasonable cost of £675,000. Was this voted on by the council? No, it went through without any comment or discussion from other councillors except for the leader and I think the treasurer.

The plan is, that a good chunk of the money (£375,000) was going to be recouped through sponsorship.

Now, anyone with half a brain would secure sponsorship deals with the big players of Hull, (Reckitts, Smith & Nephew, and the council owned Kingston Communications) before spunking such huge amounts of cash against the wall. But no.

Apart from the very occasional event such as that opera and the odd football match, the TV has shown nothing but BBC News 24 interspersed with the local edition, Look North. As the TV has connections with the BBC, it will never show any adverts or sponsorship.

Length? Don't get me started on the £63,000 that was spent on two dozen flagpoles erected next to the marina...
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 13:10, Reply)

Birmingham City Council Housing Department
Mrs. God's always told me that the Housing Dept. treat those of us living in Council flats like scum. Me, I'm much more forgiving, and I assumed that she might have been a little unfair on them. Oh, how wrong I was.

Down we go to the local Housing office, ink barely dry on our lovely wedding certificate, and matching wedding rings gleaming in the morning sun. In we go, and queue. And queue. And queue.

Eventually we reach the main desk, which is inhabited by some kind of swamp troll creature. Mrs. God says that she'd like to change her name on the housing details.

"You want to change your name?" asks the troll. "Did you just decide to call yourself something else, or did you fill in the form? There's a form, you know. You can't just decide to change your name."

"Err", says Mrs. God. "I got married, and that counts as a name change."

"You? Married?" says the troll, disbelievingly. Eventually, Mrs. God had to produce a wedding certificate, wedding ring, and a husband before the troll grudgingly accepted that there might be something in this wedding story lark. She filled in the paperwork, and, only four months later, the name change came through.

Now if only they'd fix the cocking roof...
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 12:35, Reply)

Doncaster Metropolitan Borough Council
willenium: Doncaster does too, and it's basically a way for our elected mayor to shout about how great he is.

DMBC seem to be in the news every other week, but the most recent one is the best.

The council hired (at large expense) a managing director, a lady from Australia (or maybe New Zealand?). All was good, until she apparently discovered some 'discrepancies' in a project in the town that the Mayor was involved with as a consultant. She called in the rozzers, so the Council tried its level best to get rid of her. Eventually, the Council agreed on a settlement, paying her a couple of hundred grand to leave. The mayor decided he didn't agree with this either, so attempted to open another inquiry into the amount of money she was being paid, but in doing so ensured more taxpayer money was being squandered. There were threats of legal actions all over the shop before they all just finally shut the hell up.

The recent flooding was another fine example of how useful they are, when they gave us 1 (one) sandbag. I proceeded to drop it in front of my front door, whereupon it disappeared under a foot of water.

There's many more, but for a laugh have a look at the Standards Board for England's website (http://www.standardsboard.gov.uk/Casesummaries/Standardsearch/), and have a look at what naughtiness your councillors have been upto...
( Biscuitzs -.. . -- ----- ...- -.- --. -.-, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 12:15, Reply)

Inbred Fools!
I work for the local council here, temporary staff though, but in my whole month of service i've been surprised at the people and policies of the local council that i've come across.
1. Men must wear shirt and ties, women can wear whatever they want.
"Why do I have to wear a tie?" I ask
"Oh you don't have to, we just make you" they reply.
"It's not on the official dress code, are you saying that I don't have to wear one, and by law you can't make me wear one, but if I don't I'll be fired?" I query.
"Yes" they reply.

2. Initiative. Do not show it under any circumstances.
"See if I put these forms there and these other forms there I can assemble both forms at a rate of about 1 a minute! I'm a raving genius!" Says I to my supervisor.
"Maureen has been here 45 years and has never done it that way" she sternly replies.
"But my way works for me, can't I just do it this way?"
"No! It would upset Maureen"
"I thought you said she was on holiday for 3 months, can't I just put it back when she's back?"
"Don't be stupid!"

3. Hiring Policy.
It seems that the entire of the council is populated with 30-60 year old women with the men up in the heirarchy making the actual decisions about whether or not it's worth spending 2 million on a statue of some guy that fell over drunk in a pub once then wrote a single line of a poem which later became famous that will inevitably end up getting peed on by the local chav population. But for some reason, instead of hiring some young, fast typing kids fresh out of Uni/High school, they only hire relatives or friends of the people currently there, or actually just move people about internally.

I estimate that in about 60 years, Dumfries and Galloway will be run by people who have to eat through a straw and all share the same 2 surnames.
(Andari, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 12:10, Reply)

Cambridgeshire CC
I once temped for Cambridgeshire CC. I would arrive to start at 9am, and by 10.30 I would be done for the day. I would then have to almost beg for work, normally to be told to browse the intranet and read about the council’s policies.

After about 2 weeks I notice the empty desk opposite me has an in try full of handwritten letters. I enquire as to what they are only to be told that it is my job to type them up (thanks for telling me) I ask why the people who spent 15 minutes writing each letter long hand could not spend that 15 minutes typing them themselves. Too which I was told they don’t like doing it, you have to understand these lazy bastards who did not like typing there own letters spent most of the day talking about there pets, hardly busy, I then said in a rather loud voice “That’s a complete waste of resource and tax payers money, employing a temp to type their letters” I was pulled to one side and told not to rock the boat!

When someone was off, no one opened their post, dealt with their in tray or checked their emails.

Lazy complacence bastards.
(mark731, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 10:39, Reply)

You think you have it bad...
Five years back Mrsk and I moved to France (cheaper wine, and yet to invent the Chav).

When it comes to buttock-clenchingly torturous bureaucracy, you can't beat the French (even the fudding word comes from the French).

Over 30 per cent of the French work force are employed by the government in some form or another, generally as 'fonctionaires' which is French for 'soulless vindictive rubber stamp monkeys'.

Some typical examples:

On settling here, we decided to apply for a 'Carte de Séjour', a kind of 'green card' that , amongst other things, entitles one to find work. In order to get one, we were told, we had to demonstrate that we had an income...

Recently, we started converting a derelict barn into a gîte - a kind of self-catering holiday let. In order to run it as a business, we decided to set up an SARL (a limited company). In order to complete the set-up of an SARL and receive the company inscription papers, you need a company bank account. In order to open a bank account for an SARL, you need to be able to provide the company's inscription papers...

People have been driving too fast through our village for some time (it's one of the more picturesque routes to access a rather lovely mountain). Recently, one of the mayor's dogs was run over, which has proven a wonderful catalyst for action: as we speak, one of our neighbours, a local council employee, has been telling me about the progress with installing the speed bumps. Thanks to the French equivalent of the Road Lobby (who campaign for the right to drive too fast through villages), speed bumps are all but banned in France - the only way you can put one in, is if it protects a pedestrian crossing. Two houses up the road from here now have their own private pedestrian crossings which lead from the end of their drives to the other side of the road where there is a low wall and a 6m cliff down to the river...

Still, if either of them decide to end it all by hurling himself into the raging torrent, he'll run less risk of being hit by a car en route (as we say hereabouts).
(charliek .: idly prodding the mediocrity envelope :., Sun 29 Jul 2007, 9:57, Reply)

at the end of this qotw
I am going to count up all the answers and find out what is the crappiest council in the land.
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 9:50, Reply)

they're alll caaaants!
I got a cant for a neighbour he parked a dead car in my turnround so i couldn't, er, turnround...
(and yes I thought of matches & petrol-but y'know start small end big is my kind of style)
so I talk to the carncil:
you've got a policy on dead cars, this is a dead car, please move it.
sorry SIR*, but we have a policy of not getting involved in neighbour disputes.
Oh, can I see this policy please?
NO.
oh, why not?
are you doubting my word, SIR?
oh no, just that ***** county have a policy of publishing all policy for all members of t'public to see.
SIR, I don't like your tone.
OK then I'll talk to your manager.....
cue phone fumble-hand over to guy sitting next to him;
SIR, How can I help you? I understand you are being difficult.
oh no, your colleague says you have a policy of not getting involved
Correct SIR
Well ***** county have a policy of publishing all policy for all members of t'public to see.
So please send me that policy.
CLICK.brrrrr.
So I ring the policy officer;
ses: there is no such policy
I make a complaint about 1st Officer.
(meantime the car is sitting there and somehow its been vandalised-pesky feckin kids, eh?)
Complaint noted, 'misunderstanding' stated & this is their legal fucking officer!
So I begin again.
we have no powers
oh yes you do
oh no we don't
I quote law.
they go off to check
(in the meantime the feckwit neighbour is leering like a feckin loon every time he sees me)
it takes a month. I ring to see whats happening;
Ah, but SIR, this a neighbour dispute & we have a policy of not getting involved....
I wanna see that Policy I say.
CLICK.Brrrr.
I make a complaint.
A misunderstanding they say.
So i write to 'EVERYBODY' the press, the mayor, the leader of the council & ALL departments of the carncil. (I just thought enbarrass the fucking lotr of 'em)
3 days later: car moved = 6 fucking months
caaaaaants the lot of 'em.

JOY = they made the feckwit neighbour pay fer the car to be taken away.

a bit long this un; not pretty, not funny and no morality tale, must be European film rather than Hollywood.

*denotes SIR sed in that especial cuntish way they have of taking the piss, passive aggressive = you can do fuck all to ME, but I can jerk you around all day cos I get paid to do this shit....

FIN
(mickturate if i could be arsed i'd be bored, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 9:36, Reply)

does your council have a newsletter?
www.hullcc.gov.uk/portal/page?_pageid=221,97309&_dad=portal&_schema=PORTAL

I shit you not, every month every home in hull gets a free* magazine detailing why hull council is great and why everyone should visit local 'tourist attractions'.

woo and yayy





*unless you pay council tax
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 9:16, Reply)

boom
I have the misfortune to live next door to a public park. No matter what a real estate agent my say about it DO NOT under any circumstances buy next to a park , have one at the end of the raod but not over the fence.
Think about it the council are your neighbours! Not to mention the obvious security risks.

This particular park also has rooms where they hold evening classes joy o joy.
One particular class thats held is the pottery class . And so the story begins....

A few years back when sky rockets could still be bought in NZ for guy fawlks the council decided to install a kiln for the evening classes.

In a tin shed .

2 meters from my back fence.

This kiln was not electric it was gas fired.

Two large lpg cylinders were placed between the fence and the shed to fire the kiln . Two completley unprotected lpg cylinders this included the gas regulator valves.
kids play in this park , kids fiddle with things can you see the potential here?
all it would have of taken was the slightest of leaks and a landing sky rocket to cause a massive explosion.
lpg cylinders of the size used are not meant to be stored next to each other like this , they are meant to be kept isolated to prevent an explosion with one setting the others off.

Cue a quick call to the nice people at the local fire brigade by my father.
The officer who attended took one look at things and went completley fucking ballistic. The cylinders were removed within an hour and on a saturday as well.

Need i mention that there was no conscent for the shed or for the storage of dangerous goods ? Or that there was no notification to any of the neighbouring properties as to what was going on?

So Christchurch City Council for trying to blow up everything within a 200meter radius including me you are indeed a bunch of fucking cunts .
(welgar, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 6:14, Reply)

Stroud's Bus "Station"
A few years ago the fuckwits at Stroud Council decided to sell the bus station so we can get a shiny new cinema with a bowling alley on top (which I've heard the bowling place is going to close next year because apparently it's running at a loss...)

How did they solve the problem of no new place for a bus station? they thought, "fuck it, lets just use the main road", several bus stops either side of the road with pedestrian traffic lights at each end - chaos during the morning/afternoon times when the school brats go to/from school.


(I still go to the Cribbs Causeway cinema though, bigger screens, better sound)
( Haku Orange Whip? Orange Whip? Three Orange Whips., Sun 29 Jul 2007, 4:36, Reply)

Humpty,
Sorry, 40% still sounds obscenely high even without council tax. My council tax works out at roughly 4% of my annual income. Allowing for the various different rates of tax, and the personal allowance of course, I make it that my overall tax burden is around 29%. Sweden, I think, is not for me.

EDIT: Little piece of trivia for you - in 1832 there were riots on the streets of London when income tax reached the unprecedented level of a whopping 3%!! Of course back in those days taxes were only spent on sensible things like the army, instead of having to fund smokers healthcare and chavs housing benefit aswell. If only we could go back to those days, then we'd have more money to spend on cool things like aircraft carriers.
(Seance Trumpet has got no beef with a man enjoying a croissant, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 2:57, Reply)

NEw York City Council - We aim to protect you from everything...
Its true. The City council here are a bunch of self serving idiots. Recently, they have passed laws that all restaraunts have to post the different nutrional values up so people know whats what. No offense, if you are a McDonalds, or a diner - do you have any idea of how many variations there are? These folks are also looking to limit the number of fast food franchises that can be in "low income" areas (read - slums) because of the apparent high levels of obesity. The city is also contimplating making it mandatory if you are a diabetic, to register with the city. Why? So they can watch of course. The NYC has its own medi-care program, better than most states, the NY Times has reported - that conservatively there is about $2 billion wasted which means its probably at least twice that. The city council is also considering lettng illegal aliens vote in general elections. Edit: I also cannot forget that not only do i pay federal and state taxes, I pay city taxes as well. Wolves.
(Subway Riding the rails underground, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 2:03, Reply)

never-right
"Terribe at fault finding/attending faults"

I feel compelled to point out the irony of this statement.



*apologises for pedancy*
(ComplexStuff Was confused by life on, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 1:36, Reply)

I know it's not a council story!!!
I know it's not a council story, but seeing as this QOTW's answers are either dull or about NTL/BT and I could think of nothing else, he's my twopeneth worth.

If you ever find yourself in court for a minor crime, I doubt it works with murder*, walk into the "dock" carrying a quality newspaper (ie not the sun or the mirror).

It's worked for me everytime.

I'll leave my examples for another QOTW.

*I imagine this is more difficult if you're held on remand.
(genghis26, Sun 29 Jul 2007, 1:08, Reply)

"ILLEGAL! YOU ARE A CRIMINAL! GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!
screamed the overweight, moustachiod female civil servant (aren't they all?) in the Warsaw Foreign Residents office.
When I moved here, in the golden dawn of Poland's ascension to the European Union, I needed to get a residency card. And, in a nostalgic homage to WW2, an Identity Number. And, like all good Communists, I needed to be registered at an address.
But my landlord wouldn't register me, because that means paying tax on the flat. And without a registered address, you can't get an ID number. But you can't get an ID number without a residency card. And you can't get the card without an ID number OR a registered address.
And although THE LAW states that you have to fulfil ALL these requirements within 72 hours of arriving in Poland, their own office states that it can take up to three weeks (in my case, 14 months) to get the residency card WHICH YOU HAVE TO CARRY WITH YOU ALL THE TIME ELSE THE POLICE ESCORT YOU TO A DETENTION CENTRE FOR ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS.

Now, Im a civil human. For fucks sake, I'm a citizen of the British Empire. How the fuck can I be an illegal immigrant? The whole world belongs to Britain anyway - visas, residency permits and ID cards are things to be laughed in the face of. And yet, in a freshly painted office that I'd queued for four hours to get into, here was a filthy BO'd potato-farmer's daughter spraying spittle on my freshly-ironed shirt, hailing the guards at yet another breach of Poland's Borders.

You think all those slim sexy waitresses that have come to England are wonderful? You should see the ugly sisters they've left behind...
( Grrrmachine the indifference engine, Sat 28 Jul 2007, 21:48, Reply)