» Sexism

Babies...
My husband is currently sat at the dining room table playing a geeky solo board game (Arkham Horror), whilst giving a running commentary to our 4 week old son, who is peacefully asleep beside him in his carrycot. It's only our second night as full time parents, as our son was born 6 weeks prematurely and spent the first 26 days of his life in the Special Care unit at hospital. My husband has, over the past 4 weeks, proved himself to be an absolute natural at the parenting thing.

Other than producing milk, there isn't anything that my husband can't do for our child just as well as I can. This may not be true of all men, but the assumption that men can't look after babies is utter rubbish.
(Mon 28th Dec 2009, 21:58, More)

» Family codes and rituals

Dedicated follower of fashion
Mum: You do realise you've married someone who dresses just like your father*?

Me (indignant): He doesn't!

~~~~thinks~~~~

Oh.

Fucksocks.

*jeans (usually falling down), shirt (half untucked), jumper (with holes in), brown shoes (scuffed).
(Mon 24th Nov 2008, 21:15, More)

» Customers from Hell

Hello planning department, how may I help?
I work for the planning department at the Council as a development control officer. Basically, I deal with planning applications. These range from a small extension on the back of someone's house to a fuck off great big 47 storey building (and everything in between) so come into contact with all sorts of 'customers'. Here are a few examples.

1. The little old lady.

N.B. Old people always begin a conversation with how old they are, as if that's going to make a difference.

Me: Good afternoon, planning.
LOL: I'm 95 years old, and last night the brook flooded and sewage has come into my garage and got into my cinema organ. Can you come and clean it up?
Me: Erm, this is the planning department, I think you need someone in Waste Management. Can I put you through?
LOL: You're the Council aren't you?
Me: Yes.
LOL: So when are you coming round?
Me: I won't be coming round, but let me put you through to Waste Management.
LOL: Why not? I've got sewage in my cinema organ. It needs cleaning up.
Me: But we're the planning department...

Ad infinitum until she finally grasped that a planning officer was not going to personally come round and sweep shit out of her cinema organ! This is an absolutely true example and possibly the wierdest phone call I have ever had.

2. The 'I know my rights solicitor'.

These people always announce they are solicitors and then proceed to tell you quite how much they know about planning law. Inevitably, they know absolutely fuck all.

There was Mr McFuckwit, who decided that we hadn't told him specifically that a particular development was going to house people with mental illness, criminal records, etc, even though the description of development was 'Erection of 20 start up flats for the recently homeless' and all the supporting information with the application told him where they were going to be referred from. This was apparently 'against the law'. I know, a good description of development would be, 'Erection of 20 start up flats for the recently homeless, criminals, mentalists, and other undesirables.' FFS. I took particular offence as I was suffering from mental illness myself at the time. He complained to the Local Government Ombudsman (Axeman Jim's equivalent had to write the letter) but was told roundly to fuck off.

Another example was the guy who told me that if whilst next door's extension was being built it fell on his children, he would sue me. He was a solicitor you know, and knew the law. If he knew the law that well he would know that (a) planning has nothing to do with the structural stability of an extension and (b) he couldn't sue me personally anyway, only the Council (who wouldn't be responsible for an extension falling down in any case).

3. Tell me where my boundaries are!! Now!

Someone has just fallen out with their neighbours because their fence has been moved 3 inches their way. The Council _must_ know where their boundaries are, surely. We hold information on everything. No. I have no idea where your boundaries are, nor do I give a fuck about your petty squabbles with your neighbour. So, who do I consult, they ask. A solicitor. But, they whinge, that costs money. I must know the answer, I work for the Council. In ever decreasing circles until they put the phone down or I can, as soon as they swear.

I have exactly the same arguments about the position of people's drains. I don't know and I don't care.

4. You're killing my children.

Normally, this involves the erection of mobile phone base stations which are apparently going to give all their children cancer. Bollocks. Normally, they phone me from their fucking mobiles to complain.

My favourite however was this one:-

Me: Hello, planning department.
Fuckwit: How dare you propose a mobile phone mast near our house (for near, read about 200m and for 'you' read 'mobile phone operator'. I'm always personally responsible for allowing people to make applications though, apparently).
Me: The application is under consideration blah blah.
Fuckwit: Where exactly is it going?
Me: Next to the other one.
Fuckwit: What other one?!? *explodes with rage*
Me: The other one, that has been there since 1998. And if you didn't know that was there, and haven't managed to notice it in the last 10 years, this is hardly going to be a blot on the landscape either is it.
Fuckwit: *puts phone down*

My other favourite was the guy who got really upset about a window in an extension which would overlook his garden (from quite a distance however). This was because he had a 2 year old daughter, who played in the garden, and a peadophile might have moved into the house with the extension. He was absolutely obsessed about this eventuality and I worried for his sanity.

5. You've made my wife ill

Inevitably, if someone doesn't like the proposals for something, it makes their wife ill with the worry. All I can say to that, is, if that's the most you ever have to worry about, then you're a very lucky person indeed.

6. Tescos are cunts. I gave up two years of my life fighting them. That is all.

I used to work at Sainsbury's on the customer service desk as well. I'm not sure which provided the greater pool of fuckwittery.

Length? Metric scale only.
(Sun 7th Sep 2008, 19:34, More)

» Stuff I've found

Lost...
A transit van.
£50,000 in crisp and not so crisp notes and loose change.
A mattress.
Several bags of weed and wraps of speed.
A guitar.
Numerous cans of beer and miscellaneous other booze.
The entire back catalogue of Fiesta, Razzle and Men Only.
A pile of VHS tapes (contents suspected to be pornographic).
One unexploded bomb.
A menagerie of puppies and kitties.
The musical score to the Mikado, by WS Gilbert and Sir Arthur Sullivan.

I just wondered if any B3tan had seen these items lying around.
(Mon 10th Nov 2008, 21:30, More)

» My Biggest Disappointment

Moving On
My biggest disappointment is that I have to leave my current job to advance in my career.

I like my job and I'm pretty good at it, but I'm also ambitious. However, I work for a local Council, and its very much a case of dead man's shoes, with those immediately above me giving no signs of carping it just yet. So earlier in the year, I accepted a post at a different, and well respected, Council to inch myself up the greasy pole.

So, I hear you guys say, what's the problem?

I am going to miss my colleagues so much. They are the best bunch of people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting and we're all firm friends.

For example (names changed to protect the innocent):-

Michael - one of the nicest, kindest blokes I know. He would bend over backwards to help a friend in need and has done for me on many occasions. Unfortunately, this pleasant nature means he keeps getting fucked over by every single girl he meets. He keeps me massively entertained by his internet dating exploits, seeing as they are either (a) stalkers, (b) scallies with fake noses/boobies/legs, (c) incapable of independent thought or (d) just plain wrong. Also likes to discuss his poo.

Veronica - despite being a couple of years younger than me, plays the big sister role of sorting me out when I start to be pathetic, usually with some kind of lurgy or minor crisis. Also kind, considerate, helpful and generally ace. Amusement gained from hearing her hen pecking her hugely patient fiancé on the phone.

Violet - the 'mum' of the group. Makes us behave ourselves and dispenses advice on growing and eating vegetables and general domestic goddessery. Our mantra:'no sex please, we're married'.

Graham - has an absolute heart of gold, but a brain full of cotton wool. Numptiness includes being caught coming out of the women's toilets in a restaurant, having thought that the door of the ladies was always the first you got to so the men's must be the second (it wasn't). Then wondered where the urinals were and why there was a full length mirror on the wall.

The Boss - he's great. Let me have the afternoon off last week when I was ill so that I wouldn't get so bad I would have to phone in sick the next day and not be able to go to my leaving do in the evening. Knowledgeable without being patronising and bloody good at his job.

My big leaving do was last Friday. Much food and wine was consumed and all were pleasantly sated. In the wee hours of the morning the entertainment came to an end to the sight of me throwing my arms indiscriminately around any of my colleagues who happened to get in my way and telling them drunkenly that I loved them and they were my best friends and they weren't ever ever ever to lose touch. Despite the alcohol loosening my tongue, it's absolutely true.

I'll be walking out of the office for the last time on Friday and I'm going to cry like a baby. Such, unfortunately is life.
(Mon 30th Jun 2008, 20:16, More)