Seeking the light

Posted on by September 15, 2017 17

I am reaching that stage in life where death is becoming a remote possibility.

Like it or not, the time has come to decide what to do about it.  Maybe it’s time for a spiritual rethink?

I was raised by a mother who had been a Church of England but converted to Catholicism, and a father who was a practising Catholic but was hiding a devout Agnosticism underneath that Catholic exterior.  I think he only went to church to keep my mother happy.  As a result, as soon as I was able to think for myself, I decided to abandon a childhood of confused spirituality.

Maybe it’s time to nail my colours to the mast?  Can’t be too careful?

I suppose I could go back to Catholicism, but they seem to think that anything pleasurable is a mortal sin.  I get enough of that from the Nanny State so that’s definitely out.

There is Scientology, but that has Tom Cruise in it so that’s out.

Seventh Day Adventists?  Do I want to spend the rest of my days getting doors slammed in my face?  Nah!

I could become a Muslim, as I already have a beard, but I might end up in that part where I would have to blow myself up.  I know there is a promise of seventy virgins waiting for me but suppose they all look like Angela Merkel?  I’m not taking that chance.

Judaism is out.  I’m not letting anyone mess with my todger.

I’m not that partial to porridge so Quakerism is out.

I can’t become an Amish as I would miss the old Interwebs, and anyway I have a car.

Buddhism sounds nice.  I can spend my days just sitting on top of a mountain contemplating life?  I do that most days anyway, though I’m not too sure about wearing an orange sheet [and only an orange sheet].  It can get quite nippy in the valleys.

Maybe I’ll just start my own religion.  Devotion would consist of drinking mugs of tea [and Guinness in the evenings] and puffing on a pipe.

Now that I could live with.

And die for.

 

Phoney promises

Posted on by September 14, 2017 12

I have received quite a few emails and texts.

They were all from the mob that provide my phone and Interwebs.

Apparently [*breathless excitement*] if I add my mobile account into my “package” I can put my name down for the queue for the latest iPhone, or whatever it’s called.

Now my current phone works.  Sometimes I wish it didn’t but nevertheless, it does.  I can send and receive phone calls.  I can send and receive texts.  I could do other things with it but generally it just lies around somewhere complaining that it needs charging.

So why would I need a new phone?  I presume it does the phonecall thing and the text thing so no change there?   It’s probably bigger than the one I have so that doesn’t exactly fill me full of enthusiasm.

There was one of those poll thingies the other day where they asked if smart phones made my life much better or much worse..  They didn’t ask whether it made no difference whatsoever so I couldn’t vote.  The results though is that 50% thought it made their lives much better.  Weird.  How?  The only things that my smart phone does over the things my pre-smart phone did are basically gimmicks, gizmos and stuff that definitely should be confined to a computer.  The only thing I can think of that may possibly be of some remote use is Google Maps which is basically a SatNav in my pocket.  But seeing as I have a SatNav already then that function is somewhat redundant.

A lot of respondents to the poll said the smart phone made their lives worse.  That is even more baffling.  Have they never heard of the off switch?  If I have some possession that makes my life worse I will discard it.  Why on earth would I keep it?  Presumably these people have to have this yoke that worsens their lives because they have been told to have one, either by their peers or by advertising.  Granted, some will have been inflicted by their work, but the answer to that is my previous solution – the off switch.  Maybe their phone can even be programmed to switch itself off when not at work?

I will upgrade my phone when it is capable of producing baccy at the press of a button.

Until then, they can all fuck off.

 

Being all at sea

Posted on by September 12, 2017 15

The good ship SS Head Rambles continues to sail in extremely rough seas.

The main problem now is that I am not sure if we are sailing into the hurricane, out of it, or just circling the eye.  Our navigation system never coped with these conditions before and the radar blew overboard some time ago.  However the hull is still watertight, and the main risk is of hitting a hidden rock in these uncharted waters.

However we have gathered a small but powerful flotilla of battleships to escort us so I am optimistic.

And then on a completely unrelated topic I got a letter this morning.  For some reason, best known to themselves [and probably a little man in Outer Mongolia] Social Welfare want to know all the details of my bank accounts.  As if I didn’t have enough on my mind at the moment.

They sent me a list of accounts, one of which I had completely forgotten about, but at least I know now which accounts they don’t know about.  That’s always handy to know.  They want statements for the last three months which is a pain in the fucking hole.  Some of the accounts are fine – I just print off the statements from the web site but there is one they always moan about – my main account that I use for everyday stuff.

You see, my bank publishes statements on line for me to download and print.  But the bastards only do that twice a year, so the latest statement brings me up to June 31st which isn’t exactly the last three months.  So I have to phone them.  I have had to do this before a couple of times before so I now know the routine.  Can I have a statement for the last three months, I will ask.  They will happily reply that my that all my statements are available online, as if I were some kind of fucking idiot.  I will then point out that those statements are nearly three months old and that I can’t wait until December as I have to reply to Social Welfare within 21 days.  They will then huff and snort and generally prevaricate, but when I refuse to concede defeat they will eventually agree to run off a special statement just for me.  You’d think they were doing me some kind of extraordinary favour instead of just providing a service.  Cunts.

I don’t know what they want those details for, but I do know that it isn’t for my benefit.  Maybe they think I’m over claiming on my pension which would [*cough*] be a reasonable assumption, but knowing them, if I don’t provide the details they demand, they’ll stop my pension altogether.

I bet they don’t give Bono this much grief.