Benefit fraud

Received a letter from the TV licensing authority this morning, informing me that if I didn't contact them in the next two weeks to buy a TV license, I'd be taken to court. Er - excuse me?? Called the toll free number, that is not toll free from my phone here as the university has us on some stupid system or other, and spoke to some suitably stupid sounding cretin who supposedly sorted the problem out. The outcome is this: I will not be hassled for the next three months, and after that period an Officer will visit the premises to ensure I don't have a TV and then - having confirmed this - they'll leave me alone for a year.
Just out of curiosity, how much money is it costing them (and therefore, the taxpayer) to check I don't have a television? Why can't these blasted companies put all their resources into finding the real Fraudsters in this country? Easily done: drive around any of our council estates, and the houses with satellite TV and a car parked outside are probably cheating the benefit system. Although saying that, the amount of income support people receive in this country is now so high that maybe the presence of sat.dish and car wouldn't prove anything: they should be looking out for people with dubiously good suntans and sporting a Rolex and maybe then they'll find someone cheating the system.
Half of the people in the UK have lost any concept of pride these days. They say they get a better deal living off the state than if they were working - but personally, I'd rather work in a factory and at least earn my own wage than just take handouts from the government. Am I right in thinking that in the USA people can only claim for six months when 'out of work' then they're on their own? Seems to me that needs to be done in the UK for a while, get some people out there into the real world.
Check out the picture: kids of four years old 'working'. No, I don't agree with that at all, but I can assure you they're a darn sight nicer than the brats my country seems intent on producing these days. And you actually want to help them, rather than throw them into nearest available canal after beating them soundly with one of their multiple playstations.

Back to reality with a bump

As I tuck into my cut price milk chocolate santa tree decorations, I am decidedly disgruntled. While in Goa, I succeeded in frying my mobile phone battery - correction, an idiot of a Welshman did this for me with some blasted gadget or other that he said would do the trick. Ambled into Oxford centre this morning and after fighting my way through the bargain hunters (and what a ghastly breed of people they really are) managed to speak to an offensively ugly sales person in Dixons. Who informed me a replacement battery would be around GBP60, and that was if they could get hold of it, which they can't. As apparently my phone was only made for a brief period and discontinued. He essentially also pointed out that most people who own mobiles aren't stupid enough to fry the battery in the first place... and then tried to sell me a replacement handset for nearly GBP200. It may be Christmas time but I'm not a total sucker.
In effort to make the trip into town not entirely wasted, I poked my head into Waterstones (bookstore) who ostensibly had a Huge Sale taking place, but personally I don't want Jamie Oliver's cookbooks at any price. Nor a guide to Restoring Antiques, fascinating though I'm sure it was. (Aside: my milk chocolate santas are faceless. Disturbing. Or is it more disturbing that I'm concerned by the lack of face on a chocolate tree decoration? Oh, I don't know).
Well, the upshot of all that is: you can't contact me by phone. I haven't checked my messages in nearly three weeks so if you've texted and are offended by lack of response, there is my reason. If you want my landline number then email me and I'll send it you. Bear in mind that I have no way of getting anybody's mobile number either so I can't call even if I want. At least it gives me an excuse to be permanently online for the next few days. I'm now reminded of a great quote from Wilde that I'm going to paraphrase for my purposes: my huff has arrived and I'm departing in it.

A few quotes from Really Dumb People

I have ranted to some of you recently about my being permanently pursued by an amazingly stupid couple out here. Anyhow, I thought I would throw a few choice examples in your general direction as some of you don't entirely believe just how dumb people can be.
1. Him. 'So yeah, I wanna round up all the fookin' Muslims and put 'em all in one bloody big room and just, you know, shoot 'em. You know what I'm saying?'
Me. 'You don't think that is slightly...hmm... extreme?'
Him. 'No, for f**** sake, they like killed our white BROTHERS didnt they.'
Me. 'Um... yeah.' (Seriously, how can you argue with that??)

2. Her, reading out horoscopes from newspaper. 'This month, you will feel a lot of fatty goo.'
Me. 'Huh??'
Her. 'Fatty goo'.
Me. 'Let me see... er, you mean fatigue'.
Her. 'Oh... What's that?'
Dear Lord, if you exist, strike her down. I swear my seven year old niece knows the word 'fatigue', both in terms of spelling and meaning.

3. Him. 'Uh - I hate it when people have bad table manners. It really grosses me out like. You know what I mean?'
As he promptly spears an onion on his fork, rests elbow on table and proceeds to gnaw at said pickled vegetable.

I could go on but I want to shoot myself already at the thought of another two days in the immediate vicinity of this couple. What have I done to deserve this?

Anyway, all of you: Happy Christmas! Think of me hurtling across the world in a steel capsule, if you like, while munching into your fiftieth mince pie of the day. Hope you all have a lovely day (those of you who don't celebrate Christmas, just have a nice day in general. Eat too much and drink too much, good excuse to). And while I'm here, incase I forget, have a damn good new year as well.

Er - crikey

Was going to add a post just confirming to you readers out there that yes, I'm still doing NOTHING at all in Goa but ponce about on a beach most of the time. Was going to be lighthearted natter, with bit of a rant thrown in about couply-couples for good measure, but just saw my bank balance online and haven't the heart.
No, firmly fed up now. Will go and eat chocolate and mope.

Goa Gabble

(Well, you try coming up with a good and relevant adjective beginning with 'G').
Brief post (ignoring the German rant that should be following on from my series - will have to be postponed a while). Merely saying hola, I'm here. That would be Goa. Ostensibly India but fairly firmly agreed with everyone here that Goa is not even remotely representative of that country. Having spent a few days being ripped off in one poncy establishment, have moved down to a hut on the beach - my upturned palm tree comes complete with bathroom attached, which is rather a novelty considering the last place I was at had a bucket of water for a shower. (Which is GREAT if you've got some suitably nice guy handy to help you out...). Having a few mozzie issues but dealing with them with my mighty 100% DEET. (You people all concerned about the environment, don't bother starting to give me a lecture on the effects of DEET - personally my immediate concern rests with what the blasted environment is doing to me). Tan is not exactly doing what it should - have spent half the time quaking under a beach umbrella terrified of emerging incase I burn. However, have six days now until I am moving to a different beach with hardly any shade at all so am building up my resistance levels in that time. So far, no obvious burn patches to report... no obvious tan patches either, come to that. Huh. Grr.
Am slightly concerned by the fact I actually miss some of you guys. Am all for my Independent Travel but think I may actually have to glare at some of you next year and drag you off to a villa far away - okay, northern Spain would do it in the summertime. Greek island. Somewhere. Anywhere. Get those thinking caps on, chaps and chapesses!
No, the sun is NOT going to my brain... Dammit.
Off for dinner of some description. Could have a full english breakfast if I so desired - yeah, not exactly 'India' at all, is it.

Flirtatious French

I'll get over to the French in a minute, but first my excuses in advance for this posting. Let's just say that this morning I'm not firing on all cylinders - and having received a text at 0450 from my housemate informing me that he was still at large on the town, I dread to think what sort of state he is in. Praise be to extended drinking hours... Speaking of whom, much grr-ness going out to him, it is NOT amusing to kick large puddles of water over a girl repeatedly. Okay okay, I know I'm not exactly a 'girlie girl' and didn't have make-up or fancy hair-do to worry about, but even so. Chuh. Feel guilty. (And you can pay me back in drinks at some point). For the record, Reader, I'm nowhere near organised for India. Haven't entirely decided how I'll fit in all I have to unless shops stay open all night and I get no sleep. Hate being disorganised like this.

The Flirtatious French. I must admit my experiences of the French have been fairly positive. Obviously as an English lass, on principle I have to mock their garlic-eating, cheese-consuming, vino-guzzling habits. And also make regular jokes about the 'French Resistance', and something of a lack of it. How many Frenchmen does it take to defend Paris? They don't know, they've never tried...
But that aside, I like the French. Correction: I like French men. There are generally two species, and we had a representative of each in my Lancaster boatclub. There is the pale skinned, dark haired type - the one you imagine wearing a striped jersey cycling along with suitable quantities of onions and baguettes attached to the bike. He is the quieter, more subtly romantic type, the one who would have been in the Resistance and would die saying 'vive la France'. Then there is the other - taller, blonde, more Scandinavian in appearance I suppose. The one who over-exaggerates his French-ness because he knows his charm is irresistible. Many fond memories of just such a guy, who firmly retained his accent, drank wine in copious volumes, spent his summers sailing off Corsica, and charmed my socks off on regular occasions (and possibly a few other items of clothing as well).
The French seem to me to be an incredibly proud nation. And why not indeed - their capital city is surely one of the most genuinely romantic places in the world, they have beautiful mountains in the south, beaches, Cannes, croissants. For those of you have not eaten croissants as made in France, you have not eaten croissants. And going to 'La Brioche Doree' at the airport doesn't count as eating French food.
I've spent about a fortnight in Paris, and on pretty much every day there was a strike of some sort. France has more public holidays than any other country in the world (if anybody can really be bothered to count them all up and tell me I'm wrong - go for it. You clearly have no life and should not be reading my blog). The fact that France keeps on going is something of a mystery, given that at any one point a good half of the workforce are missing in action. I imagine that it would be a valid excuse to turn up to work and say, 'Monsieur, I am so sorry, but there was this charming lady - '. 'Say no more, say no more. I hope you had a beautiful time together.'
From what I understand, France is under invasion again. This time from those ghastly middle class Brits seeking desperately a 'second home' for no reason other than their kids have gone off to college and they don't know what to do with themselves. Rural France is now swarming with Brits, off to follow the footsteps of that Year in Provence. 'We will become bilingual, grow our own lavender, be beautiful and tanned'. Translation: we will speak French with a ghastly accent and believe that the smiles made in our direction are ones of encouragement, rather than the poor person trying to stop breaking out in laughter; growing lavender will become buying tonnes of that plant in dried form, and hanging it randomly from 'the quaint beams', and as for being beautiful and tanned... Lardy and lobster-like would be more apt. Much as the Brits would love to become French, we can't, and should accept this before we start.
France is a country of romance and mystery, of Sartre and de Beauvoir, the Moulin Rouge and Les Miserables. And - returning to my title - complete flirts. They know they're charming and beautiful and irresistible and play on this massively. Girls: watch out. You know you'll have a fantastic time, that your knees will melt when he kisses you, but the chances of him remaining faithful are nil. Accept that, and you're in for some fantastic 'va va voom'.

Arrogant Americans

Welcome to the first in a series of posts - starting off with Arrogant Americans, we'll glide gently into Flirtatious French, Jaded Germans, Sexy Spanish and Amorous Argentines. Ending on a high note with Boring Brits. I intend to be as controversial as possible, play on as many stereotypes as I can, and generally entertain myself. If you bother to take offence at any of my posts, er, I guess you don't know me so well... 'Tongue in cheek' is an apt description.

Arrogant Americans. It is a standard expression, and one I'm not entirely sure I go along with on all occasions. I mean, sure, they're distressingly loud and brash - sit in a coffee shop and if there is a single American in there, they will ensure that the entire place can hear their scintillating conversation. Being from arguably the most powerful nation in the world at present, principally because they go around building nuclear weapons while telling everybody else not to, some of the inhabitants do genuinely believe that saying, 'Hey, bud, I'm an American' will get them anywhere. America is a land that generates fads - some good, some just weird. The recent reintroduction of knitting as a 'cool hobby' mystifies me, and only a few months ago I remember reading about 'laughter therapy'. This has moved to London as well, and the basic principle is you go sit with a bunch of strangers and pay vast amounts to sit and laugh. At absolutely nothing - no Monty Python in the background or any encouragement. 'Laugh, dammit'. Huh. Weird.
The American Abroad was summed up beautifully by E M Forster in 'Room With a View', when a girl says to her father which city was Rome and he responds, 'Say, wasn't that the place where we saw the yellow dog?' Whereas some are swept away by history and artefacts - given that America has very little history of its own, having killed the natives who were busy creating it - others just don't have a clue.
Americans are a strange mix. They simultaneously love guns and power, attend rallies in their thousands to shout and chant (and be totally ignored by their President), and yet find me an American female who isn't obsessed with hair dye, nail polish, the latest Uber-Eyelash-Lift-Maxi from L'Oreal (or whatever it is that is in vogue at present). They repeatedly vote 'Everybody Loves Raymond' as a favourite show, and yet they are also responsible for 'The Simpsons'. While churning out ghastly Hollywood films, they have also been behind some of the most incredible writing of the last two centuries (Tennessee Williams springs immediately to mind).
They are enthusiastic about everything - tell am American they're going to spend the day, oh I don't know, learning how to cook a five course meal over a candle, and they will come from all over the land to attend such an event. Even a hint from their fine President that someone 'could attack at any moment' and they will take this to heart, stripping the shelves in local stores of torches, tinned food, bottled water, tape to put over their windows. Their basements - and how Americans love their basements - are permanently on stand-by as temporary home for when the (apparently inevitable) nuclear bomb lands.
One of the great things about Americans is their stupid, stupid pride. I tell you, there are many theories as to why America and Cuba aren't exactly on the best of terms. I say it is because the Americans are mighty cheesed off about the whole Bay of Pigs episode and would very much like the world to forget about it, and thus reject the existence of Cuba. Brilliant. Ignore a problem and yup, it really will go away.
Despite the fact Americans brought us MacDonalds, Coca Cola, a World League in a game that they themselves only compete in, some total lunatics (KKK and Bible Bashers for example), they did also bring us Ben and Jerrys. And for that, I can forgive them anything. God Bless America.