Has anyone seen the grouch? Ah yes, there it is….

It’s official. Work smells. For the second year running the letter winged its way through the post to inform me that due to circumstances and reduced profits we will not be receiving a pay rise this year. Happy days. So despite the rising costs of food and fuel and petrol and indeed life itself, I shall be remaining on the same amount as I was in 2008. Will I get be getting an extra couple of days holiday to make up for it like Best Friend has? Will I fuck. I don't even get a decent amount of time to go to a bloody funeral. 1 piddling day for a funeral in Ashford, down on the South coast 6 hours drive my house. I am the least well paid fully-qualified person I know and I’m getting mighty bored of being broke. It may be time to take another foray into the world of job-hunting, the most soul-destroying (and in my case fruitless) waste of time a person can engage in. Wooo. Can you picture my delight? Bet you can. The next person working for more than I earn in the public sector who is going to the union and considering striking because they are getting a two year pay freeze had better not bring their whinge to my door. Because I’ve already had two years of pay freeze and I don’t have a union. Nor do I have a decent pension that is non-contributory, the queen’s birthday as a holiday or the ability to take 6 weeks off on the sick without getting my ass fired. Therefore my sympathy is not exactly overwhelming.

Tired. Grumpy. Skint. Nothing new here then.

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Man in dress has sex with dog in moat. I’m not joking….

Just thought I'd share this with you, as it nearly made me choke to death on my morning coffee (courtesy of The Telegraph)

Transvestite had sex with a dog at English Heritage castle

A transvestite had sex with a dog in the moat of an English Heritage castle.

 
Transvestite had sex with a dog at English Heritage castle

Pendennis Castle Photo: ALAMY

The cross-dressing man was caught with the animal in the dry moat of King Henry VIII's Pendennis Castle overlooking Falmouth Bay in Cornwall.

The 33-year-old mounted the pet after it chased him out of sight of its woman owner.

The owner had been walking around the ancient castle with a friend when the pair spotted the lone transvestite on the morning of Saturday July 10th at around a quarter to twelve.

He was wearing a black dress and walking around the steep-walled, empty moat.

As the two ladies spotted the cross dresser he ran away. Later one of the dogs chased after the man; by the time the women had caught up, the man was having sex with the pet.

Castle staff then restrained the man while police were called.

Pendennis Castle, managed by English Heritage, is a popular family tourist attraction and was heaving with visitors in high season.

He was escorted home and later made a "full and frank confession", and received a caution for outraging public decency.

A police spokesman said: "Other agencies were liaised with and he was handed over to them".

A spokesman for English Heritage said: "This was a very rare incident".

It certainly must have been a very rare incident. We went to loads of English Heritage castles as kids and we never once saw a man in a dress fucking a dog in the moat. Interesting to note also that you can receive a custodial sentence for not paying your council tax but you only get a caution for rogering someone's pet in full view of a castle full of tourists. The justice system is a mystery to me.

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Wedding anniversary

The WEdding Party in the Italian Garden
Vikki, Micah and the boys in kilts 2
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Today is my wedding anniversary. I have been married for 4 whole years, which is 2 years longer than some members of my family and 3 years longer than some people thought we'd manage. So well done to me and Mr V. A friend of mine has been told by her parents that if she manages to stay wed for 5 years or more she doesn't have to pay back the costs of the wedding but if she divorces before then she does. She's not entirely sure whether they're joking…

My wedding day was the hottest day on record in England. Fortunately, since it was an English/ Scottish wedding, 75% of the guests were in a skirt of some sort or another. And I will take this opportunity to inform you that real Scotsman of the Highland variety do not wear anything under the kilt. Our first confirmation of this came in the churchyard when a gentleman bent down to take a photo of the wedding party. I'm sure it would have been a lovely photo had we not all got an eyeful of his trouser ferret trying to reach the grass and been caught on camera in various states of shock and amusement. Another gentleman, who shall remain nameless, was really careful all day not to reveal anything but then let his guard down on the big group photo. His pant-rat has been forever immortalised on the steps of Tatton, bless him.

Special award for the day must go to Best Friend who did a stirling job as chief bridesmaid. Not only did she get really nervous for me so I didn't have to but she also rearranged my dress a thousand times, dealt with a wayward veil, chased wasps away from my Pimms and replaced it when they inevitably crash-landed among the fruit but she also saw off the sodding ramblers who decided that since they'd paid for a ticket to the house and gardens they were perfectly entitled to roam round the Italian Terrace in their beige shorts and jesus-sandals (with socks) regardless of the wedding in progress there. God forbid they shouldn't get their fivers worth. And they were eyeing up the Pimms going round. There's a reason why Best Friend and I are friends, we're very similar and let's just say she dealt with it. So well done to her.

All in all it was a cracking day and I'm most jealous of anyone getting married because I want to have my day again, sigh….

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Yet another NHS system designed to make you go mad…

Yet another NHS system designed to make you go mad.

Don’t get me wrong, the NHS is a marvellous system and without it I’d have probably bankrupted my parents before I reached aged 18, being the clumsy pillock that I am. But sometimes you come across NHS procedures or systems that are designed specifically to make you so angry and frustrated that you go away and leave them alone, thereby saving the NHS some much-needed cash. One of these systems is the appointments system and anyone who has had to deal with this will know exactly what I mean.

The problem was this – at the last eye clinic appointment I went to, the eye was still infected and the little consultant man wanted me to come back in a week for yet another 3 hours of quality waiting room time and another eye check. In the meantime I was to keep putting in the eye drops and eye cream. I informed him that I would be abroad then so he agreed to make it two weeks, which would leave me with an appointment tomorrow. Fine. It would be posted out to me. Lovely. Except that this is clearly far too complex a matter for an organisation with a budget of billions and more staff than virtually any other government funded department because when I opened the post on my return from the airport yesterday (Thursday), it seems that I’d been sent an appointment for the day before, Wednesday, when I’d told the guy I was abroad. The letter said that if I didn’t turn up for my appointment I’d be automatically discharged so I wanted to get it sorted but a quick ring round the secretaries I got diverted to assured me that the old system of never employing a consultant’s secretary that works past midday still holds true so nothing could be done until today.

Which is when the fun really started.

I finally managed to get hold of Mr Turner’s secretary who was none too pleased to hear from me.

“Why did they put you through to me?”

“No idea, I assumed you’d know that.”

“Well I don’t. You want Mr S’s secretary. So I’ll put you through to her”.

Fine. Except that Mr S’s secretary wasn’t exactly helpful either.

“Why have they put you through to me?” (anyone else spotting a pattern)

“Probably because I’m down for Mr S’s clinic at a guess”

Massive snort down the phone “Well I don’t deal with people who have missed their appointments. That’s what the outpatients booking system is for, so I suggest you speak to them.”

“I did. They put me through to Mr Turner’s secretary who put me through to you”.

“Well I can’t help you so you’ll have to ring them back”

Fine you snotty little bitch, I will. “Right then, thanks SO much for your time and effort. Goodbye”

So I did.

Which just made me angry.

“The soonest I can do is September the 13th

“Pardon? I think I misheard you.”

“September 13th. In clinic C. Do you want it?”

“But I’ve got an infected eye and I’ve been being treated in clinic F, under a totally different person”.

“Well you’re the one who didn’t bother to turn up for your appointment aren’t you?”

“No, actually I’m not. I’m the one who got an appointment for a time when she’d told the consultant she was in a different country, it’s not the same thing”.

“There nothing in your notes to say you were on holiday”.

“That’s not my fault. I didn’t write them.”

“Well if it’s not in your notes then it’s your fault you got sent the wrong appointment”.

“Fine, well I’ll know for next time to make sure I request to read them before I leave the room, but in the meantime, I need an appointment sooner than that”.

“There’s nothing. Oh hang on, there’s one mid-august.”

“Can I just ask, if last week I could be allocated one in a week, why is there suddenly nothing available for over a month? Has there been a sudden spate of mysterious eye injuries while I was away?”

“Er no, it’s because YOU didn’t turn up for your appointment”.

Now the red mist is beginning to descend, I’m struggling not give the chippy little tart both barrels of my temper and inform her that I’m most impressed with the level of proficiency she’s reached in the ‘NHS Certificate of Being an Unhelpful, Supercilious and Snotty Witch who thinks they are Doing You a Favour by Even Taking Your Call”.

“As I’ve just explained, I didn’t ‘not turn up”.

“Well if you’re not happy you’ll have to go back to the eye A&E and queue again to get seen and get another referral won’t you?”

“Thank you so much for the tip. And if I take the August appointment, what do I do about my medication?”

“What medication?”

“The medication I was given a two week supply of to see me through to the next appointment and that I have to apply to my infected eye 5 times a day to try and heal it.”

“Dunno. I’m outpatients appointments, not my department. You want the nursing staff for that. Do you want this appointment or not?”.

By this time I am struggling not to climb down the telephone and smack the smug twat straight between the eyes.

“Fine, send me the appointment. And can you put me through to the nursing team?”

So she does, and I speak to them, only to be informed that they can do nothing at all to help me and that I’ll have to come into the eye A&E and queue to see a doctor to write me a repeat prescription of the medication that I don’t have enough of because either a consultant or a secretary is too stupid to be able to tell the difference between ‘Wednesday’ and ‘Friday’. Because it’s not like I haven’t thoroughly enjoyed the 12 hours plus of time that I’ve already spent queuing in various departments of the eye hospital is it?

Rest assured, there will be a letter of complaint nestling in the in-tray of the Eye Hospital before the start of next week. And if karma is worth anything, the snotty appointments cow will come back in the next life as a haemorrhoid on the arse of someone unsavoury.

Update: I was in such a bad mood by the time I got home that I had a paddy with the washing machine and kicked the door. Which broke the catch. A man is coming out to look at it on Monday. I'm officially a complete fucking tool.

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