“paying for beer with nickels and dimes”

I. HATE. EVERYONE.

Worst shift of my life – closures and ‘customer incidents’ aplenty.  Who needs to drink on the Tube anyway?  What are you, freaking hobos?  Can’t you wait twenty minutes to crack open that can of cheap cider?  Grr.  Still, you can’t do it anymore!

“you got soul on the dole”

I must have a touch of the grumpy old woman in me because this boot camp for the young and unemployed sounds bloody marvellous. Off the bat I should highlight the second to last paragraph where it points out that those genuinely unable to work will not be affected, i.e. those with a recognised disability, and this way there will be more money and less overstretched services to available to them. It has frustrated me since childhood that there were entire families better off than us because they knew how to ‘fiddle the system’ and we struggled when my dad was out working 45 hours a week.

I would be interested to see if this does have an impact on crime and anti-social behaviour. I was shocked to discover, albeit through anecdotal evidence, that even somewhere as extortionate as London there are entire housing schemes (somewhere between council homes and housing associations) that are cheap enough for people to live on the Jobseekers/Housing Benefit/Council Tax Benefit combo. I’ve been out of work, but I’ve always survived off my own money, I would only claim benefits if I found myself genuinely unable to work. I think all these people getting signed off with spurious medical claims are a slap in the face to the many unlucky people who would happily go out and get a job if only they were able to.

It may be hard to enforce, I’d need to see a more detailed plan to be confident in it, but anything that involves giving some of these malevolent little sods a kick up the backside is long overdue. Were it not for Iraq and Afghanistan, I’d be advocating the return of National Service instead. It’s one thing to take kids in for training, but we can’t go back to conscription with ill-advised foreign wars still raging.

Hettie

Hettie

Originally uploaded by Lola how_i_lie

We adopted a Guide Dog puppy! She’s going to grow up to be the very smartest kind of dog and help people in the process! Look at that iddle widdle snout!!

“One for my baby (and one more for the road)”

I’m fairly sure that given my pro-BoJo sentiments of these past weeks, there’ll be more than one person waiting to jump on me about the latest Tory ‘family’ initiative.  Would that it were simple enough for me to be either outraged or in agreement, like the centrist I am, I fall somewhere in that grey area. 

Let’s start with the obvious: a) je suis lesbo and b) I do want a family some day.

Throw into the mix: I broadly disagree with IVF, especially making it available on the NHS. If we spent as much money curing disease as we did getting people pregnant (WHICH IS NOT A DIVINE RIGHT!) or even just redirected the money altogether, well….  Trot out the old chestnuts about kids waiting to be adopted etc. 

I am concerned about male role models for any potential children of mine, I am not the sort to demonise men just because I won’t do them.  I want any son or daughter to grow up with a balanced view of straight and gay, to treat men and women as equals.  I am conscious that my life at present is short on male friends that I consider myself close to.   I do think that the number of violent and unhappy children coming from broken families is a worry (but not an absolute rule, there are plenty of success stories from one-parent families).  Just as I wouldn’t choose to raise a child alone, I wouldn’t want them to be deprived of access to male influence, although I know any two parents can be good or bad regardless of the gender dynamic.

It’s important to note that the provision does not exclude lesbians and single women, merely places a condition, one that is fairly easy to meet.  Plenty of other medical procedures (some less optional, like transplants) have conditions placed on them, so why is this massively different?  Is it selfish to have a child when you have a limited support network – for example I would need to consider the distant location of my family, the busy lives of friends, and the financial burden of paying someone to take up the slack for me every now and then.  That wouldn’t be easier in a couple, even a straight one, but we’re not talking about ‘oops I’m pregnant scenarios’ – this is a rational choice and should be treated as one. 

Having waffled thus far, I’m no clearer as to my exact position, but I’m certainly not offended, nor do I feel this suggestion is that far out of line.

 

 

“It’s the final countdown!”

F*ckin’ yass man!!  The Mighty ‘Well make another (probably ill-fated) assault on Europe.  Come hell or highwater, I sooooo desperately want to go to the away leg.  Unless it’s in the Faroe Islands or something, I’m not completely cracked. 

For a club that’s had the problems we’ve had these past few years, staying afloat has been a bloody miracle.  It’s full credit to Mark McGhee for pulling this off, and at the risk of schmaltz it’s a damn fine tribute to the much-missed Phil O’Donnell.  It’s just a shame our new strip is baw-bag ugly, since I’ll probably have to shell out for one (my four old ones are a tad, ahem, cosy).  I’m just glad that out town name is our team name, that way best to avoid “They’ll be dancing in the streets of Raith tonight” such nonsense from commentators who barely know of our existence!  I wonder what the Spanish/German/Lithuanian for “get it right up yeez” is?  Answers on a postcard please.

 

New London

I wasn’t going to say any more about the Mayoral election result, but this is a bloody good post summing up the arrogance of the Labourite argument.

“The Atlantic was born today, and I’ll tell you how”

Ben

Originally uploaded by Lola how_i_lie

This weather is so blimmin’ gorgeous I want to move into the garden with a constant supply of old-fashioned lemonade. Instead I’m about to nap in preparation for work, and have been a lazy, grumpy so-and-so all day when I should have been making the most of having my bezzer here!

Last night my bezzer took me to see the fan-fucking-tastic Death Cab for Cutie (sorry, am I giving away my impressions too early in the review?) Many thanks to a certain Eejut who wins prizes for buying his girlfriend top-notch birthday presents. In fact, it was such a thoroughly awesome experience that I’ve just booked tickets to see them in Brixton in July. Standing again!

The standing was hard going though. Mostly because I’m putting a lot of weight on two relatively small surfaces. I tried repeating the successful five hours of standing on St Patrick’s Day formula of comfy Docs plus booze, but it doesn’t seem to work without the essential cold and rain to make your poor plates-of-meat completely numb.

There is really nothing that compares to being up close and personal with a bunch of dudes intent on playing their little hearts out. “The Sound of Settling” brought the house down, and there were rapturous receptions for everything including the new tracks, so it seems I’m not the only naughty individual who got her mitts on a pre-release copy. There’s something deeply amazing about a room full of people screaming “I need you so much closer” at the end of a hot and sweaty night. At one point, during the obligatory “no we’re going, no encores here, nup” routine the noise and “We Want Death Cab” hysteria made my eardrums feel like they were literally imploding. But in the good way!

We stumbled home on surprisingly efficient buses and I collapsed in front of House with only fluffy kitteh cuddles for company. Bloody excellent.

EDIT: I left something out.  They dedicated MY song (well, OUR song) to Barack Obama.  “I Will Follow You Into the Dark” is supremely awesome, and it did mar the experience for a moment or two.  I would follow Hillary into the dark, personally, but even I think it may well be time for her to concede.  He should offer her VP to make an excellent ticket, and that combo wouldn’t work the other way round.  He’s too good for VP, it would waste too many of his strengths.  I think Hillary should be President, but she’s enough of an all-rounder and details person that she could really make something of the Vice-Presidency.

“aw she’s madonna, all cloven hoof and flared nose”

A timely reminder of why I hate horse-racing. I’ve been surprisingly reticent when it comes to the topic of animal cruelty, and I can only suppose it’s because it’s one of the few issues that renders me emotionally incontinent. For years I’ve been dissolving into tears at RSPCA adverts, remaining unmoved by any other charity heartstring-tuggers. I give money to animal charities when I can but duck out on their literature because it breaks my heart to see or even think of an animal in pain.

I’ll confess that my aversion to racing is fairly recent – in my younger years we were shielded from the notion of horses being destroyed after races. My grandpa was an avid gambler, much like the others of his generation and geography whose lives revolved around drinking, smoking and punting a bit on the gee-gees. As kids we were largely reliant on him for excursions during my dad’s working hours, and for somewhere to go when we had frazzled every last parental nerve. Summer holidays especially were punctuated by daily trips to Ladrokes or Colvilles, whatever the nearest bookie was. My memories of my grandpa as an active man are limited and shadowy, but I only need to close my eyes and I can see the tobacco and drink stained carpets, the peeling leather stools and clouds of smoke so thick you needed a lighthouse to find your way back out. Hardly an environment for a growing child, but the rules were less stringently applied then, and while I occasionally picked a horse for it’s funny name, it’s not like they were letting me gamble.

Always women behind the counters, with scratchy spiral perms or blow-dried peaks of blonde sponsored by Bostik. Make-up applied by the trowel, floaty blouses that were neither modest nor flattering. Two types of clientele: the dapper retirees, always pressed and Brylcreemed with smoke-stained fingers and a faint smell of whisky (it’s not Scotch back there, remember?); and the ‘rougher’ element, the ones in tracky bottoms and trainers, gambling their giros away.

With these less than salubrious surroundings, you’d think I would have hated it from the start. But without the knowledge of the cruelty, it just looked like horses playing their own kind of sports day. We were nowhere near the ‘horsey’ type, hardly our socioeconomic bracket if you catch my drift. The closest I ever got was handing polo mints to the horses up on the big estate near my high school.

Then in my early teens I read Black Beauty and I realised that people are so very hateful when it comes to animals. Having pets in the house we were taught never to hurt or tease them, and it sickens me to think that there’s a sport which basically involves pushing an animal to its limits in order to win money for the humans who bought it. I don’t see any particular skill in being a jockey, other than being able to force a creature past its limits most effectively, and that’s not something I would brag about. I can’t bear to seem them liberally applying the whip, horses straining to get this whole unpleasant experience over with. When horses break their legs they can’t be put on bed rest with a nice signed cast until it’s all better, they have to be put down.

So that’s why I don’t have a flutter on the Grand National, nor do I ever consider buying a stupid hat for Royal Ascot. It’s cruel and unnecessary, so if you want your kicks go to a football match and bay at highly paid volunteers until they fall over and hurt themselves, yeah? It might stop Ronaldo and Drogba diving if they knew vets were on hand to euthanise them.

“my city’s still breathing, but barely it’s true”

Jaysus, Mary and the other bloke, there are some childish eejits on CiF. Wait, that’s a bit like saying “I need air to breathe” or “grass is green”, isn’t it? I think every petulant moron whose response to likely defeat for Ken is to threaten to leave the city ought to have their voting rights curtailed, because they clearly lack some form of capacity. If Boris wins (I’ll have voted for a winner! Right first time!) do you honestly think he’ll be allowed to run amok? No, he’ll be tightly controlled by Cameronian forces as he has been throughout the campaign. This is intended as a springboard for the Tories, not to mention that Boris is hardly the shambolic buffoon Guardian readers seem to think he is. Chuh!

I’m also seriously disappointed in some of my pro-Ken friends who can’t accept a majority decision and are instead mocking everyone who put an ‘x’ next to Johnson’s name.  Whatever I may think about Ken, I respect your decision to vote for him, and expect you to respect why I did not.