Then and now.

I’ve never had it so good.

I was just musing about what we have now and what I was used to in my Childhood.

So I’ll bore you with a few comparisons.

Breakfast cereals

Then: Half a dozen at the most.

Now: Whole shelves stocked with every texture and flavour that you could possibly imagine.

Entertainment

Then: The wireless. Driven by valve technology and the size of a microwave.

The Television. A minute screen housed in a, usually hideous monstrosity of a cabinet. Black and white picture  and only one channel available (BBC). And they only broadcast for a few hours a day.

Now: You can now receive radio on your mobile phone.

Televisions have now expanded to any size you can afford, are in colour, and have vastly better picture quality. Now I can watch squillions  of channels of utter crap, downloaded from a geosynchronous orbiting satellite. (Here I think my quality of life has taken a nose dive).

Cars

Then: My first car was an Austin Cambridge that was underpowered, heavy, and rolled more than a tea clipper in a force 4. It was so bad that when cornering, you turned the steering wheel half a mile before the bend. If you didn’t, you became street furniture.

Now: I have a car that is capable of twice the speed of the cambridge, it is also comfortable, safe and will last a few more years than the cambridge.

Shopping.

Then: Everything was bought from the Butcher, the Baker, and the candlestick maker, (You get my gist) and was a delight, as to the personal service experience.

Now: We have supermarkets where although prices are cheap, this blogger avoids with a fear akin to a stake shown to a vampire. *Shudders*. Luckily the other half likes them.

Kitchens

Then: if you were lucky you had an inefficient gas or electric cooker, a sink with, if you were lucky hot water, and a larder.

Now: Where do I start? Built in oven, fridge freezer, microwave, electric kettle, toaster, sandwich maker. Need I go on and add a “George Foreman grill”.

Communication

Then: Letters, postcards, telephone, and telegrams. Letters and postcards were extremely efficient as they actually arrived the next day, Often twice per day post, One post before 8am and the other before midday. Telephones actually had a dial and were sometimes a bit hit or miss, bur they did perform their function. Telegrams were the forerunners of E mail, but cost a fortune for a short message.

Now: My flabber is gasted, in how I can communicate with anyone I want, from anywhere.

Anyway. The point of this post is just to highlight the difference in life and to ask the question “Is our quality of life better”

In a tech sense it is, But in a social interactive sense we are failing.

Answers on a postcard Email

Button in Horrific F1 accident.

Thought that would get your attention.

 

He’s really scared.

That his funding will dry up.

 

A killer earthquake could hit London at any time, claiming untold numbers of lives and causing billions of pounds worth of damage, an expert warned.

I know it’s the silly season for news at the moment but this is just scaremongering newsgathering at it’s worst.

The last one was in 1580 and was a real killer. Wasn’t it?

Centred on the Dover Straits, the magnitude 5.5 tremor shook the south-east of England, damaging property and killing two people in London. (My embolden).

Run for the shelters. Run I say. We’re all doomed.

Cold calling heats up.

I’ve just received a phone call which brightened up my day.

The call was from a claims management company. The type that promise to get all your money back from misselling of Financial products.

Being very polite, as is my wont, I asked him his Name, the Company he worked for,  and other pleasantries.

Before he could take off on his pre-planned spiel I also satisfied myself as to what his charges were. He was just about to launch into his spiel, when I stopped him dead in his tracks with. “I belong to the Telephone Preference service, what you are doing is against the law”.

He proceeded to attempt to explain that he had bought a list from somewhere.

By this time I was getting fed up with the call, so I decided to wind him up with the following:

*Sniggers*

“So you’re a Fence then?”

Replys he: “What?”

Me: “A receiver of stolen goods”.

Him: “I bought it in good faith”.

Me: “The same as me buying a DVD player in a pub then”.

Well I’ve learnt a few swear words that I hadn’t heard before. Don’t forget I was a sailor which guarantees a broader vocabulary than most. (I can swear in innumerable languages, even Cantonese).

Needless to say I didn’t get any of my non existent claims managed.

I really shouldn’t do it.

*End of snigger*

NO.

A school has told its pupils to break with tradition and address their teachers by their first name.

Children have been told they should now informally address teachers as part of a term-long trial.

The pupils at Boughton-under-Blean and Dunkirk Primary school in Faversham, Kent have been ordered to abandon using teachers’ surnames with the title of either ‘Mr’, ‘Ms’ or ‘Mrs’ in front of it.

Oh that’s really going to re-inforce discipline in the classroom. And why are they using Mr, Ms, or Mrs. When I was at school (Alright, the memory is fading into the fog of old age), the correct form of address was “Sir” or “Miss”.

And the very next paragraph

Now school bosses say they hope the trial will “enhance the relationship” between the kids and their mentors.

Are they not proud of the word “Teacher” anymore? And why do you need to “enhance the relationship” anyway.  FFS. You’re paid by the public to Bloody Teach.

In my opinion, there should always be a strict line between the teacher and the child. How else can discipline be maintained? But then this is the era of a failed education system where anything goes, except teaching and discipline.

And trying to keep his options open the Head teacher, Hugh Greenwood adds.

'Obviously we are just trying it out and if it doesn’t work we will refer back to the traditional custom.'

No Hugh. You opened a can of worms. You’ll have great difficulty cramming them back in. I learned as a parent that kids exploit weakness in a way that  would make Attila the Hun look like a Monk.

I hope Hugh reads the comments following the article. If he does he might rethink his policy sharpish.

What is it?

What is it, that is being loaded on the plane?

Hint: Alan Turing would have liked this.

Union leader wants pensioners to die.

I read that Bob Crow wants pensioners to commit suicide.

‘Why shouldn’t pensioners who are having their pensions attacked be able to sit on the M25 and demonstrate?’

Right Bob, you set us an example and sit down first. Oh, and make it the outside lane please. I like to get a good run up at Prats like you.

19

That’s the number of bullets it took to kill a horse.

ANGRY villagers have claimed it took 19 shots by a police marksman to kill a stray horse at Dunnington, near York.

FFS. Were the Police wearing blinkers or something?

Pam Frankland claimed the scene as police chased one of the horses was like “cowboys and Indians”, and she was disgusted because 19 shots had to be fired before the animal died.

And as another resident points out.

“They may as well have machine gunned the animal. There is real cruelty and incompetence there.”

And the usual weasel words justifying their barbarity from the Force Spokesman.

He said every effort was made to avoid having to shoot the horses, but said: “Ultimately public safety has to be the over-riding concern of the police. We simply could not risk the very real possibility of the horses causing a serious or even fatal road traffic collision.”

Of course the real story about the sorry tale comes from Commenter kmt1977 at 10:02pm

On the first day that these horses were loose the landowner and various people from the estate including myself contacted the police to inform them of the loose horses, they did not want to know, we contacted the RSPCA who again were not interested and said it was no responisibilty of theirs! (Ed. Not my spelling)

The RSPCA again seen at it’s worst.

And as for the Police….

to the police it was like fun target practice stood on top of their 4x4's like dukes of hazzard, one marksman shot the horses in its rear leg off above the hock, shattering the leg into pieces, the horses leg was hanging off, the horse got up in sheer distress, this horse must have been in absolute agony, then another markman shot its other front leg clean off, the horse still struggling about, then got shot another 19 times, the last shot in the horses head, some 25 mins after its back leg was shot to pieces.

And we let them out in public with guns at our airports, and other public venues?

Whole story HERE

H/T to JuliaM at Ambush Predator for this one

My furry friend

From a Cat's Diary

 

Day 983 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.

They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my
strength.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending
comments about what a 'good little hunter' I am. *******s.

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of 'allergies.' I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.

The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe.

For now...............

Tuesday night Poetry

Not really my thing but I thought I’d bore you with some anyway. After all, we do need some culture in the Blogosphere.

 

FEMALE POEM
I want a man who's handsome, smart and strong
One who loves to listen long.
One who thinks before he speaks
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.
I want him to be gainfully employed,
When I spend his cash, be not annoyed.
Pulls out my chair and opens my door,
massages my back and begs to do more.
Oh! For a man who makes love to my mind
And knows how to answer "how big is my behind?"
I want this man to love me to no end,
And always be my very best friend.

MALE POEM
I want a deaf-mute nymphomaniac with huge boobs who owns an Off License and a speed boat. I know this doesn't rhyme and I don't give a shit.

*claps*