All posts in category: Life

Why do so many movies keep me in the dark

October 19, 2018
Entertainment/Media/Arts Life Technology
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Why...

Are Directors so obsessed about shooting in the dark? In a fit of masochism and boredom I decided to watch the latest Star Wars extravaganza, Solo, on a plane. 85% was shot in the dark. I hardly could make out anything (except the actor playing Solo had all the verve and personality of a week-old halibut). Now all that darkness might look uber cool on a screen wide enough to land a Millennium Falcon on, but puh-lease.... more and more people watch movies on TV screen tablets or even smart phones. Dark Don’t Display. This is a classic case of creatives sticking heads up collective arses and ignoring reality. To see all those effects on tiny screens needs brightness. Here is a tip for the major studios. You want a few extra $ million in downloads? Shoot an entire picture during the day!

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I spy with my little eye... well anything I want if I’m a Russian

Why...

Do we all act surprised and indignant that our Russian friends have been peeking into our electronic in-tray. It was ever thus. Ever since Neolithic man discovered he could use an empty coconut shell as an eavesdropping devise and hear his neighbors in the next cave having sex with a Mammoth, we have all been snooping on one another. Let’s face it. Most of what those Russkies tap into is either boring or irrelevant. And if they could actually influence an American election with a couple of tweets as opposed to the $1 billion Hillary and Donald used to batter the electorate into submission, campaign managers and spin doctors should all be made redundant. For the West it’s perfectly OK for 007 to surreptitiously bump off a double agent or photograph the head of the secret police in bed with a nun to blackmail him, but it’s completely outrageous if Putin’s Dzhemys Bondski gets one over on us. If there is one heartening thing to come out of all this, is that the GRU (formerly KGB) aren’t very good. Assassinations go awry, and if the rumours of Trump Golden Rain on Obama’s bed are true, so what? Trump seems unblackmailable! The GRU launched a spy ring of young girls in the 2000’s working at MIT who were so unutterably incompetent that the FBI didn’t bother to arrest them. Tatiana and Lyudmilla (cover names Tiffany and Chablis) even put sticky notes on their computers with their passwords as remembering them as well as the names of the best nightclubs in town was too much for the vodka addled brains.

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Your call is important to us... because we are charging you suckers $1 a minute to wait till we bother to answer

Why...

Do I bother trying to track down customer service? Nearly all consumer product company websites are designed to keep the customer service email and call centre numbers harder to find than spotting ‘Where’s Waldo’. If I do find the telephone number in the haystack of info, rise early and call in the first seconds of opening time, I always seem so unlucky! As if by magic, that very day it appears everyone else is doing the same thing. “Due to a high volume of calls...” Translate that into: “Due to lack of us staffing this place with enough people to bat away the volley of complaints raining down on us like arrows in the battle of Agincourt, we will at least make money out of you suckers by increasing call capacity to 1,000 idiots at $1 per minute so we can make $60,000 an hour doing nothing but reading the papers.” To add insult to injury these customer call centres are usually located in Nowheresville Uzbekistan, Mongolia or possibly Scranton. Get through and you might as well talk to an aardvark as all you get is a script with no room for nuance or common sense. In addition I am sure most of the call centre staff would have more chance, blindfolded, pinning the tail on a donkey, than into a map to identify where I am calling from.

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Old Mother Hubbard

September 13, 2018
Animals/Pets Food & Drink Kids/Family/Relations Life
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Why...

Is my freezer always at bursting point with stuff I will never eat? When I go shopping I seem to buy not only for my wife and I but for the freezer... like it’s an actual person who needs feeding. “Ooooh, lark’s tongues. I’ll put those in the freezer. Yum, anchovy and chocolate mousse. Looks so interesting. I can freeze it.” The result of all this largesse is my fridge is crammed full with stuff that in the cold light of day I don’t want to eat. Conversely, I feel guilty about throwing out food, so this abundance just sits there.

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Love me, love my dog

August 31, 2018
Animals/Pets Friends Kids/Family/Relations Life Sex
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Why...

When you come to my house do I suggest you don’t criticise my dogs as I won’t judge your children (at least not out loud).

Now I completely accept some people don’t like dogs... in the same way I accept that some people believe Elvis Presley is alive, well and riding Shergar across Area 51.

The thing about dogs is their love is unconditional. Even Hitler’s pet Alsatian Blondi no doubt thought Adolf a loveable chap who fed him scraps and gave him a splendid kennel complete with a swastika weathervane. That pooch was always pleased to see Mein Fuhrer, even after a hard day’s genocide.

In fact dogs are the ultimate sycophants. They laugh at your jokes, look at you admiringly, even perform tricks on demand... of course in return they expect to get food and shelter.

Dogs have indeed come a long way from their wolf forebears and many are more metrosexual with clipped nails and smart coats than flea infested hunters of old. In fact were man to become extinct in a haze of radioactive mushroom clouds, I’m afraid man’s best friend would follow pretty shortly afterwards.

The idea that Pepe the Chihuahua would survive in a post apocalypse world is farcical unless the radiation allows him to develop thumbs to open any tins of Kanga Chunks that he might uncover in the ruins of the post atomic blast.

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It’s all about service

July 13, 2018
Food & Drink Kids/Family/Relations Life Travel/Nature
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Why...

Do hotels with four or even five stars find the basics of what is expected so hard to deliver? The Porter. When I pull up in a taxi or my car, why is carrying my bags into the hotel a spectator sport? A porter should be there. No excuses. Instead, nearly all hotels are perfectly happy for me to lug cases inside when some spotty teenager dressed like an organ grinder’s monkey then expects a hefty tip as he wheels my bag from reception to the lift. I always enjoy pulling out a note then tearing off a third and saying... “That part is my share of taking these out of the car to reception.” Internet. If I am paying a decent price for a room don’t piss me off asking to pay an additional $25 a day for Internet. It’s grossly expensive and just appalling customer relations. WiFi is now as basic a requirement as electricity, aircon and hot water. I was recently charged for internet and then given a download service of less that 1 MBPS. For those luddites reading this, it means even a simple presentation document takes so long I would need a shave and a haircut by the time it finished downloading. Unless I am actually in Africa, watching BBC News Focus on Africa is as pointless as last year’s football results. If I am in Stockholm I could not give a toss about basket weaving co-ops in Laos, but more likely a terrorist attack in London. BBC, CNN and other news agencies seem to be mostly advertising monologues for third world dictatorships. You just get endless reports from parts of the world that are as relevant to my life as Morris Pole Dancing. If you are a five star hotel with an International clientele shell out the few extra pennies to allow us to watch rolling news (Sky News for the English... and Russia Today for those who like fairy stories before bedtime). Perhaps if I should just thank Reception on check out for such interesting news channels and offer to pay in Matabele gumbo-beads when presented with the bill? Bathroom. As I wrote before (here) I don’t wear glasses in the shower so print shampoo, conditioner and shower gel in big letters and have enough lights around the mirror to let a woman do her make-up. Bedroom. One switch by the bed to turn all the lights out.

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Do you wanna be in my gang?

June 22, 2018
Finance/Law Food & Drink Life Politics Sex Technology
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Why...

Do we seek solace mixing with people who on joining a group or club revert to stereotype? “I never want to be a member of a club which would let me in,” may be a classic Groucho Marx line and a cliché but for good reason... It’s true. I have been very lucky to have been invited as a guest to several clubs and they break down into the following seven categories. Back to school There are a handful of Gentlemen’s Clubs in London holding a male only policy. They are all in Pall Mall and St. James and distinctly different to other Gentleman's clubs that can only operate by having scantily club members of the opposite sex. The London Gentleman’s club is really just public school (private school in the US) for boys who never grew up and miss nanny. The place runs on old fashioned rules. The Nanny organises the social desk and membership fees but that’s the only woman you will see. You better turn up in a tie, shoes polished, nails clipped and hair brushed. Yes, you can drink, but do not get rowdy. Most of the food is what I call nursery menu. A perfect lunch would be: Windsor soup, Steak and Kidney Pudding, Jam Roly-Poly, & Welsh Rarebit. Conversation through the meal with other members sharing your refectory style table equally as stodgy and bland. This is followed with a port and a snooze reading yesterday’s The Times. These throw-back establishments work on handed down privilege, who you know and how you behave. I am sorry to delude new members who have fought their way up in society through hard work and brains to join but… Old Biffo and Squiffy in the corner still look down on you as nouveau riche; the same way they dismissed Johnny Foreigner as a new boy at Rugby or that boy with the flash watch as parents “working in trade”. Back to Basics Health clubs. No frills. Over sophisticated gym equipment and eye wateringly expensive juices, drinks and rabbit food. Staff preachy and superior with bodies buffed to within an inch of their lives. Off peak these caverns of sweat are filled with the bored and rich. These poor souls have nothing else to do except cheat on their partner and sneak off for plastic surgery to show the results of all the dieting and training they pretend to follow. Peak time it’s just an overcrowded dating agency. Back to the Future The Lovie playroom. Media based haunts are filled with overloud voices recalling their last meeting with Brad and Angelina, how genuine the Spielberg’s are and what a shame about Amy’s drug abuse. Always in slightly seedy parts of town set up by failed media wannabes who see this as their entree into the glitterati. The propeller head equivalent of techy clubs are full of earnest members trying to convince you to invest in some crypto crapto currency or hint they might get you into an angel start up fund with guaranteed returns. “So, you’ve invested yourself,” is a sure-fire way of getting rid of them... and leaving you with absolutely no one to talk to. Pointless. Back to the Wall The exclusive nightclub. Exclusive because there are only so many people willing to spend £10k a year for membership to an overcrowded noisy hell-hole that charges prices that are an insult and a door policy that admits only good-looking people with an IQ quota the same as their shoe size. To make it worse should you be insecure enough to have to order a five litre bottle of vodka or a jeroboam of champagne for £1,000, the staff bring attention to your vulgarity by having sparklers light up the bottles as they bring them to you and alert everyone else in the place who is tonight’s soft touch. If you have to go to one for a night of drug fueled fun, you never want them to have your real name anyway. Always make sure someone else is the member. Back in the saddle The Horsey Club. Filled with overweight florid faced men and woman who bray when they laugh. If you ask for the bridal suite it’s a large room full of saddles, riding crops and Gucci buckles and the last place you’d want to spend your honeymoon. If you can separate the bullshit from real horse manure you might get a good tip on a horse. The Back Nine What can I say about a golf club except I don’t want to join one. Ever. It’s a chance for you to dress up like an extra from a Blaxploitation movie, though ethnic minority representation still remains low. Members may slice their tee shots to the left or right, but politics is invariably to the right. I speak with some experience here when in Myrtle Beach a club member made the mistake of asking me my opinion on abortion. “The obvious answer is it is not really a man’s decision; though if it were men who got pregnant, I suspect termination would be so easy it would come from an ATM machine. “No religion recognises a miscarriage or the trauma that causes. So, until they do they cannot go on about the rights of a foetus.” He pulled a gun on me and called security to eject the “limey liberal pinko”! Back Inside There is a great line in the TV series set in a woman’s prison Orange is the New Black with a character greeting a new inmate saying… “Welcome to the 1950s”. The speaker is not referring to the building or facilities. But to the clubs. The Narco Mexicans stick to one group, The Neo-Nazis another, right down to the Nepalese Horse thieves or Belgian child molesters. Everyone has a group. It’s basic. It’s for protection. So, on that note console yourself that Bernie Madoff is not the wife of some 6’6” ex Cripps member but closely closeted with some other fraudster both cheating at monopoly but a least paying protection money to keep their balls.

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There ain’t no cure for the summertime blues

June 15, 2018
Animals/Pets Fasion Health & Beauty Life Sex Travel/Nature
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Why...

Is the colour of summertime really blue? Well, OK apart from the obvious colour of the sky and the sea. Let’s start with profanity. Yup. The redder the thermometer the bluer the language. It is beyond me how anyone in my youth managed to drive in the heat without air conditioning and not to lob a thermonuclear device into the idiots in front trying to read a road map. Remember those… only men could read them and only women could fold them while doing twenty miles an hour with an indicator that had been blinking for an hour. In London, on the days it gets really hot, a blind person cannot go on the tube. Reason? You cannot transport animals in a temperature over 30c (86f) and the subway regularly reaches 34 (93f). So whilst it was fine to gently poach a commuter, it was illegal for a guide dog to ride the tube! Aircon (again a blue colour) is so critical for comfort. How do London Black Cabs who again have no Aircon, not understand that in the summer they just give ground to Uber?

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In the old days we cooked real food and made our own entertainment

June 8, 2018
Food & Drink Kids/Family/Relations Life Sex
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Why...

Do some people in their sixties plus go all starry-eyed when harking back to the days before the microwave and streamed entertainment?

“When we were young, we played cards,” they moan.

So giving your kid a regular gambling fix is better than subliminal history via Vikings and The Tudors or world class fantasy literature of Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings?

“The family stuck together and entertained each other,” they pontificate, sniffing at Netflix, Amazon, Sky, etc...

“Which is why in some remote regions your husband, your brother, your cousin and your uncle were all the same people,” I reply. This is even an argument to allow easy access of porn to occupy Uncle Ernie rather than him insisting on a game of doctors and nurses with his niece and nephew.

However, I do accept that building a tree house, riding a bike without a helmet, a game of conkers or walking unaccompanied to school did generate a dollop of risk. No one I grew up with got away without a broken limb... if not two.

“And we had such innovative games. So much more involving than just a video screen.” True but...

I remember being given an Atomic Energy Lab from a toy company called Gilbert that had a small sample of polonium and uranium! At seven I had fuel driven planes whose propellers regularly tried to sever my fingertips, steam engine trains with boilers heated by methylated spirits (so you were stoned before your fingers got third degree burns) all jumbled up with catapults and a wicked gun called a Johnny 7. This little darling had seven different missile firing guns each capable or poking out an eye or pissing off the next door neighbour’s cat.

I never wore a seatbelt and quite often steered the car sitting on my father’s lap. (Please note we never had an accident... we saw dozens).

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The Village Idiot has gone global

May 25, 2018
Entertainment/Media/Arts Life Politics Technology
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Why...

Are complete idiots so keen to show the rest of us how stupid they are and why do we lap it up? Now this is not me having a rant and sour grapes. I happily peddle this blog for mainly selfish reasons… I simply enjoy doing it. But honestly who would have believed that a format that is literary in nature would see as the pinnacle of success the scribblings a bunch of self-obsessed wannabees. Originally the internet gave us a lovely set of rose tinted spectacles and we were encouraged to believe the ether would be filled with undiscovered literary titans. China no doubt would produce a dozen Mark Twains, (his little-known book Running for Governor was actually taught to every Chinese kid in school). Instead we got Fang Junping, who is an overnight blogging sensation there… as he explains cosmetics to a population that a few decades ago all wore the same uniform and the only bestseller was Mao’s little red book!

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Lost & Found… but we keep it anyway

Why...

Is getting back stuff you have lost so difficult? Yes, I understand that my i-Phone and i-Pad should be attached to my wrists with a piece of string, just like a toddler’s gloves. I do have a tendency to lose things… A LOT. However, recently I left my i-Pad on a Turkish Airline flight that had to connect via Ataturk (Istanbul) Airport. I left the i-Pad on the plane that landed in Ataturk from Malta and noticed it missing on the plane to Sofia, my final destination. So far, so stupid. Rang the airline. Hooray they have found it. To confirm it was mine they asked for the access code to turn it on. I gave it to them. “When are you coming to collect it from Lost and Found?” I replied I was not coming back though Ataturk so could I send a courier to collect. “No. Lost and Found is airside (i.e. after customs/immigration control) so you have to collect yourself.” Having a Lost and Found at an airport that you can only physically pick up yourself if travelling is as logical as a chocolate tea-pot. In addition, my insurance company declined to pay out a loss as the item was in fact recovered. Now if I was a cynical chap, I might think this is part of a cunning plan. You lose an item on a plane, you hand over the access code to show it is yours, they know you are unlikely to collect and before you can say Ebay, it’s for sale… but that would be a terrible thing to suggest…….

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I never forget a face... but in your case I’m prepared to make an exception!

Why...

Is it people I really want to forget are always the ones who remember me? If there is one certainty in life, it’s the annoying geek from kindergarten whose teddy bear I punched, the abusive jerk whose girlfriend fell into my arms, or the cross-eyed clown who reversed into my car at the supermarket car park will end up sitting next to me on a marathon airplane journey. They will also be the first to greet me at a wedding line reception. And they ALL remember me. I on the other hand do not possess even a flicker of recollection. Then there is the reverse. Once at a dinner party I was complaining about a recent review from the late TV movie presenter Barry Norman when a lovely blond lady to my left piped up: “Hi, we have not been properly introduced. Emma Norman. Barry is my father.” Cue to a prayer for a hole to open up beneath me to swallow up my elephantine social gaff. As if that was not embarrassing enough, I was at awards dinner two months later with the great man himself sitting opposite me. My wonderful hostess for our table started doing the introductions… “Mark Grenside, this is Barry Norman.” “My daughter sends her regards,” were the only words he addressed to me all evening.

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🎶Whoa-ooh-oooh... whoa-ooh-ooh...🎵 Every’bunny was Kung-Fuu fighting....🎶

Why...

It’s Sunday... it’s Easter... it isn’t Easter... it’s April Fools’ day. One of life’s mysteries is how can one religion, Christianity, not agree on the crucial dates of Christmas and Easter? Even with divisions between Shias and Shiites they can all agree on Ramadan... and the whole world agrees on April Fools’ Day, the Olympics and the World Cup, (well except in UAE when their bid for 2022 won... despite their application clearly stating the date in June but they actually meant November). Now the temptation to take advantage of Easter and April Fools’ days falling in tandem is simply overwhelming. I have six guests coming to stay and empty my wine cellar but on Easter morning I shall make everyone paint the shell of a hard boiled egg at breakfast. “Right close your eyes and I will go hide them in the garden. Whoever finds his or hers first gets a free lunch at one of Malta’s finest restaurants, the last one pays the wine bill. If you don’t find the egg at all, then no lunch.” I will of course throw the eggs over the wall into the sea. My friends will hunt high and low in 25 degree heat for about two hours before I will yell out from the car driving en route to the restaurant booked for lunch.... “No eggs. April Fool.”

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And they all lived happily ever after

Why...

Do we think that nations with opposite views will eventually all become lovey dovey? The fact that North and South Korea are competing in the snowman building competition at the Olympics or that the British and our continental friends like a sing-song event called the Eurovision Song Contest does not mean for one moment all is platonic. The UK has had a very jaundiced view about foreigners ever since 10,000 BC, when the British Isles uncoupled itself from France due to tectonic shifts and became an island fortress. “If God had wanted us to be European, we would not take baths but showers nor eat food that has gone off and whose rotten taste is covered up in fancy sauces,” say many limeys. However despite this feeling of self righteous ‘differentness’, every high street in the UK looks the same as they are all franchises from multi-national brands, whereas in most of rural Europe individuality at retail level rules supreme. Go figure. The rift between North and South Korea is but a blink of an eye in the history of our times but looks to run as long as the all time Box Office Champ of dispute between the Jews and other Arab nations.

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This call is in confidence....right?

Why...

Do people believe anything indiscreet they commit to an electronic device will not come back to haunt them? The only way you can be sure some witticism, rant or personal video you have sent into the electronic ether will never be disseminated is: kill the recipient blow up every server in existence. As this might prove a bit tricky, you’d think the alternative of only whispering things in confidence into someone’s ear (so long as they don’t have a hearing aid that records) is as obvious as a Donna Versace face lift. And yet........ Privacy started to leave planet earth with President Nixon. He was brought down by recordings in the White House that played back some remarks that ultimately cost him his job. The irony is it was Tricky Dicky himself that started recording in the Oval Office so that Presidents remarks could be recorded for posterity. Doh! Hilary Clinton’s biggest mistake (apart from believing Bill when he promised her for the umpteenth time that was his last peccadillo) was not what she wrote in her emails... it’s that she was dumb enough to write them at all. Sarah Palin was furious when a stash of her emails were leaked with details of a possible ‘mix’ between business and politics… yet her password on such sensitive material was her birthday! If half the rumors about Jack Kennedy are true, there is no way he could have kept a lid on things in today’s world of email message trails and camera phones. Indeed a recent survey showed that a smartphone is the number one hand held device... relegating what men keep in their underpants to second place.

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Zip it, stupid!

Why...

Use the postal service? I know handwritten letters are on the endangered species list along with intelligent British Tory MPs but to me they are still a thing of wonder. We are approaching Christmas (not the Holiday Season, not the Festive Season, Yuletide or any other mealy mouthed watered down in case I offend anyone Holiday) and my wife sends out Christmas cards to all four corners of the globe. I am not so impressed that a series of electronic impulses from my computer in Malta can flash this blog across the planet. But a letter? How, in all that’s holy can anyone read the scribble we write on envelopes. To be able to decipher that is black magic. The ZIP code is of course the key. These are the vital numbers read by a computer that send your letter on its merry way and has helped hugely in the efficiency of the postal service... except in England. In dear Olde England the equivalent of the Zip code (which in USA is only numbers) is called the Post Code. It is usually two letters and one number followed by one number and two letters. NW1 0NE You would therefore think to avoid confusion the Masterminds at the GPO (General Post Office) would never use the letters I and O to avoid confusion with the numbers 1 and 0. Er... No. It is simply staggering how many codes in the UK use one of those four. In fact over 75% of Post Codes on our cards have one of those four letters or digits. And as for my friend who lives in OA1 0IU if you don’t get a card, not my fault. Get the clown who gave you that Post Code to change it. How about FU2 GP0

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Can’t think of anything funny...

Why...

Smile? This week's blog has been tricky. It has not been a funny week. Massacre in Vegas, after effects of storms in the Caribbean, political hair-kari by the Tory Party in the UK, three major European airlines go bust and Spain hell bent on tearing itself apart. This on top of Trump rumbling about North Korea, Iran nuclear deal and the price of paper towels in Puerto Rico. And yet it's finding tidbits that make you smile amongst this smorgasbord of misery and woe that makes life worth living. I watched a video about Extreme Ironing. Yup we may be filling the sea with plastic but there are a group of people whose raisond’etre is taking their iron and ironing board out to the middle of nowhere and performing acrobatics that would make Kevin Bacon in Footloose look like a slug. I am full of admiration that someone can perform a handstand, backflip then cartwheel at the same time as steam iron a shirt….but what was the thought process? Was there a bunch of frustrated dry cleaners who danced around the back of a shop and hey presto a new sport was born……or was there a group of dancers who were unhappy at the quality of the creases in their tutus and tights and decided to take on the challenge with a little bit of help from Balanchine?

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YES, YES, YES… TWO MORE INCHES MAKES SUCH A DIFFERENCE

September 29, 2017
Fasion Health & Beauty Life Love Travel/Nature Uncategorised
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Why...

Is my life a squish? If ever there was a synonym for useless it’s the phrase 2+2 to describe the seating in a car. 2+2 does not equal four or even three in human terms. 2+2 usually entails a back seat that requires the passengers to be munchkins. In any other business this description would be challenged in court as patently untrue! And yet all that is needed to turn these torture chambers into seats you can actually sit in is a couple more inches of legroom. Most fancy 2+2 cars like Porsche 911 or Aston Martin DB9 seem to have less room than a Fiat 500! Yet these sleek machines are anything up to 185 inches long, so how can you not add 2 inches of leg room? Either just have a useful parcel-shelf that you can sling a handbag, briefcase or dog onto and make the car more compact, or have seats people can use. Right now these cubby holes masquerading as somewhere to sit just make what could be a small and nimble sports car longer for no reason.

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Upselling to the downtrodden

Why...

Buy a Coke at the cinema that is so big an Olympic diver could use it for high board practice… and you will need a pee half way through the movie if you drink it all? Sucker! You were upsold something useless… and probably with a box of popcorn deep enough to hide Jimmy Hoffa. As I trundle about my everyday life it's becoming nearly impossible not to have some snake oil salesmen try and upsell me on everything I buy. Let’s start with useless upsell number 1- High Octane Performance fuel. The Octane is a flammable hydrocarbon added to petrol and is basically the optimum compression point in the piston cycle when the fuel explodes. If my car can do that with 95 Octane it is an utter waste of money to buy 98 Octane ‘High Performance’ fuel. It will do nothing, zip, nada, blobski-bloojah, f*ck all in terms of performance and just cost me a few more cents per litre. Now that I have been conned out of a few bucks filling up, it’s time for a trip to my supermarket where I am inundated with upsell offers…the result of this is the interior of the car is filled with enough loo paper and fish fingers to supply a battalion of men in Helmand Province. Unless I have amoebic dysentery and only eat fish morning noon and night for thirty years I ain’t ever using it all. Time to go home and watch something on TV? Most digital services make you stack package on top of package before you can get to pay per view movies or entire series box sets. Why? It is irrelevant now with on line services offering pay per view circumventing the need to even have packaged TV… and to add insult to injury the pay TV services then want to charge me more on pay per view than iTunes!!

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Double does not mean two of one

August 31, 2017
Fasion Health & Beauty Food & Drink Life Travel/Nature
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Why...

Am I surrounded by nitwits who fail to understand the difference between twice and double? I recently drove 1,200 miles in a car race around Spain and this entailed my wife and I stopping every night in a different hotel... each booked with a double bed. However most of the time this meant I slept in the San Andreas Fault line as hotels seem to think a double bed is just two singles shoved together. It isn't. Their restaurants certainly know the difference in price between a magnum of champagne and two single bottles. On the other hand, a double burger is a double sized patty not two measly bits of beef the consistency and size of a beer coaster stacked one on top of the other.

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All posts in category: Life

Why do so many movies keep me in the dark

Why...

I spy with my little eye... well anything I want if I’m a Russian

Why...

Your call is important to us... because we are charging you suckers $1 a minute to wait till we bother to answer

Why...

Old Mother Hubbard

Why...

Love me, love my dog

Why...

It’s all about service

Why...

Do you wanna be in my gang?

Why...

There ain’t no cure for the summertime blues

Why...

In the old days we cooked real food and made our own entertainment

Why...

The Village Idiot has gone global

Why...

Lost & Found… but we keep it anyway

Why...

I never forget a face... but in your case I’m prepared to make an exception!

Why...

🎶Whoa-ooh-oooh... whoa-ooh-ooh...🎵 Every’bunny was Kung-Fuu fighting....🎶

Why...

And they all lived happily ever after

Why...

This call is in confidence....right?

Why...

Zip it, stupid!

Why...

Can’t think of anything funny...

Why...

YES, YES, YES… TWO MORE INCHES MAKES SUCH A DIFFERENCE

Why...

Upselling to the downtrodden

Why...

Double does not mean two of one

Why...