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The words are all mine, most of the pictures are not. Some of the words are not mine either.

Monday, 20 December 2010

If you are anything like me, you may not be sure what has happened in the news this week. I often miss the start of news reports on TV and often feel left out when I hear of Miss ’X’ is pregnant or him out of that boy band has lost an arm or even the politician who wears that tie has been found to be having a gay affair/killed a cat/ lied to some orphans or whatever it was the story was about – because I always miss the name at the start and spend the rest of the time not listening properly and trying to figure out who it could be that has caused such controversy and upset in the eyes of the great unwashed and usually before the end I’ve lost any sense of what’s going on.
The reason I miss the start of the news is down to two main reasons.
The first is I’m most often to be found playing monopoly on my phone (doing quite well thank you very much) or
Somebody is talking...
Now, they were not talking when the news started – the officious pounding triumphant blare that proclaims the start of world and local events, or the adverts before that. But as soon as the newsreader is about to say the name of the Oscar winning movie star found dead with a python stuffed up their bottom and lipstick smeared all over their chest to form the word WHY!, that’s the point the person sitting next to me decides now would be the best opportunity to tell me there something that they think I really should know.
And you know what – I don’t need to know.
The information, the tid-bit of fact that is bestowed upon me at any given time by people sat next to me is of absolutely no interest to me at that moment in time. It might be in say, 10 seconds time, but right now, at this present moment in time I don’t not need to know that you saw John down the shops or that Mary friend is in hospital (who is Mary anyway?)
It’s worse when I’m watching films.
That’s when it’s worst.
The film has won awards. It well acted, it’s brilliantly produced. The actors are REAL! Special effects are so good – I can’t tell what’s real in my own head anymore... but wait... the killer is about to be revealed. The hero is hanging on by a thread and the bomb is about to go off and they’re just not going to make it – they’d need a miracle. Oh my god how what’s going to happen next....
Jim for the cafe got a new job.
Jim wasn’t in the film.
Oh. You mean your friend Jim. Who I have never met. Or am likely to meet. Form the cafe that I have no idea how to get to. The Jim that you last mentioned 6 months ago.
That Jim...
The other Jim.
Which Jim?
Jim Jim?
The film credits role and I’m now left with the knowledge that Jim from the cafe who isn’t the Jim I was thinking of (not that I was ever thinking of Jim anyway) has a job and yet I have no idea how the spy managed to escape from the exploding nuclear submarine and convince everyone which was the real president and kill the alien shape shifter.
But at least I know Jim's ok.
It doesn’t matter who told me about Jim. It’s the fact that I get interrupted at all.
That’s the problem. I hate it. There is no need for anyone to interrupt. Unless I am on fire, which I very rarely am to be honest.
There is no reason for this to happen. And yet it does.
By lots of people.
People who think I would rather listen to the dribbling sputum from their flapping head holes than important news from around the world or the end of a piece of cinematic marvel that has been crafted by an army of professionals and brought into my home for my pleasure.

That is why I now choose to live in a caravan.

So there you go. If you managed to make it all the way to the end of this rant, you have learnt something.
I live in a caravan.

The reason I live in a caravan is NOT for the reason I have mentioned above. – That would be too disturbing and I would not be allowed a computer let alone access to the internet. But I do live in a caravan.
Knowledge is power.
Good night for now children.

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