Rants

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Yesterday saw another tube strike in London. I think this one was about plans to cut staff from ticket offices but I may be wrong as I lose track. Anyway, while I do have sympathy for people who may be losing their jobs, I am starting to lose sympathy for London Underground workers because it just fucks things up for everyone and they do it so damn often.

First of all, a pat on the back to the LU workers who were working yesterday. I know that a lot of them were getting a rough time and they were doing their best – it was bloody chaotic. But two fingers to the guy at Paddington – will come to him later.

Thankfully, my journey to Paddington wasn’t too bad yesterday. The Bakerloo was running a decent service although some stations were closed and the Northern Line was also running, so I took a little detour to Elephant and Castle and changed to the Bakerloo there. Paddington station was open for Bakerloo line only and I got there without too many problems – the time consuming bit was trying to get down to platforms and out of stations as tourists were being annoying. One such gem that kept us waiting…

Tourist: I need to get to Edgeware Road.

LU Man: Sorry, the station is closed. Get the blah blah bus, or you can walk. It’ll take about twenty minutes.

Tourist: But trains are stopping there!

LU Man: No, they’re not. Look, I’ll show you how to walk there. Have you got an A-Z?

Tourist: They are! My train stopped there! (It didn’t. The station was most certainly closed.)

LU Man: …so why didn’t you get off then, if you need to get there?

Anyway, grabbed my tickets to Oxford, grabbed a coffee, got on the train and went off to my course, like a good girl. I wasn’t worried about getting back as I planned to get the Bakerloo to Waterloo and change there for a train home. This should have been fine as we know that the Bakerloo line was running from Paddington. I also checked the TFL website and phoned them to make sure all was fine – I was assured it was.

So, I arrive back to Oxford and discover that all the underground entrances are closed. Being slightly confused about this, I went and asked the man. He said “Closed.” I replied that I could see that, but TFL had said that the Bakerloo was running and he said it hadn’t been all day. I said it had, as I’d got it earlier to Paddington and he goes “Nah, strike, innit, frustrating?” I take a deep breath and make a mental note to curse TFL for lying and ask him if he could recommend an alternative route. The evil one man says “Nah.”

I wouldn’t have been so angry if 1, I’d been expecting the problem, 2, there wasn’t conflicting information and 3, if he’d actually tried to help.

Made it home at about 1.00am. Got a bus to Charing Cross and got a train from there – traffic on the roads was crap.

So, in case you’re not familiar with the song, I recommend you go here now for the London Underground song. Contains foul language.

This is the blog entry where I am excited because I have a new phone. I am excited for many reasons:

1) It’s a smartphone – an HTC Desire and I love it.

2) I’ve never had a nice phone before. I’ve always had a cast off.

3) The contract is in my own name. Last one was in my sister’s name as my credit rating sucks. However, now it is good enough for my own phone. Yay.

4) When my friend Jimmy phones, a green alien pops up.

So, excitement aside, let me start my rant about Orange. The future is dim. Bah.

So, I ordered the phone online on Monday. Several reasons for this, one being if I’m gonna fail a check, I’d rather fail it in private, I got cashback through Quidco and I was also able to get a better deal as Orange often knock a couple of pounds off the monthly cost, if you take out the deal online. Anyway, I ordered the phone and arranged to pick it up from my local store on Wednesday. The confirmation page also told me that a copy of the confirmation would be emailed to me. It was not, however I did make a note of the confirmation number because I’m sensible like that.

After becoming impatient on Tuesday, it was finally Wednesday and after my morning run, I took myself down to the store to collect it. The 12 year old with a beard serving me informed me that I could have collected Tuesday. I shrugged and said ‘oh well, it doesn’t really matter. The website said Wednesday and I’m here now.’ Nope, this was not good enough, he continued to whinge on about how I could have collected it on Tuesday. Bah. I eventually pointed out it was all irrelevent and could I have the phone.

SO, he gets the phone, he gives it to me and I am excited. Then he asked for the confirmation email. I explained that I hadn’t received one and that I’d checked my junk mail but I definately hadn’t received it. He said he couldn’t give me the phone. I gave him the confirmation number, showed him my passport and also a council tax bill as proof of address. He still said he needed the email. I told him I didn’t receive it. He asked his manager. His manager asked for the email. I once again said I hadn’t received one. They said I must have. I said I didn’t. We had a stand off and I won. FINALLY, when I think I’m free to go the guy asks if he could just check my passport again. Eventually, I’m free.

Off home I run, to play with my new toy. I followed the instructions to activate the sim card and it doesn’t work. I leave it a little while and it still doesn’t work. So, I ring customer services and get a non English speaker who informs me that the phone is PAYG because the phone number is registered to a PAYG phone, but it has been disconnected. I inform him that no, it is a contract. He tells me that can’t be the number. I tell him it’s the number I’m given. He eventually unbars it and tells me it will be working in thirty minutes.

Two hours later it still doesn’t work, so I phone back. A similar conversation unfolds, but with extra annoyingness. The woman asks me if she’s speaking to Emily (my sister). I say no, but I am using the phone because I have a new contract which doesn’t work. She says she needs to speak to Emily as the owner of the phone I was using. I tell her that the new contract is in my name and I needed to use another phone to contact Orange as mine didn’t work. She again said she needed to speak to Emily as the owner of the handset. I tell her would she be ok to speak to me if I phoned from the landline. She said yes. I told her that was stupid.

EVENTUALLY, she looked at the phone and said it was barred because it was a disconnected number and it couldn’t be mine. I told her it was the number I was given. She said she’d unbar it. I was suspicious.

Three hours later, the phone finally starts to work.

Bloody Orange.

The phone is great though.

Today, I am very grumpy.

The grumpiness began on Sunday when I ran limped my first half marathon. I was targetting 2.15. My time was much, much more. The whole experience was traumatic. I knew it was going to be ‘bumpy’ but they promised they’d flattened the course as much as possible, lies, all lies. I did the first two miles in 21 minutes, which was fine because I deliberately set out to take it easy to make sure I could maintain pace all the way through. But then there was a hill. I ran up it and I was hardcore because most people walked and I hit 3 miles at 33 minutes, which was a bit slow, but the hill was horrible. Then there was some flat, which was nice, but it was very uneven and rocky and my ankles kept rolling over on stones so I hit 4 miles at 44 minutes. And then it was all traumatic and horrible and uphill and people fell over a lot and I cried and then I was on my own and there were no markers, but then I made friends with a broken iron man who said it was harder than any marathon he’d ever run, so I felt better. At 7 miles, my foot popped and it was a blister exploding in my shoes. And then there was a hill so steep and some people I’d managed to catch up with were on their hands and knees to climb up it and it wasn’t even the worst hill. At 9 miles, a marshall told me that it was the last hill and I told him I would kill him if he was lying and it turns out he did lie. Then there were these two patronising women who said I should have done more work and this was a silly choice for my first half and I thought ‘well maybe, but you’re as far back as me’ and then they ran away. Bah. But it was ok, because just before the 13 mile point, I spotted them so I let loose with a sprint finish and beat them. It hurt, but it was very worth it. My time was rubbish, but lots of elite runners were taking just under 2 hours, so it was ok and lots of people didn’t even finish and when I took my shoes off, I had a blister, posing as a growth, sticking out the side of my foot. I was hardcore.

But my quads hurt and that has made me grumpy.

Now, today I am grumpy because it’s my last week at work and my leaving do was supposed to be today but I kept saying I didn’t want to arrange my own do and the invites only went out yesterday so hardly anyone can come. And now I am being made to feel awkward as I don’t want it next week, but I want a clean break and besides I’m busy next week anyway. I have had apologies from my boss over the person not sending invites out because he is annoyed about it, but he didn’t shout at her to do it and that makes me grumpy. 4 different people apparently told this person last week to do it and she didn’t do it and that makes me grumpy.

And THEN, I clicked on Facebook and someone who considers themselves to be super-intelligent used the word ‘nom’ and now I might have to de-friend her, even though I like her.

This week: fankoo.

Fankoo is not a word. End of. A quick visit to the Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary Online turns up the following:

Sorry, no search result for fankoo.

Did you mean:
fanboy

Yeah. Says it all. It’s not a word.

So, this non-word is used a lot on the internet, especially on Facebook and in text messages. As you can probably tell, it means ‘thank you.’ It is typically used by chavs who also use text speak. I’d put it down to sheer laziness, but I think it’s more likely that they are just too thick to spell two separate words.

Words I’d like to ban.

Part one of several:

‘Nom.’ ‘Om nom nom.’ ‘Nom nom nom.’ ‘Noms.’

Lolcatz, you have a LOT to answer for.

For the educated (yes, educated as opposed to the non-educated idiots who use the word), ‘nom’ is a word used in place of ‘yum,’ ‘yummy,’ ‘tasty’ and other words of similar meaning. From what I can gather, it appeared in a Lolcatz picture and now the internet world deems it acceptable. ‘Nomnomnom’ and ‘omnomnom’ are used when the individual is especially looking forward to, or enjoying their food. This has the unfortunate effect of me imagining them cramming food in, gobbling and drooling. Ew.

The same people also use the term ‘noms.’ Shaking your head? Yeah, it angers me too. ‘Noms’ appears to mean ‘food’ or ‘dinner’, for example ‘I had pizza for noms last night.’ Ridiculous.

A little visit to Urban Dictionary provides me with the following definition:

An onomatopoeical adjective based on the sound emitted when something is “oh so tasty” (either through hunger or flavorological value) that one gnaws through it without regard to cleanliness or etiquette. This sort of ravenous eating will often result in an “om nom nom nom” noise being emitted from the eater.

A vile meaning. Seriously, why would you make something as lovely as food sound so awful?

However, that was the Urban Dictionary definition and as we all know, it is not a real dictionary. A little visit Oxford Dictionaries Online turns up the following:

nom.
…nominal…

nom de guerre
…an assumed name under which a person engages in combat or some other activity or enterprise…

nom de plume
…an assumed name used by a writer instead of their real name; a pen-name…

Therefore, these are the only acceptable usages of the term ‘nom.’ Note, I did not say ‘word’ because it is not an English word. It is an abbreviation, or a French word.

So, stop using it in relation to food. It is not a food word, it is a vile, disgusting noise made by someone stuffing food in their mouth so quickly, they can barely stop to breathe. Continued usage of it will lead me to believe that you are either The Cookie Monster, French and talking about names, a two year old or a greedy individual with no manners. Use ‘yum’ instead. Twats.

Next up: ‘fanks.’

Note: Friends, don’t take this personally. I don’t think that you are all twats. Except when you say ‘nom.’

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