Sweating Heavily
Sex, violence, and financial wobbles - In no particular order. That's pretty much the news every night and yesterday was no different. With Greece failing to please the rest of the world share prices have tumbled. What? Again? People have been dealing in shares since big curly wigs were a fashion statement. You would think by now we'd have learned that shares were a risky investment. Much like cheating at cricket for instance.
However, the wobbles of the Eurozone are not the last word in financial disasters according to certain experts. I'm not sure the greeks agree, but the government is determined to persuade us that their gameplan to recover from the last recession continues without hindrance.
Talking about hindrance, I notice that anti-capitalist protestors are busy. Blockading St Pauls Cathedral and embarrasing senior churchmen. Now they're now setting up camp outside the next G20 conference. Whilst it gives them something to do it doesn't keep them off the streets, does it? Yet the idiocy of it is incredible. I agree these bureaucrats aren't always as public spirited as they like to claim, but who generates the wealth for these protestors dole payments?
Time then for me to help the ailing economy and buy something from the shops. There was a time when buying things was hardly a consideration. These days I must weigh up the value of the goods I want and decide if the proce is affordable. Ohh to heck with it. I'll buy it anyway.
On the way down to the local high street I noticed cars were queuing up at a road junction. As I turned the corner I saw why. A police car had blocked the road whilst they bundled three youths into the back. I imagine that has caused a wobble in the local drug supply. Do the anti-capitalist protestors realise how much money some of these drug dealers make from trading pills and powder? More to the point, I wonder how many of them do business with our back street alchemists?
Sorry Madam
Sometimes however you're not allowed to purchase the goods you want. Take the case of a 92 year old lady who was refused a bottle of whisky because she couldn't prove she was over 18. That certainly proves you're as young as you feel.
Spit And Polish
Today I decided to clean the cooker. For me that's like wandering into the jungles of New Guinea and asking the natives what they fancy for lunch. Nonetheless the cooker must be cleaned.
It must be said the effectiveness of modern cleaning materials is much better than I remember. With a few squirts of Kooker-Kleen and a vigourous wipe with a rag, the forlorn apparatus is once again white and shiney even if I'm not.
And I did it all myself, unlike Snow White, who needed an entire horde of cartoon animals to finish her household chores for her. But then she wasn't covered in grime afterward. I'm not entirely domesticated you know.
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