Sadly, I was denied the chance of mouthing off at Sky yesterday. As you may know, we like watching motorbike racing quite a lot. Most of that is on Eurosport, which is apparently owned by Discovery Channel, and Sky decided that, despite that fact that each month I pay them the equivalent of 37 years salary for the privilege of having 150 channels showing TOTAL SHITE THAT I NEVER WATCH (that's 75 actual channels and 75 '+1' channels - what the fuck, they think 'oh, nobody has watched that TOTAL SHITE, so we better put it on again an hour later just in case they want to NOT WATCH IT AGAIN), they weren't going to pay Discovery what they wanted so we were faced with the ABSOLUTE NIGHTMARE POSSIBILITY of not being able to watch the racing on a Sunday. This would be an absolute DISASTER, as it would mean that I would have to use Sundays to DO SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE instead of sit on my ass eating bacon and dribbling over helmets, while listening to the old man say 'ooo that was a cracking start by Barry Sheene' and then promptly falling asleep until the last lap. Thankfuckfully tragedy was avoided, Sky decided to cough up the benjamins and my Sunday bacon is SAVED! But it did mean that I couldn't ring up Wee Jock Poo-pong McPlop in the Sky call centre in Balamory and do a half hour rant about how they're happy to pay 14 trillion of my pounds to watch a bunch of BELLENDS trip over non existent blades of grass and cry like girls and then cancel my contract, which was a bit of a disappointment. To be fair though, you do sometimes get a gem of a documentary on Discovery Dave Plus Challenge like 'The Man With A 15 Stone Bollock' or a good DIY show like 'Garden Makeover with Fred West'. So I'll keep it for now. Although I really begrudge the fact that I still have to give my hard earned cash to BT just to watch MotoGP. BT 'customer service' are the BIGGEST BUNCH OF INCOMPETENT RECTAL SCABS that ever graced our clean earth. When I made the frankly IDIOTIC decision to get BT broadband a few years ago, little did I know that I was about to enter a parallel universe of TOTAL COCK-WANDERY inhabited by polite, well-meaning but TOTALLY FUCKING USELESS Indian customer service agents with made-up English names like Norman and Melvin. I won't relate the whole story because quite frankly you will probably want to HANG YOURSELF if I did, but at one point, I have Melvin on the phone insisting 'your connection is fine and working Mrs Rachel' (yes, Rachel is my FIRST name), while I, on the other end of the line, am standing in my garden with the fucking cable SWINGING AROUND IN THIN AIR NOT CONNECTED TO A FUCKING THING saying 'how can it be working, it's not connected to anything, you've dug up my garden, put a cable in it, and left the end of the cable SWINGING AROUND IN THE BREEZE' but oh no, Melvin is insistent 'yes it is connected and working perfectly Mrs Rachel' - no, Melvin - no it isn't.
So Beyoncé is preggo with twins. And to celebrate, she's putting out loads of photos of her in the buff showing off her belly. Now, I know she's a mega-uber-superstar but I couldn't really give a toss about her uterus, and here's why. Because it's all bloody fake. These beautiful photos of her with wispy lace things draped all over her, a la Demi Moore, with not a blemish in sight, us ladies that have actually had real babies know that it is all HORSESHIT. Nobody looks like that when they're pregnant. You know that evil weird faced spacehopper? They based that on me when I was five months pregnant. Round, red-faced and looking ready to kill someone. I was covered in ZITS, my hair was SHIT, I had stretchmarks on my fucking FOREHEAD and I walked like I'd shit my pants because I had sciatica. And why do these celebrities think everyone wants to see them naked? All she's basically saying is 'look at my belly, it's full of Jay Zed's jizz' and that is something that nobody needs to have shoved down their throat. Although I suppose if that HAD been shoved down her throat, we wouldn't have to put up with photos of her bloody belly.
Some people are horrible. My kid works in a well known multi-million pound supermarket chain (the one that I spend LITERALLY MY WHOLE LIFE IN and that is full of KNOBS). The other day I was waiting to talk to her, and she was serving a fully grown man, who, when he realised I was her mum, felt the need to make a 'funny comment' about her appearance before walking off looking smug. WHAT A CUNT. Why would someone do that to a young person? I'm all for taking the piss out of twats that put themselves in the public eye, like Penis Morgan or Anthea FUCKING Turner or those fucking skanky harridans on Loose Women, but why does someone think they have the right to make remarks to a young, anonymous person working for a shit wage dealing with UTTER MUNGBEANS all day long? So if you're reading this you prick (which is completely unlikely but you never know) YOU'RE A CUNT, and you look just like a man I used to know who turned out to be a sex-pest, so I hope you get mistaken for him and someone KICKS THE FUCK out of your genitals. Anyway the next day I went into her room, and she'd done a fake tan because she was going to a posh do, I said 'how's your tan looking' and she said 'it's fine, but it smells funny - come here Mum, MY LEG SMELLS OF BISCUITS'. I bet nobody in the entire world has ever said the phrase MY LEG SMELLS OF BISCUITS. But then again, this is the child that at age 4, when I thought it was raining, said 'don't worry Mum, it's probably just a fly's wee', and also asked me, when she was about 15 'how come there is such a thing as obese Christians, because aren't they supposed to not do greed and gluttony?' Lord help me!
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