The man’s a genius

Kudos to the man who got so pissed off by cold callers interrupting him while he was watching Coronation Street he got his own back by setting up his own premium rate number which makes him money every time some bunch of arseholes from some call centre phones trying to sell life insurance / home improvements / compensation claim assistance / mortgages and loans.

Lee Beaumont laid out £10 plus VAT to set up his personal 0871 line in November 2011, and said he has made £300 from the calls he has received since.

Mr Beaumont, from Leeds, told BBC reporters: “I was getting annoyed with the sales calls interrupting when I’m trying to watch Coronation Street, so I’d rather have an 0871 so I can make 10p a minute. I thought there must be a way to make money off these phone calls.”

Let’s see where we can go with this. Would it be possible to charge utility companies rent for the space their meters take up on our walls. Or how about a waste dispoasal fee for all that unsolicited junk mail we have to get rid of. If we want to get rid of garden waste or detritus from building work we have to pay someone to take it away so why should we not charge the people who illegally dump waste paper through our letter box.

And what about the local authority. With their enthusiasm for parking charges and fines they would surely understand our billing them for the time and fuel we waste and wear and tear on our car when we are driving round looking for somewhere to park.

Or how about fining the borough for dropping litter when rubish scattered by careless binmen gets blown into our gardens.

When we start thinking it through properly Mr. Beaumont’s scheme could revolutionise the way we organise society.

I wanna be a motivational magician

For all the sixteen years that have passed since my illustrious career was ended by a brain haemorrhage I have been quite content to accept that I would never work again. The idea of working did not appeal to me, I was comfortably off financially after burning myself out and the idea of committing myself to any of the businesses I could run from home did not tempt me. And it would not be easy for a disabled bloke to make a living as a sex worker.

But now I have found a job that makes me want to return to the battlefield. I read in an article about the way government bureaucrats waste money of a British municipal authority that spend £19,000 on a motivational magician.

Kool, I thought, that’s the job for me. Forget those boring motivational speakers with their chants and hand clapping and team building crap. As a motivational magician I could motivate people by turning lazy buggers into frogs oe something. Much more fun, and at £19,000 a gig I would only need to work one day a month.

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Bottoms Up!

Good news for drinkers – the Waste and Resource Action Programme has estimated that Britons are pouring £470 million worth of wine down the plughole every year.

And we shouldn’t be doing it!

It’s bad for plugholes apparently. It can cause oxidisation of the metal, perishing of the plug and other rubber components, all the little bacteria pull their hoods up over their heads and start assaulting each other, throwing up and getting their knickers off in the middle of the main sewer.
Of course I’m being facetious. But what it does mean is that when we say we drink a bottle of wine, we don’t actually drink a whole bottle, we drink 3/4 or 4/5 or some such, which means we are not quite the dissolute, cirrhosis ridden drunkards the government would have us believe.
And it’s not only the bottles we don’t finish off, apparently we frequently leave some in the glass too. So we don’t have three glasses of wine, we only have 2 and a half.
So there we are, instead of worrying about our intake of units we can congratulate ourselves on our abstemiousness and toast ourselves with the dregs of last nights Beaujolais.
Bottoms Up!

Pity The Poor Binmen

Are you being unfair to binmen? Do you expect the poor delicate mites to lift things occasionally? How insensitive of you is that?

Once upon a time, binmen were big burly blokes with names like Bert Strongitharm and Fred Spitmuscle, they would cheerfully hoist your metal bin, full of all kinds of rubbish but fitted with convenient handles, onto their broad backs, carry it down the garden path and dump it in the lorry. They did not care what people put in their bins and neither did the councils.
Then came the plague of politicians with comedy accents (Thatcher) and comedy ears (Blair) who talked of change, modernisation and moving forward to meet the future. And suddenly collections of rubbish changed from regular as clockwork to “we’ll shift it when we shift it OK?”
Suddenly binmen were not moving forward to meet anything, especially the bin wagon.
Part of the problem was that councils modernised by switching from nice round bins with convenient handles to wheelie bins that were square, tall and handleless, a shape that can only easily be lifted by a deformed giant.
The councils however spent lots of our money on lorries fitted with lifting gearxxx sorry strike that, the councils spend loads of money contracting out refuse collection services to expensive private companies who hired cheap lorries from refusetrucksRus.com. Then they contracted out the administration of refuse collection to penpushersRus.com. Then they went crazy for recycling, contracting out the supervision of rubbish sorting to jobsworthsRus.com.
And then they contracted out the messy, heavy lifting part of the job to volunteer labour. Us. No matter who we were, we have been tasked with lifting two plastic containers, one for: week1 – glass; week 2 – tins ; the other for: week1 – paper and card ; week 2 – plastics.

Paper and glass care heavy, wheelie bins are tall, it’s a difficult lift for an average sized man. For a little old lady its impossible. but little old lady or big burly bloke you volunteer to do the lifting and carry your rubbish in its correct containers to the edge of the pavement so the domestic waste recycling operatives can get the lifting gear on it without having to strain themselves.

But who is to blame for the problem. Is it the bolshie binpersons and their bloody minded union leaders? No!
Is it the designers who created such awkward receptacles? No!
Is it the local authority managers who introduced these systems without thinking them through? No!
Well is it Henry the mild mannered janitor – dammit how did Hong Kong Fooey get into this blog? No, the responsible party is YOU the punter.

If you are not willing to lift your impossibly awkward containers full of heavy rubbish for the convenience of the binpersons you don’t deserve to have a nice environment. And if you put rubbish in the wrong colour bin, or do not put the lid down properly, or do not leave your bin close enough to the edge of the kerb, you deserve to be hit with a heavy fine. And the council’s jobsworth army of inspectors will make sure you are.

Being small, old, ill or disabled is no excuse. Some people have the attitude that public services exist for the benefit of the citizen. Such anarchistic and sociopathic ideas must be stamped out.

Binned ( Supermarket waste food )

An item on the lunchtime news revealed supermarkets are dumping millions of tons of perfectly edible food in waste bins each year. The slant the producers put on it was that such waste was a scandal.

But how much of a scandal?

A couple of street dwellers who were interviewed claimed they lived very well off what they find in the bins behind supermarkets. The fact they both looked anorexic only served to remind viewers that all things are relative.

Next a news team went on the streets, offering people free food after first telling them where it had been liberated from. They found few takers. Not surprising really; looking for alcohol in bins is quite acceptable as “a cry for help.”

Looking for food in bins however is another thing altogether. It sends out the signal, “I’m beyond help.”

MORE GREAT HUMOUR every day from Boggart Blog