Mousemats, Traffic and Politics

While in work today I noticed the shiny new mousemats that the centre have forked out for. Their shinyness is worth commenting upon, for they are noticably shiny. However, each individual computer in the cybercafe is attached to an LED mouse, so having a mousemat, especially one that is shiny and dimpled, makes using the computer harder. These are the petty niggles which rule my days.


I also discovered writ large upon the back of the mousemats that they are 'indestructible under normal use'. That is a quality I really look for in my mousemats. Indestructibility. This mousemat is surely the Superman of the mousemat race.


There is a stretch of road between my house and work, which is handy otherwise I would live in my workplace. HAHAHAHAHA.


There is a stretch of road between my house and work which is being given a new layer of cement or whatever it is the government have to feed the road to sate the fury of the road. It resents being driven on.


This re-tarmacking is a nuisance as it causes a huge traffic jam due to the inevitable bottle-necking. I appreciate that this is unavoidable and that the cement people (people who cement, not people made out of cement) are doing us proud and keeping us safe by spreading more molten rock on the road, but I was slightly put out by it so I feel I have the right to lash out mindlessly on the internet. And I do.


In the traffic jam I nobly allowed a gargantuan cement truck to merge from a junction and go in front of me in the queue which was snailing its way forward. This was fine, I didn't feel threatened or encroached upon by the colossal truck, the tailgate of which was, at some points, almost hovering over my head. This all changed, however, when an ambulance and a police car tried to force their way through the gridlocked throng.


Again, I appreciate that the amblumance people (purposeful mispelling) and the po-po were on their way to assist in an important matter, such as to apprehend a thief who had stolen a vulnerable person's heartbeat and to re-instate said heartbeat into the vulnerable person. I momentarily forgot what the other emergency service was. Fire engines.


So I was slightly intimidated and befuddled by being jammed behind a cement truck with an angry looking amblumance man glowering at me. I would like to say to that amblumance worker; "I am not Inspector Gadget. My car cannot perform physics-defying transformations. Suck it".


It is good to see that the country is still basically functioning even though all the leaders have taken time off to go and win a popularity contest.


I am particularly galled by the Conservative 'policy' which will run a project called 'School Stars' which is essentially X-Factor in schools. I would stick my neck out and say this is a bad idea. We already have X-Factor, it is called X-Factor and it is on the television and it is cackworthy shite. Surely running that sort of project can't be a political policy? That's not going to solve anything.


How do we solve the problems? GARY BARLOW WITH KIDS!! Excuse me? GARY BARLOW WITH TEH KIDDEZ!!


It's an odd one though, I don't oppose the putting of kids on stage in a competitive form. I have fond (if occasionally bitter) memories of the various Eisteddfodau that I partook of as a child. But I think the main difference between these and 'School Stars' (apart from the obvious cynical political manipulation that is inherent in it) is that the Eisteddfod's scope is huge, with events including oration, singing, musical recital, dancing, with the main focus being on writing. I think the focus on writing is an admirable thing, I feel that writing is implicitly more creative than singing. But I suppose I would say that, I love writing. In fact, I am writing right now. While I acknowledge that singing well is a talent and not an easy thing, I feel the individuality and creativity needed for things such as writing, composing etc makes efforts in those fields more valuable, and I feel it is something of a pity that singers can make a fortune simply rehashing other people's creations. MAKE SOMETHING NEW.


The consensus seems to be that Nick Clegg won the recent debate, which of course means that he did. I don't know who I'll vote for at this point as I haven't yet taken the time to research any party's manifesto, but I feel that if the Lib Dem's can build on this burst of popularity that would be a positive thing. From an incredibly selfish point of view I would welcome them coming to power if they stay true to their pledge of scrapping tuition fees. I think if that happened I'd go back to University. Which is reason for everyone to vote Lib Dem.


These are the policies they should be leading with! Nick Clegg says he'll put Gilder back in Uni!


I suppose what we'll find out in the next couple of weeks is whether voters would prefer to see kiddies played off against each other a la X-Factor, or if they'd rather see them in University.


I'd usually be pessimistic about it, but we must bear in mind that we did get Rage Against the Machine to number one.


As a short P.S. The sight of George Osborne still makes me retch. That is all.

Ambulation

More tales from the dashboard today. Once again, this comes from driving home from work.

It seems the most excitement, or at least out of the ordinary activity, in my day stems from unusual nighttime behaviour from the drivers of Wales.

There lies an 40 em pee aitch zone just out of the gates from whither I work, this is a different zone from the last entry, just so people don't think I am obsessed with zones where the speed limit is 40 miles an hour. This isn't the case. Anyone spreading such untruth about me is fabricating it and furthermore, is clearly a buffoon.

Temporary traffic lights had been set up in this zone, as They are tearing up one lane of the road for their nefarious ends, They know who They are. I'm talking to you, Local Council. I assume that's who is in charge of repairing the roads. I could be wildly naive in my understanding of road-repairing. In fact, I most certainly am wildly naive in my understanding of Government at every level. I watch The Thick of It for the dynamic camerawork.

Back to the traffic lights; temporary.

I drove towards them in my car, and they were on green, so I deduced, thanks to my knowledge and experience of UK driving rules, that it was okay for me go straight through. Moreover, it would not only be 'OK', but any other action apart from driving through would provoke aggravation from other road-users. I was most definitely in the right, is my point.

A rather sharp turn follows the traffic lights; temporary, and I crested the corner gracefully, with a steady hand, and true steering. Imagine the vibrant disquiet that took hold of me as my eyes were filled with a vision of a wayward ambulance, converging upon my bonnet like a meteor towards a Victorian gentlewoman. So reckless was the decision of the ambulanceteers to plough down a one lane road against a red light, I would describe their motion with the verb; 'to careen'. Ambulances shouldn't careen. If they were, they would be called Careenbulances. You're right, they wouldn't. Careenmobile?

So how did I avert catastrophe and make base safely enough in condition to write this missive to the world.

Well, some would say that I was driving sensibly enough that I was able to reverse at a brisk yet safe and steady pace and avoid the mass of the rampaging ambulance. Rampagebulance.

However, here is the truth of the matter.

I reacted instantly to the dreadful vision, activating the Incorporeal Mode on my Boeing SevenFordFiesta, rendering my vehicle, and myself, ethereal, passing through the charging health-unit without suffering any physical contact. As the cockpits of our two vehicles came level, I dislodged myself from the intangibility process, and once again became Incarnate. I used the momentum I had built up, and sailed just over the driver's head, performing a nimble and concise flip as I did so, allowing me to grab hold of the driver's ears and send him in a gargantuan piledriver down the length of the ambulance.

The driver landed sickeningly in a heap at the far end of the vehicle, limbs splintering out from her torso like a deformed pine cone.

Ironically she had landed on one of the medical pallets set up in the back, although the irony was lost on all as the now-driverless ambulance sped over the lip of a sheer drop, sending the helpless crew into a fatal nosedive.

I once again became impalpable, rising gently through the roof and hovering calmly in the still evening air, high above the vehicular pogrom below, which was quickly setting the surrounding greenery into a vivid blazing torment.

Women drivers, eh?