Genius disabled button
Genius disabled button
Originally uploaded by Brock.This is the "call for assistance" button for the disabled at my local cinema. It is located inside the building, just past the swing of the entrance door, but about 3 feet from the ticket counter (ie within the area designated for queueing) and five feet off the floor...
What the fuck were they thinking? Where was the logic? Here are the scenarios for someone in their wheelchair struggling:
1 - Help required to get in through the heavy doors: Tough shit. The button is on the inside.
2 - Help is required (from inside) and there are people in the queue: Press button for help.... no... wait. It's too high to reach. The queue of people are also in the way for you to get to it anyway. Ok, ask someone in the queue to press the button for you. Or maybe just ignore the fucking button and ask the last one in the queue to open the door?
3 - Help is required and there is no-one in the queue: Roll up to the desk and ask them yourself. Can't see over the (quite high, actually) desk? Go and press the button. Oh... wait... It's too fucking high to reach!.
Need I go on? I can't think of a scenario where the button would be useful. If there is anyone around to press it for you, then why the hell do you need a button? And how humiliating would it be to not be able to even press the button to indicate that your disability is stopping you do something, that having to ask someone else to do it for youwouldn't make it worse?
I imagine that they had to put one in for regulation purposes, but no-one with a brain was involved with the locating of it, and it was just slapped there with all the other electrics.
Twats.
Ick
Ick
Originally uploaded by Brock.As promised in the last entry, this is the scary trike of the bloke that lives next door to Julio.
Feel free to marvel at the bravery/stupidity of some people that they would consider making/buying/riding such a hideous and clearly bloody dangerous beast.
Junk alert
Is it a bad thing that I got a Christmas Card from my local Pizza parlour? Is this, perhaps, the beginnings of a hint as to my dietary deficiencies?
I'm not the only one, surely. Other people must have got similar ones too...
Right?
The removal adventure
I have spent the last few days at Julio's new house in London. All very
nice, although it does need a lot of work. It had been empty for the year
before he got it for a steal at auction, so he has some modernising and
the like to do. Nice house and good location, though. We spent 3 hard
days doing odd jobs and getting him organised so that he can live easier
- fixing boilers, installing cookers, sorting out wiring, tidying and
moving stuff. That sort of thing.
My favourite classic Julio-ism from the weekend?
Me: "Blimey, this garden is a bit overgrown, it must be very popular
with all the local wildlife."
J: "Do you think I will get lots of it here, then?"
Me: "Oh, yeah. Loads of Foxes and Squirrels and the like" *pause* "Heh,
my mate calls them 'Squiggles'. That makes me laugh"
J: "What? Foxes?"
Me: "No, you twat. Squirrels".
J: *laughing* "Oh. Oh, yeah. That'd make more sense"
All in all it was a good, although very much hard working, few days. One of the
days involved us leaving at 6.30am and driving 300 miles to where his
stuff is in storage, filling a big van with it all, then driving 300
miles back again straight away. We'd finished unloading at 9.30pm, in
T-shirts despite the cold as we were running around, so we were pretty
pleased with ourselves. Totally knackering day - 600 miles in 11 hours
or so in a van was a tad hard on the backside, but needed to be done!
Other delights that came our way were:
-Being blatantly flirted with (despite the fact that we were covered in
crap and sweaty, having just done the removal trip) by two very
attractive Russian girls in the pub as we sunk a few well earned beers (due to the fact that we stunk and were exhausted, the house had no heating, no hot water and only about 3 sq ft of clear floor, we left in an enigmatic fashion, rather than pursue the issue. Dammit).
-Enjoying a fantastic traditional Carribean meal (Ackee and Saltfish with
rice and peas) at one of the many millions of take-always that central
London has to offer.
-The best bacon sandwich I have had in a long time the following morning.
- Seeing the funniest and crappest home made trike I have ever been
unfortunate to witness. I have photo's, I will try and dig them out.
-Generally having a bloody good laugh and taking the piss a lot.
-Finding out that Julio has actually moved next door to the bloke that
runs the comic shop in the Simpson's. Honestly, I swear it is the same
bloke - he even has all of the Star Trek DVD's on a huge rack in his
living room, and Julio is pretty convinced he speaks Klingon. His main
redeeming qualities are that he is a really nice bloke, and he has a
full size Dalek in his house. How cool is that?
Despite the fact that the trip was all nearly entirely practical and
only mildly socially orientated, it was really good fun. I even managed
to knock 30 minutes off Julio's best time between his and mine, which
mildly pissed him off and delighted me. Looks like I won our argument
about the relative merits of cutting through London versus going out to
the M25 and around...
Wondering
Everyone wonders at some point or other. Although there have been times I have explained it slightly better than this particular IM conversation:
e: you still didn't answer my question
e: the where-did-brock-come-from question
Brock: Oh that
Brock: I have an unhealthy obsession with badgers
Brock: And brock is a male badger
e: ah
Brock: so it all made sense to me
e: hm... how unhealthy?
e: should i be concerned?
Brock: Not in a penetrative way
Brock: Or even in an 'inappropriately stroking' way
Brock: but very much in a 'disappointed that there weren't any at the zoo' way
e: okay, that's alright
Bash quote
From the site that archives all the best Instant Messaging quotes:
clickyMade me laugh a lot.
Trapped
The mess in my flat
Originally uploaded by Brock.This just goes to prove the old (maybe) adage (possibly) that:
"Nothing makes you desperately need a piss like having a couple of blokes in the bathroom re-doing the tiles around the bath for most of the afternoon".
I took the picture during a break, for the pedants among you. They have just gone, and it was blessed relief, I tell you...
Sod's law
Well, being as this is the 200th post on my blog, I shall make it be all high brow and include toilet humour, I reckon. I shall give a brief summary of the last few weeks and how it has culminated in some discomfort for me today:
So, I go out for a night of debauchery with a couple of mates (Keith and Julio) two weeks ago on Saturday. As regular readers will have twigged by now, this got very silly and messy. It culminated in me and Julio (not down in the schoolyard, no) pissing about on the way home, after 11 hours drinking, and me falling over on some icy leaves. In my desire to remain in roughly the same approximation of upright that I had been previously struggling with, I grabbed Julio for support.
Big mistake.
He wasn't exactly possessing of cat-like reflexes, stability or control either, so I continued to fall over entirely unabated and crack my head on the tarmac. By way of support and solidarity, Julio promptly fell on top of me. All 16 stone of him. Consequently, I eventually arose - to sympathetic cries of "Will you silly twats get off the bloody floor!?" from Keith - with a large lump appearing on the side of my head and feeling rather winded. We then staggered the rest of the way home, as I stoically took the abuse for dragging Julio on the floor. By the time we got to the flat I had a bleeding and rather impressive egg appearing on the side of my (expansive) forehead with accompanying headache, so Keith made me up an icepack - he gave it to me with the caring words: "Here you go, silly bollocks" - and I went to bed.
However, when I woke in the morning I had two problems (not including the stupendous hangover). First: I found a wet patch in the bed. For a couple of horrified minutes I wondered whether I had wet the bed or something suitably pathetic. Then I found the tea towel and the remains of the ice pack, and realised that I had obviously gone to sleep with it still in the bed with me and it had melted. Nice. Then I tried to get up, and my ribs hurt like fuck. This got worse for a while until it settled into a nice, steady 'Hurts like a bastard' level. For extra comedy effect, I also had a cough, which goes so extraordinarily well with buggered ribs, I can tell you.
I figured that I had just bruised them (or rather, Julio's fat bulk had) so I ignored it as best I could and just tried to take it easy. This continued until the following Wednesday, with them getting slightly better but still hurting every time I tried to get up or coughed or tried to pick anything up. "Ho hum", thunk I, "I shall just wait until the bruising goes". Unfortunately, on Wednesday, I had an unexpected visitor who, er.... demanded of me physically. Ahem. I could hardly decline; beggars can't be choosers at my age, I can tell you.
To cut a sordid (although very pleasant at the time) story short, I was back to slightly behind stage one, because the next morning I couldn't get out of bed. This was the cause of some hilarity to the lady in question, until she realised that I wasn't joking. And that it hurt. Lots. She then felt very guilty, and frankly so she should. So it appeared to me that if I hadn't actually cracked my ribs on the Saturday (which I suspect I had - I cracked them that side a few years ago), then I certainly had now. I tried taking some pain killers that I had for a few days but it got little better and everything I did (even shopping) seemed to make it worse. Added to that, for the 10 days until I actually called the doctors, the pain from my ribs was such that my sleep was somewhat sketchy and I was exhausted. I hadn't slept for more than hour at a time. Sleep had been following this pattern:
1: Make myself comfortable
2: Slowly drift off to sleep for a small period
3: Move in sleep
4: Wake up violently through rib pain
5: Shout "Cunt"
6: Lie awake for about 10 minutes until I stop hurting.
7: Repeat from stage 1.
Not helpful. So I eventually got some pills form the Doctor to help - some muscle relaxants and some pain killers. I have been taking them for the last three days. It has been gradually improving until yesterday when the dose of the tablets has built up to the stage where I can't actually feel any discomfort. There is a little stiffness first thing in the morning, but...well...that's perfectly normal, isn't it...?
So, the tablets are working, and I feel normal. Except there is just one tiny thing.
The tablets give me the shits.
That's right. I have the squits as a side effect. Complete with stomach cramps. That's a nice choice, isn't it? Either I can't sleep through waking myself up every hour, or I get a full nights sleep and risk shitting the bed.
Brilliant.
I take back all my beliefs (or lack of them). Maybe I should concede that there
is a God. Because if there is, the bastard hates me...
If you'll excuse me, I need to go for a crap.
