November

The month of nothing. November has to be the most depressing month on record. Nothing happens whatsoever. Hours, days, weeks go by, and what does one have to show for it? A half finished crossword and mountains of washing up bearing down on you. Already the stench of Christmas fills the air. Thoughts of children smiling and laughing fills you with more mundane thoughts. They are everywhere. I can't leave the front door.

Congestion 'Supercharge'

Fantastic. Finally some action is being taken against the most depressing sight on our roads, the hideous 4x4. The 'supercharge' for entering the congestion charge zone in London in these 'vehicles', is one of the best examples of some form of governance actually doing something about reducing the levels of pollution emitted by this unnecessary form of transport in our choking cities. There is no need for cars like this. Just an act of utter selfishness in an attempt to stand out from the general population. Or an attempt to emulate Jack Bauer, in which case I can't encourage enough...
Not coming from London, I have no idea what the extent of this problem is, or to what extent this will do to solve it. I just find happiness in the vision of these drivers feeling victimised. Idiots.

A thing that makes me do sick

Overzealous Sports Fans

It takes a certain kind of idiocy to shout at a televised sport.
I am not talking of the moans and cheers here when fortunes change one way or the other: this is an unavoidable result of engagement with the game. Even I do that. Rather, I mean shouting at the actual match itself. Encouraging one team or player. Berating the other. Berating ones own team. Berating the referee or umpire. Berating the commentator. Berating the crowd, even. So often, just generally berating.
This kind of behaviour surely implies an absence of some vital brain-function that allows one to differentiate between reality and moving images on a screen. Maybe this even demonstrates a defective theory of mind: the over-zealous sports fan cannot tell what does and does not possess consciousness. He does not understand why the pixels flowing over the television screen do not respond to his shouts. His stupidity is one so deep that he not only misunderstands the workings of a television but also to utterly fails to grasp how we can assign a mind to an object. This is a fundamental, metaphysical idiocy on a massive level.
I really detest these people. With their beer bellies and their Carling, I really detest them. Then I feel guilty, because they make up so much of the population. I feel like a bastard. But, really, I detest them and all of their ITV-watching buddies.