Wednesday 24 February 2010

The Dumbing Down Effect

Not wishing to sound like a moaning old sod but I'll tell you what fucks me off these days....

Consumers being treated like we are all fucking stupid with the dumbing-down of almost every purchase/experience we encounter.

In fairness, a lot of consumers are fucking stupid, hence I suppose the reasoning behind the child-friendly warnings and disclaimers that vendors and public bodies seem to have to put up and the consumer has to sit through, often bending the truth in our answers just to get to the end of the escapade sooner.

This morning, I encountered such mind-numbing stupidity in the form of a grilling from some spotty Trainee Dispenser at a chemist over my purchase of cold & flu tablets. The verbal equivalent of the childproof cap was in the first instance in the form of a question:

"Are these for you or somebody else?"

Well, they were for me as it happens and the coughing, spluttering bunged up person I had just presented them with should have made that clear anyway. Yet had they not been for me, most people, me included would probably have said they were lest we be subject to further questioning for fear we were attempting a Harold Shipman-esque escapade.

Next question was "Have you taken these before?"

Now here I made the grave mistake of not just saying yes. "YES! I have taken these beauties before and I love them and they love me. These tablets are fucking brilliant and I've managed to not kill myself yet Miss Dispenser, so please fucking sell them to me before I die here on your shop floor."

This is what I should have said. What I actually said was "No, but I have taken the other brand which I can see is exactly the same." 

Oh dear. This now unleashed a whole new world of futher questioning designed to see if I was in fact one of the Fucking Stupids or not. Apparently, just in case I was a Fucking Stupid, I was not qualified to read the packet for myself and decide these were the tablets I needed based on the rather thoughtful notes the manufacturers had already put on the packet.

A more senior Dispenser (this one had a different coloured jacket from the rest of the staff) was all of a sudden on the scene and proceeded to ensure I was buying these for the right reasons and was not going to stuff them up my arse or feed them to a Labrador or something.

"Is your cough a dry one?"
"Yes - listen" I coughed dryly in her direction.

"You know you should not exceed the stated dose?"
"Yes, I will use the instructions on the packet to take the recommended dose as I want these tablets to make me better. This is why I'm buying the tablets - to make me better. I'm not buying them to make me die, and if I was I wouldn't tell you anyway."

"Don't take with any other tablets"
"The chance would be a fine thing. I'm having trouble as it is purchasing these fuckers!"

"These are Night & Day Tablets - Make sure to take the Day tablets during the day and...."
"The Night tablets at Breakfast-time?" I finished the sentence for her. Needless to say she corrected me that actually, the Night tablets should be taken at night.

By the time I'd left the shop the cold had got bored and fucked off already.

In fairness, a lot of consumers are fucking stupid. Which is why they feel they have to do this, as it only takes one Fucking Stupid to ruin it for all of us by trying to sue a chemist for a lacerated throat having swallowed the entire blister pack in error.

Am I therefore wrong in thinking that these Fucking Stupids should be left to their own devices to fall off cliffs/overdose/boil themselves alive? Therefore removing themselves from the gene pool and sparing us non-Fucking Stupids the agony of being made to waste our own time?

I don't think so either.


Too impatient to wait for the next Instalment? Well fear not, Get a more regular, more succinct dose of FMO by following my Twitter feed! www.twitter.com/FantasticMrOx

Monday 22 February 2010

Return of the King!

...Not sure for how long though.

I've been inundated with literally ones of requests to re-start blogging again, so here we are.

Shame-faced am I that my bolshy predictions of being able to write an entry for every weekday have proved to be pie in the sky with diamonds on.

Following advice from a seasoned blogger and regular comment contributor to this blog, perhaps once a week is a more realistic target. If I feel like it.

Truth is, I've simply not had anything inspiring to talk about these past two weeks - certainly nothing that would be worthy of the hard-pressed time of the 6 people who might, at some point or other, stumble across this blog.

However, having this week been watching the BBC's excellent Virtual Revolution documentaries about the history and impact of the Web over the last 20 years, I've become enamoured anew at what this wonderful Web has to offer and as a result I'm blogging again. As you can see. This is the product of that. What you are reading now. This Blog.

I'm also back on Twitter - check me out, homies.

Before yesterday, I'd only managed 6 tweets since early December. Again, the ficklety FMO displays towards the online world had struck again. Within the last 24hrs though, armed with a new smartphone which has made mobile social networking exciting again, I have racked up an arse-numbing 41 tweets.

I'm not saying many are worth reading, I'm just saying they are there and I'm over-excited again about it.

Tonight, I am going to Abergavenny. Why there, you wonder? Well, it's all a very dull business trip I'd much rather not be making - but I'm sure I'll find something interesting to write about via either Twitter or Blog.

I bet you can't fucking wait.

Wednesday 10 February 2010

Loo-Town

Being a football fan is a difficult thing to explain to those who have no interest in the game or sport in general.

What makes a man (or woman - it is open even to the fairer sex these days) travel up and down the country spending hundreds & hundreds of pounds a year just to watch a group of men (or women - it is even open to the fairer sex these days) kick a ball around?

Last night, I was begging the question of myself after a miserable trip to the arsehole of the home counties - Luton. Not only did I watch my team concede two goals in injury time to lose 2-1, I also had to walk back to the train station and almost get a kicking from the local ferality.

Upon my safe return home to the calm and peaceful streets of Bloomsbury borders later that evening, Fantastic Mrs Ox-to-be listened intently as I recounted the woeful bloodcurdling tale of near-terror that was my walk back to Luton station after the game.

I could see the confusion in her eyes. Why was her betrothed putting himself in these dangerous and invidious situations when he could have been at home watching TV with her instead? Why indeed. Wanting to spend your evening like this is a pretty irrational thing to want to do with hindsight after a disappointing, cold and miserable night.

That's hindsight though, had we won 3-0 and not encountered a near beating from some feral youths, I'd not be writing this post now. So would I go again? Yes. Would I take the train? Probably not.



I probably made it sound more like South Central Los Angeles than the slightly skanky commuter town in Bedfordshire that it actually is. Truth be told though it was a rather unpleasant experience. Coming also after the abject dejection of a last minute loss in the game itself, it really was quite a fuck of an evening.

A more light-hearted entry next time peeps. :o)

Thursday 4 February 2010

Unclaimed Bloggage

Maybe I'll start doing these every other day.

In truth I think it may have been a bit ambitious trying to do an entry 5 times a week. Truth is sometimes I have actual work to do, so until this starts paying for itself I'll have to at times put it on the back-burner.

Plus of course, sometimes I really don't have anything interesting to say. Today the only thing interesting I've got in the locker is that I left my bag on the train this morning.

"That's not interesting either, FMO" I hear you say.

Well, you may think that now but you have yet to hear the full story - it might actually be quite an interesting tale! So away we go...

Upon arrival at #FeralAshford International at approximately 8.21am this morning, I proceeded as normal off the train and down the platform stairs. Arriving at the bottom of said stairs, I realised I'd foolishly left my bag on my seat. This was a £40 satchel that contained some thermal gloves and a lunchtime apple snack - so it would clearly be a substantial loss to me if I did not retrace my steps and retrieve the bag.

I bounded back up the stairs and was in luck, the train was still there - so I jumped onboard and went back to the seat I'd just been sat in. No bag. Fuck. I hurriedly looked around closer still. No bag. Fuck Fuck. The train door started beeping to say it was about to lock. Fuck Fuck Fuck! I just managed to get the open button pressed in time to return to the platform, where I remained in a harried and dishevelled state as I saw the train doors unlocked sign go out.

Then - a hearty knock on the window from within the train from a young lady. Her male companion was stood in the aisle holding my bag up and I faintly heard them shouting "Is this your bag?"

"YES!" I cried in return - only to see the bag start moving down the platform along with the train that still contained it. As I watched my bag disappear down the tracks, I now knew exactly how the children in the His Dark Materials universe felt when they were separated from their Dæmons.

All is not lost I thought - that sprightly young fellow will surely hand in my bag to the train guard, explain the situation to him and at the next station the train guard will hand it to a platform guard, explain the situation to him, who in turn will hand it to the next train guard returning to #FeralAshford, explain the situation to him, who will in turn hand it to a platform guard when he arrives, explain the situation to him, who will in turn deposit the bag with lost property in #FeralAshford, explain it to the lost property attendant, who will in turn store the bag there for me until my return this evening to collect it.

You'd think it would be that simple anyway. But no, not with Southeastern Bastard Trains.

When I returned later I was told nothing had been handed in anywhere down the line. Also, they were not able to get a message out to the train guard who might then put a message across in the train asking for it to be handed to him. Apparently they would have done this had it been medication, but because it was only an apple and some gloves they weren't going to do this. Cunts! I have cold hands and I'm fucking hungry!

If I now get frostbite and scurvy because of this I will sue the arse out of you, Southeastern Trains.

I will let you know what happens (As I know you are all on tenterhooks to see the conclusion of this thriller), but for now I am Sad Sack Sans Sac. :o(

Tuesday 2 February 2010

Sonic The HedgeBlog

Did you miss me yesterday? I know you did. Don't pretend you didn't keep pressing refresh all day waiting for my daily blog entry.

For this, I apologise - I hate to disappoint you so.

Today I'm going to be talking about my gaming addiction, or my fear of being consumed by it.

First of all, I should highlight that I am not actually a 'gamer' or whatever it is these people like to call themselves. Sorry but I don't get excited about the prospect of turning myself into an elf in World of Warcraft and fighting white tigers with enchanted nunchucks. In actual fact I have no idea what the fuck it's all about.

Similarly, I've never owned a Playstation, or an X-Box, or a Wee-Wee or whatever they are called.

I haven't for a reason - I would become addicted way too easily.

As a child I did have an Amstrad 64K, on which I played Treasure Island Dizzy to reasonable excessiveness when I was about 11 years old. And I briefly had a Sega Megadrive as a 14 year old on which I played Sonic The Hedgehog until I got bored and gave the console away (Mum & Dad wouldn't buy me any other games & I was more interested in spending my pocket money on Panini sticker albums at the time).

But since these innocent times, my interaction with computer games has always been brief but scarily intense to the point where I've had to go cold turkey to get away from it.

Three Instances brought me to the realisation that I'm a freakish addict when allowed unlimited access to computer games:

1.) In my 1st year at University, bored at the lack of actual study to do (or made to do at least) I played Donkey Kong Country on my flatmate's NES for the first 4 weeks of term. After he took the NES away from me, I spent the remaining 6 weeks of the term playing Sim City 2000 on my PC. Even now I am often reminded by one ex-flatmate that whenever he walked past my room he only ever heard gorilla noises or the sound of bulldozers raising virtual schoolhouses to the ground.

2.) Shortly after University, I borrowed a Playstation from someone whilst they were on holiday for a week. I played a Football Management game for about 18hours in one sitting until I realised I needed to stop.

3.) A Few years later I wondered what all the fuss over The Sims was about, so bought a copy and played it at home after work. In a similar case to the previous incident, I one night looked down at my watch to see it was 5am, I hadn't eaten since lunch and I had to be up for work in 2 hours. I destroyed the CD with a hammer.

Since these worrying dalliances with the dark world of gaming I have actually spent the last decade of my life pretty much free of this pursuit.

Until about 3 months ago that is, when i discovered Farmville via Facebook. Now, I don't know what it is about this particular game, but at the moment I'm obsessively visiting my virtual farm to harvest crops and milk cows on a daily basis. There are 44 crops which you have to plow, plant and harvest to gain 'mastery' of the crop. Depending on the crop, you may have to do this 500 times or even 26,000 for each crop to gain this 'mastery'.

I've mastered 17 already and I don't know how the hell I'm gonna stop before I've done all 44.

As you also interact with other players to gain and grant gifts and extra levels of play sometimes you have to post things on your Facebook wall in order to get access to them. So strong is my addiction to this game that I don't even care about looking silly by posting these messages. Indeed, just an hour ago all my facebook contacts were informed about the perfect Morning Glory I'd grown this morning.

My name is Fantastic Mr Ox, and I am a Computer game addict.