Fake Christmas Greetings Cards

Last week whilst whiling away the day looking at the 'best of the Mumsnet talkboard' weekly round-up email and noticed the following thread had been highlighted as one of interest: http://www.mumsnet.com/Talk/_chat/a1911919-Fake-Christmas-cards-Janet-and-Roy so I dived straight in and I'm so glad that I did.  Truly brilliant.  Basically it's a bit of a practical joke: sending a card pertaining to be from an unidentifiable couple called 'Janet and Roy' or maybe 'Pierre et Sylvie' if one has a continental background.  So I thought I'd join in by purchasing a set of 'three for £1' card from my local cheapo shop and penning the robin one to my parents (a round robin inserted into a card decorated with a robin: scary.) 

I shall ask one of my colleagues to post it from her home location tomorrow as Mother would smell a rat if it was postmarked London.  I can imagine Mother now, ruminating on who could have sent such a greeting and indeed if she's missed somebody important off of the Christmas Card list, which tends to diminish as every year goes by anyway.  I will also write something cryptic such as 'So nice to see you back in September, we must meet up again in March'.  God I'm evil at times, but I'll let you know what happens anyway.

There's a guy who works down my local BHS I swear is the actor Phil Davis

What a silly title for a post, yes I agree but quite frankly I haven't a clue who, if anyone, is reading this blog anyway.  Sometimes I think I'd love to know, but as it's piggybacked onto a porn site, it could be anyone on the internet who's in possession of wi-fi, fingers and a soggy raincoat.

Right, back to today's topic, which is the purchase of odd things from town centres.  I don't work on Mondays and Fridays and as a result I tend to take a wander around the shops after dropping my son off at school.  I bought the following things today:

So, why the hairbrushes?  Well, they were on special offer in Boots - buy one, get one half price, which presupposes that you'd have lot of hair to groom or indeed had a friend or relative who'd also appreciate such a gift.  Actually, I think if somebody gifted me a hairbrush, deodorant or shower gel I'd be annoyed - basically because they're inferring that you smell or your barnet's a complete state.  Talking of hair and I'm sure it's top of your conversation topics this rainy Friday, I'm trying to grow out my short cut back into a bob style and thus, it's a bit of a mess.  My hair is a bit of a nightmare anyway because it never looks tidy because of its flyaway nature.  I suppose if you work out the cost of two new hairbrushes (£13.45) as opposed to regular 8-week cycle cuts to maintain a short style (£40+) it's cheaper in the long run.

Finally (zzzzz) - cushions.  My house is now filling up with so many cushions (plus shoes) that I'll barely be able to circumnavigate the laminate flooring in the near future.  I am building my winter nest on my sofa though and quite frankly, often I feel like morphing into a state of hibernation because I've just about had enough of stuff at the moment.  Wake me up in May 2014 if you could please?

Exactly What About The Internet Makes People So Darn Nasty?

That's the question I'm debating today and as I've just Googled the subject in hand, it appears that it's a very common occurrence.  Further to my earlier post about being depressed, I truly believe that it's lifting now, but it has been a pretty awful few days.  I have made the decision to suspend my Facebook account for the foreseeable future and it's now my policy to only exchange emails with people I actually know in real life, I think that it's easier that way.

So, what makes people feel the need to write awful vitriolic forum posts or send horrible messages?  Speaking as somebody who would probably have engaged in a bit of keyboard sparring in the past I can kind of see how addictive it can be, but there are real people sitting there behind screens and it's not nice.  When I hear on the news or read in the papers or read about those teens who commit suicide because of cyber bullying my heart goes out to them and their stricken families.  Whilst growing up in suburban London during the 1980s I was subject to a fair amount of both physical and mental bullying and it's soul-destroying, literally, believe me.  Sometimes I wonder what's behind it all and what exactly to the bullies achieve in the long run?  Being a bit different and slightly (well, greatly) eccentric isn't a crime.

OK, so you want examples do you?  Fine, as it's anonymous then I'll share.  Right, picture the scene: a suburban girls secondary modern school in the fashion-conscious 1980s and it's non-uniform day and we've all paid the princely sum of 20p for the privilege of not wearing the navy blue and red hues of our daily grind.  So, I'm stuck - my clothes have never been the height of fashion at the best of times and this is one of the worst times of the year for me because I just can't keep up with the Tinas or the Donnas who rule the playground (I think we can tell that we're not talking about grammar school girls here, can't we?).  So what do I do?  I had a best friend at the time, let's call her Caroline for reasons of anonymity and we'd recently been shopping at the local mall and I'd purchased a Betty Boop nightshirt from M&S and she suggested that I may like to wear that, actually looking back I'm not sure if she was setting me up from the start and her report did state that she had and I quote: 'a bitchy streak'.  Anyway, I wore it and it didn't look unlike an oversized t-shirt which were fashionable at the time, it was grey, but slightly resembled the image below:

Somebody discovered that it was indeed a nightshirt and I received ribbing about it thoroughout the day until I removed it.  You see, I really should have begged my mother to purchase an expensive Naf Naf suit from her limited funds, which I believe retailed at a whopping £40 circa 1988.  They were the 'in thing' then and every Nicola, Shelley and Angie was sporting them then. 

Yes, horrible isn't it and this is one of the only images I could find online.  I seem to recall that many were acid shades of pink, purple and green and some even had a dice print, which made them even more clownesque in my opinion.  Nice.  Such a shame that I still live in this borough isn't it?  However I did reside elsewhere for a great number of years but family ties plus low property prices made me return.  Sigh.

Life Is Difficult But You Have To Embrace It Anyway....

What choice is there?  Well, we're aware of the alternative aren't we, but that just isn't acceptable - surely one suicide in the family is enough to bear?

I'll start by saying that depression's a terrible thing, a really nasty condition which creeps up on you when you least expect it, but I'll tell my story as best as I can.  There's a history of it in my family, so I've inherited a tendency towards it; the first time I ever recall experiencing it was one Christmas when I was about nine or ten - I'd contracted bronchitis and it laid me low, both physically and mentally.  I kept on thinking that my mother would die and as she was my only surviving parent, that was pretty awful.  From then on I've suffered from fairly regular bouts of it, it's improved as I've got older but it still creeps up on me.  I have cripplingly low self-esteem which is hard to deal with; in the 1990s when I dated I tried to make myself feel better by dating a selection of totally unsuitable emotional fuckwitty men.  Casual sex is awful: it tears out my soul.  One prime example of this is when my brother died in 1995, I was so depressed that I could barely function and the emotionally stunted tool of a bloke I was seeing at the time wanted to take advantage of that situation - how pleasant of him, I hope karma has come and bitten you firmly on the bottom.

I've never really taken much medication for clinical depression, often with a combination of exercise and a light box in the winter, it clears itself.  I have had counselling though, two tranches of it to be exact and like in a Woody Allen film, it's really addictive - just talking about yourself and your feelings for ninety minutes a week is really cathartic, albeit slightly neurotic.  I'm actually going to study psychology at City Lit - the course begins in a couple of weeks.  I think it'll be illuminating in so many ways.

So here's the thing, we all get sad at times, but sometimes it's worse.  What I really would like to underline is: don't use people - they have feelings too you know and it's never easy.  I keep on finding that people aren't particularly interested in the characters which surround them - it's seemingly getting much more uncaring out there.  Perhaps this is written from the perspective from a woman who has finally let all the tears out she's been hiding away for so long, but it feels good to be able to express it in words anyway.

No Running, No Bombing and No Petting

I took my son swimming today in the local pool and it cost me the princely sum of £8.60 (pah!)  I rarely swim in pools as my favourite place to take a dip is the sea as regular readers of my various ramblings will undoubtedly already be aware.  This is of course, despite the possibility of being nipped on the bottom by a crustacean. 

The pool to which I refer is located in the council's sports centre and boasts two pools, a teaching one and a much bigger one for lengths and stuff like that.  I'd forgotten how warm the former was because, quite frankly, I don't think I've taken him since he had lessons as a six-month-old baby.  Why not, you may ask?  Well, I don't really enjoy it and today's experience only stood to underline exactly why this is - crowds - being unable to use the floats in the pool - pushy parents and most importantly, hairy tattooed men and whalesque women.  Yes, this is unfair and I'm hardly svelte myself, but honestly!

I did laugh though as they still have those signs from the past which we all used to snigger at, which I've reproduced above.  My son, being the strange autistic soul that he is, wanted to read the various rules over and over again, but me, being myopic, couldn't really make them out, which was nice.  Actually, recently he has become obsessed by the colour and design of the upholstery on the various different train franchises - yes, really.  Also, he likes watching YouTube videos which have been uploaded from EuroSport and pertain to a German language version of ten pin bowling.  Hmm.

Bank Holiday Monday, Tenpin Bowling and An Audience With Kenneth Williams

It's officially the last Bank Holiday of the year and I'm sitting here typing away whilst listening to Whitney Houston's I Have Nothing for some bizarre reason, maybe it's because it was used as a warm-up exercise at choir a few weeks ago?*  It's very ballady that's for sure and if the neighbours continue to vex me then it's definitely something I could belt out at an intolerable volume near the party wall. 

Anyway, as ever, I digress and maybe it's the scent of next door's creosote making my head go a bit odd, but there you go.  The Earl's obsessed with watching tenpin bowling videos on YouTube and literally cannot wait to visit the bowling alley with his father this week (I tend to avoid such trips as I'm not a huge fan of the sport, detest wearing other people's shoes and worst of all, displaying my shoe size on the back of my heel...)  Pure comedy gold is undoubtedly Mark from Peep Show's prowess of bowling the contents of his weekly shopping along the megabowl lanes in series one.  Comedy geek: yes, of course.

Earlier on I was watching An Audience with Kenneth Williams http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=an+audience+with+kenneth+williams&oq=an+audience+with+kenn&gs_l=youtube.1.0.0.988997.992394.0.994447.21.11.0.10.10.0.177.934.10j1.11.0...0.0...1ac.1.11.youtube.0U_TunGcepMon the pad and it was a huge treat.  I am getting rather obsessed with the concept of raconteurs and how great they are and wish that there were more in showbiz these days.  What I really adore is trying to work out from the audience is who's dead and who isn't and spotting really obscure faces such as Shaw Taylor of Police 5 and Gordon Jackson, although being a huge fan of Upstairs, Downstairs** he remains a deity in my eyes.

* Regular readers will be more than aware that I quit choir at the end of July, return date currently unknown.
**That's the original London Weekend Television show from the 1970s, not the cruddy BBC re-imagining.

My Parents' Bizarre Garden

My parents reside about two miles away from my house in a house which they've lived in since 1973 and ergo, where I grew up.  It's a strange place, but I won't elaborate too much and hopefully admitting that it was built on the same ground where once occurred one of the worst Stone Age massacres in living history won't affect the resale price in the long run, not even in these times of suburban property shortages. 

What my folks really like doing is gardening, but no, not in the traditional trug-wielding way that spiritedly sixtysomethings enjoy, oh no - it's much stranger than that.  Take for example, their Model Village:

Actually, I am quite impressed by it, especially as they bought the concrete models from Whelan's which is a stoneware superstore based on The Isle of Sheppey which they bought plain and painted up themselves.  My favourite thing is their nod to David Icke's theory about the existence of lizard deities, which takes pride of place in the centre of their creation:

Of course, no garden would be complete without a pond and here's a snap of their home for all things piscine and amphibian.  There's a bit of a funny story derived from this, recently their new young male neighbour knocked on the door at 10pm stating that there asking whether the frog in their garden had escaped over the fence from my parents' pond and if so, could they remove it as it was and I quote 'freaking him out by hopping at him' - Mother went to investigate and there was no sign of the small Baron Silas Greenbackesque creature.

They also appreciate Easter Island Moai Statues whom Charlie Brooker once wittily quipped that they closely resembled the former Doctor, Matt Smith:

Of course, it wouldn't be a garden without other random statues scattered around - my personal fave is the enormous squirrel.

My parents also have two cats named Fluffy and Pamela - here's a picture of the former, who is of course, kind of hairy - fluffy even.  Mother and Father didn't name him, they adopted him from a woman who later died of cancer.  Pamela was rescued from a mental patient who threatened to drown her when she was only a tiny kitten and my very own moggie, Tilly was a Cats' Protection League adoption after she was rendered homeless after her owners abandoned her.  I would like to state categorically at this stage that I only own have one cat and a solitary gerbil (named Monica - her tank mates Rachel and Phoebe have both ascended to the great gerbilarium in the sky) as having too many animals around the house is a bit odd and would suit me well if I decided to give up on life completely, thus donning a fleece and hanging around the tramps' benches in town swigging a can of White Lightning and talking gibberish to passers by.  Regular readers will be aware that I don't aspire to such behaviourial traits for another decade at least.

My New Campervan Doormat

Hail the iconic camper van....well in doormat form anyway!  Yes, as proudly pictured below, I own one which I purchased from a small shop in Whistable last week and I just couldn't resist its sleek countours and bristly finish:

I think my favourite thing is that it looks like it's jumping out of the hall floor in a kind of 3D way, especially if one is descending the stairs (usually I have my butler carry me down, but he's away in Scunthorpe at the moment).  If asked whether I've ever owned a real-life camper van the answer's no.  As for me, well regular readers will know that I haven't driven a car in years, let alone something much bulkier, but I have always admired them.  I do like the idea of travelling across the US in a Winnebago, but I suppose that will have to be put on hold for quite a few years as The Earl suffers terribly from motion sickness and the act of him throwing up every say, ten miles, would be rather wearing after a while.

I suppose I could hire a driver and run off now, but they'd find me - they always do.

Start Spreading The News

Now, as regular readers are aware from reading my huge array of blogs, I love strange things, so as a result I'm always out there, mobile phone camera in hand, snapping away for inspiration.  Of course, there's nothing better in my eyes than a tacky nightclub, but not having crossed the threshold of such a place since 1999 I feel that I'm ill-equipped to comment.  I was however impressed by the New York, New York night spot which is located on the sea front in Herne Bay:

Do you reckon that Herne Bay is, by association 'the town that never sleeps'?  Personally with the sheer number of pensioners and small dogs around, I very much doubt it, but there's an awful bunch of chavs who reside on one of the seafront properties near the Hampton who play their darn music so loud that I reckon that it can be heard over in Essex.  Maybe I should have packed my high heels, hot pants and danced the night away, but I feel far too old to do so; I never enjoyed going to night venues anyway as they were too loud, I couldn't maintain a decent conversation and quite frankly, I prefer a nice mug of cocoa, a lie down and a good book to keep me company in the evenings. 

Whilst out shopping for a loaf of bread this morning I spied this outside the convenience store:

Now, I must admit that I haven't read the corresponding article, but surely this is much worse than say, the demise of an 'unfriendly pensioner'?  Unfortunately most of the older people I seem to encounter these days tend to be unfriendly, but maybe I'll be like that too in my dotage?  I'm already reading Mother's collection of Saga magazines which date back to 2005/6 which seem to congregate in this bungalow; personally I think that they're OK, but somewhat limited.  I mean, don't get me wrong, I find articles about Des Lynam slightly enticing and finding a suitably adapted bath will be a breeze once I hit the age of 50.  I am already hoping that my husband, The Duke, will be purchasing a pair of slacks, a blazer and a cravat pretty soon as I feel as though this will give him the gravitas he long deserves.

Thursday: Chatting and Networking

I guess it depends on your standpoint how you view meeting up with colleagues or friends - as for me, well I call it 'one-to-ones' or networking, gossiping or a bilateral, either way it's a good use of time.  Me, well I like to keep my ear to the ground on what's happening around me, so informal networks are a must.  Today's highlights were:

• A formal mutual colleague was spotted on his day off wearing a suit and anorak atop Beachy Head
• The right kind of insulin ensures continuity to all Type 1 sufferers
• There's very little point in keeping in contact with former colleagues who have taken redundancy as they tend to crow that they can rise at 10am every morning and then moan about how many CVs they've sent to potential employers to no avail
• Loans take years to pay off
• It's difficult to sustain any kind of physical relationship if you only meet up once a month and both live with your respective mothers

I caught an early train in the afternoon to take full advantage of the Oyster saving - basically if you touch in before 15:59 the fare's £2.90 instead of the peak £4.70 - God knows why I know that, I really should get a life.   However, some of the train's passengers were a bit chavvy - three tattooed and shirtless fellows boarded at one station and proceeded to swig from a wine bottle and smoke cigarettes.  Luckily they moved down to another carriage but alighted at the same station as me.  Unfortunately, despite my best efforts to keep a safe distance from them, they kept tarrying to consume more liquor but before long they donned their tops and headed into the bookies on the main road.  Phew!

I was then walking down the road behind another pair who were smoking roll ups and supping from Foster's cans when one engaged me in conversation, so rather bizarrely I chatted to a young man from Latvia who stated that he was pleased that I was 'no snob' and we discussed the relative merits of the area and it's various hostelries.  I declined to provide him with my number though, but I'm sure it was flattering to be asked at my advanced age.

My Son, The Earl, is as weird as me...discuss.

Yeah, it's true - clearly my young son, The Earl as he's known online, has inherited my personality.  "Oh that's amazing!" you may say, but I don't think so - he's bizarre and I'm not quite sure where it will land him in life as mine's been odd enough to date.  A portfolio of his eccentric behaviour is growing daily, but his liking of tacky ornaments, akin to my parents' love of kitsch gardenware is rather scary.  The Duke took him to B&Q the other week and he was desperate to purchase a resin Meercat figure which was dressed in pirate garb:

Yep, I agree that it should be rotated but I cannot work out how to do it at the moment.

He was rather sweet this morning and insisted on purchasing some flowers (which cost £2) from Asda this morning for me.  By this I'm talking about my son, not the meercat who I'd doubt had the spending power to make something happen like that.  I mentioned my parents' strangeness earlier, well what can I say?  Who can honestly hold their hand up and say 'My parents have built a Gothic wall in the middle of their suburban garden, complete with skulls and attached charnel house?' - er, I'd guesstimate precisely none.  They've also constructed a model village in there too.....

Finally, yes I do have an electric organ in my dining room and no, I cannot play it.  Bummer.

Charlie Bears on QVC

Whilst flicking through the listings on the V+ box I thought I'd record a programme enticingly called Charlie Bears which was broadcast on the shopping channel QVC the other day and I'm so glad that I did.  Basically, it's a series of collectable furry ursinesque creatures which are in the £20-80 price range (plus P&P!) depending on size or style.  I recall first watching it whilst breakfasting a la settee and nearly choked on my Marmite toast from sheer laughter.  I think I'm going to have to provide some visuals - so here you are:

Now, this Koala's nice isn't it?  Well, not in my opinion anyway and it's facial hair formation reminds me of the late actor James Roberson-Justice.

Words fail me on this one - interesting foot/snout combo.

This one beggars belief - how cruel is it to spray paint a teddy bear?  Do you think it's been hanging around with the hoodies under the railway arches?  Would Banksy approve?

Finally - what on earth are those monkey's hands doing?  It's just plain obscene!  My friend, who was visiting me last night and I couldn't stop laughing - we were literally in tears.  I've no doubt that it's all a matter of personal taste, but honestly!

Friday: Greetings Cards

Question: do you like sending and indeed receiving greetings cards?  Are you, like me, a bit annoyed by simply the thought of them, or are they something which really brightens up your existence?  I'm a strange woman at times - slightly disconnected and not particularly sentimental, which is a bit of an anomaly around these parts as the most crowded shops tend to be card emporia and the sheer amount of flowers and teddies left on graves tends to bear that out.  Now, I have quite a few dead relatives (who have stopped turning up at Christmas now I've put a block on the undead eating my running buffet), but I cannot say, hand on heart, that I've ever left anything for them at the crematorium which was their final resting place as I don't believe that the spirit stays there, I think it floats around randomly, choosing to turn up at odd times when you'd least expect it.

My favourite example of a birthday card is pictured below - this was sent by The Duke's octogenarian aunt to the Earl, on his fifth birthday and I'll think you'll agree, it's really creepy:

 It looks to me, like something extracted from one of the Chucky films or something available in the 'Local Shop', courtesy of The League of Gentlemen.  That said, it's been adhered to one of my kitchen cabinets for a good few months now as it never fails to cheer me up.  Hurrah!

Monday (early...): Insomnia

Sometimes I suffer from terrible insomnia - it's really irritating and there's not a great deal you can do at night which doesn't include surfing the internet, reading articles or sorting socks.  Perhaps it's a change of season thing?  Mind you, the way the weather's going you'd think we lived in Siberia, wouldn't you?  All I can hear as I type in the dining room is the constant banging of my gerbil, Monica as she scurries around her gerbilarium.  Poor mite - she's the last survivor of three whom I named Monica, Phoebe and Rachel for reasons only known to viewers of a well known sitcom which lasted for 256 episodes.

The middle of the night's a lonely place.  I seem to recall living in a demi monde when I was looking after my newborn son a few years ago.  I used to record films and watch them in the middle of the night via wireless headphones (another bloody thing which has disappeared into the hell of my clutter...) I believe I watched an array such wonderful movies: 10, Swimming Pool, Erin Brockovich and others I cannot possibly recall. 

David Baddiel wrote his debut novel Time for Bed about his insomnia and my friend bought it for me years ago but, akin to many books one owns, I didn't read it until relatively recently.  It's well worth picking it up though as the thinly-disguised main character (aka David Ivor Baddiel) is a layabout who lives in north London who's in love with his beautiful sister-in-law.  As you can imagine, he writes well and I seem to recall quite a rude scene of a 'back door' nature, but as this blog hasn't got an age setting on it, I won't elaborate.

We watched Will Self being interviewed on a SkyArts1 programme entitled In Confidence, where the host asks the guest a series of psychoanalytical questions.  I would say that it was interesting, albeit confusing.  Hasn't Self got a huge vocabulary?  I adore the concept of being an  homourbanis or maybe a flaneur.  Actually, the last one is me to a tee; personally I just think that I'm a bit of a timewasting arsebiscuit at times, but that's just my own spin on things. 

Monday: bed and bread

I'm sure I've not written about my new bed yet, but as you can imagine, it's high time I did.  Righty ho.  We bought it from a local bed shop because we wanted to support local tradesmen and I'm glad we did, although the sales pitch did make me laugh with the proprietor saying that 'he'd had many a good night's sleep on the Kensington [mattress] because the wife had kicked him into the spare room.'  Really?  Anyway, it took over a month to arrive, partly because they'd filed the paperwork under 'M' for Mrs X.  Hmmm.

Fast forward until now if you may and we've gone quite wild and purchased new bedding, duvets and even a replacement memory foam pillow for my good self and this is what it looks like:

Don't worry - we don't just share one pillow - my husband's one of these people who love flat pillows (why?) and hence why there's three sitting on the bed.  The bedding's from John Lewis and the pattern is called 'Blossom'.  We are huge fans of JL textiles because they wash well, don't bobble (don't you just hate it when you have to shave your duvet cover?)

Finally: bread.  I have recently got very excited about Asda's 'Tiger Bread' which is both moreish and delicious and I haven't a clue what they put in it, but I adore it anyway.  I am aware that Sainsbury's changed the name to 'Giraffe Bread' after a small girl suggested it whilst in store.  However, the quality isn't there in the latter supermarket and Asda wins hands down.  I just wish the same could be said of their ready meals, not that I'm admitting to eating such things, of course.  However, this is being typed by somebody who has just wolfed down a whole 100g bag of Cadbury's Mini Eggs.  Eek!

Friday: why I like odd things - cat decorations and karaoke

So, why do you like odd things?  Is it just a kink for you or is there a reasoning behind it?  It's funny you should ask, but I just do.  I find humour in the strangest places and someone once said 'you do take pleasure in the mundane, don't you?'  Well, yes I do.

Take this for example, a box which is located in my local supermarket with the express purpose of persuading customers to purchase extra tins of cat and dog food for donation to the local Animal Rescue Centre:

Now don't get me wrong, I love cats, in fact we have one of our own, Tilly, a 13-year-old female tortie who's obsessed by my husband and doesn't appreciate me very much, but she does let you stroke her unlike my parents' cats Fluffy and Pamela.  We rescued her from the local Cats' Protection League.  Actually, I'll re-phrase that, she was a rescue cat and indeed didn't need an escape route from the comfort of the CPL's heated pens, but there you go.

I love tacky cat-related objects; luckily I don't own a great deal of it, which is great because I hate dusting and Duchess Towers is decorated by enough bad taste anyway.  My favourite was an ornament you could buy from one of those catalogues which regularly fall out of The Radio Times: it was a pair of beautifully crafted poly resin cats which played 'You Are My Sunshine' when pressed.  It was truly lovely and there's not a day which goes past when I don't miss it.  

Finally, there's a pub I'm always walking past which I last ventured into during the 1990s where myself and a friend encountered a gentleman who professed to be a direct descendant of Clive of India.  Anyway, they have regular karaoke nights and when my son wanders past he always says 'there's that place where you can drink and sing'.  Cute really.

Asda's Community Board

On Monday I did my usual trip to Asda to buy a few things and yes, Monday morning's a great time to go shopping, especially at about 08:56 when it's really quiet.  Anyway, I wandered around, as you do and whilst exiting I spotted the Community Noticeboard, which I guess is part of the company's Corporate Social Responsibility ethos.  I did spot this strange notice for Thursday though:

So, have I got that right?  Is the Bishop of Rochester really going to visit a supermarket?  What is he planning to do, bless the bakery products whilst wearing his baretta?  Very strange indeed....pity I won't be around to see him as I have to work.  Shame.