Shouting at the Steering Wheel.

I have accepted the fact that this blog is not viewed by many and so I can just use it as a blinking, electronic chaise-longue at which to rail against.

I have spent a large portion of my day, or week now I come to think about it, being unseasonably angry. Not mopingly depressed as is my usual want, but to the point where I actually used the eff-word in front of my mother. Oh hell yes you read right: I'm getting a tattoo of that encounter, depicted as a small comic strip, across my shoulders as I type. The actual word in question will be represented as "!@*&", as I am not Crass. Though I hasten to add that it was not directed at my mother, otherwise the only way I could communicate now would be through seance.

There have been occasions recently where I have just had to have a good old shout inside my long-suffering Aygo, the screams of futile aggression bouncing off of the dimpled grey dashboard and fading to nothing amidst the plastic bottles and peanut-butter cup wrappers on the back seat. About pretty much anything as it happens, from my day at work, to the state of the country, the fact I haven't been given a billion pounds, etc.

It's all rather exhausting, but I'll do it anyway, because having it vocalised makes it easier, somehow.

I was accused of being too posh earlier this week. You know what? I hope this person suffers a chance encounter with a pack of rabid wolverines, pushed beyond their usual cheerful demeanour by redundancy and ill-spent money on lottery tickets and Internet futures, given a crate of Stella Artois and told to loosen their ties.
I wouldn't drive a '93 Honda Starlet with broken windows and spikes instead of seats if I had an Aston-Martin in the garage - why the ruddy heck would I think about not using words that I know that may contain more than two syllables? Is being too well spoken something to be frowned upon nowadays? Is it really that we live in a world where someone has act less learned than they actually are so other people who haven't spent time reading don't feel all left out? Is being stupid cool now?

Fab. Totes amazeballs.

I will use the word salubrious, if something is. I will mention that I have recently been fortunate enough to have spent some quality time in good company, if I went out with my mates. I will curl my now magnificent moustache into a more colonial fashion when out and about because I don't care about what you do to your dumb face but you seem to do it anyway. 

I keep thinking I should see a person about these random pockets of fury that bubble as swamp-gas through my brain and out through my hands.

Sod it, I'm making a list of things that I hate:

1. Road cyclists and their sense of entitlement
2. Taxi drivers and their sense of entitlement
3. Stupid people and their sense of entitlement
4. Wasted potential and those who use their wasted potential to give themselves a sense of entitlement
5. Supermarket sandwiches
6. My own sense of entitlement

Have you noticed a common theme? That's correct: I'm an awful person who sits in his ivory tower and sneers at everyone else, thinking himself better than they are. It's sort of refreshing to have it all here in print, to know I've really touched bottom with this one. But I'm leaving it up, as a stinging reminder that I'm a bit of a cock with a serious attitude problem, when all's said and done.

The end, no moral.