10. Your people are always moaning!

(OK, so you should have stayed indoors)

“Oh, it’s raining”, “Oh, now its way too hot”, make up your damn mind’s will you? Its summer, it’s always unpredictable, how long have you lived in this country for? A scorching hot day and it’s all too much for you. We wait for 350 odd days of the year and the one day we do get YOU stay indoors COMPLAINING of the heat, well it sucks to be you indeed!

9. People who buy The Sun

I have nothing against people who buy The Sun. However, those that digest its news and regurgitate it as the most reliable source known to man are indeed those that are particularly grating upon the psyche. The Sun makes 90% of its stories up, but wait, come to think of it, I’ve just made up a bit of a Sun statistic right there.

8. Roundabouts

(Just another day in driver’s paradise!)

What are we but a nation of circum-pathetic people? Can we not grasp the concept of giving way at T-Junctions? Why are there so many roundabouts on our roads? Does our transport board really believe that we enjoy the motion of swaying around all too much? Going around twenty odd roundabouts on a ten minute trip is enough to make me regurgitate not only my stomach, but also atrociously inaccurate facts made up by The Sun.

7. We always lose

(I feel your pain)

Everything we do, we always seem to lose. Can we not be the best at anything? We can’t produce a single good Tennis player, yet Lawn Bowl’s stallions are plenty in abundance. We can’t produce a winning Football team, yet we dominate at sports that no one cares about, like rowing.

6. We drink far too much

(An all too common site on the street’s of “Booze Britain”)

It’s not so much that we drink more than our European neighbours’; it’s more the fact that we lack complete sophistication in doing so. Going into a pub, downing your favourite ale, then acting like a chimpanzee at a coronation ceremony does no justice to the image of our drinking culture. At least teenagers in other countries drink classier beverages like wines or spirits, there’s nothing more distressing than seeing a pissed up teen with an Alco-Pop.

5. Our roadwork’s are done in the day

Any transport department of any government with even half a brain knows that to do road works at the busiest time of day is tantamount to sending car drivers to an early grave. America does them at night, yet we think they’re stupid?

4. Our national lottery winners are always selfish

(Having a whale of a time!)

When was the last time you heard a story about them giving their winning’s away to a good cause? No. Instead they buy mansion’s, piss of their upstanding neighbour’s, wreck their land by churning it up with go-kart tracks, buy loads of booze, fags and drugs and jolly well enjoy the rest of their lives.

3. We don’t have a patron saint

(Come off it Georgie boy, we know you didn’t really slay any dragon)

St. George was an Anatolian or something. Anyway, he wasn’t from England and let’s face it he clearly didn’t slay a dragon. The only slaying he probably did was of a few English rose’s who he promptly boasted to about being a saint. Why must we be lumbered with this foreign liar for a national symbol?

2. The unknown warrior will forever remain unknown

(There’s just no justice in the world)

The Great War hero of WWI buried in Westminster Abbey is never going to get the credit he deserves until he’s given a name. Now, thanks to his anonymity even David Beckham beats him in a list of ‘100 Greatest Britons’: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/100_Greatest_Britons

1. The NHS is still rubbish

(Instills you with confidence doesn’t it?)

Contrary to Michael Moore’s “Sicko” trying to paint a pretty little picture of our national health service, it’s still really crap. You’re waiting for ages even if you have been skewered by a fork in the right testicle. You can also have a nice little superbug to go with it.

Christmas shopping is so depressing. What am I supposed to get? How do I part my way through the constant barrage of ugly human traffic? How do I prevent buggies and young children trampling all over my feet? How do I remedy the hatred for Christmas in my soul? I’m just not sure.

Christmas is an ugly commercial monster which only grants most of us two days off work, but still it assaults us with months of abuse via irritating television adverts, immoral marketing ploys and dancing polar bears. The most irritating thing about Christmas in England is that it is all about snow, presents and parties and nothing about religion. Not that I care that much. Jesus and his poxy birth date overshadows my own in falling five days afterward, rendering it impossible to arrange any form of celebration for my aging carcass. The irritating messiah stole my thunder two thousand years previously. Also, the fact that I had to wait twelve months of the year before I got any kind of present or money as a kid, further nurtured my Christmas humbug sentiment.

In fact my hatred is coming along nicely with those extreme liberals who suppose that we should ban any type of religious celebration in order not to offend the highly diversified British population. However, what I’ve come to understand is that Christmas and the reference to it as ‘religious’ are no longer mutually inclusive. Christmas spirit is dead; the high street has created a faux Christmas hell bent on decimating our own pain thresholds. God speed the New Year.

- Why tuning into Sky Sports News terrifies the living daylights out of me with its constant assertion of playing the doom laden soundtrack to Requiem for a Dream. All I want to do is to simply find out the identity of the most recent Man Utd player being done for rape or to check out Brian Barwick’s pathetic jowl laden face…
- Why I can’t penetrate into the psyche of the ever elusive Moira Stewart. Seriously, when she reads the news I can no longer listen, only to become mesmerized by her Demon Headmaster gaze which is urging me to carry out sexually despicable acts on Huw Edwards…
- Why programs like ‘Can Fat Teens Hunt?’ continue to exist. Watching obese, mammary gland wielding male teenagers bawl their eyes out in denial of junk food is tantamount to presenting Vietcong torture methods live on TV. Can we not continue to live plentiful lives without having to question whether they can hunt or not?
- Why more people don’t listen to Charlie Brooker in his show Screen Wipe. The man’s a genius. Everything that comes out of his fire breathing cakehole is nothing short of the absolute truth. Read Dawn of the Dumb, a collection of his Screen Burn commentaries about the pathetic state of English TV of which includes an article doling out Brooker’s end of year TV awards: “The award for the show Most Impervious to Criticism goes to Jamie’s School Dinners in which Sir Flappy-Tonged Bumface himself saved the lives of millions of children – or so it seemed, given the orgy of self-fellating middle-class rapture that followed.” Spot on…
- Why people watch TV soaps. They must be the most deadening, suicide inspiring things on TV where you see blocks of wood stealing each other’s partners, killing each other and consequentially defecating over each other’s corpses. Truly repugnant….
- Why they insist on bringing back Big Brother and I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out of Here. Everything that could possibly be done on these shows has been done, no one watches them anymore. The only thing that would work is if they combined both shows in some sort of cannibalistic, wood cabin nightmare deep in the Australian rainforest, where racism is let loose and the show ends my feeding Ant and Dec to the hungry contestants…

I’m constantly amazed at the intricacies of our language. Its flexibility and evolution continues to strike me dumb. For example, as soon as a new technology or career emerges, there comes after it a whole new realm of words in which to confound us. Take for example journalism. Not a particularly new career, but it still spawned a whole new load of jargon in which to make people sound a bit more intelligent.

House Style – Could be taken to be the style of the interior of your house, or maybe whether it is terraced, detached, a cardboard box or whatnot. In journalism, it is a sheet for staff and freelance writers with information about which words or spellings the publication prefers.

Consequentially, this publication, my blog space, has no particular house style. There are no preferences. However, my blog is an example of the how words are created by new pastimes, new technologies. Blog itself means web log. Have you ever seen a reference to this in a Dickens novel? English seems a particularly accommodating language, ready to accept new words into its fold. Just look at what the dictionary has included in recent years. “Doh”, “dogging”, “duh brain”. It’s interesting to think how the pace of change will continue; in the next fifty years will the term blog exist? Whatever happens there must always be someone who is in command of some word or term that makes us alien, and therefore reduce us to a shambolic outdated wreck.

British comedian, Dave Allen speaks about the vaguer parts of the language. Especially good when considering the use of pleasantries for threatening someone.