SQUINTY TORTURE

Am I the only person on this planet that hates those faded, colourless websites with even more faded out grey text that is so small an ant would strain to read it.

It is a pain, it hurts, and my eyeballs are dried out enough already that no matter how many times I blink, it makes not a hapeth of difference  -  I STILL CANNOT READ the text on my dearly  beloved laptop.

I lose interest, say rude things and quickly leave the site.  The text on this blog, by the way, is big enough, I hope, to make everyone happy, including ants.

NO DECORUM

I love old people.  They are an inspiration and made of strong stuff.  They have suffered and

experienced so much in their lives, and have borne it all with such strength and humour.  Not like today's modern wimps, who keel over because their coffee is too hot and they have to work an eight hour day.

Anyway, I chat away to old people and love every minute of it.  One day, this old chap I know of 91 (as he was at the time) suggested we sat on a wooden bench nearby and have a chinwag.  I thought that was a good idea and willingly joined him for a nice parle in the sun. He told me all about his working life and his wife whom he adored.  They were together for 25 years and never had a cross word.  Then along came a dear old lady, she wanted to join in, so she sat on the seat of her walker and shared some history and giggles.

But the old boy seemed a bit restless.  I wondered why.  As soon as she left, he suggested we had a cup of tea in a local cafe.  I accepted and off we wobbled. I poured the tea and the comforting steam and chinking tea cup noises were most refreshing. We talked some more and this all seemed very civilised.  Most enjoyable.

Then, out of the blue, the old boy leaned forward and asked, "Do you still sleep with your husband?"

I was not impressed.

TOBACCO CRAZY MOMENTS

If you have ever worked in a tobacconist's kiosk, you will know just what I mean. You have a delivery of cigarettes in a nice big THICK plastic bag, and someone has nicked the scissors. So you take the nearest biro and stab at it manically (missing the fags of course) until you have a nice neat line of holes that constitute a tearable access into the bag. Whoopee!

Then the packets of cigarettes themselves. Some manufacturers are swines.  They do not

provide a little golden tearable strip that you can grab to tear the packet open with.  Oh No.

Out comes the biro again, only this time, your aim has to be more accurate, or you end up drawing inky doodles on the fag packets.

If this hasn't already driven you to a nervous breakdown, then just wait till you start loading

the darn packets into the spring loaded display. Boing! They start flying out all over the floor!! Also, you really want to be good and rotate the stock, but half the time, THERE ISN'T TIME! So feeling guilty, you shove in the packets, pushing the oldest packets to the back. Who the heck designed it like that ? ? ? 

You just hope it is not your shift when someone buys the five month old cigars.