BoldBelvoir's Grumpy Owd Twat Blog

I’m 52 in a couple of week’s time and, up until last Sunday, I was very proud to say I was an Ikea virgin. Yep, I had managed OK, thank you very much, without going to Ikea all of my life.

However, last weekend I was persuaded that there was something there ‘we needed’, so I couldn’t get out of  it. Now our nearest Ikea store is  advertised as being in Nottingham. It’s not. It is about 8 miles away and closer to Kimberley. It is in the middle of nowhere, close to the arsehole of the universe, which unfortunately isn’t indicated on SatNav.

So I drove for about an hour in 27 degrees of heat, which was nice, and eventually arrived, complete with sweaty scrotum, at the vast, characterless hanger that was ‘Ikea’. But, despite the outward appearance, once I was inside, I loved it! By that, I mean I FUCKING HATED IT! Masses of people wandering around (you all have to walk in the same direction, following the arrows) like mindless sheep, all looking at cheaply-made tat that they have been persuaded is fashionable or indispensible and then queueing up for hours to pay for it.

I almost panicked when we couldn’t find the exit. It was a bit like that episode of Father Ted where they get lost in the lingerie section of the clothes shop. When we finally found the door, there was a loading bay the size of  Terminal 5 at Heathrow. Hoards of people loading boxes and boxes of  god-knows-what into cars and vans like ants tending to the Queen’s eggs. I stumbled out of there into the sunlight, gasping for breath. And we didn’t even buy anything.

I considered keeping this sordid episode to myself, but I knew someone would find out. So I decided to ‘fess up here. I am not proud of this episode, dear readers. My Ikea cherry has been popped.

I went to the dentist for a check-up today. There’s a clock on the wall of the surgery and I noted the length of time I was sat in the dentist’s chair. It was just 63 seconds.

Back at the reception, I was asked for £16.50. Sixteen chuffin’ fifty. That equates to £942.86 an hour! No wonder the dentist had a grin on his friggin’ face.

…I am mostly being… Grumpy.

• People who just use a fork to eat with and cut their food up with the edge of it. No – that’s what a knife is for. Use the fucker.
• Peeling eggs – the original wrap rage?
• Shoppers who buy margarine because it tastes just like butter. Buy friggin’ butter then!
• Drivers who buy a SatNav and then ignore them because they ‘know a better way’. Why didn’t you keep that couple of hundred quid in your pocket then, because ‘it’s cheaper?’
• Legwarmers. What the hell are they all about?
• People who drink out of bottles. Another uncouth American-led habit. Use a glass, you fuckin’ slob.
• Gok Wan. Twat.

• Calling it a ‘near miss’ when two aeroplanes nearly hit each other. No, they did miss. It should be called a ‘near hit’.
• Any twat that wears a baseball cap. Especially back-to-front. And with tracky bottoms on.
• Posers that wear sunglasses indoors. Or wear them on the top of their heads. Cunts!
• Pricks who say ‘my bad’. What kind of English is that? Oh no, sorry… It’s American.
• Drivers who stop at traffic lights in that red bit with a three foot high bicycle painted on it – big fuckin’ clue what it’s there for – and then give you the dead eye when you go up the inside of them on your bike.
• Politicians. Blah blah blah blah…
• Tourettes Syndrome. Or any other fucking shit wank condition that doesn’t really fuck wank stain bastard exist but shit bastard fuck cunt is used as an excuse for bollock tossers to behave in a big nob unacceptable piss flaps manner.
• Smokers that say they are ‘trying to give up’. You’ve got one in your gob – You’re not actually trying, are you?

Have you noticed how many shops now offer you ‘extras’ when you take your goods to the till?

For example, today I went into WH Smiths for the Beano, March’s edition of Razzle, the Chronicle of the 20th Century and a copy of the latest Janet & John adventure. I piled my purchases on the checkout counter, the lady takes my money and what does she ask? “Do you want a Creme Egg?”

No, I don’t want a sodding creme egg. If I’d wanted a creme egg I would have picked one up. Now fuck off bugging me and stop trying to sell me stuff I don’t want. Presumptuous twat.

• Folk singers who stick their fingers in their ears. Get a proper P.A. system with foldback speakers, for fuck’s sake.
• People who wear trainers and tracky bottoms whilst having no intentions of visiting a gym or doing anything remotely sporty. Ever.
• Pool and snooker players that wiggle their middle fingers whilst queueing up. That’s all of ‘em, basically.
• All Facebook members who refuse to put their picture on their profiles (excepting the Invisible Man, of course). It’s called Facebook because…?
• Inconsiderate shits who think it’s OK to keep on revving a stationary motorbike up, then riding it up and down the street without a helmet on to ‘make sure it’s working’. The engine’s on – it’s fucking working! OK?
• People who talk to dogs like they’re humans.
• People who talk to humans like they’re dogs.
• The cunt who wrote the Eastenders theme.