I’m angry. In fact over the last few months I have lost over a hundred followers on Twitter because of my fury. I’ve ranted about everything from the BBC cancelling a popular drama to the murder of a giraffe at Copenhagen zoo. Only yesterday I had a loud argument with a rude bus driver, shouted through the window of a BMW motorcar and told a woman off for being rude to a shelf stacker in Sainsbury’s.

Am I losing my mind or is it a symptom of aging? I hate my job, could that be it? Could working for an organisation who treat you like a number cause that kind of fury? Possibly but in this case I think not. Recently I’ve been hoping that Django will walk in and free me but Jamie Foxxxxx is apparently ‘too busy’ to take my calls since he became ‘famous’.

Before I proceed I’d like to make it clear that only three people who read this blog know where I work. It is easy for ones employer to see a paragraph like the one above as a breach of the arbitrary rules which govern their small fictional world. However if the person reading it knows nothing of the organisation, company or institution involved it stand to reason that no rules have been broken. So let me return you to the blog.

Oh, who am I trying to kid? In May I turn 42. This may not be a great age but it is sufficient for me to have grown familiar with the world around me and as we all know, familiarity breeds contempt.

I’ve just noticed that my language in this blog is becoming increasingly flowery and appalling. Please excuse me, I have received a blow to the head.

Ha ha ha! I said ‘blow’ and ‘head’.

That’s better.

Yes contempt. Contempt for T.V shows and films with the same stories as a hundreds of other T.V shows and films. Contempt for politicians, economists, T.V talent shows, Live at the Apollo, people who say they are being assertive when they are actually being rude, the word ‘offensive’, Mumford and Sons, the Russian government, food vending comedy clubs, self-righteous Twitter users, train companies, council tax demands, gastro-pubs, call centres, fizzy lager, starter homes, Ikea, entrepreneurs, iTunes, 3D films, ambulance chasing solicitors and those twee fucking ukulele songs in adverts.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Perhaps I’ll continue to get angry until my heart gives out but until that happens I’ll spend my every waking hour howling at the moon and farting at The Sun.

However, if it is brilliant, wonderful and downright hilarious anger you want, I’m afraid you’re in the wrong place. Go immediately to Michael Legge’s blog. NOW!

Grrrr!

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