Myths About Britain - Debunked (Part Two)

In my last post, I talked about some misunderstandings regarding the United Kingdom and what it is like to be a British person as well of some things that people from other countries get wrong. I have some more to talk about today.

Our Beer is Warm

In Britain, there are so many beers that I could barely begin to even start naming them. We have several different types such as Bitter, India Pale Ale (or IPA), Mild and Stout. Each country within the UK has variations and beers that are specific to that country. We also have lager and lots of beers imported from other countries. 

You can enter most pubs in the UK and get a variety of these so the choice is incredible. There is a lot of regional variation based on local breweries. For example in Stockport, a town that is not too far away from Manchester, we have Robinson’s brewery so we have a few pubs in Manchester that are owned by that brewery and specialise in the various different beers from that brewery. Sometimes we get beers from other parts of the country too, for example from London. 

Many micro-breweries exist too and their beer appears in various pubs that like to offer “Guest Beers”, meaning that on any given day there will be a couple of beers that are only on offer for a short amount of time. 

The truth about our beer being supposedly warm is that it isn’t (well – sort of). Most beers are stored in the cellar whose temperature is controlled and you will normally find it served at about 10 °C (about 50 °F) but there can be variations depending on the season. For example, in the winter all beer is cold but in the summer it may seem to be a little warmer. That said, if you order a pint of lager it is always served cold no matter what the season is. 

In the colder months, I tend to drink Bitter or IPA but when the weather warms up I drift towards lager, usually continental offerings from Germany, Belgium, Spain, France or Italy. I have been known to drink any beer depending on the mood. 

To summarise, I can understand why, say, somebody visiting from Europe or the USA may find some of our own beers a little warmer than they expect it to be. But really, it isn’t. 

British Weather is Terrible

British people love to talk about the weather. Why? Because you cannot guarantee one hundred percent what it is going to be like, even when you have seen the weather forecast for that day. I remember once on one extreme day, I saw sunshine and then rain, followed by a freak hailstorm and then a thunderstorm. By the end of the day the weather had returned to a semblance of normality when the sun came out again. This was in June.

This all doesn’t mean that the weather in the UK is terrible. We just get a massive variation but we don’t get extremes like hurricanes, tornadoes or extreme cold or heat. 

In winter the weather is generally not good. We get lots of rain, usually some snow at times and also a fair share of sunny days. However, the temperature usually ranges from about -5 °C (23 °F) to a mild 10 °C (50 °F). We don’t get the extreme cold that they get in Russia for example. I recall being in Moscow when the temperature was -25 °C (-13 °F) and there was so much snow that there were mountains of it piled up on the side of the road. 

In spring and autumn the weather is genuinely quite mild and pleasant. We do get quite a lot of rain though and I am guessing this is where the “terrible weather” slur comes from. The summers are usually very pleasant with temperatures in Manchester rising up to 30 °C (86 °F) although it often gets a few degrees higher. The hottest temperature we have had in Manchester is 38 °C (100 °F) although it was even hotter in London. Again we don’t have the extremes of the Middle East where I experienced 46 °C (115 °F) in Muscat, Oman. 

The one thing I will say is that it could rain at any time – yet still we have droughts too. British weather is annoying sometimes but it is not terrible compared to some places in the world.

The United Kingdom is Boring

Whenever I’ve heard somebody say that the UK is a boring place, that person has never set foot on our islands. I have been to many varied and fascinating countries in the world and each one in its own way is interesting and full of adventure. And I think that sentiment also applies to my own country. 

The one complaint I hear most is the weather (see the previous point) but there is plenty to do and the UK is a friendly place full of people who are willing to talk to you and help you to enjoy yourself. We have an amazing history (if not a bit horrible at times) and thousands of cultural icons to enjoy. We have thousands of miles of coastline and four (count them – FOUR) countries all of which have their own culture and outlook on life. 

We have our fair of eccentric pastimes, eccentric people and some weird perspectives on life but these add to the charm. We are hilarious as a nation and boast some of the funniest people in the world. We are masters of self-deprecation and find humour in most situations. We have some of the greatest actors in the world and our music is legendary worldwide. 

There is a huge list of things that were invented by people from the UK including the world’s first stored program digital computer which was designed and built here in Manchester. We also were the pioneers of the Internet as well as inventing things like the hydraulic press, ATM, toothbrush, fire extinguishers, stainless steel,  steam engine, turbo-jet engine, telescope, hovercraft, lawnmower, light bulb, railway, the telephone and many more. 

We have always been amazing, interesting and we still are. We know how to entertain and also have fun, as you will discover if you spend time in a pub. 

We are definitely not boring.

All We Drink is Tea

I must admit that I am drinking a cup of tea as I type this. Nevertheless, I do drink coffee too. In fact at work, most people I worked with were coffee drinkers rather than tea. 

Tea is very popular here, probably more popular than it is in any other country with the possible exception of China and India and if you go to visit people here, one of the first things that will happen is that you will be offered a cup of tea. We have tea shops but we also have coffee shops too. 

I think this is merely a stereotype and I am being a little hypocritical because I do love a cup of tea (or a cuppa). 

British People are Reserved

Many people think that British people are reserved and we face adversity with our “stiff upper lips”. The myth is that we are polite and don’t show our true feelings preferring to hide behind a façade of stoicism and courage when confronted by something that is difficult or unpleasant. 

I think those old war movies have something to do with this particular myth. When you watch British officers and soldiers going into battle, they show no fear, are very polite and say things like “For King and Country” before marching off to certain death with no fear and a determination that they will “take out as many of the bastards as I can” before “returning to Blighty for a cup of tea and cakes”. In the case of Americans, they charge in looking angry and screaming their war cries while waving their flags and trying to put the fear of God into whoever is facing them. 

Here's a parody that illustrates what I am talking about from Monty Python.

The upper classes may have that old British War movie outlook on life but the rest of us don’t. In fact the vast majority of us are amazing and funny people and a lot of us are not reserved at all. We mock each other and ourselves and a lot of the time it’s hilarious. In fact, the further away from London north you go, and certainly the further north, the friendlier the people, as illustrated by this spoof news report:

Every British Person Loves the Royal Family

The Royal family are divisive in the UK. There are certain people who absolutely adore them and hang on every word they say. For such people every single story involving them is a must read and any word said against them is tantamount to treason. These people are fuelled by tabloid newspapers who themselves adore certain members of the family but don’t like others. The darlings of the Royal family at the moment are William and Kate. Nothing bad is ever written about them and Royalists worship them.

Yet William’s brother, Harry, is seen as a pariah, perhaps because he married Meghan Markle who rarely gets a kind word written about her. 

I try my best to ignore the Royal family, apart from the odd rant when a story about them is the number one item on the news. To me, a story about Kate turning up at a school is totally and utterly irrelevant. I couldn’t care less. But when such a story is given a higher priority than, say, the economy being in trouble, I get annoyed. To me they are just celebrities but with the difference that they don’t have any talent at all. They are just very rich.

It’s a bit of a cult in my view. I have nothing against them as people at all but I simply do not care one jot about them. As a nation we are divided into three camps; Royalist who love the Royal family (apart from Harry and Meghan and of course Andrew), people like me who don’t give a toss about them and then people who despise them. 

In the latter category, I used to work with a guy who called them all “parasites”. I can understand that view, although I don’t share it.

As you can see, we do not all love the Royal family at all. 

And finally …

I hope this has cleared up a few myths about Britain and British people and provided a fresh insight into the antics of the place I call home.

Progressive Thoughts - Day 17

Today’s song is called Trains by the brilliant Porcupine Tree. This is a beautiful and thought-provoking song written, of course, by the amazing Steven Wilson.

You may initially think the song is about trains but there is much more to it than that. I think it’s a song about summer love and childhood with trains providing the hook for the memory of long summers past.

As I sit here typing this post in the deepest darkest depths of winter I long for sun and summer.

January and February are the worst months of the year for me and when they vanish I usually celebrate.

December is actually cold and dark too but at least we have Christmas to raise our spirits and make life enjoyable. Remove that and you just have cold, dark miserable January. It’s dark in the morning when I go to work and dark in the evening when I get back. The only daylight I see is through an office window so my daily two mile walk at lunchtime is just that little bit better – that is unless January weather has kicked in and decided to drop snow or what seems like the entire Atlantic Ocean on my poor head as I navigate the cold streets.

These two awful months are the low point and I actually start to feel slightly depressed. I don’t suffer from depression but somehow the dark grey skies and freezing weather haul my usually happy demeanour down towards despair.

However, I’m nothing if not optimistic.

I usually try to arrange a couple of things to make January a busy month so that I can take my mind off the negative aspects that January and February force to the surface. For example, I have a couple of gigs lined up and I am enjoying pouring my thoughts out to the world in a daily blog, as rubbish as they may be. I also have a trip to London arranged and a weekend in Chester enjoying an engagement party for some friends.

I will get through this with flying colours and as soon as the weather warms up and the buds appear signalling the arrival of spring, I shall smile a lot more.

And then summer will come with its wonderful long days.

Mind you, some British people may scoff at that last sentence because although the days are long, the weather doesn’t always play along. I don’t care because summer also brings with it the holiday season where Mrs PM and I will leave Britain’s shores to enjoy a break in places we know will be sunny and beautiful.

This year, we have a couple of holidays booked already and others planned.

For example we are visiting our friends in Abu Dhabi in April, taking time out to go to Dubai for a couple of days. In June we have booked a week in Corfu in Greece with my two lads. Later in the year we off for a weekend break in Madrid with friends before finally heading to Italy somewhere in September hopefully.

When I wake up tomorrow on a cold miserable January morning I shall subconsciously counting down to when the days warm up and grow longer and imagine myself walking around the English countryside on a sunny day or visiting a foreign city in a warm climate or perhaps even strolling along a beautiful beach with the sea lapping up to the shore.

I’ll get through this – I always do.

Progressive Thoughts - Day 8

Edging out towards the pop end of the progressive spectrum are Electric Light Orchestra a band who combine rock and pop music with classical music and have been a favourite band of mine since the 1970’s.

Today’s song is the first part of a four part piece called “Concerto for a Rainy Day”, which culminates in the final part which is the excellent and most well-known Mr Blue Sky. This song is called Standin’ in the Rain.

Many people in the world picture England as a rainy, dull place with grey skies and miserable people. Elements of that are true, but only small elements. When the rain comes, the sky can become a miserable dark grey colour and the coldness of the raindrops isn’t pleasant. Walking home in the rain is quite depressing particularly if you have forgotten your umbrella.

The rest of this myth is totally false. I regard British people to be amongst the friendliest in the world and certainly the funniest. Maybe our inclement weather helps in this regard. We are willing and able to laugh at ourselves and smile in the face of adversity.

Manchester in particular has been done a disservice in the weather stakes. It rains a lot here but we are not the rainiest city in the United Kingdom by any stretch of the imagination. Furthermore, we are really friendly too. It has been observed that when a Mancunian travels to London, for example, he assumes that he can just turn to the person next to him on the London Underground and hold a conversation. In truth he can’t because, as a rule, Londoners are less friendly.

I have had some wacky conversations with random people in my adopted home city, just in passing. That’s one of the reasons I love the place, despite the higher than average rainfall.

One good thing about the rain is that the areas surrounding Manchester, the North West in particular, are always lush and green. When William Blake wrote the poem Jerusalem, I like to think he was thinking of the North West of England when he wrote the words “green and pleasant land”.

I’m sure he wasn’t because, in truth, the whole of the United Kingdom is as green as it is pleasant.

Anyway, back to the rain. I’ve mentioned this before but, despite the common belief that Manchester is the rainiest city in the United Kingdom, we aren’t. Here is the list:

1. Cardiff

2. Glasgow

3. Preston

4. Huddersfield

5. Plymouth

6. Blackpool

7. Carlisle

8. Manchester

9. Gloucester

10. Liverpool

One of my worst experiences of rain in the United Kingdom was in Glasgow. I was at Strathclyde University for a course in November some years ago and, in the evening, I decided to go for a walk to explore the city. I love walking and just meandered around the dark streets, taking in the sights. Sadly, I wandered a little too far from my hotel and was unsure of the direction back (this was in the days before satnavs).

And then it started to rain.

I was totally unprepared. I had a relatively thin coat on and had stupidly hoped that walking would help me work up a bit of a sweat. It did but then I realised that it had little protection for sudden rainstorms. Accompanying the rain was a biting northerly wind that tore through my flimsy protection and chilled me to the bone.

And then the thunder started.

I have never seen such rain in the United Kingdom. It was like ice and totally torrential. People in Glasgow must have been aware of what it was like being stuck in the cold November rain (perhaps this was the inspiration for the song by Guns ’n’ Roses) and were safely tucked up in their warm houses.

I was alone in the cold wet streets and ended up taking quite a few wrong turns as I searched the city streets for a sign I recognised. Sadly, my glasses were useless because the rain was so intense that I simply couldn’t see a thing.

After what seemed like an eternity, I stumbled on a taxi rank and hopped into the first cab. I was drenched – utterly drenched.

The hotel was just a three minute ride away and the driver’s almost unintelligible Glaswegian accent was no help whatsoever. I couldn’t understand a single word. One thing I did understand though was his mocking laughter as he dropped me off.

Back in my hotel room, I peeled off my cold wet clothes and discovered that the rain had penetrated everything. Only my socks were dry. Even my underpants were soaking wet.

I spent about an hour in a hot shower to warm up.

I have seen worse rain in Singapore, Trinidad and Hong Kong but at least in those countries it was warm.

If you take one thing from this post, it should be this:

Always carry an umbrella with you in Glasgow in the winter and make sure that you know the way back home – or at least the way to the nearest taxi rank.

Unanswered Questions

When I think about things seriously, I mean really start to think, my brain begins to hurt with pain and despair at the state of the human race.

That’s why I try not to think too deeply.

Well – apart from yesterday when something prompted me to rant again.

When I rant, my addled brain spits forth questions about the unfairness and stupidity of life. And these are questions that I simply cannot answer.  Here are some examples.

Why would anybody pay £220,000 for a bottle of brandy? 

Yes – that’s right. A restaurant/bar in Manchester has one for sale.

Why would anybody pay £1600 for a six litre bottle of vodka with a light at the bottom of it?

I asked the barman who jokingly gave us two glasses and pretended he was about to open it for us. The light at the bottom made it look like a nice decoration for a bar but nothing else.

Why do women wear shoes that cripple their feet?

Mrs PM walks to a restaurant on the night out in here plimsolls and then pulls out her high heeled foot butchering shoes just outside and proceeds to hobble in clutching on to me as if she has severely injured herself.

Why do some 60 year old women wear revealing and tight fitting clothes that are designed for 21 year olds? 

A woman in a restaurant who would have looked okay wearing normal older person clothes, chose to wear one of those short, tight fitting dresses that revealed almost everything and left very little to the imagination. What’s more she was plastered in make-up, so much in fact that it probably took an expert interior decorator about three hours to make her look vaguely young. It didn’t; she looked ridiculous as she waddled to the toilet, her blubber hanging over the strategically placed “sexy” holes in the dress. Once seen, you can never unsee a sight like that.

What on earth is the logic of having a full length mirror in front of a toilet so that I can see myself pee?

In the same restaurant, I had a perfect view of myself as I answered a call of nature. Why? I ask again: “WHY????”

Why would anybody consider having a huge tattoo? 

Cheryl Cole/Fernandez-Vermicelli (or whatever her name is) has the most enormous tattoo on her bum. Why? What on earth is she going to look like at the age of 60?

How has Katie Hopkins managed to carve out television career for herself by being offensive?

Yes, that’s right! They’ve given Little Miss Nasty her own TV show finally!



What the flump were they thinking??????

Why hasn’t anybody exiled Piers Morgan to a remote island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean? Or to the moon?

He is STILL on my tellybox despite my protestations. I thought we had exiled him to America. Well apparently he pissed them off so much they sent him back! Can we send him to Australia now?

Who gives a flying flump about Kim Kardashian or any member of her family?

I am sick of people talking about these people. Stop talking about  them and they will go away.

What is going on in the head of Kanye West?

His ego is bigger than the universe, so much so that he recently declared himself the greatest living rock star on the planet. This after he had murdered Bohemian Rhapsody:



If he’s the greatest living rock star on the planet then I am a cat from outer space.

Why does my cat shit on my doormat?

Talking of cats, my fat lazy cat, Jasper, has recently started dumping his wares on our doormat. I think he’s trying to tell me something. We have had to start spraying the mat with Feliway – a kind of cat pheromone. It’s working but now …

Why do cats wait until you have cleaned their litter tray before immediately dumping their wares back into it? 

It’s summer. The cats should go outside to dump their wares but they are too lazy and prefer to use their trays (which I hate!!!). So there I am, like an idiot, cleaning the last disgusting mess only to find it refilled within seconds!

And why do cats vomit in the worst places?

Cats eat so much of their own fur that it congregates inside their gullets as a repulsive disgusting globule of semi-digested hair which they seem to love chundering up in the middle of my freshly vacuumed and cleaned carpet. Why can’t they go outside to do it? Of do it in the litter tray (I wouldn’t mind if I had just cleaned it).

The Great British Bake Off; what in the name of all that is SANE is this terrible cookery programme doing on prime time British television?

We are all mad in Britain because we watch utter garbage on television and become so obsessed with it that it fills the newspapers and in some cases it becomes all-consuming. We have terrible trailers for this show including one that was banned for copyright infringement, which had 80 year old Mary Berry singing a terrible version of the “Sound of Music”. This programme personifies the stupidity of some of my fellow countrymen who are infatuated with cookery programmes. Put the bloody thing on its own cookery channel  for flump’s sake! What’s worse, people actually complain at so-called funny innuendos that fill the show. People have actually written in to the BBC and complained about the overuse of the phrase “soggy bottom”.

Are these people for real??? I want to complain about the programme itself being so shit. Get the programme off the air before I rant myself into a mad seizure!

Why do people believe everything they read in the newspapers?

The Daily Mail and the Daily Express are the worst newspapers in Britain. They report stories full of scaremongery and have a deep political agenda that people are gullible enough to believe. Almost as bad are the celebrity obsessed tabloids who love to tell us tedious facts like Cheryl Cole/Fernandez-Ventagli (or whatever her name is) has had a tattoo that covers her arse and that we should worry about her because she has lost weight. We are gradually going insane – of that I am convinced.

Why don’t people just stop listening to crap radio stations?

I have listened to radio stations in the car with Mrs PM because we cannot agree on the music we can tolerate, so we search for some common ground and discover that we can both mutually rant about idiotic DJs and the same old dreadful old music that they insist on playing. Please God, give me a radio station. I’ll show them all how it is done and I promise that I won’t spend the time between playing shit songs with banal quizzes and inane uninteresting banter that is not funny and only appeals to morons.

Why does Mrs PM like such shit music?

Why can’t I brainwash her with my fantastic music after being with her for 17 years? There is no depth to Mrs PM’s music. All she listens to is dreadful music including Britney Spears, Cheryl Cole/Flaminez-Vampiri (or whatever her name is). She doesn’t even listen to the words. Even I know the words to the songs that she likes and usually they go something like this:

I see you on the dance floor and I want your love.

If you take me home tonight you can show me all your love.

You can take your love and give it to me all night long.

And then we can beat up the guy who wrote this awful song

Why is the weather in Britain so bloody shit?

Take Friday for example. In the middle of summer I walked about 500 yards from my hotel to take a ride on the legendary “Ferry Across The Mersey” and when I returned, God, in his infinite wisdom, thought I needed a 500 yard shower. I was absolutely drenched by the time I reached the hotel.  I would have been dryer if I had stood fully clothed in my own shower for three hours.

I only went out for five minutes!!

Okay – that’s enough ranting for now.

Thanks for indulging me again.

I’m off to watch the Great British Bake Off and count how many soggy bottoms there are.

Dear Mother Nature

Dear Mother Nature,

I went for a walk at lunchtime today, as I do on every other working day. I have three routes; one is 1.5 miles, the second is 1.8 miles and, for days when I am feeling particularly stressed and/or energetic, the third is 2.1 miles.

When I left the office, the sun was shining and, although it was chilly, I was content and comfortable. I opted for the 1.8 mile walk and, having pressed reset on my pedometer, I set off, with a high tempo song pounding on my iPod to help me keep a brisk pace.

However, as I approached the 0.9 mile point, I suddenly remembered two things that I had forgotten at the start of my walk.

The first thing was that British weather is totally unpredictable.

The second, and most important thing, was that I had left my umbrella in the car.

What prompted this sudden total recall?

It suddenly started pissing down with rain. There was no warning whatsoever; it was like you had decided to turn on the shower with maximum water pressure.

And what song was playing on my iPod when this deluge occurred?

November Rain by Guns’n’Roses:




Is this your idea of a joke? You wait until exactly half way through my walk, when I am at the furthest point from the shelter of the office and decide to drench me in rainwater with no shelter but the leafless trees at the side of the pavement. The fact that November Rain was on must have been the icing on the cake.

When I finally got back to the office, having navigated my way back through steamed up and drenched spectacles, I looked like a drowned rat.

My work colleagues were merciless. I spent the entire afternoon in a state of damp despondency trying to ignore water related puns from amused colleagues.

And my hair, which is a pain at the best of times, finally dried in a style that can best be described as “disturbing to children”.

Why, Mother Nature? Why?

I’d like to ask for a few favours regarding the weather in Britain. Have you got a pen?

(1) Instead of dumping the entire contents of the Atlantic Ocean onto the UK, Manchester in particular, can you please send it to America instead?

(2) Yes, I know we need rain to survive but if it must rain, can you please make sure that it happens between the hours of midnight and 6am, when I am safely tucked up in my warm bed?

(3) British weather is unpredictable at best – even in the summer when it is supposed to be warm. Most summers, we have mostly bad cold weather, occasionally interspersed with a few good sunny days. I like those sunny days. During summer, can you please make sure that we have warm sunny days (25 °C will do – I’m not fussy).

(4) I hate snow. I used to love it as a kid but now it is horrible and also dangerous. The whole country grinds to a halt, particularly when temperatures drop so low that it freezes. Can you please take all the snow to the North Pole where it belongs?

(5) And talking of cold weather, can you please arrange for us to have mild winters? I’m looking for temperatures of 15 °C minimum.

(6) I realise that I am sounding a little selfish here so, on behalf of the rest of the world, can you stop creating hurricanes, typhoons and monsoons? I am sure the people of the world can survive with standard rainstorms with a little bit of wind rather than the monstrosities that rampage around the world – including those hurricanes that find their way over to the UK and cause lots of damage and general trauma.

Is it too much to ask?

Your name suggests that you are a mother and I am sure that a good kind mother would not want to play such a nasty prank on one of her children – i.e. me.

There are lots of us in the world and I am sure that we all have similar complaints. There’s a guy called Santa who actually takes requests at Christmas.

Can’t you do the same?

I’m sure you chuckled as I dragged my drenched and bedraggled form back to the office for hours of ridicule (I might have done the same had it happened to somebody else) – but this is not the first time it has happened. Even when I have had the foresight to take my brolly, you have somehow conjured up 100mph winds to render it useless and make me even more saturated.

I hope you listen to me – I am sure you are a nice person really.

Yours hopefully,

Plastic Mancunian.

P.S. An alternative to dumping the rain on the UK might be to dump it on France – apart from when I am there on holiday of course.

Room 101 (Part Three)

A new series of Room 101 has started on BBC1, a show where famous people can banish things those things that annoy, irritate or simply horrify them so that the human race never has to see or experience them ever again. 

I have written two previous posts in a similar vein and so far have expelled twenty items,into that dark gruesome place including one or two people.

You can read about them here and here.

Now it’s time for ten more horrors to be cast into that room. 

Psychic Mediums

Psychic mediums, or charlatans as I prefer to call them, are basically con artists who prey on the vulnerability of people desperately struggling to cope with the loss of a loved one. I wouldn’t mind if there is any truth in what they claim. 

There isn’t - and to me it looks like The Emperor's New Clothes. Nobody can see it. 

Just look at this pile of crap and then dare to disagree with me.

Derek Acorah – please lead your fellow charlatans into Room 101.

Cold Callers

When somebody knocks on my door, I feel a surge of dread. Many people hope for a friend or a postman bringing a parcel or something equally pleasant. Sadly, most of the time it is a door to door salesman, somebody trying to shame me into giving yet more money to charity, a Jehovah’s Witness, somebody trying to persuade me to change my electricity supplier, a bunch of trick or treaters, a load of carol singers  or, worst of all, a politician canvassing for my vote.

The last doorstep pain in the arse was a Liberal Democrat party activist asking me what I thought about his party and whether or not I would be voting for his boss, the local Member of Parliament. I live in a marginal constituency and am therefore a prime target for these buggers. I told him what I tell them all:

“No! I don’t want to vote for your boss or your party. Goodbye!”

Good riddance to all of them.

McDonalds

McDonalds really irritates me, because they are ubiquitous and have been for seemingly decades. Worse, the burgers are unpleasant and don’t look anything like the pictures you see at the counter. 

Worse still, the food is horrifically unhealthy, as proven by the movie Supersize Me. 

Worse, still, I have had to explain to my kids again why we are having a healthy meal instead of visiting the McDonalds that was over the road from where I used to live. 

Worse still, they are trying to change their image by selling salads as if they now realise that they are contributing to the massive obesity epidemic in America and Europe. A

And the crowning turd in the toilet? 

THAT BLOOD JINGLE! 

“I’m Lovin’ It”? 

“I’M BLOODY HATIN’ IT!”

Into Room 1010 you go.

Clive Tyldesley and Andy Townsend

Foreign readers will not know who these jokers are. Let me introduce you to them.

Clive Tyldesley is a football commentator on ITV. He has the most irritating voice in Great Britain. His football knowledge is zero. His jokes are totally unfunny. He is obsessed with his own ridiculous opinions. 

Andy Townsend is an ex-footballer who is Clive Tyldesley’s sidekick – or as I prefer to call him – partner in crime, the crime being ruining my enjoyment of the game with their inane, pointless banter, flawed opinions and irritating voices.

These two men make me think twice about watching football. Usually I turn the volume down – it’s better that way.

Begone – the pair of you!

Rapping

A friend of mine who is into hip hop tried to explain the culture behind his music. And it was extremely and gave me a fresh insight into the main artists, the music and the philosophy behind it.

But I have to stay – rapping ruins songs – and I still hate it.

I’m sorry to any readers who love to “spit lyrics” and effectively just talk their way to musical stardom but I just don’t get it – and I never will. Now while I am fine leaving rap lovers to their own genre, what I really hate is when it invades other musical styles – in particular rock music. 

I blame Aerosmith. I love Aerosmith by the way but I hate this song because of the rapping:

If rapping goes into Room 101 then it will no longer invade the music I love.
Sorry!

Traffic Wardens

If I ever lose my job, and find myself faced with a life without work, the last job I would look for is that of a Traffic Warden. These people are universally hated and spend their time strolling around town centres, scrutinising parked cars to see if they are violating any parking regulations. It seems to me that when you enrol to be a Traffic Warden, you have to learn to adopt the grim face of a jumped-up jobsworth. You have to have the gene that shows mercy surgically removed from your body and master the art of a smug smile when you hand over a parking ticket to a little old lady.

Begone you evil subclass of humanity and let me park in peace.

Katie Price

If you have never heard of Katie Price, or Jordan as she is also known, let me tell you about her.

She is a topless glamour model, an author, a reality TV star, a singer and a producer of a range of lingerie and beauty products as well as perfume.  She has even tried to be elected as a member of parliament here in Manchester. Her manifesto was “free plastic surgery for all”.

Basically she is an ex tabloid topless model with big boobs who has used her fame and figure to irritate everybody in the UK (and probably beyond) and corrupted a load of young girls who want to be just like her. Her novels are ghosted and her music is awful. She tried to represent Great Britain in the Eurovision Song Contest and failed miserably – she is that bad.

Here she is “singing”:

Go away! Just GO AWAY!!

Eurovision Song Contest

Talking of Eurovision, this joke of a contest that has been around for decades should be cast into Room 101 immediately. Basically what happens is every country in Europe, ours included, writes a song and they all go up against each other in a contest that is broadcast all over Europe on a Saturday night. The winner is the song with the most votes as voted for by each country.

The contest in the past has had good moments; Abba suddenly found themselves thrust into the limelight in the 1970s with Waterloo.

Now, however, it is a total joke. The music and performances, ours included, are shit. The voting is equally contrived with countries only voting for their mates.

Take a look at this – if you like it then you belong is Room 101 too.

British Weather

We are suffering at the moment because of something called the jet stream which has altered its position, causing Mother Nature to dump the Atlantic Ocean over our entire country. The entire south of England is underwater – and has been for two months.

This happens a lot and it doesn’t matter what time of year it is.

I am sick of it. Please let us have some sunshine.

Bad Taxi Drivers

On my travels I have encountered many taxi drivers. Most of them are okay (although they charge the earth to get me from A to B) but some have been terrible. Here are the worst offenders:

The taxi driver at Manchester Airport who was happy to let me into his cab after I had returned, jet lagged, from Toronto and then, when I told him that I only wanted to go 5 miles instead of 35 miles he accused me of queue jumping, threw my suitcase out of the cab and told me to piss off. I reported him – I hope you got the sack!

The Chinese taxi driver who took us to the wrong hotel in Chongqing having almost killed us on the motorway by driving for about a minute with no hands on the wheel and looking back at us as he tried to double the price we had agreed at the airport.

The New York taxi driver who was Romanian and tried to convince me that he had played for Tottenham Hotspur – in the hope that I would give him a massive tip.

The South African taxi driver who diverted off the motorway to show me a Township and then demanded a tip at the airport.

Into Room 101 you go – and let the good taxi drivers prevail.

Do you agree with my choices dear reader?

And Another Thing ...

I’m in the mood for a rant. Will you indulge me?

Too bad – I’m going to rant anyway. Let’s see where this goes. I’ll start with the Olympics.

You know how brilliantly Great Britain are doing at the Olympics? That’s something I am not going to target with my plastic wrath. Instead, I have BBC TV sports presenters in my sight.

Having endured about a week of listening to them on TV and radio, I am fed up of the constant gushing about the gold winning athletes. Please, please just offer congratulations instead of inventing superlatives and turning these athletes into deities.

I am happy that Bradley Wiggins won the road race; I am absolutely delighted that Jess Ennis beat the odds to triumph; I am over the moon that Andy Murray actually beat a legend; I couldn’t be happier for Ben Ainslie, Greg Rutherford, Victoria Pendleton or any of the other magnificent athletes.

But please stop going on about them as if they could fly to the moon and back.

And while we’re on, stop overusing the word journey.

X Factor started it.

"What a tough journey One Direction had to get here.”

These guys are BBC presenters and they prattle on about “journeys”. I know it’s difficult to talk about other things but please, for the sake of my sanity please try!

And why is X Factor still on TV? I am dreading the return of possibly the worst show ever to be conceived; a show that makes me want to destroy my television set. I could turn over but it is seriously difficult to find quality television sometimes.

I have Sky TV and I love watching sport and movies but, as Bruce Springsteen said, there are “57 Channels and nothin’ on.”

In fact it’s more like 357 channels. And that is particularly true in summer.

You may be wondering why I would want to watch TV in the summer when the weather is supposed to be  beautiful and we should all be outside basking in the heat and sunshine.

I can here you cry:

“Stop moaning at the TV, you plastic imbecile and get out there in the sunshine.”

Well, dear reader, I would – if it wasn’t pissing down outside.

July and August have been more like November and December this year.  We have had the wettest July on record and that is added to earlier months this year when it was also the wettest on record. The Jet Stream has been hovering south of the UK and bringing with it so much dreadful bloody weather that I want to put the whole thing into Room 101 together with Piers Morgan.

Constant, relentless rain has dampened my spirits to the point where I feel like running out to the middle of our street and kneeling down in the deluge with my arms skywards, pleading to whatever God is willing to listen to me:

"WHY WON’T YOU STOP RAINING?"

We had plans to take a week off work and travel to Scotland next week – but we daren’t. So instead we are spending more money – to fly south to Spain and spend a lot more money than I would have done.

Don’t get me wrong; a holiday to Spain will be most welcome, particularly Marbella, a place I haven’t been to before. The problem is that we have picked a particularly expensive part of Spain and Mrs PM has already tried to put me on a No Carbs till Marbs diet.

Don’t laugh – this is a genuine diet, inspired by yet another dumb TV show called The Only Way is Essex, full of a bunch of weirdos from (you've guessed it) Essex.

No way. The people of Marbella are going to have to put up with me waddling around with any excess body fat on show.

Not that I am fat. I might be a little bit overweight but my BMI is not bad for a guy of nearly 50. Nevertheless, if you happen to be in Marbella next week – don’t worry. I won’t be waddling around in clothes that make me look fat or ridiculous – unlike some holidaymakers I have seen.

There ought to be a law against wearing clothes that you shouldn’t.

I’m nearly 50 and I know where I’m flabby. I would never wear clothing that made me look like a total arse, under the illusion that I was the reincarnation of a muscular Greek Adonis. I would look like an absolute buffoon and probably make the Spanish throw up over their paella.

If you ever see me wandering around wearing clothes that make people ill, you have my permission to slap me.

I just wish I could do the same to some of the people who consider themselves to be athletic and absolutely attractive to the opposite sex, wearing clothes that accentuate everything that is disgusting about them.

I don’t do it (and believe me I look disgusting); why should THEY be allowed to get away with it?

If only I had the courage of my convictions. If only I had the courage to say to the 60 year old business man with a beer gut that is so huge that people scream when he turns around:

“Put a T shirt on – or should I say a tent! I don’t want to see your flabby, hairy beer belly and neither do all of these good people. And for God’s sake do NOT wear speedos.”

You see, dear reader, I am a silent ranter – one who rants to the cats, work colleagues who are entertained and my poor beleaguered and beloved Mrs PM – and nobody else.

Oh – apart from you, dear reader.

You see, I am a coward and I have to hide behind an alias here on the internet. Don’t get me wrong; I am not a troll. I would never openly insult a person, alias or no alias. I would never post a nasty comment on a blog post – even if I violently disagreed with the contents of that post.

I like to debate and allow discussions to germinate into an enjoyable experience for both parties – even if I think the other party is a clueless imbecile.

Debate is good; discussion is good. It opens up a whole new world of possibilities and, if done properly, can be an enjoyable learning experience.

So why, Mr Troll (and you know you’re out there reading this), do you insist on hurling abuse at poor innocent bloggers? Keyboard warriors wind me up so much that I have been tempted to track the buggers down.

Still, there’s no point getting upset with people who don’t know how to have a discussion about disagreements, people who just want to post vindictive nastiness under a pseudonym, in the hope that nobody will be able to track them down.

I think I’d better stop now before I get carried away.

Thanks for listening, dear reader – or should I say, thanks for reading.

Getting rid of stress by having a good rant is very therapeutic and, although I don’t genuinely get that upset over things, it eases any pressure that life has to throw at me. It is a necessary part of my existence.

I’ll finish off on a positive note.

Well done Team GB. I hate the name but 18 gold medals and counting is a majestic achievement.

Well done to each and every one of you. And well done to all athletes who have won medals for every other nation too.

I will not gush!

I WILL NOT GUSH!

And I definitely WILL NOT WEAR SPEEDOS!

Wind Of Change

One of the things that foreigners say about British people is that we are obsessed with the weather.

And do you know what? I think they are right.

There is a reason for this obsession – our weather in the British Isles is so crap, so unpredictable, so utterly irritating that it does make a good topic for conversation.

Take the last couple of weeks for example.

Two weeks ago we had unseasonably high temperatures in March; in fact it was the hottest March on record. We were basking in temperatures of 24°C. People throughout the United Kingdom were out in shorts and thoroughly enjoying the warm temperature.

Mrs PM and I walked into Didsbury and sat outside at a local café eating a nice early evening meal with a pint of fine ale; it had a definite continental feel to it. People were walking past in T-shirts and shorts, remarking that we were perhaps, for once, in for a great summer. Sunglasses were ubiquitous and I even heard people talking about using sun block for their kids.

In a little place called Aboyne in the northern reaches of Scotland, they too were enjoying the highest temperatures they had experienced in March.

Fast forward a few days and everything changed.

The temperatures plummeted. In Manchester, having enjoyed 24°C, we suddenly found ourselves waking up to frozen cars and days were the temperature barely scraped 4°C. A huge cloud, weighed down with snow, drifted south depositing several inches over the United Kingdom. The Pennine roads were blocked and impassable; a friend of mine who commutes from Halifax, found himself snowed in.

Aboyne, that pleasant little village in Aberdeenshire that had been basking in the sunshine, now found itself covered in six inches of snow.

And all of this happened in a few days.

Is it any surprise that we are so utterly obsessed with the weather?

The weather forecast is mandatory viewing for most Brits simply because we have no idea what on earth Mother Nature is going to dump on us.

I have in the past seen all four seasons in one day. One June many years ago, I woke up and saw that it was snowing – yes that is correct – snowing in the summer. By midday the snow had turned to rain and in the afternoon we had glorious sunshine.

The weather is that mad.

Nevertheless, we never get extremes. A comedian remarked on TV recently that our weather is rarely so extreme that it is dangerous.

We have had a hurricane – and the weather forecasters failed to predict that – so it caused havoc in the South of England. But that is a very rare event. We don't get cyclones or tornadoes.

We have had a fair temperature range though. The highest recorded temperature in the UK is 38.5 °C with the lowest being -26.1°C.

In my own personal experience, the highest temperature I have encountered in the UK was 35 °C and the lowest about -15 °C.

Of course, outside the UK I have experienced more extremes. The highest temperature I have had to endure was during August in Las Vegas, when the temperature soared to a massive 45°C. I remember the pain involved with that. Walking outside was agonizing and we hotel-hopped down the famous Las Vegas Strip, just so that we could avoid as much of the sun as possible. At one point, Mrs PM and I were waiting for a bus and wilting so much that we just dived into a cab.

Compare that with the lowest temperature I have had to endure; -20 °C in Moscow in Winter. I wore two pairs of socks and a coat that was so big that I looked like the Michelin man. It was so bad that my nose was running and the liquid snot was freezing as soon as it cleared the sanctuary of my nostrils.

And I lost my woolly hat and gloves, thankfully the day before I left. I thought my nose was going to drop off.

We rarely get such extremes in the UK and I am thankful for that. Yes, we have to put up with bizarre weather, damp weather, cloudy dull days, foggy mornings, snow, and rainy summers.

It will be amusing to discover what the British weather has in store for us when the Olympics come to London later this year.

But on those days in late spring, summer and early autumn, when the weather decides to become seasonal and stable and the sun shines on our lovely countryside, with blue skies and big fluffy white clouds, I realise why I love being in Britain.

I still take a coat and an umbrella with me though – because you never know.