The only way to truly ruin a day is to have to deal with an irate customer or hair-splitting client. In one weekend job I had an indignant customer who complained because the assistants didn’t know how to give a refund in pounds to a customer who bought an item in France - before the sale - and would like another item in exchange, that is only available in a different store so please could you order it for me and I’ll pay the difference. !!

Fast forward several years to office jobs where fussy clients think they’re the only person giving the firm work. They ask for records from decades ago just to give the office junior the opportunity to do battle with spiders and layers of dust amongst the badly labelled boxes in archives. They’ll ring up every hour making you put other people on hold, just to see how you’re getting on.

Finally, I moved up a bit in the world and had to start having to deal with “stakeholders” - a term I objected to out of hand. It goes in the same hellish category as “blue-sky thinking”, “top-down structuring” and “putting speech marks around everything”. Stakeholders are people who like to get in the way of you doing your job. They nit-pick and have an opinion and organise useless meetings until you start up your own company just so you don’t have to consult them ever again. Thank God for that.

The evergreen pushy momma’s boy Usher is a perennial irritant: coming back year after year with his absurd lyrics and insanely catchy base-lines.

Usher’s music is generally above average; the guy can sing; and he also, in his mother, has a built in maternal publicity/management machine. And this is where my questions begin to appear.

Let’s take “love in the club”, the Ush dog’s latest musical offering. I’m worried about any mother who - as manager of her beloved son - would seemingly condone such questionable activities as engaging in promiscuity in a nightclub toilet. On the floor.

That’s not cool, mom.

I don’t mind the old ex-sassers little reads but why, for the sake of all that is holy, can’t the man invent a character who DOESN’T “throw food down his neck”…

At the very least, come up with another sentence to describe the act of eating.

Jeremy Kyle, and his TV show of the same name, have been out of these pages for far too long.

For years, the unemployed and unwashed of Great Britain had the dubious pleasure of witnessing every social ill that faced the UK played out in the glorious technicolour of the Trisha show. Occasionally, we would hear Trisha’s motherly opinion. Until, one fateful day, Trisha went to channel five, and Jeremy Kyle was discovered, ranting and raving, shortly after pub kicking out time, by ITV executives, who offered him the job of replacing Ms Goddard.

What a shame.

Now we have to listen to this sanctimonious moron’s opinion - and he has one on everything - about why Tracy has been sleeping around with her string of drug and alcohol addicted lovers, or Tyler has trouble dealing with rejection without resorting to aggression. Or we get to see some DNA test results announced.

A judge recently described Kyles show as ” a human form of bear baiting” - not too far from the mark.

Watch the following video clip for more details:

Jeremy Kyle: a ranting, raving buffoon, who feels qualified to treat psychological disorders by shouting at people.

An obvious entry, but really, nobody likes them, do they?

Traffic wardens per se are not a bad thing. The fundamental problem with a Traffic Warden is their inability to see anything other than black or white (or lines of yellow) - “I’m just stopping for three minutes to unload my car” - TICKET.

Couple that flaw with an appetite for power somewhere on the anti-social side of Genghis Khan, and you see that we have a real social ill developing.

Enough said.

Traffic Wardens: ‘nobody likes us, we don’t care.’

Last night we watched Derren Brown, sois-disant Mentalist (mental might be the word) or illusionist, who had trailed his Channel 4 show, The System, as a foolproof way of beating the bookmakers.

He purported to show a single mother, whom he had e-mailed anonymously with five horse racing winners in a row, then was to invite her to Sandown where she was to back a certain horse, the “sixth winner”, with all the money she could muster. She had about £1,000 left from her earlier winnings, borrowed £1,000 from her father and, if maths are right, must have borrowed £2,000 (which she could ill afford) from a loan company.

Brown had her hand him this £4,000 for him to stake for her on Moon Over Miami. Which lost.

The untold hurt she must have felt must have been appalling. I have never in my life seen a show with such a rank, vile, bullying element - not even the dreaded Big Brother.

The denouement was that, of course, the ticket he had handed her had the winner’s name on it, and she collected.

But what he did was unforgiveable, utterly.

The System actually involved contacting some 7,500 or more ordinary people, sending one-sixth of them the name of one horse each in a six-runner race. All losers were then deleted and the “winning” group then divided again into six groups, again given one name each of a further six: so of course, eventually, there were a handful of six people with Five Winners In a Row.

All the “winners” were filmed betting in their fifth race, without yet meeting Brown. Only the winning ticket, the lady featured in the show, was asked back to the appalling torture-fest which was the final game.

The credits said that “all losers were offered their stakes back”, but does not make it clear whether they accepted or not.

This was television at its lowest point. For shame, Derren Brown; for shame, Channel 4.

If one has been listening to the radio, they will instantly recognize
an incredibly repetitive and aggravating song called ‘Crank That’ by some teenage rapper named ‘Soulja Boy’.

This tune has inexplicably reached over twenty five million hits on
YouTube as of December 15, 2007, and shows no signs of slowing down.

It is difficult to count the number of times brilliant lyrics like
“Youuuuuuu”, “Super Man That Ho”, or “Crank That Soulja
Boy” appears in the ’song’. Enough already!

Everything about this rapper screams one-hit-wonder.

Every now and then, a fashion or style comes along that leaves sensible people the world over shaking their heads in disbelief. One of the worst, and most frustratingly here-to-stay, is the Metrosexual Male.

There are several examples of metrosexual styling, not least in the mish-mash world of sporting celebrity, just think of the following:

• David Beckham (sarongs, long hair, short hair, permatan, etcetera)
• Christiano Ronaldo (greasy ever-changing hairstyles, purse carrying, permatan)
• Dennis Rodman (an early adopter of metrosexual style: coloured hair, hout cuture (i.e. ridiculous) fashion, etc)
• Most soccer players (permatan, straightened hair, pink shirts)

For reasons only known to the world of fashion, some time around the year 2001, men everywhere suddenly decided that hair-straighteners were for them; that moisturiser was a must-have product; and that anyone who didn’t use a sunbed at least once a week was clearly not as special as them. They were wrong.

At the time, I was relatively unconcerned: this must surely disappear as all other fads and fashions are apt, however, it seems, I was wrong.

One can only imagine the bathroom hours that are now entirely wasted by men who, in years gone by, would simply have sprayed a bit of deoderant on and brushed some water through their day old hair-gel.

Now everywhere I look in the city streets, all I can see is baby-faced boys, with highlighted hair, wearing pink, sipping moccha lattes.

Unfortunately, it would seem that metrosexuals are here to stay - there is now a cornucopia of mens health and other such magazines on the market. Even FHM, once the domain of men’s men, now features “products” - by products, I of course mean useless overpriced creams, and shaving products designed to give “that day old stubble look” which are in fact just ordinary soap which costs 20 times the normal price.

The worst aspect of all of this (and this is another aspect which is creeping into society as a whole) is that the metrosexual male has fostered the belief that he is somehow a celebrity. He wants VIP access to nightclubs; to drink the finest champagne; to have the latest and greatest hair care products; and a new hair-do each week. And all of this on a builder’s wages.

Metrosexual males: over-preened, over-tanned and over-drawn.

I think the trade descriptions department needs to be activated for this piece of televisual garbage.

The latest UK installment has just started, and even without having watched any of it, it has already earned a mention on this erudite website. I have certain problems with Reality TV shows, but using viewer discretion, I am more than happy that people who enjoy them (there are apparently a few) are permitted to watch them. I choose not to. My problem is that I am limited to one English speaking radio station at the moment, and the presenters keep on going on about IaCgmooh.

This whilst I’m trapped in my steel box on the way to work. My main gripe is:

Who on earth are these so called celebrities?!

Perhaps someone who has actually watched the program can try to educate me. I have heard of one of them - the singer who had road wage or something… The rest aren’t even on the C-List as far as I can tell.

IaCgmooh is crap.

By shallow people I mean those who criticize you because you’re not like them or you just aren’t good enough to be their friend.

Unfortunately here- at least in my country- are many people who act like that. You might be walking along the street when some stupid looks at you making grimaces and laughing at you.

So that’s the thing. What do they want? Do they want all of us acting like them? I don’t really get it, why do they do that. Well, there is another reason too, they are pretty immature.

TV is rubbish -here at least- The only things they show us are ass, breasts and ass, ass ass!!!! Somehow, they’re telling me how I should be!Blonde , with very big breasts and a nice butt. I’m old enough now to know that I like myself even though I’m not like the girls that the media shows. But, think about this: those girls who are very young that spend their afternoon or night watching TV will grow up with that idea in their minds and will be like those girls.

Not only that, the anorexia and bulimia are becoming really dangerous. Many people have died because of that, because they want to be thinner. This is a real issue my firends, check it out:

We should think about that. How many things can happen just because of a TV show??

Anyway, I don’t know how is it there, but I wanted to tell you what I can see from here.

Oh, and I’m sorry if there are things you don’t understand, sorry about my grammar!!