A group of people who don’t make nearly enough appearances on this site as I’d like to are ‘Francis’ and ‘Isaac’, the two rough-as-sandpaper individuals who live next door to us. They’re loud, they’re obnoxious, and they’re the two funniest northern people since Ant and Dec. There’s a very good reason why I don’t speak about them too much: they scare me. Of course, they probably don’t have the internet, or where I live and things like that, but by god I’m being careful that I don’t talk too much about them, just in case.
Today, I feel like I should.
Sunday morning, there was a blizzard in Liverpool. Ally said it was very deep, and we got around half a foot. I’m desperately trying to avoid “A good 7 inches” innuendo, but nonetheless, it was thick.
I wasn’t feeling to great, so I didn’t bother going out, instead playing Rugby 2006. After Wales’ 20th straight defeat in the World Cup to South Africa. I decided I needed a pastie, so I headed out to the shop.
Outside, leaving at exactly the same time, was Francis and Isaac. I can confirm that Francis is male. Francis and Isaac, were doing what most people do in weather like this, play in the snow. It’s the big kid in all of us that enjoys playing in the snow. Myself included. I tried to avoid making any eye contact or speaking to them, but underneath they’re evergreen kappa tracksuit tucked into his socks and argos jewellry was a big kid desperate to escape. that was until Francis slipped on the ice. Then, jovial Francis returned back to the chav that he was.
“OOOOWWWWWW!!!” He shouted, clutching his ankle. “I slipped! I’m going to sue!”
Now, I’m pretty sure that if you slip on the pavement, you kind of know if it’s icy, by the….oh I don’t know….7 inches of white stuff everywhere. Of course, there is no ‘icy floor’ sandwich board sign anywhere, but I think that everywhere’s white kind of gives it away.
Secondly, who is he going to sue? Mother Nature? Even if she does accept requests for damages, she may have a backlog from all the earthquakes and typhoons and tsunamis and whatever. A chav wanting a top up for their dole money may be on the bottom of the pile.
As you can probably tell, I don’t believe in the whole “compensation culture”. Sure, if somebody broke my leg, and I couldn’t work. I’d think about making some compensation. However, falling over in the street, claiming stress and taking 2 weeks of work doesn’t count. If my dad found out that I’d done something like that he’d probably never speak to me again.
I dunno, it’s probably the way I was brought up (even with Chicken Pox we were told to “snap out of it”).
In other news: I’ve recieved feedback from that job. I also made it be known that I didn’t think much of their email which wished me a happy birthday. Also, their feedback didn’t feel like feedback, and I mentioned that both. They’re response was simple: A less-than convincing “Sorry”. I told them I didn’t believe that.
In happier news: I got a bottle of wine from work for being fantastic!