spiffingwheeze

Erm. Not these Frozen eggs…

Good news for human females who want to spend their younger years on attempting to climb the greasy corporate pole (ooer missus) rather than being inconvenienced by biology.
Some of the more out-there forward thinking companies are now offering their female employees the perk of freezing their eggs. Then they can continue working all hours towards their burn-out nervous breakdown. At which point they can then drop straight out, past HR, and collect their frozen eggs, find someone
wants to hook up with them, get preggers, and have children by way of rest and recuperation? Really?

It would probably be easier, cheaper, and more honest for companies to just do what they normally do: Wait for women in the workplace to get pregnant, then try to buck them out of the company in a legalish way as quickly as possible whilst still appearing to do everything they can to be good. Flexible working? Sure. Just fill out this form telling us why the fuck we should do that. (Oh yes they do… some places. I’m sure some of you have seen it.) Why not just offer corporate surrogate mothers, and nannies to raise the little darlings until school-leaving age? That way, you could have children without having to leave work at all!
Back on topic, this just seems sad, freakish, and kinda chilling really. Pun not intended. Whatever…

Still missing the old fool…

Some random depressing thoughts I wrote a couple of months back when my dad was struggling to stay planet side. Unpublished. Unwanted. Unresolved.

There is an order to things that goes a bit like this:

You’re born, you live, you die.
The first bit you can do very little about.
The middle bit you can fill with doing things, working, and buying lots of stuff, most of which you don’t need. Maybe read some books, watch some films, learn a musical instrument, meet someone, have some kids. Go on holiday eh?
The end bit’s the difficult part.
Watching someone who brought you up fade away in a hospital bed is, on occasion, enough to drive you quite insane.
It’s not even like this is the first time I’ve sat and watched it.
Seems like an unwelcome opportunity to be absolutely helpless.
And once they get beyond being responsive, you can couple that with an opportunity to sit in a hospital effectively talking to yourself, not knowing whether it’s really heard, or whether they’d rather you probably shut up.
Then there’s the accompanying chance, whether you really want to or not, of revisiting your own life with this soon to be gone person. And to contemplate whether you’ve hedged your bets right in the afterlife stakes, or whether it’s lights out, as you fear, and that’s all folks.
Seriously. What is it all about eh?
My dad wasn’t a famous artist, sculptor, painter, murderer. He’s not going to be remembered down the ages. No Wikipedia entry he.
Just another one of the great they, in the scheme of things.
I had next to no real understanding of my own grandparents, other than names, and maybe what they did at some stage for a living, and roughly where they’re from. One generation on and you’re a point at the end of a line on someone’s genealogy chart. Name. Time spent idling on the planet. Maybe occupation. Move along.

Is this really just a trip through the scenery on a conveyor belt? And at the end of the ride is a skip, I fear.
Best be taking in some of the scenery I guess. Oh, and I just bought a new watch for myself that I wanted for some time. Because. Well. Why the fuck not.

As you may or may not be aware, the world of sport pretty much passes me by.

Maybe leaving a slightly farty whiff, as it briefly blocks the view of the TV and then wafts past unnoticed.

So I really tried, and tried, but still didn’t find any of it that interesting.

Not one to quit too early, I thought I’d try channeling via a glove puppet, to really get to the heart of the matter, and uncover the cheering, flag waving sport-obsessed spirit within.

However, this didn’t work out well either..

Channeling My Inner Sports Fan

JS: Get off moi planet You sick baaastard.

Way back when on Spiffing Wheeze I attempted to advocate striking a balance between the  need to acknowledge the existence of someone v the need to remove all traces of a vile wrongdoer. See here.

Time for a bit of a change of viewpoint.

The latest news regarding what has been uncovered about Jimmy Savile is so grim it’s hard to believe it could get much worse. Which means it probably will, as some of the more head-swimmingly-vile allegations are investigated further.

His supposed morgue activities and penchant for jewellery made from the stolen glass eyes from cadavers is the stuff of penny-dreadful horror stories.

Even Hannibal Lecter would’ve blown sizable chunks into his anti-bite mask at some of what this guy was up to.

Jim fixed it indeed. I feel I may never be able to laugh at cub scouts eating donuts on a roller coaster again, without having some smelling salts on standby in case they accidentally show the dark lord himself in the footage.

And so I suggest there may only be one sane way out of this: Arrange to have his remains packaged up in a rocket, together with anything associated with his existence here, and fire it off into space in an attempt to purge the planet.

Perhaps the spirit of Roy Castle could be summoned to knock out a tune on his ghost trumpet to play him out.

Sickest celebrity pervert ever. You’re a record breakeeeer. Now kindly get the fuck off the planet.

Lost for inspiration due to brain meltdown.
I turn once more to Aesop.
What insight into this version of reality can be found in his ass anecdotes this time…

The Ass In The Lion’s Skin

An Ass, having put on the Lion’s skin, roamed about in the forest and amused himself by frightening all the foolish animals he met in his wanderings. At last coming upon a Fox, he tried to frighten him also, but the Fox no sooner heard the sound of his voice than he exclaimed, “I might possibly have been frightened myself, if I had not heard your bray.”

Nope.

What about a story involving his cock and jewel(s)?

The Cock And The Jewel

A cock, scratching for food for himself and his hens, found a precious stone and exclaimed: “If your owner had found thee, and not I, he would have taken thee up, and have set thee in thy first estate; but I have found thee for no purpose. I would rather have one barleycorn than all the jewels in the world.””

Still nothing…

Wine it is…

Got a London commute coming your way?

Another oldie… He even has a “newspaper” whatever that is now…

Just a face in a crowd…