A Branson Pickle
As far as heads of multi-conglomerates go, I’ve always found Richard Branson less objectionable than most; perhaps it’s because he convincingly wore the laidback gait of the hippy entrepreneur to mask a hard-edged business nous and seemed to retain an air of the amateur even when his mail-order record service transformed into the label that gave us such eclectic money-spinning offerings as Mike Oldfield, The Sex Pistols and Culture Club. Since then, we’ve had the Virgin brand attached to everything from banks, planes, trains and even spacecraft. Whatever guise he adopts for the boardroom or the taxman, his public face is still more palatable to me than that of a certain Mr Murdoch.
But for all its lingering outsider status (however much of a facade it obviously is), Virgin is no different from any other corporation in the manner of its structure. If it were, it wouldn’t have got this far and would still be operating from a basement at Branson Towers. From the top on down, Virgin has its managers and it has its minions. It is the latter the Virgin customer deals with whenever a particular Virgin service isn’t operating as it should do, and it was the latter I had cause to call when my internet connection abruptly vanished last Friday as I had a trio of articles and a 25 Hour News video to produce and post. This was when Branson’s frontline troops informed me the key to the Open Sesame that is my broadband had been taken back because my bill was ten days overdue. Not only that, but I would no longer be entitled to make outgoing calls on my landline (I don’t own a mobile) and my TV package would be reduced to the five terrestrial channels. There had been no threat to do this, no warning, no final demand, so I was totally unprepared. I rarely pay my bills dead on time, not through choice, but through financial necessity. They’d never done this to me before.
For someone who leads a fairly isolated lifestyle (such is the fate of the writer), to be denied contact online as well as phone calls had the effect of making me feel even more cut off from an already distant outside world. I could almost be Catweazle Branson himself, marooned on his private island like a jovial Bond villain – minus helicopter for a quick getaway.
I would let down both our landlady and you, dear reader, unless this bill was paid. The only reason it wasn’t paid on time was because the money had been allocated to other outstanding bills; my finances are juggled every month, calculating which bill can be paid and which can be postponed. I had no money to pay this particular bill, so a very kind friend covered it on my behalf. I didn’t go to her cap-in-hand; she offered. Still, it’s a humiliating exercise that doesn’t exactly do much for one’s self-esteem. When I walked to Sainsbury’s with the money, I was a tad light-headed on account of having drunk half-a-bottle of wine before realising my membership of the human race had been rescinded, which seemed to detach me further from the multitudes surrounding me en route. Arriving in the store, I realised I had left my payment card at home, so I had to walk all the way back. It was turning out to be ‘one of those days’.
Anyway, bill eventually paid, I contacted Branson’s minions again and was then told normal service wouldn’t be resumed for five working days. Yes, even in the brave new world of the twenty-first century, it’s still half-day closing and rain still stops play. Wednesday at the earliest, I was informed. I had to write to ‘er upstairs to let her know because, short of dispatching a carrier pigeon to Cardiff, I had no other method of informing her. It’s amazing how one can revert from techno-head to caveman in one easy step. Come the apocalypse, we’ll be back swinging from the trees before you can say Yahoo.
The following day, having endured a night tormented by thoughts of the Raccoon Arms running out of booze and the draymen never showing with a fresh supply, confronted by the vision of regulars arriving to find the premises boarded-up, I remembered I could use the computers at the local library and emailed those with a vested interest in the business. I was still looking at a week without the world-wide web.
Before being promoted to head barman, I never had to take anyone else into consideration. I’ve nibbled the breadline loaf for most of my adult life and have been through many a moment when I could sense the walls closing in on me. What made this moment different was that now others would be affected by my incompetence, and as a childless singleton with no dependents, this development was especially demoralising.
I have learnt to budget and economise so adequately over the past twenty years that I reckon I’d make the Iron Chancellor resemble the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo. But even purchasing toiletries at a cut-price shop such as Wilkinson’s and ensuring my cat gets fed ahead of me, even denying myself luxuries that don’t fall into that category for most, even scrimping without saving, sometimes it gets on top of me and I get caught short. Usually, I’m the only casualty; now I’m not.
And yet, lo and behold, within minutes of the referee blowing the whistle on Arsenal’s Wembley demolition of Aston Villa, I discover I’m back online. So much for five working days – more like twenty-four hours of mental torture courtesy of the new sadist’s edition of the corporation/customer relations manual. Not that I should be surprised, mind. These corporate Gods make a habit of issuing letters demanding money that one phone call can confirm is actually an error on their part and it turns out the customer is right after all. He/she didn’t owe a year’s earnings to British Gas/N-Power etc. Not that this confirmation eases the anguish the said customer went through upon being delivered this horse’s head through the post.
The fact that I received no warning or final demand from Virgin is, I suppose, the price to pay for the removal of the human element from the contact between customer and corporation. An automated service may have its advantages for the company in that it can save on paying wages to people, but a computer programmed to compose, print and post a missive to a person struggling to keep afloat has no compulsion to consider his or her feelings should the calculations be incorrect. My mum says she misses the old gas showrooms on the high street when she becomes confused doing her dealings by text; I tell her it’s so much easier to do my own meter readings and post them online. Then I stop and think she’s probably got a point.
Once told I’d been given an involuntary internet vasectomy, I began stockpiling posts at a furious pace in the manner of a man anticipating a nuclear attack by clearing the shelves at the supermarket in order to ensure his fall-out shelter is supplied. At least the panic is over for now and only a delayed post on Saturday betrayed any evidence that all was not well at ‘The Arms’. Thankfully, the booze and conversation are flowing again as if last weekend never happened. But as a reminder of just how close to an abyss of its own making modern life can take us, Friday night was not one I’d care to relive. The drinks are on me.
Petunia Winegum
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June 3, 2015 at 9:31 am -
Writing as someone whose ship used to be routinely torpedoed entering safe harbour, I have been a fellow traveller on that road to Penury …if not Perdition. So , as such, I feel I should give the Head Barman & Chief Bottle Washer a ‘tip’. Pet, next time money comes in, pick up a USB wifi Dongle and a PAYG 3G SIM card. Put a tenner on the SIM card and do a couple of test runs at connecting via it to the intrawebz. Then all you need to do is keep an eye out for that credit expiring (not sure what firms offer what conditions now) and then when Mr. “Drop The Pilot” Branson’s minions amputate your internet without warning , you just stick the USB dongle in it’s slot (Oooh Ahhh Vicar!) and Bob is your Norfolk ‘Aunt’. If you’re really into becoming a ‘Techno Prepper” then get yourself a copy of a Linux (“Puppy” for ancient machines, “Mint” for anything more modern are a safe bet) on another, bog standard, USB stix and then when the Harddrive in your laptop dies under the weight of all that Freaky-deaky-monkey-Porn…..
PS> Ask a stray teenager which network gives the best 3G coverage in your area.
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June 3, 2015 at 9:41 am -
Duly noted!
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June 3, 2015 at 10:04 am -
And use Opera as your browser in turbo mode. That cuts down the amount of data used and extends the life of your USB stick.
Back in the old days, my flatmate was financial director of Virgin records. His personal finances at the time were a disaster, he also had to keep borrowing money from his girlfriends to stay afloat.
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June 3, 2015 at 10:10 am -
There are websites which will show you what the coverage is like with different cell companies.
+1 to all the above advice (it’s what I do as a business contingency plan)….
…EXCEPT a better solution is a 4g wifi hotspot (like this http://shop.ee.co.uk/broadband/4gee-wifi )
The same pricing options apply with this; PAYG is cheaper to run, but you need to fork out for the device.
/disclaimer – I’m still running the dongle solution, but I think the wifi hotspot is a much better way of doing this. You also don’t need to install more software. I have no connection to EE or others and don’t recommend them over anything else. I’d probably choose Vodafone for myself.
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June 3, 2015 at 9:50 am -
When I walked to Sainsbury’s with the money, I was a tad light-headed on account of having drunk half-a-bottle of wine
Hmmm. No luxuries in your life then……….. I’m old enough to make sure all the bills are covered before I indulge myself with treats like that.
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June 3, 2015 at 9:59 am -
When I walked to Sainsbury’s with the money, I was a tad light-headed on account of having drunk half-a-bottle of wine-Pet
The one thing I find really difficult as a ‘dry’ alcoholic (since 2009 I think, thanks for asking) is going into a Supermarket sober. Shopping without 6 fingers of scotch in me is trying at best, I have a constant urge to ‘go postal’ and take out that gaggle of OAPS in aisle 7 with my trolley (yes, the one with the dodgy wheel) or to put my fist through the ‘for your convenience’ automated till.
“yes I am over 25, here is my passport, a note from my Mommy and a colour print out of my DNA sequence.”
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June 3, 2015 at 10:06 am -
2015 vintage cheap plonk. All relative, innit.
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June 3, 2015 at 2:50 pm -
You appear to think so. I am of the old-fashioned variety who is terrified of debt. This ensures that I live within my means.
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June 3, 2015 at 9:59 am -
Petunia, your cat isn’t named Elgar, by any chance? ΠΞ
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June 3, 2015 at 10:26 am -
Do you need all of Branson’s offering? I manage without Sky TV, Freeview is more than adequate unless you are a sports fanatic. Look around for a phone and broadband supplier, I pay about £30 per month for line rental, broadband and phone which includes all UK calls to normal numbers.
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June 3, 2015 at 10:27 am -
I really appreciate Pet’s literary efforts, however …….
At the risk of alienating some readers, it is noted there (were) funds for a TV package despite there being a 100-or-so Freeview channels; and maybe there had been a (presumably) previously-purchased bottle of vino.
The difficulty facing suppliers of ‘utility’ services which are effectively sucked-out by their consumer rather than supplied as discrete delivery, or, collected by consumer – is what to do in the event of non-payment? I’m in no position to comment as to whether reminders are sent; but the only sanction such suppliers have, is to interrupt supply.
Life doesn’t end if a Virgin Package is interrupted; but what about if truly essential services are interrupted for non-payment?
Electricity, Gas & Water truly are essential. But consider the rigmarole their suppliers have to go through, to help minimise the costs borne by their other customers who pay on time. Yes, there are many who face financial hardship and should be assisted; but there are also a significant number who take-the-p1ss. Those who profess to being unable to pay for their ‘leccy, which feeds the wide-screen TV, that their kids’/partner(s) X-box is connected-to; that is essential to charge their smartphone.
Kudos to Virgin for reinstating the connection so rapidly. That Virgin originally indicated reinstatement would be ~5 days probably/undoubtably erred on the side of caution. But imagine the ear-bashing they’d receive if they’d promised 4 days & it took 5 days.
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June 3, 2015 at 11:55 am -
One bottle of £5 vino a fortnight – a treat, however pathetic that sounds – is not a great dint in any bill I have to pay. Incidentally, they are always paid; I’d pay them all on time if I could, but circumstances don’t always enable that to happen. This is the first time I’ve ever had any supply cut off, so that speaks for itself, really. As said in the piece, my prime concern was that I wouldn’t be able to post anything on here, so I was thinking of you’s lot!
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June 3, 2015 at 1:54 pm -
I thought a couple of the regulars were being a little harsh, Petunia, until reading of your profligacy: £5 a bottle!
Having had a similar life-trajectory – church-mouse poor, basically – I too have refined my penny-pinching ways to an art-form (and what a secret little thrill it is to spot a true bargain in amongst the hoodwinkery!).I therefore recommend getting a few cases of the following put behind the bar:
http://scontent-b.cdninstagram.com/hphotos-xpa1/t51.2885-15/10540468_577189529059552_1727480809_n.jpg
Never more than 1,29€ here (less than a pound!) & frequently on offer at 0,99€, it’s a cheeky little number from Lidl, and aptly-named for The Arms: Libertario.
The mounted sword-wielder of the label – embossed! – can be imagined cutting through the bullshit, jabbing life’s miseryguts in the backside or decapitating impatient utility-bill collectors, as the mood might take you.¡Salud!
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June 3, 2015 at 2:27 pm -
To tell the truth, I’m a white man (that’s drink, not as in ‘play the…’), but I’m sure some of the more, ahm, specialist supermarkets in the neighbourhood may curb my reckless spending!
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June 3, 2015 at 2:49 pm -
Oh crikey, then we must sink yet deeper into the bargain-bin:
http://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/05/6d/06/58/restaurante-puerto-de.jpg
‘Conde Noble’ comes both in bottle and – gulps hard – 1-litre Tetrabrik. And I’m afraid I go for the latter (same price, same wine, and see above about money-management). I always try to loudly think out loud if there is somebody else in the aisle, something about a risotto I’m planning on cooking later & about how this wine would be a perfect ingredient for it, as if I have no intention of actually drinking the stuff! But of course I do…-
June 3, 2015 at 3:17 pm -
Hellfire, scrap the above advice.
I have just found the following:
http://edinburgh.tab.co.uk/2015/02/26/we-sampled-the-cheapest-wines-to-help-you-with-your-budget-boozing/
Judging by their Lidl ‘wine & cheese’ parties the following conclusions have been reached:1) there are more refined palettes than my own. Embarrasingly, first-year students’ by the look of things.
2) the taxes levied in the UK on the humble boozer are a disgrace. You have to pay FOUR times what we pay here. Yoiks.(Similarly with tobacco: although I’m no longer a smoker I did have cause to buy some cigs in a failed attempt to make an “eco-insecticide”. The cheapest I could find were 5,40€ (or about 4 quid). Not for a packet, either – a full carton. I’m now off to spend the rest of the day counting my blessings.)
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June 3, 2015 at 10:36 am -
“It was turning out to be ‘one of those days’.” Is that by any chance a Roy Harper reference?
I feel your pain. I’m in a similar situation myself, childless singleton with no dependents, that’s unless you count my aging parents – whenever I’m asked “have you got any kids?” I usually reply “yes a girl aged 79 and a boy aged 82″. When people tell me “to get a life” I respond with ” I wish I could but I can’t afford it”. My spending has been cut to the bone. The only “luxuries” left are my vehicle (probably next to go) and the internet.
My father refuses point blank to touch modern technology. His mantra is “everything was better when we used pen and paper”. The older I get, the more I think he has a point. I too miss the old gas showrooms – just one example of where you could go and “pay over the counter”.
I used to be a Virgin customer in the days of dial-up. My experience with them was very good. I think Branson is probably the least worst face of modern globalisation.
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June 3, 2015 at 11:02 am -
“The drinks are on me” – there’s your cash-flow problem in one!
Might I humbly suggest a tip box for the site? You have invigorated this site and (hopefully) provided Anna with much-needed relief from the day-to-day running of it. I’m sure your avid readers would be quite happy to give a little – your articles are always interesting and usually very informative and humorous.
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June 3, 2015 at 11:37 am -
“Might I humbly suggest a tip box for the site?” – seconded.
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June 3, 2015 at 12:02 pm -
A little wooden box is being nailed on the wall next to the gents as we speak.
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June 3, 2015 at 2:50 pm -
Wouldn’t that be deemed a ‘Politically Incorrect’ location?
What about the ladies, trans-gendered & hermaphroditically-equipped who may desire to contribute?
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June 3, 2015 at 11:04 am -
Those questioning Pet’s financial priority setting should bear in mind that Pet is a writer. As a writer it is de rigueur for him to live in an unheated garrett, with only the rats, the typewriter, half a bottle of Scotch and a packet of filterless cigarettes for company…except when his muse comes by for an afternoon shag. It’s a law.
If you can’t count his ribs, then he isn’t an artist. You can have great book writing or great book keeping but not both.
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June 3, 2015 at 11:57 am -
Hahhah. Sounds like ‘er upstairs has been talking again. You’ve summarised my existence in a couple of paragraphs with unnerving accuracy.
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June 3, 2015 at 1:21 pm -
You’ve summarised my existence in a couple of paragraphs with unnerving accuracy.
Actually I’m pretty sure it is the industry standard life style. I wouldn’t claim to be any kind of writer but when the Muse has come upon me (or rather under me cos I tend to write about sex or computers) I know just how frighteningly quickly I can return to type…and typing on a keyboard that doubles as an ashtray and a plate. It’s probably the fact that The Bestes Frau In The World is 1.Insane and 2.a virulent antismoker that I never became a full time writer. Can’t write when one eye and at least one brain cell are occupied with watching over her and I can’t even THINK without a cigarette in my hand.
But put me outside a Café on the Continent or even Camden, in 30C + sunshine, where (to misquote a song about Brendan Behan) “streams of Coffee are flowing”, a carton of good cigs, laptop and a high bandwidth internet connection for Spellcheck and I can WRITE…..badly, even manage a little light poetry on a really good day…
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June 3, 2015 at 2:31 pm -
The joke is I do actually live in what could probably be classed a garrett – a large Victorian house divided into separate flats with me up in what would have been the servants’ quarters. And it is indeed unheated.
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June 3, 2015 at 3:23 pm -
in what would have been the servants’ quarters. And it is indeed unheated.
I hate to pick bones but the correct terminology is : “period Chambre de Bonne ,seasonal temperature control and environmentally friendly Air Con with great view”.
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June 3, 2015 at 11:25 am -
I always thought Virgin Virgins, the mail-order Russian bride service, was a missed branding opportunity.
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June 3, 2015 at 11:59 am -
I always thought that Sir Stelios Haji-Ioannou of easy jet fame missed a golden opportunity to capitalise on the prostitution racket. I’m confident that a chain of low cost brothels promoted under the brand “Easy Lay” would have proved extremely popular.
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June 3, 2015 at 1:55 pm -
Well – somebody has to say it, so I will. It’s a good job Branson never bought the London Rubber Company; Virgin Condoms would have been an interesting selling challenge for the ad-men.
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June 3, 2015 at 12:02 pm -
I had my own experience of these a few years ago:
https://archive.org/details/WelcomeToFuckedByVirgin
plus ça change
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June 3, 2015 at 12:06 pm -
I personally regard Branson as an obnoxious queynt (viz previous article). He pretends to have had a rags to riches life story, but in truth, it’s riches to huge riches story (the correct term today appears to be ‘obscene riches’, but I didn’t say that because I don’t think riches are necessarily obscene). In the case of Branson, he strikes me as a friend of Blair too …
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June 3, 2015 at 12:36 pm -
“friend of Blair”… I think that qualifies as even worse slur than a “friend of Dorothy”…
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June 3, 2015 at 1:23 pm -
Intentionally, dear Windsock, intentionally.
Is it just my vulgar mind, or does Judy Garland as Dorothy have the walk of someone fairly recently deflowered with an oversize object? I suppose that those three leering farmhands could have had something to do with it? No wonder she has nightmares about them. Perhaps another Savile-hunt is in order!
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June 3, 2015 at 1:43 pm -
someone fairly recently deflowered with an oversize object?
“Following rumors that Frank Gumm (Judy Garland’s Dad) had made sexual advances towards male ushers, the family relocated to Lancaster, California ” -Wiki (my interpolation)
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June 3, 2015 at 2:13 pm -
The pace of change really is pretty unrelenting these days. It’s no wonder those of more mature years sometimes find modern life frustrating and rather bewildering. No sooner do you become accustomed to the new ways than technology jumps three steps and they’re suddenly the old ways, and you find yourself being patronised for being an old stick-in-the-mud.
When I was a know-everything student, we spent a lot of time learning how to programme computers in Fortran. Fat lot of use that is these days. On the other hand, the strength of materials theory that I used day-in-day-out at work was developed about 150 years ago, and is still sound. Funny old world.
The faster technology develops, the more I find myself seeking the simpler life. It’s just a lot less bother. In the end, I sort of compromise; the computer and interweb connection I’ll live with, but I can manage without several million television channels I’d very seldom watch anyway. Thank the Lord for personal choice, eh?
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June 3, 2015 at 2:25 pm -
To be fair, the thought of being without BBC4 was a killer. I’m not even really aware of what else is available (though I can hazard a pretty good guess).
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June 3, 2015 at 3:10 pm -
Engineer, What makes you think your Fortran knowledge is a fat lot of good these days? Lots of software is still written in Fortran. The Fortran 95 standard encapsulates the whole of Fortran 77, and although later standards (2003, 2008) add a lot of incomprehensible stuff, the old programs compile and run just fine. Most compilers support some sort of Windows interface (unless on a Mac, where it is the same but different) and graphics. One of the best for facilities is Silverfrost FTN95 which allows you to write complete Windows applications in Fortran. Fortran is, of course, ideally suited to the sequential algorithms you learnt as a student (and still use).
I struggled to think of what theory is 150 years old. Rankine’s Earth Pressure theory (1857) was my best bet. Elasticity is much older, Plasticity younger. Finite difference and finite element methods are very much younger, although the latter depends on the Rayleigh-Ritz method, and thus potentially on Green’s Theorem – either younger or older than the age you gave. Reinforced and prestressed concrete: younger. So I gave up guessing.
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June 3, 2015 at 3:33 pm -
I never write programmes. The software engineers do that. As for strength of materials theory, beam theory was developed in the 1830’s when railway bridges started collapsing and nobody was quite sure why. I’m fairly sure that Fairbairn was one name associated with that development, though the rather ‘practical’ nature of many British engineers of the time meant that quite a lot of the science and theory emanated from the rather more cerebral (at the time) French and Germans.
There again, I might be entirely wrong. I often am.
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June 3, 2015 at 3:22 pm -
Interestingly, back when I had a telly, I used to scour the weekly schedules for something worth watching, and whilst it was rare indeed to find anything tempting on BBC1 or 3, the good stuff was about evenly divided between BBC 2 and 4, with an occasional sortie into Channel 4 or ITV. I never indulged in cable or satellite, so I’ve no idea what their offerings were like. By the time I gave up telly altogether, BBC 4 had somewhat dried up, and I was down to Dad’s Army repeats (seen ’em all before anyway) and the Six Nations rugby (which I do miss a bit).
Nowadays, the nearest I come to ‘telly’ is finding stuff on Youtube, which has some really interesting specialist videos on all sorts of arcane subjects that would never be aired by a commercial or even a public service broadcaster. (It’s true that there’s an awful lot of dross too, but you can just ignore all that.) I do wonder if the future of broadcasting lies in that sort of direction.
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June 3, 2015 at 3:19 pm -
This was a letter of complaint sent to NTL, a Virgin forerunner:
COMPLAINTS
The British do have a way with words…. A real-life customer complaint letter sent to the customer service dep’t of NTL.
Dear Cretins,
I have been an NTL customer since 9th July 2001, when I signed up for your 3-in-one deal for cable TV, cable modem, and telephone. During this three-month period I have encountered inadequacy of service which I had not previously considered possible, as well as ignorance and stupidity of monolithic proportions. Please allow me to provide specific details, so that you can either pursue your professional prerogative, and seek to rectify these difficulties – or more likely (I suspect) so that you can have some entertaining reading material as you while away the working day smoking B&H and drinking vendor-coffee on the bog in your office:
My initial installation was cancelled without warning, resulting in my spending an entire Saturday sitting on my fat arse waiting for your technician to arrive. When he did not arrive, I spent a further 57 minutes listening to your infuriating ‘ on hold’ music, and the even more annoying Scottish robot woman telling me to look at your helpful website….HOW?
I alleviated the boredom by playing with my testicles for a few minutes – an activity at which you are no-doubt both familiar and highly adept. The rescheduled installation then took place some two weeks later, although the technician did forget to bring a number of vital tools – such as a drill-bit, and his cerebrum. Two weeks later, my cable modem had still not arrived. After 15 telephone calls over 4 weeks my modem finally arrived… six weeks after I had requested it, and begun to pay for it.
I estimate your internet server’s downtime is roughly 35%… hours between about 6pm -midnight, Mon-Fri, and most of the weekend. I am still waiting for my telephone connection. I have made 9 calls on my mobile to your no-help line, and have been unhelpfully transferred to a variety of disinterested individuals, who are it seems also highly skilled bollock jugglers.
I have been informed that a telephone line is available (and someone will call me back); that no telephone line is available (and someone will call me back); that I will be transferred to someone who knows whether or not a telephone line is available (and then been cut off); that I will be transferred to someone (and then been redirected to an answer machine informing me that your office is closed); that I will be transferred to someone and then been redirected to the irritating Scottish robot woman…and several other variations on this theme.
Doubtless you are no longer reading this letter, as you have at least a thousand other dissatisfied customers to ignore, and also another one of those crucially important testicle-moments to attend to. Frankly I don’t care, it’s far more satisfying as a customer to voice my frustration’s in print than to shout them at your unending ‘on hold’ music. Forgive me, therefore, if I continue. I thought BT were s*it, that they had attained the holy piss-pot of godawful customer relations, that no-one, anywhere, ever, could be more disinterested, less helpful or more obstructive to delivering service to their customers. That’s why I chose NTL, and because, well, there isn’t anyone else is there? How surprised I therefore was, when I discovered to my considerable dissatisfaction and disappointment what a useless shower of w***kers you truly are. You are sputum-filled pieces of distended rectum incompetents of the highest order.
British Telecom – w***kers though they are – shine like brilliant beacons of success, in the filthy puss-filled mire of your seemingly limitless inadequacy. Suffice to say that I have now given up on my futile and foolhardy quest to receive any kind of service from you. I suggest that you cease any potential future attempts to extort payment from me for the services which you have so pointedly and catastrophically failed to deliver – any such activity will be greeted initially with hilarity and disbelief quickly be replaced by derision, and even perhaps bemused rage. I enclose two small deposits, selected with great care from my cats litter tray, as an expression of my utter and complete contempt for both you and your pointless company. I sincerely hope that they have not become desiccated during transit – they were satisfyingly moist at the
time of posting, and I would feel considerable disappointment if you did not experience both their rich aroma and delicate texture. Consider them the very embodiment of my feelings towards NTL, and its worthless employees.Have a nice day – may it be the last in you miserable short life, you irritatingly incompetent and infuriatingly unhelpful bunch of Tw**S !!!
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June 3, 2015 at 3:39 pm -
Among all the major European languages English shines out as the only one for , damn near, poetical invective. Sure, you can OFFEND in French (if the sheer fact of being French isn’t offensive enough) or INSULT in German. I’m told Russian has an unimaginable breath of Obscenities, usually involving your mother, various farm yard animals and vegetables. But only English allows the Ranter the flexibility to formulate sentences such as : ” in the filthy puss-filled mire of your seemingly limitless inadequacy”. Try swearing in German sometime…(mind you, German does have some classic ‘oaths’- “by the arse of the woodland fairy” being my personal fav)
Wherein we possibly see a reason as to why a minor Frisian dialect , that should by rights have died out sometime around the 12 Century, has gone on to conquer every tshirt eveywhere…”je suis Charlie” being the exception that proves the rule.
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