The Wheels On The Bus Go Round And Round


GCSE history asked me, “Do revolutions come full circle?”.

It took longer for my dying hardware‘s endless revolving tabs to complete typing that than it did to fill out four A4 pages of essay. Castro had fidelity built into his namesake. By all means, polish the fuck out of your latest UI. I’ve restarted to upgrade and then some and while it’s really nice you now tell me it will once again be cloudy with a chance of rain, please don’t call your product ‘revolutionary’.

I’m not in the business of recreating history, but I got tabs here competing with the Kuomintang March. If you need your smartphone to work that one out- however long Google Maps estimates for a kilometre. Multiplied by 9,000.

Twitter is dying. Mao killed the birds. If only I weren’t too chicken to do a powerwash.

Also, that should totally come with a scent. Like orange blossom. Or, you know, new laptop smell.


Didn’t I Just Talk About Owning Less Stuff? In Which I Buy More Stuff, I Guess.


Really, Sports Direct?

Forget your abysmal pay scandal. I had one iota of respect left for you. And now I’ve lost it. I’d delve into one of your giant mugs to find it, but hey, we’re dealing with your merchandise here, so apparently.. fuck it, right?

Cutaway public service announcement here for all budding retail thieves. Those giant need an industrial strength magnet to remove me anti-theft tags they stick on things as an incentive for you people to actually pay for your shit? Don’t trouble yourself perfecting the art of removing them on live ammunition in-store.  Just order from Sports Direct. They’ll deliver it right to your door, tag intact.

Really, it’s a great look. Nice striped Quicksilver hoodie. I can rock the bad girl look on a good day. This thing, though? I look like I’m under fucking house arrest. To be fair. Buying knockdown price high street sportswear online. On a weekday afternoon. From Sports Direct. I may as well be on actual house arrest. Violating my parole, spending my unlawfully-claimed benefits money while my children eat frozen potato smilies from Iceland and it doesn’t matter that ketchup just went up in price because the Jeremy Kyle Show Aftercare Team will help me with my traumas.

Really fucked off they had to pick the Quicksilver to mess up. Really? Of all the crap I bought, you had to chav out the most bourgeois item of them all? You couldn’t have just played along and stuck the tag on something more Londsdaley? Solid one star for effort, there.

This part you should be especially proud of yourselves for, though. Of course I’m going to email and complain. I don’t want a hoodie with a security tag I can’t remove. I want you to send me a replacement and a stamped addressed returns pouch so I can take your shitty customer service and post it right back to your thick-skulled heads.

The customer is king. Golden rule, right? How about a little pride in your product, though? I mean we all know it’s fall apart shit held together by whatever chemical formula you get when you mix child sweatshop tears with council estates, so it’s not like I’m expecting a product with an actual worth above £0.08, but, I don’t know, couldn’t you at least pretend?

Dear Rebecca, as a gesture of goodwill, we will refund the original postage & packing cost. Regards, Angel, Sports Direct Customer Service.

Dear Angel, many thanks for organising the dispatch and delivery of the replacement item. I have received it. I have not however received any returns pouch or envelope with which to deliver the faulty item back to you. Could you please send one? Regards, Rebecca.

Dear Rebecca, I can confirm you may dispose of the item. Regards, Angel.

Congratulations, Sports Direct. You’ve literally now confirmed your merchandise, even “higher end” to be de facto worthless.

I should organise knitting workshops. In young offenders institutions. £0.08/hr. The outcome would be of greater value than the contents of your shelves.

Ooh, look. An email from Sports Direct. They have a sale on!