Where has this me me me society come from?

Right, that’s it – I’m giving up being nice to strangers for Lent. I know we’re a couple of weeks into it already but surely it’s the thought that counts?

My reader probably thinks I’d assumed that stance many years ago but my parents dragged me up proper. You know the sort of drill - respect your elders, open doors for people (all genders and ages) etc.

My newly-acquired no-more-Mr-nice-guy attitude, which has been bubbling under for many years, finally burst out this morning.

It was brought on by a young woman (can I still use that phrase in these oh so PC days?) with whom I crossed paths outside the local supermercado. Well, to be fair, it was almost a collision rather than a crossing.

The scene was a narrow part of the forecourt. I spotted straight away there wouldn’t be enough room for both of us a few metres ahead so I stepped aside, stopped and waited for her. She duly swept past, head, down, texting on her mobile and never gave a moment’s thought to the fat boy with the over-laden shopping trolley who had stopped to let her pass.

What sort of younger generation have we brought into this world? I didn’t expect a civic award for my actions but a quick “thank you” or a smile would have been nice.

It’s the same nowadays with doors – hold one open for someone and most people sweep through without a murmur or even a look of gratitude.

The number of times I’ve muttered, under my breath but hopefully loud enough for the recipient to hear, “you’re welcome”. Said, obviously, with a touch of sarcasm and a hint of contempt.

And don’t get me started on the drivers who would never dream of letting someone out from a side street or across a junction. They are clearly very, very important and don’t want to lose their place in the queue.

Or those who you let past a parked car without giving you so much as a slight wave of the hand.

What on earth have us oldies done to end up with such a me me me society. And before you write in, dear reader, it’s not all Maggie Thatcher’s fault. 
So, should you be unfortunate enough to come across me outside a supermercado in future while texting your boyfriend/ girlfriend/ both and not looking where you are going, expect to be bundled to the ground by a trackie-wearing old boy with a huge smile on his face. You have been warned.

Fingers on the button, it’s the Donald and Boris show

Our next Prime Minister? Erm, I'm alright, thanks.

I love Boris. After all, he’s a friendly, charming, intellectual and erudite man.

Notice I only say Boris – but I bet you know exactly who I mean.

For Mr Johnson must be the only politician in the UK known to most of us by his Christian name alone.

He’s certainly a character and was, in my opinion, the best host of Have I Got News For You after the BBC sacked Angus Deayton.

Political pundits say Boris is a virtual shoe-in to take over from DC when the latter calls it a day.

Our Prime Minister? No way, Jose.

How on earth can the UK be taken seriously ever again on the world-stage with Bozzo at the helm?

He may be ultra popular, being one of the few politicos who does not have the marmite factor, but he cannot seriously be considered to lead this great nation.

Hang on, though. I have just had a terrible thought. In the not too distant future we could have Donald Trump as President of the United States and Boris as Prime Minister of the UK.

That just doesn’t bear thinking about. Be afraid – be very afraid.

Mind you, their Spitting Image puppets would be a sight to behold.
Finally, I’ll leave you with my thought for the day:.
I never mince my words, which makes it tough when I have to eat them later.

Paying twice for a council service is just rubbish

I’ve always been happy to pay my fair share towards the cost of providing public services.

It’s a warm feeling knowing that one’s council tax has contributed to filling those potholes in our street; helping those little kiddie-winks get an education and even providing grants for obscure charitable causes.

Yes, I’ll pay my share. But I don’t like being asked to pay for something twice. Which is what will happen with our waste collection from early April.

If we want the local council to take away our garden/ green waste it’s going to cost us £40 a year extra.

I know that’s not a great deal of money, even for a pensioner like wot I am, but come on – it’s just not right.

We have three different coloured bins – black for general (landfill) waste, blue for recycling and brown for garden. They all used to be collected every week but switched to fortnightly several years ago, with black one week, blue and brown the next etc.

But of course halving the service did not mean cutting the council tax. Oh no, that still increased the year the waste collection was cut back.

Whilst my friend might say my principles are somewhat confused, I object to this decision on principle. Mainly because I can see it being the slippery slope to more and more additional payments for households as local government finances tighten further in future.

Want to use the library (yes, we still have one)? That’s an extra £50 a year, please. Want your street cleaned regularly? That’s an extra £30 a year. Want those well-kept gardens in the town maintained? That’s an extra £50 a year.

It sounds ridiculous, I know, but it could happen.

Anyway, back to the brown bins. I’m going to cough up the extra dosh. After all, we have an awful lot of green waste (too much to self-compost) and over 12 months it would cost more in fuel to take the waste to the local site.

But it’ll still annoy me. Mainly because the green waste we now have to pay extra to have taken away is composted by the council and the compost used by local farmers, landscapers and horticulturists. Who undoubtedly have to pay for it.
Mind you, there is Brucie bonus for all us council tax payers – if we pop along to our local Household Waste Recycling Centre we can buy bags of compost – made from materials that we have paid to have taken away. You couldn’t make it up.