May Contain Nuts

I just ate a very tasty lemon mousse from Tesco.

Whilst chowing down, I noticed the 'Allergy advice' label on the side.

It came as no surprise that it contained milk, and that it was quite proud of the fact that it contained no nuts....or sort of...

Because although it says that the recipe is nut free, it cannot guarantee that the ingredients do not contain nuts, which seems a bit fucking random.

I'm not very good at following recipes myself. If I'm making a curry, I see a recipe as more of a guide, so if I want to chuck in some cashews, I will. What I don't want is some numb nuts providing their own ingredients if they're making something that really shouldn't contain them.

Where would it end? Can we expect to find sausages in our Frosties? "Yeah, they're not in the recipe dude, but I think I may have left some in the ingredients..." I sincerely hope not.

Perhaps most disturbing on the label, is underneath the 'Ingredients' disclaimer, where it says 'Factory - Product made in nut free area, but nuts used elsewhere'.

So the whole reason there may be nuts in the mousse, is because there are nuts elsewhere in the factory.

I assume they have a toilet somewhere in the factory, so drawing on the same logic, there is also statistically the same chance that there is some human shit in my mousse.

And a few pubes.

I realise the reason they do it is to 'protect' people with nut allergies by informing them of the infinitesimally small chance that there may be some in the food, hereby preventing them from suing if the have a reaction, or just not being able to eat anything because every single product in the world now contains a warning that there may be some nut residue in it.

Fortunately, I'm not allergic to nut products, but would have a pretty fucking serious reaction if I found out that I was consuming the product of someones nuts if they decided to have a crafty wank in the toilets on their break.

So lets just see a bit of common sense. Firstly, we don't need nut warnings on bags of nuts. Its pretty fucking clear that they may contain nuts.

And let's not have warnings on stuff that has as much chance of containing nuts as it does light bulbs, toilet paper, and the contents of the stationary cupboard, just because they are used elsewhere in the factory

The mousse I just ate had as much chance of containing nuts as it did containing shit, and I'm sure it contained neither.

My shit on the other hand probably contains mousse and nuts - just in case you were planning on eating it, because I'm not planning on labeling it....

Advert Hell

Maybe I'm just the wrong demographic, but if I'm watching a TV show, then I'd like to think that advertisers would be savvy enough to think that there is something synonymous with their product and the show, that I would be interested in their tatt, and even more so by the clever way they've pitched them at me.

But I increasingly find myself not only being bemused at the wierd stuff that is being pimped at me - why would anyone watching The Big Bang Theory be in the market for an over 50's cruise? - but also angry at the visual effluent that is being shat into my eyes.

My top offenders in worst adverts on TV at the moment are...


Glade - Poo at Pauls

Just what is it that makes Pauls toilet so fucking special? It can't be just the fresh smell. If this petulant little brat was in anyway self concious about his shitting habits, he wouldn't be so insistent as to where he parked his breakfast. Maybe we should ask Pauls Dad? Or maybe we shouldn't.....




Go Compare - Fat bloke sings

Clearly jealous that Compare the Market have a cult following for their little meerkat, they've tried to jump on the bandwagon. Only with nothing in their name to make use of, some fuckwit at the ad agency has suggested getting some fat bloke to just sing it over and over again. The joke? He's a tenor, which sounds a bit like tenner. And what has that got to do with the product? Fuck all. He just looks like a cheap Mr Creosote rip off. There's a Facebook fangroup for him, only I suspect it was made up and populated by employees of the company to try to make it look cool. It does not. FAIL.



T-Mobile - All of them

I don't think it's possible to make a mobile phone advert that I will like, and you can guarentee if I see any that contain some type of mass gathering of arseholes singing in unison, it will make me do a little bit of sick in my mouth. Phones are useful things. You can call your mates to see if they're down the pub, bring up a map to find your way there, and Google the answer to whatever useless bit of trivia you end up arguing over. They will not bring about World Peace or end poverty. Particuarly not at the rates that some of them charge for services. Ads that show groups of hip young things tearing around having fun, phones in hands should be replaced with groups sat around in silence, staring blankly at their little screens while they try to work out for to Bluetooth a shit version of Black Eyed Peas already shit song to each other.



Tampax Pearl

Gaudy Posh wannabe lounges around, all dressed in white, until Mother Nature turns up with the gift in a 'red box'.

Ha fucking ha....was that even intentional?

And why pearl? When I thingk of pearls my mind turns to oysters, not bearded clams. Or maybe pearl necklaces. Interesting fact - despite what you might think a pearl necklace is you're probably wrong. It does not refer to a glittery chain of goo around a womens throat, but playing the pink oboe. The pearls in question are the pearly whites of the giver of the gift, around the neck of a cock. Any blokes reading - if you're ever asked if you've given someone a pearl necklace - you might want to reconsider your answer.



Peugeot 308

An advert so awful that I couldn't even remember the car it was sellling. I had to Google 'shit smug car advert', and what do you know, it was hit number 6. It's supposed to be Drive sexy, but the only thing I feel driven to do is smash his smug face in. We'll take that kid from the Glade advert and have him poo all over the cunts noir car.



There are many, many more that get my goatbut these are the worst culprits.

Which adverts annoy you, and why?

Business skills

Mrs Slippy has gone to the V Festival, so while the cat is away, the mice will play.

Or will they? Mice don't really 'play' do they? In the absence of cats, they generally eat everything in the cupboard, and shit everywhere.

Squeak squeak...




And whilst not eating and shitting, I am mostly watching the cricket, with Twitter and Facebook streaming in two separate windows on the laptop, and another one open onto which I am typing.

I've also taken some time out to ensure that I will be able to watch the Premiership on the computer if England haven't finished the job by 4 o'clock. I may even bring the portable tv into the living room too so I can watch the Grand Prix as well.

Who says men can't multi-task?

It is probably the business skills of multi-tasking, prioriting, and forward planning that have made me the success I am today.

Never were these skilled called more into play than back in 1998, when I was still a young man, finding my way in the World, and taking sometime out from my hectic business life to enjoy a couple of weeks holiday in Spain with some old school friends.

Nothing like a group of eight young professionals sharing a villa on the Costa del Sol to relieve the strains of day to day life in the UK. The cat wasn't away, but the mice were.

Maybe open a bottle of wine in the evening, and listen to the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore, or find a local bar and enjoy one or two local beers while making friends with the locals.

Chilled and relaxed.

One evening the others wanted to go and visit the local 'Discotheque'. I wasn't really feeling up to it myself. Probably just a bit of a combination of too much sun, and a rich Mediterranean diet, but my guts were gone to hell.

Not wanting to let the others down, I fought the cramping pains and agreed to join them. It was the last night, and so we'd probably earned a few drinks.

The club was only small. It wasn't a big resort, so it really was just the locals place to go and enjoy a night out, not some mega club. We were the only English there, and the bar staff seemed pretty pleased to have us there, with lots of very large, very free drinks.

It soon became apparent that my guts were not going to hold out. Nobody in their right mind enjoys taking a shit in someone else's toilet (except that freaky kid on the TV who wants to 'do a poo at Pauls', which I'm sure must be urban slang for something altogether sinister), but sometimes needs must.

As I said, a small club, so only a small toilet. Fortunately I hadn't started relaxing too much as I burst into los servicios. I knew that despite the urgency of the matter in hand, if I didn't want matter in my hands, I couldn't afford to drop focus until I knew it was safe to drop the kids off.

I was right to do that. A quick visual check told me there was only one cubical, and there was no paper in it. No hand towels next to the sink either meant back to he bar. I'd clocked a pile of napkins at the end of it - those would do.

As I walked round, my hand slipped up and grabbed the small pile without breaking stride, nor attracting attention.

Back in the cubicle I was hit by problem number 2 with my problem number 2.

There was no lock on the door, and it was so badly hung, it wouldn't stay shut on it's own.

And it was about 5 feet away from the seat....

Try it yourself. Sit down and see how far forwards you can reach. Unless you are;

a) an orang-utan
b) Andrew Marr
c) Dave Beasant

then I can pretty much guarantee that door is swinging open on you.

So we have priority decision time number one. Privacy, or accuracy?

If you can lean forwards enough that you can apply some pressure on the door, with your arse pointing in the general direction of the toilet (and trousers removed for added safety), then surely that is the better option than sitting and shitting, door wide open looking cold and clammy as every Juan, Luis y Fernando walks in?

I thought so.

As it turned out, removing my trousers was not required, as it was not the ground beneath me that was the high risk area. Nope, I had completely misjudged the level of pressure which had built up in my guts, and rather that 'falling short' in the gap between myself and the seat, I completely overshot with hot, liquid filth.

As I was leaning over so far, I was practically horizontal, and the wall behind the toilet now looked like someone had been at it with an industrial muck spreader.

I looked down at the small pile of drinks napkins in my hand, back at the 2 foot circle of evil on the wall (that was fast growing as gravity pulled it down to the ground), and peeped through a gap in the door to check I was still alone in there.

I was.

Priority decision number 2. I had a small pile of napkins and needed to clean;

a) My arse
b) The wall

A quick bit of 'quantity surveying' left me quite sure that I did not have enough napkins to clean both. Even if I made a rush job of my arse, the wall would need some serious attention. The longer I took thinking or cleaning, the greater the risk that someone would walk in on me.

The decision was simple. Why clean two jobs badly when you can clean one job well?

I cleaned myself with napkins to spare, but any attempt to start on the wall would have been futile. Best to just drop the lot and run before someone saw me.

So run I did, and I'm pretty sure I got away with it.

And it was there that I learned my most important dirty business skill. You don't always have to clean up your own shit, you just need to make sure nobody saw you do it, and none of it's stuck to you.

Now back to the Cricket/Football/Grand Prix/raiding the cupboard.

After I've had another shit.