Sunday, June 28, 2015


Last Friday morning my female staff was sitting in the waiting room prior to her eighteenth of thirty radiotherapy treatments.  As usual I was with her in spirit, watching her invisibly from the top of the coffee machine.  I like to sit there on chilly mornings when I go to the clinic with my female staff because its nice and warm on the old testostricles.  In theory animals who have crossed the Rainbow Bridge have the choice of being visible or invisible when we visit our living staff.  Now that's all very well if you happen to be a cat or a dog.  Everyone is always happy to see a cat or a dog, especially the Chinese and Koreans, but most humans are not so pleased to see rodents, particularly in a medical establishment, food shop or a restaurant; not even rodents like me with a halo and tiny angel wings.

Anyway, my female staff was reading the latest Vague Magazine.  "The magazine for fashion conscious menopausal women."  Apparently there was a fascinating article on incontinence pants.  Various brands had been "road tested".  There was a photo of half a dozen glamourous middle-aged women with expensive hairdos and expertly applied makeup.  That is they would have been glamourous had they not been standing there wearing just their bra and various types of incontinence pants.  Anyway, glamourous or not, they all looked surprisingly happy considering that they had just had to stand in the road and wet themselves - which I suppose is how you road test incontinence pants.  Actually I'm rather surprised that the police allow this since I can't imagine anything more distracting to drivers than six scantily clad women standing in the road trying to pee in their knickers.  I guess they would have had to drink a lot of water prior to the test or half of them would have only been able to do a little dribble at best.  Anyway, it turns out that the best incontinence pants are made by the Aussie company Driza-Bone and are called Matildas. Look out for them, they're very good, at least according to Vague Magazine.  I must say though that I thought the article was very unfair as it featured a cartoon liable to make middle-aged women laugh suddenly, thus reminding them of their need to purchase a pack of the featured product.  I guess the magazine must have been a British edition because the cartoon showed an elderly lady looking at a British Ferries advertising poster.  Over a picture of a large drive on - drive off ferry were the words Dover for the Continent.  Then underneath the picture some young smart arse had scrawled Eastbourne for the Incontinent.  Now if you're not British this may not mean a lot to you, but by way of explanation I can tell you that Dover is a big terminal for trans English Channel ferries and Eastbourne is a town famed for its retirement homes and aging population.

Now then, what was I going to talk about this week?  It must have been important.  Ah yes, I remember.  Rubbish.  Now then, the first reader to say "But Billy, You're always talking rubbish" gets the inside of their thigh bitten for stating the bleeding obvious.  I'm going to talk about trash, garbage, rubbish or whatever else you like to call the stuff that you humans produce by the millions of tons every single day.  A fair percentage of that ends up in my staff's dustbin because every time my male staff goes for a run he picks up whatever litter he finds as he goes waddling past, his tummy wobbling, making observers feeling decidedly seasick.  Actually after a recent holiday he actually trod on his own belly while out running, tripped and sprained his ego.  He had to spend a week with his feet up on the couch eating doughnuts to recover.  Anyway during yesterday's four kilometre run  he collected two empty cigarette packets, a cigarette butt, a McDonald's french fries carton, a McDonald's Chicken McNuggets carton, complete with the empty sweet chilli sauce dip container, a Carlton Mid beer can, one of those ridiculous caffeine drink cans; you know, the stuff people drink when they want to stay up all night so that they can get pissed and toss rubbish from their car.  There was a little snap-lock plastic bag which may have once contained God knows what (My male staff decided sensibly for once, not to sniff it.), a plastic shopping bag (Which actually proved quite useful for putting the rest of the stuff in.) and one of those little single serve butter containers (without the butter).

The amount of stuff he comes back with is quite incredible and it seems to be getting worse every month.  He's even talking about taking the wheelbarrow with him to put it all in.  Wait, no, maybe that was to put his belly in so that he doesn't trip over it again.  Why are some of you humans so lazy?  What's wrong with leaving the stuff in your car until you get home?  Then you can just drop it into your own bin.  You'll find that it probably takes less effort than winding down the car window and lobbing it out, then winding the window back up again so that people like my male staff can't lob it back into your car.  Maybe you've sold your own dustbin to fund your crack habit.  Who knows? My staff's neighbourhood is a pleasant semi-rural/residential area with mostly neat, well maintained gardens.  The folk who live there don't appear to be the type to spread litter around so it it must be people from elsewhere.  maybe their own streets are already so full of garbage that they have to find fresh streets to dump it in.

Australia used to be virtually litter free, at least outside of the big cities.  That's not to say that litter bugs didn't exist, of course they did.  In remote areas where the horizons are as wide as my male staff's butt local councils would erect a sort of soccer goal beside the road every couple of hundred miles so that mindless drivers and their equally mindless passengers could through their trash out of the car while travelling at eighty miles an hour to see if they could score a goal.  This had the twin advantages of  entertaining morons and confining the rubbish to fairly small areas, which made clean-ups easier.  I don't think they have them any more.

In Britain they have Tidy Town competitions.  The winning town gets the honour of displaying their achievement on those little signs you see as you enter the town.

Little Dumping on the Wold
Tidy Town Winner 1991
Welcomes Careful Drivers 

I'd like to see similar signs awarded to the winner of the wooden spoon too in order to warn drivers of what they are about to drive through.

High Stench
Britain's Untidiest Town 2014
Twinned with Wye Pass, Nevada
and Seau de Merde, France.
Drive how you want. We don't give a shit.


Plees peepul don't like just throe yor garbij owt of the car window.  Its very bad to do that cos snaykes can get there heds stuck in beer cans and that's reely not at all funny.

Also littul animals like me can like eet the garbij wot gets throne owt of the car and that can make us very pawly, in facked we can evun like dye witch is werse.  Poor Uncal Billy like dyed wunce and we haven't seen him since.

Me pretending I'm like ded.

1 comment:

  1. Baci don't die for a long time.Stevie, myself and grandfurpa love your comments at the end of uncle Billy's blog. Im sure uncle Billy doesn't want you too either. Or your staff. Love Alaisha & Stevie & Grandfurpa