This saga is way better than my bedtime read. Canât wait for the next episode
The Beyond Lockdown Diary of Paul Taylor, aged 46 and 6 months
Now that most of Britain has opened up again, excepting the petrol stations, one is expected to attend family matters of note once more. Today, I saw a great niece and great nephew get baptised. Being a great uncle is much like being a grandparent, except someone elseâs kids get you into trouble.
We had to pick up Gingoraâs aunty from the Dingle before heading out into the hinterlands, who loves me a lot apparently. She expresses such love by beating me whenever I say something outrageous, which is often.
Todayâs utterances included:-
- Donât be starting any of your Catholic gang war shit in this Anglican church.
- Show some respect. This church exists because Henry VIII couldnât keep his dick in his pants.
- The vicar comes across as a childrenâs TV entertainer stroke nonce
- Stop recruiting these poor locals to be in your Liverpool gang. Theyâre not interested.
Iâm ashamed to say that three of these comments happened in a house of God. Iâm going to hell, and Iâve probably got a few bruises.
The continuing diary of Paul Taylor, aged 46 and a half
So I went to the opticians last Saturday after Gingora made us both appointments. We had to go a little out of our way to get seen this month, so we book in at SpecSavers Belle Vale and get the tests done.
I find the opticians a bit tedious. Even before my recent eye-related mishap, Iâve had clinically fascinating eyes. They keep me in there for ages to enjoy the ocular freakshow.
We go back today to collect our new spectacles. It should be noted that Gingora is also getting contact lenses, presumably so she can upgrade from a short hairy southern twat the next time sheâs out with her mates. Her glasses are a bit Deirdre Barlow, but you donât like to say.
Anyway, Gingoraâs specs come out and theyâre just right, practically perfect in every way. She scans the interior of SpecSavers like a bird in flight picking out a worm.
My glasses arrive and matey says âdo they fit?â.
âThey fit fineâ, I say, âbut thatâs not the issueâ.
Any Scooby Doo fans will remember the terrible plight of Thelma whenever she lost her glasses. Everything goes completely blurry, she canât see shit and she has to be rescued by other members of the team.
Thatâs what putting these glasses on felt like, and to someone that is already not rocking total ocular clarity, this was an utter piss-take. Our last optician was a SpecSavers, so they pull my prescription up and we discover that theyâve neglected to put a fucking minus on the front, meaning I have the opposite of what I need.
Gingora can see I am miffed and keeps saying âitâs an honest mistakeâ and I somehow manage to think, but not say âBUT THIS IS THEIR BREAD AND BUTTER. THIS IS WHAT THEY FUCKING DOâ and simply said âIâm going outside for a smokeâ.
Itâs a missed opportunity, really. One of the funniest Top Tips Iâve ever read was.
Walk into the opticians, fumbling around and bumping into things. When you get to the counter, say âBig Mac meal, pleaseâ.
I could have done that without having to fake total blindness with these fuckers on.
New pairs are on the way, but in the meantime, the moral of the story, at least for me, is that I should not have gone to SpecSavers.
Welcome to my Specsavers-world.
Got two sets of vari-focal glasses right on the edge of lockdown (one for screen and one for every day use)
The screen ones are great for computer use but the amount of lens given over to distance is laughable and useless.
The everyday ones are misaligned and badly graded so that walking and looking down can be a health hazard- weirdly great for driving though.
Tend to use my old glasses for day to day and the new ones for the screen.
Eventually got a refund and kept the new glasses.
Not going back to Specsavers.
While I tend to agree on avoiding specsavers, Iâd add that Specs Direct arenât great either. Bought a couple of pairs recently, the cheapies arenât bad at all and came with a nicely designed magnetic polarized attachment plus a yellow night driving one. But the rayban style aviators I ordered are massive, far bigger than youâd expect. I look like Elton John in them, ffs. Heavy, too.
My Poundland reading glasses are mint.
Funny, but thatâs how I imagine what you look like IRLâŚ
You think Iâve had a hair transplant?
I was being generous tbf
Cunt
The worryingly public diary of Paul Taylor, aged 46 and a half
I never thought I would have to provide translation duties within my own house, but alas, it seems that this is what I have to put up with 21st century Britain. The two people that canât talk to each other are Gingora and Alexa, Jeff Bezosâ little spy that came to live with us in the guise of a birthday present.
Now Iâve had dealings with both in the past. Alexa puts music on when I want. Gingora tells me to fuck off if I try telling her to do anything (you have to ask nicely, and follow the twelve point plan).
Recently, weâve been using the âshopping listâ feature, which seems to be a bit of a swizz. In the past three months alone, the following items that Iâve put on Alexaâs shopping list have just failed to materialise. Examples include:-
- An armed an operational aircraft carrier
- A house trained midget
- A set of luxury steak-knives
- The Complete Works of Donald Sinden (very handy)
Things reached a new nadir the other night. I fancy one of my famous coronary cocoas (see Gorgeous Recipes thread) so ask Gingora to get some evaporated milk. It went something like this.
Alexa, put evaporated milk on the shopping list
I have put âbatteriesâ on your shopping list.
Alexa, put evaporated milk on the shopping list
I have put âbattery milkâ on your shopping list.
Paul, can you tell Alexa to put evaporated milk on the shopping list?
Alexa, put evaporated milk on the shopping list
I have put âevaporated milkâ on your shopping list.
Fuck sake. I have to do everything around here. They might even expect me to go shopping one day.
can you tell Alexa to never speak again?
I have a similar problem with my Google, they talk to me and obey me fine, wonât understand Mrs BTripz though.
To be fair I did send her a invite that said to get the best experience she had to turn on voice training (or something like that) so it would recognise her voice.
She never didâŚ
Our Alexa has had a nervous breakdown, and has been relegated to being upstairs in Mrs TBs study to be âsorted outâ.
This is the home equivalent of the council going round painting squares and circles round holes in the road - on day the hole will be miraculously filled with particles of white (or, indeed, yellow pant)
I think my daily arguments with Alexa are sadly a thing of the past.
I have lost count of the number of times the Ayatollah has caught me arguing with Alexa -
CB: âAlexa, play my playlistâ
Alexa: âplaying the monkies on spotifyâ
CB: âAlexa cancel. Alexa play my play listâ
Alexa: âplaying the monkies on spotifyâ
âALEXA YOU STUPID BINT, PLAY MY FUCKING PLAYLISTâ
Alexa: Playing Fugees on Spotify
AAARRRRGGGGHHHH
Who is Alexa?
As I (used to) shout and blaspheme at Alexa, Mrs TB would say âyou do realise that that is an inanimate object you are shouting at).
Worrying that, she probably believes Joe Biden won the 2020 election.
Of course all these bloody devices are spying on us!
as it should be
My mother, in a fit of technophobic pique, once told her Alexa device to âfuck off, Alexa.â
The machineâs reply was âI donât think I can do that.â
Having trouble speaking at all. Put fucking âbattery milkâ in my tea, didnât I?