Nobody really complains

The train from Birmingham to Liverpool; four carriages, two toilets, one out of order and the other occupied for the first thirty minutes of the journey. Didn’t want to complain and so I politely pointed out to the guy checking the tickets that toilets are not really an optional extra. “Not my fault”, he told me!

Back in Liverpool, checking the times online for the closing times at the cafe at FACT; check it and it also says seven pm on the door when you get there. Good wireless connection, goody, goody, and “a cup of coffee and a piece of cake, please.” “Sorry, we are closing at six o’clock.” “But it says seven on your website and on the door.” “Not my fault”, she told me.

Complained to FACT through their website facility, writing that “not only have I been inconvenienced but that their behaviour has also been shabby.” “Shabby” and I wonder if they will get the gist and there comes a crisis and the French get on the barricades and the British call a strike. One wonders, however, if they would even do that in Orwellian “Blighty”, nobody really complains and everything is just hunky-dory in this shabby, very frayed at the edges, sort of glitzy place, where the “Auntie Beeb” has given up all pretensions – but then they were always pretensions, weren’t they? – to inform and educate and instead concentrates on its ridiculous brain washing entertainment. Welcome, to “Brave New World” and everything is just hunky-dory!

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About sanculottist

There are a lot of poor bastards out there being used and abused; it is just not cricket "old bean". Something tells me that ignorance is not bliss, but is, in fact, simply ignorance and in the global village we cannot look the other way.
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