Well, I thought I'd seen me Dad in a bad mood before, but tonight takes the custard bastard cream. Apparently he got really pissed off a couple of years back when one of the world's most popular news services, self acclaimed for delivering "the best business news, commentary and insight with unrivalled speed and unquestionable accuracy and depth" used to regularly nick quotes off his blog without specifically attributing to them. Instead they always used to say something like "a market observer says". Which right pissed him right fucking off. Today he tells me that he was doubly right fucking pissed right fucking off to now read the daily market report of one of the large UK grain merchants more or less passing off the comments in his Chicago report from last night as their own. If they wan t his comments why don't they just pay for then, like those nice people at GrainCo, Fengrain and Dalmark etc? To top the bastard lot, this afternoon he tells me that protagonist A is using the fucking bastard stolen quotes of protagonist B in a fucking story that the fucking robbing bastards are running attributing the fucking bastard fucking quotes to protagonist fucking B. The fucking plagiaristic fat fuckers! Now I've got to work overtime to fill two jiffy bags full of shit before last bastard post. It's a good job I had that cabbage piri piri for me tea.
You couldn't make it up could you. I spent much of the weekend dozing on the sofa watching telly. Glastonbury was on, although sad to say there was no Snoop Dog, Bone Jovi or any other canine related artists. The big news seemed to be the lack of female headliners and now we know why as one scored a spectacular own goal. She missed her slot cos she was doing her hair. It takes ages she said. Why NOT start doing your hair well before your show time. Aaagh no where's my handbag I've left it in the car, I've got to back to fetch it.