My Homicidal Trio

I would describe myself as grumpy even cantankerous but very few things drive me to thoughts of physical violence but there are three things which bring me to consider murder as a solution (there may be more but I could only think of three off the top of my head), they are in no particular order:

Cyclists who ride on the pavement. Not only do they inconvenience me but they also have the audacity to get irked with people who don't get out of their way. I particularly despise they ones who wear the full cycling attire and yet still choose to avoid the road. "oh look at me I'm Eddie Mercs but I'm too pansy assed to ride in traffic". My desire is to wait until a bus comes along and then shove the lycra wearing spawns of Satan under it's wheels.

Next on my spree of violence are sneering supercilious shopstaff (did you like the illiteration there?) Many a time I've gone into a shop and - if you remember a few blogs back - I will admit I'm not the smartest dresser in the world however I continuously get looks from these surly, usually young, often anorexic cock-knockers that suggest I have brought disease and pestilence upon their shiny establishments. I've thought of many methods of removing these grease spots from the planet, guns, samurai sword, making them wear Kappa but I think my favourite is poisoned hair gel slowly seeping toxins into their brain (and as they haven't got much to begin with the process should be swift).

Finally the tantalisers. A few years ago I was on holiday in Barcelona and having read my book I was in need of some English language reading material, so I popped along to the the Ramblas and bought myself a copy of the Guardian and the only other thing I could find - Heat. In the copy of Heat I came across one of those little boxes that say things like "which superstar has recently had a picture of Richard Nixon tatooed on their butt" but I looked through the rest of the magazine, could I find out who? Could I buggery. There are lots of these things out there even in the broadsheets and it drives me crazy. It's not however nearly as irritating as when someone in a press interview or on TV starts an anecdote and says "well there was this one actor I worked with who would only go on set if two Thai ladyboys were in his trailer straight after each shot to tickle his genitalia with ostrich feathers" Of course everyone in the "industry" would know immediately who this was where as us poor muggles would be left in the dark desperately going through the interviewees IMDB listing to look up their co-stars.

These people should firstly be tortured to death in order to spill their secrets (although disappointingly the featherboy would probably turn out to be Mickey Rourke) and then their body disposed of in a vat of acid. I would like to point out that I generally advocate torturing (though not necessarily to death) all media types. Actually I have whilst sitting in pubs during the TV festival managed to catch a couple of little titbits which I shall share with you using the actual names. Ronnie Corbett, lovely guy Ronnie Barker apparently a bit of a cock. George Peppard loved it when a plan came together especially if it involved a couple of rent boys and some cocaine and Moira Stewart once challenged David Dimbley to a knife fight after they'd been out on an all night bender (wait...that last one might have been a dream).