The Judge RANTS!
At the end of a month which has been little more than an accumulation of small irritations and annoyances (having to write obituaries of two admired figures; having a large filling put in my upper-left canine; said filling - and what was left of the tooth itself - disintegrating a week later; generally shite work; and feeling nearer a state of outright depression than for some little time), I'm delighted - that is to say, pissed off - to bring you the return of an old favourite:
So there we all were, in the freezing cold of a late-winter's morning, standing around waiting for more than half an hour for a bus. Listen you bloody muppets - if you're only going to run two buses an hour to us, at least make sure that the sodding things do run!
I had hoped that being taken over by the German state railway company might have bucked their ideas up a bit, but no. Our depot is still populated by creaking, panting Dennis Darts from the arse end of the last century. And they are just about to revise (*) the bus fares which means that my weekly ticket will increase (sorry, I mean 'be revised') in price by
12.5 8 per cent.
* This is, of course, a very specialised definition of the word 'revise', whereby it only ever means 'increase'