Things that annoy you beyond reason...? [Vol 3]
Discussion
Skii said:
HustleRussell said:
Skii said:
Advertisers who insist on every fully grown adult male having a full on hipster beard.
Fellow beardless wonder? Soulmate?Can I join in?
Following a DVT, I was prescribed Warfarin. The slightest percussion anywhere on my body would cause an oil slick of colourful bruises, so I was reluctant to start sliding a razor blade around my throat and face in case I cocked it up and ended up having to go sheepishly to A&E.
5 weeks I went without shaving and you could barely tell. Nowadays I can get away with shaving once a week - it's looking a bit scruffy by Friday but that's when it's casual day in the office so nobody really notices. I bought a bulk pack of Mach 3 razor blades last year and fully expect to still be using them in the 2020s.
BristolRich said:
matchmaker said:
People who don't understand how right turn filters work at traffic lights. If you don't cross the white line and move into the junction when the main lights are at green you won't activate the filter. I had to endure 3 f
king cycles of a set of lights on the way home tonight because the dosey bh in the Civic in front of me waited behind the stop line, despite the tooting and flashing of the angry old in the Escort behind her.*
Eventually I managed to reverse back and pull in front of her into the junction. Hey presto, the filter came on!
fkwit! 
Not all Traffic Light filters work like that...king cycles of a set of lights on the way home tonight because the dosey bh in the Civic in front of me waited behind the stop line, despite the tooting and flashing of the angry old in the Escort behind her.*Eventually I managed to reverse back and pull in front of her into the junction. Hey presto, the filter came on!
f
kwit! - That may have been me
Some work on the induction loop and require a vehicle to be on it to activate the filter, some are on a timed cycle, some are even on a alternate sequence cycle due to traffic flow issues e.g. the filter only comes on the second or third cycle e.g the second cycle of R, RA, G, A, R - R, RA, G, Filter Arrow, A, R.
People who tap on the glass on our front door.
Twice in the past two days I have had people tapping feebly on the glass. I only knew there were at the front door because I happened to be passing it at the time.
I have a huge lions head brass door knocker right below where the window is - please for the love of god use it. If I am in the kitchen at the back of our house with the kettle on - how the fk am I supposed to hear a feeble tap tap tap. 
Twice in the past two days I have had people tapping feebly on the glass. I only knew there were at the front door because I happened to be passing it at the time.
I have a huge lions head brass door knocker right below where the window is - please for the love of god use it. If I am in the kitchen at the back of our house with the kettle on - how the f
k am I supposed to hear a feeble tap tap tap. Moonhawk said:
People who tap on the glass on our front door.
Twice in the past two days I have had people tapping feebly on the glass. I only knew there were at the front door because I happened to be passing it at the time.
I have a huge lions head brass door knocker right below where the window is - please for the love of god use it. If I am in the kitchen at the back of our house with the kettle on - how the fk am I supposed to hear a feeble tap tap tap.
the two youngsters who think it's funny to knock on the door and run away annoy me... however we have never been fooled for 2 reasonsTwice in the past two days I have had people tapping feebly on the glass. I only knew there were at the front door because I happened to be passing it at the time.
I have a huge lions head brass door knocker right below where the window is - please for the love of god use it. If I am in the kitchen at the back of our house with the kettle on - how the f
k am I supposed to hear a feeble tap tap tap. 1) they run past the front window... every time
2) they are the only people who DON'T use the knocker or the bell ~
Whether or not Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto ever, in the immediate aftermath of the Pearl Harbor attack, uttered the “Sleeping giant” quotation oft attributed to him is a matter of debate but, as an insight into what might have passed through his troubled mind as he considered the magnitude of what he had just done, it remains a pretty powerful illustration. History records that the United States entered the Second World War and ultimately exacted a terrible revenge upon the Japanese. It wouldn’t be stretching the boundaries of possibility to suggest that old Yammers might have had a second thought or two as the Hawaiian dust began to settle. And I know exactly how he feels.
Picture the scene: A warm and pleasant early-summer evening in the beer garden of a lovely pub - I don’t know exactly when it was but let’s say some time last year. I’d had a few (natch.) and, wandering away, I happened across some random geezer with a rather nice old car. I quite like old cars and, in contrast to the bile-spitting persona I like to cultivate online, I can sometimes, very occasionally, be quite pleasant in real life. So I smiled at the bloke, as you do, and uttered some throwaway comment. A quick, “Nice car mate,” or some such.
BIG fking mistake. After about twenty minutes it became apparent he was completely and utterly fking obsessed with this vehicle. By the time a couple of hours had passed I could have had a pretty good stab at writing an operator’s manual for the bd thing. Worse than that, I’d started to sober up. Eventually, about three fking weeks later, I managed to get away, vowing to never, ever again offer an innocent pleasantry to a stranger.
If only it had ended there. Happy to have made a like-minded pal, he now makes a bd beeline for me whenever he spots me. If I’m not quick (or compos) enough to detect his approach he streaks over, homing in like an Exocet bd missile to regale me with more tedious tales of his latest adventures in the nasty old heap. And I swear he can see through fking walls.
I have tried many times to strike up a different topic of conversation: the weather, the trials and tribulations of the Bayern fking Munich ladies' team, the differences between South Asian and Northern European fish canning processes, but he will not - nay - CAN not be diverted. The other week I got a full, street by street description of the route he’d taken to pick his fking wife up from the station. Thankfully she was only seven or eight miles away; any further and I’d have seriously considered pissing off to join ISIS for a bit of respite.
Somewhere on here there's a fantasy thread about time travel; where would you go if you could travel in time? Well fk me, have I got the answer. Once, just once, if I could turn back the sands of time I'd go right back to that fking pub and make a point of leaving through another bd door.
Picture the scene: A warm and pleasant early-summer evening in the beer garden of a lovely pub - I don’t know exactly when it was but let’s say some time last year. I’d had a few (natch.) and, wandering away, I happened across some random geezer with a rather nice old car. I quite like old cars and, in contrast to the bile-spitting persona I like to cultivate online, I can sometimes, very occasionally, be quite pleasant in real life. So I smiled at the bloke, as you do, and uttered some throwaway comment. A quick, “Nice car mate,” or some such.
BIG f
king mistake. After about twenty minutes it became apparent he was completely and utterly fking obsessed with this vehicle. By the time a couple of hours had passed I could have had a pretty good stab at writing an operator’s manual for the bd thing. Worse than that, I’d started to sober up. Eventually, about three fking weeks later, I managed to get away, vowing to never, ever again offer an innocent pleasantry to a stranger.If only it had ended there. Happy to have made a like-minded pal, he now makes a b
d beeline for me whenever he spots me. If I’m not quick (or compos) enough to detect his approach he streaks over, homing in like an Exocet bd missile to regale me with more tedious tales of his latest adventures in the nasty old heap. And I swear he can see through fking walls.I have tried many times to strike up a different topic of conversation: the weather, the trials and tribulations of the Bayern f
king Munich ladies' team, the differences between South Asian and Northern European fish canning processes, but he will not - nay - CAN not be diverted. The other week I got a full, street by street description of the route he’d taken to pick his fking wife up from the station. Thankfully she was only seven or eight miles away; any further and I’d have seriously considered pissing off to join ISIS for a bit of respite.Somewhere on here there's a fantasy thread about time travel; where would you go if you could travel in time? Well f
k me, have I got the answer. Once, just once, if I could turn back the sands of time I'd go right back to that fking pub and make a point of leaving through another bd door.Roy Lime said:
Stuff
Similar thing - there's a guy in the working men's club in the village, a place I only frequent when hammered as I'm neither local or 5th generation.I made the mistake of engaging a guy in conversation once and drunkenly debating religion (I forget his standpoint but he was being a loon) and I couldn't get away from him. Even when I "went outside for a cigarette with my mate" (I don't smoke).
The next time I was there, I tried to avoid him, but he was slagging off the Army saying that all soldiers are only trained to kill and I mistakenly took this up as my opportunity to provide a polite counter argument - only to find him right in my face, inches away, offering his viewpoint. I left early lest I said something I truly regretted.
I called him a few names only to find that the mate I ended up not smoking with was a friend of his - real "foot in mouth" moment.
I still go to the social club on occasion, but I can avoid him at least now - Apart from the fact that he drops off and picks up his daughter from my daughter's school. And he recognises me. But at least I can avoid and ignore him properly - usually...
Roy Lime said:
Whether or not Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto ever, in the immediate aftermath of the Pearl Harbor attack, uttered the “Sleeping giant” quotation oft attributed to him is a matter of debate but, as an insight into what might have passed through his troubled mind as he considered the magnitude of what he had just done, it remains a pretty powerful illustration. History records that the United States entered the Second World War and ultimately exacted a terrible revenge upon the Japanese. It wouldn’t be stretching the boundaries of possibility to suggest that old Yammers might have had a second thought or two as the Hawaiian dust began to settle. And I know exactly how he feels.
Picture the scene: A warm and pleasant early-summer evening in the beer garden of a lovely pub - I don’t know exactly when it was but let’s say some time last year. I’d had a few (natch.) and, wandering away, I happened across some random geezer with a rather nice old car. I quite like old cars and, in contrast to the bile-spitting persona I like to cultivate online, I can sometimes, very occasionally, be quite pleasant in real life. So I smiled at the bloke, as you do, and uttered some throwaway comment. A quick, “Nice car mate,” or some such.
BIG fking mistake. After about twenty minutes it became apparent he was completely and utterly fking obsessed with this vehicle. By the time a couple of hours had passed I could have had a pretty good stab at writing an operator’s manual for the bd thing. Worse than that, I’d started to sober up. Eventually, about three fking weeks later, I managed to get away, vowing to never, ever again offer an innocent pleasantry to a stranger.
If only it had ended there. Happy to have made a like-minded pal, he now makes a bd beeline for me whenever he spots me. If I’m not quick (or compos) enough to detect his approach he streaks over, homing in like an Exocet bd missile to regale me with more tedious tales of his latest adventures in the nasty old heap. And I swear he can see through fking walls.
I have tried many times to strike up a different topic of conversation: the weather, the trials and tribulations of the Bayern fking Munich ladies' team, the differences between South Asian and Northern European fish canning processes, but he will not - nay - CAN not be diverted. The other week I got a full, street by street description of the route he’d taken to pick his fking wife up from the station. Thankfully she was only seven or eight miles away; any further and I’d have seriously considered pissing off to join ISIS for a bit of respite.
Somewhere on here there's a fantasy thread about time travel; where would you go if you could travel in time? Well fk me, have I got the answer. Once, just once, if I could turn back the sands of time I'd go right back to that fking pub and make a point of leaving through another bd door.
You have my deepest sympathy.Picture the scene: A warm and pleasant early-summer evening in the beer garden of a lovely pub - I don’t know exactly when it was but let’s say some time last year. I’d had a few (natch.) and, wandering away, I happened across some random geezer with a rather nice old car. I quite like old cars and, in contrast to the bile-spitting persona I like to cultivate online, I can sometimes, very occasionally, be quite pleasant in real life. So I smiled at the bloke, as you do, and uttered some throwaway comment. A quick, “Nice car mate,” or some such.
BIG f
king mistake. After about twenty minutes it became apparent he was completely and utterly fking obsessed with this vehicle. By the time a couple of hours had passed I could have had a pretty good stab at writing an operator’s manual for the bd thing. Worse than that, I’d started to sober up. Eventually, about three fking weeks later, I managed to get away, vowing to never, ever again offer an innocent pleasantry to a stranger.If only it had ended there. Happy to have made a like-minded pal, he now makes a b
d beeline for me whenever he spots me. If I’m not quick (or compos) enough to detect his approach he streaks over, homing in like an Exocet bd missile to regale me with more tedious tales of his latest adventures in the nasty old heap. And I swear he can see through fking walls.I have tried many times to strike up a different topic of conversation: the weather, the trials and tribulations of the Bayern f
king Munich ladies' team, the differences between South Asian and Northern European fish canning processes, but he will not - nay - CAN not be diverted. The other week I got a full, street by street description of the route he’d taken to pick his fking wife up from the station. Thankfully she was only seven or eight miles away; any further and I’d have seriously considered pissing off to join ISIS for a bit of respite.Somewhere on here there's a fantasy thread about time travel; where would you go if you could travel in time? Well f
k me, have I got the answer. Once, just once, if I could turn back the sands of time I'd go right back to that fking pub and make a point of leaving through another bd door.A colleague of mine is into sailing.
Every conversation, with me or anyone else, whatever the subject, is quickly morphed to a life on the ocean wave.
Bores the pants off all and sundry.
Roy Lime said:
Whether or not Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto ever, in the immediate aftermath of the Pearl Harbor attack, uttered the “Sleeping giant” quotation oft attributed to him is a matter of debate but, as an insight into what might have passed through his troubled mind as he considered the magnitude of what he had just done, it remains a pretty powerful illustration. History records that the United States entered the Second World War and ultimately exacted a terrible revenge upon the Japanese. It wouldn’t be stretching the boundaries of possibility to suggest that old Yammers might have had a second thought or two as the Hawaiian dust began to settle. And I know exactly how he feels.
Picture the scene: A warm and pleasant early-summer evening in the beer garden of a lovely pub - I don’t know exactly when it was but let’s say some time last year. I’d had a few (natch.) and, wandering away, I happened across some random geezer with a rather nice old car. I quite like old cars and, in contrast to the bile-spitting persona I like to cultivate online, I can sometimes, very occasionally, be quite pleasant in real life. So I smiled at the bloke, as you do, and uttered some throwaway comment. A quick, “Nice car mate,” or some such.
BIG fking mistake. After about twenty minutes it became apparent he was completely and utterly fking obsessed with this vehicle. By the time a couple of hours had passed I could have had a pretty good stab at writing an operator’s manual for the bd thing. Worse than that, I’d started to sober up. Eventually, about three fking weeks later, I managed to get away, vowing to never, ever again offer an innocent pleasantry to a stranger.
If only it had ended there. Happy to have made a like-minded pal, he now makes a bd beeline for me whenever he spots me. If I’m not quick (or compos) enough to detect his approach he streaks over, homing in like an Exocet bd missile to regale me with more tedious tales of his latest adventures in the nasty old heap. And I swear he can see through fking walls.
I have tried many times to strike up a different topic of conversation: the weather, the trials and tribulations of the Bayern fking Munich ladies' team, the differences between South Asian and Northern European fish canning processes, but he will not - nay - CAN not be diverted. The other week I got a full, street by street description of the route he’d taken to pick his fking wife up from the station. Thankfully she was only seven or eight miles away; any further and I’d have seriously considered pissing off to join ISIS for a bit of respite.
Somewhere on here there's a fantasy thread about time travel; where would you go if you could travel in time? Well fk me, have I got the answer. Once, just once, if I could turn back the sands of time I'd go right back to that fking pub and make a point of leaving through another bd door.
Picture the scene: A warm and pleasant early-summer evening in the beer garden of a lovely pub - I don’t know exactly when it was but let’s say some time last year. I’d had a few (natch.) and, wandering away, I happened across some random geezer with a rather nice old car. I quite like old cars and, in contrast to the bile-spitting persona I like to cultivate online, I can sometimes, very occasionally, be quite pleasant in real life. So I smiled at the bloke, as you do, and uttered some throwaway comment. A quick, “Nice car mate,” or some such.
BIG f
king mistake. After about twenty minutes it became apparent he was completely and utterly fking obsessed with this vehicle. By the time a couple of hours had passed I could have had a pretty good stab at writing an operator’s manual for the bd thing. Worse than that, I’d started to sober up. Eventually, about three fking weeks later, I managed to get away, vowing to never, ever again offer an innocent pleasantry to a stranger.If only it had ended there. Happy to have made a like-minded pal, he now makes a b
d beeline for me whenever he spots me. If I’m not quick (or compos) enough to detect his approach he streaks over, homing in like an Exocet bd missile to regale me with more tedious tales of his latest adventures in the nasty old heap. And I swear he can see through fking walls.I have tried many times to strike up a different topic of conversation: the weather, the trials and tribulations of the Bayern f
king Munich ladies' team, the differences between South Asian and Northern European fish canning processes, but he will not - nay - CAN not be diverted. The other week I got a full, street by street description of the route he’d taken to pick his fking wife up from the station. Thankfully she was only seven or eight miles away; any further and I’d have seriously considered pissing off to join ISIS for a bit of respite.Somewhere on here there's a fantasy thread about time travel; where would you go if you could travel in time? Well f
k me, have I got the answer. Once, just once, if I could turn back the sands of time I'd go right back to that fking pub and make a point of leaving through another bd door.
Car/van seats with lever adjustment as opposed to a good old fashioned fine adjustment knobs.
Pull the lever, backrest comes forwards - too much, I'm bolt upright. Pull the lever, push backrest backwards - too much, i'm practically lying down.
Anything in between? Nah, forget it, I just can't get comfortable with these, annoys the crap out of me!
Pull the lever, backrest comes forwards - too much, I'm bolt upright. Pull the lever, push backrest backwards - too much, i'm practically lying down.
Anything in between? Nah, forget it, I just can't get comfortable with these, annoys the crap out of me!
Studio117 said:
Roy Lime said:
Whether or not Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto ever, in the immediate aftermath of the Pearl Harbor attack, uttered the “Sleeping giant” quotation oft attributed to him is a matter of debate but, as an insight into what might have passed through his troubled mind as he considered the magnitude of what he had just done, it remains a pretty powerful illustration. History records that the United States entered the Second World War and ultimately exacted a terrible revenge upon the Japanese. It wouldn’t be stretching the boundaries of possibility to suggest that old Yammers might have had a second thought or two as the Hawaiian dust began to settle. And I know exactly how he feels.
Picture the scene: A warm and pleasant early-summer evening in the beer garden of a lovely pub - I don’t know exactly when it was but let’s say some time last year. I’d had a few (natch.) and, wandering away, I happened across some random geezer with a rather nice old car. I quite like old cars and, in contrast to the bile-spitting persona I like to cultivate online, I can sometimes, very occasionally, be quite pleasant in real life. So I smiled at the bloke, as you do, and uttered some throwaway comment. A quick, “Nice car mate,” or some such.
BIG fking mistake. After about twenty minutes it became apparent he was completely and utterly fking obsessed with this vehicle. By the time a couple of hours had passed I could have had a pretty good stab at writing an operator’s manual for the bd thing. Worse than that, I’d started to sober up. Eventually, about three fking weeks later, I managed to get away, vowing to never, ever again offer an innocent pleasantry to a stranger.
If only it had ended there. Happy to have made a like-minded pal, he now makes a bd beeline for me whenever he spots me. If I’m not quick (or compos) enough to detect his approach he streaks over, homing in like an Exocet bd missile to regale me with more tedious tales of his latest adventures in the nasty old heap. And I swear he can see through fking walls.
I have tried many times to strike up a different topic of conversation: the weather, the trials and tribulations of the Bayern fking Munich ladies' team, the differences between South Asian and Northern European fish canning processes, but he will not - nay - CAN not be diverted. The other week I got a full, street by street description of the route he’d taken to pick his fking wife up from the station. Thankfully she was only seven or eight miles away; any further and I’d have seriously considered pissing off to join ISIS for a bit of respite.
Somewhere on here there's a fantasy thread about time travel; where would you go if you could travel in time? Well fk me, have I got the answer. Once, just once, if I could turn back the sands of time I'd go right back to that fking pub and make a point of leaving through another bd door.
Picture the scene: A warm and pleasant early-summer evening in the beer garden of a lovely pub - I don’t know exactly when it was but let’s say some time last year. I’d had a few (natch.) and, wandering away, I happened across some random geezer with a rather nice old car. I quite like old cars and, in contrast to the bile-spitting persona I like to cultivate online, I can sometimes, very occasionally, be quite pleasant in real life. So I smiled at the bloke, as you do, and uttered some throwaway comment. A quick, “Nice car mate,” or some such.
BIG f
king mistake. After about twenty minutes it became apparent he was completely and utterly fking obsessed with this vehicle. By the time a couple of hours had passed I could have had a pretty good stab at writing an operator’s manual for the bd thing. Worse than that, I’d started to sober up. Eventually, about three fking weeks later, I managed to get away, vowing to never, ever again offer an innocent pleasantry to a stranger.If only it had ended there. Happy to have made a like-minded pal, he now makes a b
d beeline for me whenever he spots me. If I’m not quick (or compos) enough to detect his approach he streaks over, homing in like an Exocet bd missile to regale me with more tedious tales of his latest adventures in the nasty old heap. And I swear he can see through fking walls.I have tried many times to strike up a different topic of conversation: the weather, the trials and tribulations of the Bayern f
king Munich ladies' team, the differences between South Asian and Northern European fish canning processes, but he will not - nay - CAN not be diverted. The other week I got a full, street by street description of the route he’d taken to pick his fking wife up from the station. Thankfully she was only seven or eight miles away; any further and I’d have seriously considered pissing off to join ISIS for a bit of respite.Somewhere on here there's a fantasy thread about time travel; where would you go if you could travel in time? Well f
k me, have I got the answer. Once, just once, if I could turn back the sands of time I'd go right back to that fking pub and make a point of leaving through another bd door.Evoluzione said:
Car/van seats with lever adjustment as opposed to a good old fashioned fine adjustment knobs.
Pull the lever, backrest comes forwards - too much, I'm bolt upright. Pull the lever, push backrest backwards - too much, i'm practically lying down.
Anything in between? Nah, forget it, I just can't get comfortable with these, annoys the crap out of me!
Surely this is not an annoyance it must be a third world problem. Do you not have electric seats that position themselves to your setting when you open the car? Christ my ancient Range Rover has His and Hers keys. Pull the lever, backrest comes forwards - too much, I'm bolt upright. Pull the lever, push backrest backwards - too much, i'm practically lying down.
Anything in between? Nah, forget it, I just can't get comfortable with these, annoys the crap out of me!
fking hawkers and con artists. I'm in this stty country for 6 months, bringing work for 20 odd people, but because I'm Western and white and stand out like a sore thumb, I'm treated like a cash cow for everything. Just fk off all of you. I'm not some fking rich prick gap yah student on mummy's money. I need my salary to pay my UK mortgage and keep my UK family, not to fking be milked my you lot for all I'm worth. I fking hate this country and I'm here for another 5 months and 3 weeks.
India annoys me beyond reason.
king hawkers and con artists. I'm in this stty country for 6 months, bringing work for 20 odd people, but because I'm Western and white and stand out like a sore thumb, I'm treated like a cash cow for everything. Just fk off all of you. I'm not some fking rich prick gap yah student on mummy's money. I need my salary to pay my UK mortgage and keep my UK family, not to fking be milked my you lot for all I'm worth. I fking hate this country and I'm here for another 5 months and 3 weeks. India annoys me beyond reason.
And faux-poor man posts like marmite above. I bet your "ancient" range rover isn't really ancient. But hey this is PH where anything older than 3 years is about to explode.
Many things annoy me this morning. I'm going for a swim.
ETA: marmite, I think I may have misunderstood your post and be owed a parrot. Apologies.
Many things annoy me this morning. I'm going for a swim.
ETA: marmite, I think I may have misunderstood your post and be owed a parrot. Apologies.
OpulentBob said:
And faux-poor man posts like marmite above. I bet your "ancient" range rover isn't really ancient. But hey this is PH where anything older than 3 years is about to explode.
Many things annoy me this morning. I'm going for a swim.
ETA: marmite, I think I may have misunderstood your post and be owed a parrot. Apologies.
No worries Bob My Range Rover really is ancient but it does have the handy his and hers key.Many things annoy me this morning. I'm going for a swim.
ETA: marmite, I think I may have misunderstood your post and be owed a parrot. Apologies.
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