My spies tell me the stress of lockdown is turning us into harrumphin’ al’ grumpfutticks.
According to psychologists with obviously zilch better to do, what were minor irritations before are now major gripes driving us skite. We’re transfogrifying into Moaning Minnies and Grouchin’ Grahams, never happy unless we’re scunnert aboot somethin’. And let’s face it, there’s plenty to get your goat in modern life. I did a wee straw poll with some bosom buds the other day and – surprise, surprise – oor danders get collectively up at almost exactly the same things.
The more hi-tech, the more utterly nerve-shredding. Take passwords. Yonks ago I used the same one all the time, until the kids declared I was an insecure bampot and must set different ones. Today, I’ve such an array of utterly forgettable numbers/letters/?/=/* combinations, I keep them pencilled into a wee bookie with ‘encoded’ names stashed near my computer. My dear ones declare that’s a hacking waiting to happen – but if I can’t de-encode my ‘encodes’ – fa on earth can? On the internet, my blood pressure zooms with those ruddy adverts which appear from nowhere and blast into life when you’re trying to X them ootski. Then you end up with a stream of guff for the next three months about some sooper-pooper cludgie scooper.
Less hi-tech, may I vent my wrath on plain and simple (if only) cling film. Rarely have I a roll which doesn’t have to be abandoned half-way through because I’ve lost the plot (ie end/ or is it the beginning?) tried to poke it oot, then shredded it into strips nae eese tae man nor beast. That performance is particularly life-enhancing when you’ve got folk for supper and need to get cling-filled stuff in the micro, pronto. Meanwhile, call me an academic snob, but I canna stick bad spelling and grammar. Some o’ the comments on Facebook gie me the jandies. I want to send them back corrected – but too feartie I’d be trolled …!
Typical Mo, my main Moan is probably all mine. According to the Net, it’s called ‘vocal fry’ – glam young girls faking that excruciating croak in their voices, which sounds to me like fingernails down a blackboard. Usually accompanied by an “uptalk” ie raised-voice question at the end of the sentence, like hyper-Aussie. Apparently Kim Kardashian (fa she?) has a lot to do with the spread of this imbecilic way of talking. I started getting irritated by the false-frog a couple of years ago. But today bonnie quines a’wye on telly are raspin’ awa’ like oor grandfaithers in mid-pipe. My thrapple dirls for them. Please, wee bonnie quines oot there, don’t try to copy these puddocks.
Appalled by Boris guddle
Our boss, Nicola Sturgeon, has promised that if we’re good kiddies between now and the end of the year, she’ll maybe – just maybe – give us a Christmas which won’t involve being on our ownios with just a turkey burger and pokey of trifle. Thanks Miss!
Mind you, it’s so easy to criticise her – and boy, some of the stuff online is horrific – but there’s no denying she has an almost impossible job at the moment.
The more she imposes rules to try to halt the spread of the virus, the more she infuriates some of the public and business people. She canna win.
I understand how younger folk feel like they’re being imprisoned at home, while pub and restaurant owners are losing vital cash. But she’s definitely making the right decisions by ruling that our health is a priority.
Unlike many of the Conservatives in England. They’ve slammed Sir Keir Stammer for playing politics because he’s called for a short, sharp lockdown. So how come he hasn’t been playing politics with the national emergency since March?
In fact, it’s high time he stepped in with a vengeance to highlight the appalling guddle Boris and his folk have made of our national emergency.
In parts of the country south of the border, the growing number of infections are terrifying, yet the government seems determined to keep its Tory voters happy by avoiding major hospitality closures. Here’s hoping we don’t all end up paying the awful price.
Will series be jewel in The Crown?
Canna wait! Sometime soon the final two series of The Crown will be hitting our Netflix screens.
Taking us up-to-date with the Royals, not including the ongoing Meg and Harry debacle.
However, I’m prepared for disappointments, especially having seen trailers of actress Emma Corrin as our darling Princess Di. Looks nothing like her.
And most folk agree Claire Foy as Her Maj in the first series was hugely better than the sainted Olivia Colman in the second.
I wonder if Lizzie agrees. After all, she and Phil have surely been glued to the screen.
This article originally appeared on the Evening Express website. For more information, read about our new combined website.
