Welcome to Peterborough Primark, you’ll fit right in.
Welcome to Primark. A place where your average Peterbor-ian can walk in and buy a pair of jeans for £3, and not dwell on the thought any longer. They don’t think about them at all. The only thought that bounces around their skull is yay, cheap jeans. I do not shop in Primark as a matter of logical principle, and I shall tell you why.
For £3, the material for those jeans has to be bought, they have to be designed, they have to be made, they have to be regulated, the machinery that made them has to be paid for, they have to be transported, the fuel that powers that transport has to be bought, they have to be stored, the space they are stored in has to be rented, they have to be cleaned, they have to be shelved and the staff that finally sell them all have to be paid as well as the company making a worthwhile profit at the end of it all.
Somebody, somewhere down the line is being ripped off for the sale of a £3 pair of jeans to be possible. And somehow I don’t imagine it’s the corporate bosses at the top of the pile. Slave labour, or at least ridiculously low paid labour, is quite evidently being used, and everybody, from consumer to authority, is turning a blind eye.
To put it simply, Primark stands in my eyes as a gleaming example of mindless consumerism and unchecked capitalism. As a post I saw the other day aptly put it, “Eventually the poor will have nothing left to eat but the rich.”
Sorry Guys
So the few of you that follow me may have noticed that I’m rubbish at blogging at weekends. I apologise, it’s usually because I’m busy, but I do try to blog more.
Things that happened today:
• Naples (my Italian football team) won 5-1. Woo!
• I read things about quantum physics
• I went into town and found a really cool art shop with loads of Banksy stuff, but I had no camera so I couldn’t take pictures. I think I may get Em (my girlfriend) her present from there.
• I saw a horrible giant new Primark store which I will write a post about tomorrow.
• I watched my parents argue with my uncle about my other uncle.
• I ate lots of food.
That was my day. Nothing deep or inspirational, I’ll have to make up for it tomorrow.
Night all.
A Long Day in a Long Season
This is probably gonna be my only post today because it’s been a little busy, so sorry about that. Dad started teaching me to drive today, which was fun. Nothing got destroyed, whcih was more than I expected. I can go backwards, forwards and around corners, which is pretty much everything that you need to know, right?
Then came the football, a subject that is going to dominate this post. Posh 1 – 4 Blackpool. At home. Another clattering, rock bottom and staring relegation in the face. Nobody is playing well, the new loanees were dull at best. It was painfull to watch, especially seeing as we were all over them first half. I get the terrible feeling that if we get relegated to League 1, then MacAnthony and in turn Ferguson will walk. We can’t afford to. All we can do is pray for a miracle and dig in for a long, long season.
So we’re going round my uncle Giovanni’s for takeaway, it should be a good evening, nothing like spending time with the family. Apparently it’s for my good results, but who needs an excuse to get together. If I don’t post again, goodnight everybody, hope you had good Saturdays.
Eddie Murphie’s Delirious
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OBoTj6AndwY&feature=fvst
So funny, about an hour of solid laughing, one of the best sketches I’ve ever seen. Not the best to watch if you’re easily offended.
The best advice that I was ever given.
Listen before you think.
Think before you speak.
My Love Affair with the Two-Wheeled Beast
This is a post about how I became infatuated with motorcycles. Big, fuck-off motorcycles, to be precise. Okay, so calling it a love affair is probably a bit over-the-top seeing as I’ve never ridden one (unless you count a short Vespa ride through the backstreets of Naples with my uncle when I was about 10, during which I thought I was going to die several times. But that’s another story), but that’s the only way I can describe it. I’m only 16, so it isn’t exactly legal for me to ride them, which is a fact that frustrates me endlessly. I will, as soon as I’m old enough and have the funds, be purchasing a Harley Davidson Sportster 48.
So I first fell in love when I was about 12. My dad owns an MOT garage in a dodgy industrial area, and I go some Saturdays to sweep up, make coffee and learn a few tricks of the trade. One day, I walk into the workshop after a McDonalds run, and see a bulky, leather clad 60-something year old. I could see tatoos running up his neck, and all the way down his arm when he took his jacket off. You know tattoos aren’t supposed to look good on older people? He proved that statement wrong by looking like what can only be described as a badass. Classic biker. Swept back white hair, white goatee. A fat cuban cigar hanging out of his mouth. He was a Hell’s Angel, I can’t quite remember where from but he must have been from a Chapter around Grantham. I remember his bike being a V-Rod of some kind, maybe a Muscle (the bike in the picture). I can’t actually remember what was wrong with it, I just remember sitting on a foot-ladder with a milkshake and staring at it. Just staring. It was beautiful. There was something so brutally perfect about it that just encaptured me, and it’s kept me that way ever since.
Now, nobody in my family rides. My Grandad used to when he was young, but cursed the things since he did his back in to the day he died. Every time I mention anything about them to any member of my family, mother, father, uncle, aunt, grandmother, sister, whoever, I’m showered with stories of decapitation, paralysis, fatal injury, de-gloving (where your skin is ripped from one of your limbs in one clean slice), lifelong scarring and being crushed by trucks. Of course, most of these are true, or at least have probably happened at one point or another to someone. But that doesn’t really seem to phase me. It’s like their perfection blocks out all rational fear. It’s a lonely love, my friends seem to show much disinterest, which is why I want to meet as many bikers as I can on here.
So hopefully you were interested, and one day you’ll see me roaring around the country on a Harley.
I, Christian 