Half-term halfwits and other rage enhancers.

Half-term giveth and half-term taketh away. While it allows me to travel around on a bus that  isn't crammed to the ceiling with miniature idiots having an all-comers "look at me" contest it conversely guarantees I'll meet those self same teeny-bop cretins while about my lawful business, filling the local supermarkets and game stores, like noise addicted, unreasonable lawn ornaments.

They need a mall to sucker them all in and contain them until they get old enough to switch places with the guy working the till at the fast food dungeon they feed at. That way they wont add to the usual collection of drunks, dishabille ramblers, ambush conversationalists and teak-faced pram jockeys I'm forced to negotiate just to pick up a block of cheese on any given day. A word on that last; I realise that many of these women aren't mothers by direct choice but really, why do they look like they traded their sense of humour in against the trendy buggy that carries their tiny little white noise generator about?

This has been Jimmy reporting on how half-term sucks when you have to work- and this is why this blog is known as The Little Book of Grudges.