A Professional Whiner

In accordance with the newly created blog I am now posting the more serious grumbles on the above.

If anyone wants to be a contributing member and post politically incorrect, whiny, occasionally rage filled posts purely to get sympathy from everyone else then email me your email [if its not on your profile] so I can then invite/coerce/blackmail you to be a professional instead of whining like a amateur. [eg. Surly girly and Egghead, losers]

However if you DO prefer to leave long rambling pointless moany yet highly entertaining comments please do so.

The latest post: Whining about watching

A Professional Whiners daily chant: SING IT LOUD AND PROUD
“I whine day and night,
About nearly everything in sight,
One might hope its only PMS,
But I’m merely a professional whiner at my best.”


12 thoughts on “A Professional Whiner

  1. The Operator: a short story by alexei slater 12 april 2005 I was in a daydream imagining how my cousin James dealt with the whole situation of the hit-and-run with the little girl a while back. He told us how it happened, what he did and so forth but I still can`t picture it exactly. I still see him involved for the first time on that afternoon. He is walking up the hill with his charmless expression and turns into Spring Road and sees her almost instinctively. Her clothes are bright primaries; a red jacket, green trousers and a bloody face. He must have given a double take, then, realising he was her only hope, dashed over, maybe dropping whatever he carried, presumably his briefcase. Oh my God, I don`t know how to help must be going through his mind now. ‘Call the police or the ambulance’ he says to himself. He gets out his phone; 999. Thank God its charged and there`s reception. That`s what he thinks as he waits for the operator. Of course there`s reception. He is outside in a place where there would be reception. ‘This is an operator’ the voice said. ‘Which emergency service do you need; police, ambulance or fire service?’ ‘…Err…I need an ambulance please’, my cousin James says to the operator, who has remained cold on the other end of the line; this is obviously the usual way, he thought, having never dialled 999 before. ‘Ok. What`s your name?’ ‘James Jackson’ ‘Who is it that requires an ambulance?’ came the absurdly calm voice on the other end which had the opposite effect on James. ‘A little girl. She must have been knocked down. Its terrible…there`s blood on her face. I think she`s dead. I don`t – ‘Hold on James. Its Ok. Where are you now?’ The voice seemed robotic in its lack of imagination for the horrible scene James thought he had described. ‘On Spring Road. Its in Sheffield.’ ‘Ok James. You have done well. The ambulance is on its way. Now I want you to stay calm and go to the girl and check if she`s breathing. You do this by checking her airways. Can you feel any breath?’ There`s a pause as James processes the importance of the voice`s request. ‘I have no first aid training…I`m not sure – ‘No James, its Ok, go to the girl and check if there is any breath’ Why am I doing this? I was just coming home for a quick lunch, he thinks as he does the check. ‘She`s breathing’ he says with a sense of proud relief as a far out sound echoes across the streets. The ambulance is coming. Thank God. ‘You`ve done well. Just wait and tell the emergency staff that she`s breathing. They will be there very soon.’ ‘Thanks’ And like that, the mysterious voice with no emotion had gone. It was a woman, James realised after she had gone. Who was she? A doctor? Did she need to be a doctor to help James check the poor girl`s breathing? He didn`t know but now the two men and one woman in white were arranging the mobile bed and oxygen mask. A crowd had been standing around him. He hadn`t really noticed. Two old women looked from across the road, one with purple hair, the other with a Tesco bag moving slowly in the wind and a walking stick. They both had faces of acceptance as they stood still. He had done good. ‘She`s breathing. I found her a few minutes ago and spoke to the operator’, James uttered quietly, looking at a stern faced man in white, impressed with his own contribution to this tragedy. He had been a genuine force for good in the few moments in which he would otherwise have been reading the paper on the toilet. ‘Thanks sir. You`ve helped the girl. Now she needs to get immediate attention. Are you a relation?’ The woman in the pure white uniform looked on purposely waiting to commit to action. ‘Oh no. I live just here’, James said, pointing and turning partly around to admit that the dingy flat was all that he had to his name after thirty something years in business. ‘Ok. Will you travel to the hospital with her?’ James was startled. Why should he do that? He had a meeting in less than an hour. He said that he was very busy and that he didn`t think he could be of help. He gave her an outdated business card with a green font: JAMES JACKSON, Sales & Marketing Toys n Things 0114 – 627 – 2388 And they drove away very quickly with the siren extremely loud. It hadn`t stopped blaring during the very short stop and now James` ears were ringing. The whole street now seemed to look on silently. Some kids far off were joking in a strange excitement. Perhaps some of the residents thought he was involved in the accident. He had no idea. He was still in a shock from the lonely operator`s eloquent voice and the ringing in his ears which sounded like another ambulance was immanent. The two old women stood across the road. They looked mournfully as they turned towards their small house. A dog barked as the door opened and then the road was silent again. I`ve never really spoken to him about anything important. I doubt I will. Even this story, I heard from my mother, second hand at best after her probable additions. I don`t even know if the girl survived or if they caught the bastards who did it. I think that`s the closest he has ever felt to fatherhood.

  2. No, no, not at all, oh no not at all no, I refuse to agree. I am NOT popular. YOU’RE the popular one. I live in hope to one day ascend to the pinnacle of popular-ism like you. You with your arty pictures of birds with beaks and people with beaks, you with your numerous blogs, and your careless spelling and vagrant grammar.It’s hard being a stickler lit-geek without a boyfriend.

  3. oh please, I have not HALF the comments you get and that too from random people. who the hell is sophie?? dr g?sigh50% of all comments is me commenting.20% is egghead, 20% is you. and the other 10% are misc people like fernanda and that hoity-toity leo who doesn’t comment enough by far. [unless I post about him]sigh

  4. Dr. G is my friend in Sydney, Gulfam.Sophie is a teenager in Chicago who is a cyber friend of a guy on Livejournal! As for the other “random” ones, they’re people whose blogs I’ve visited and left comments on. Hay-SOOS!

Deranged comments preferred

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