Can’t we all just get along?

In a word: no. I get on with most people, and try to give people the benefit of the doubt, but every so often I take agin’ someone and once I have taken said agin there is no coming back.

Just as I really really like some people from the first time I meet them, there are individuals I take a pretty much instant dislike to. I try to fight this and not make snap judgements. It doesn’t work. All it does is dampen the dislike so it festers, breeds maggots and becomes an altogether more virulent beast.

My hackles rise at the very sight of them, my ears smart at the sound of their voice and my lips purse violently in an attempt to avoid exclaiming 'oh do feck off / shut up!' as they whinge on about something incredibly dull. I find whinging extremely annoying and dull chat, well, very dull, so when the two combine it's like a perfect storm of pet peevery (it’s a word…)

It’s particularly unfortunate (for me) when I get stuck with one at work, where it is quite inappropriate to exclaim 'oh do feck off / shut up!' when they’re whining on about how hot/cold it is in the office for the 327^th time. I manage to avoid throwing things at these types through a mighty combination of self-restraint and headphones. Thank you Nathaniel Baldwin, thank you (for the headphones, you can keep the Mormon stuff).

Luckily (for me and my co-workers) most of my aginsters are of the celebrity variety and I can release the tension that builds up on sighting them by screaming at the TV. These ‘famous’ people I dislike intensely (hate is a strong word, but if the cap fits…) include:

• ·       Jedward (Louis Walsh – I will never, ever, forgive you for THEM)
• ·       Bruce Forsyth (national treasure my arse)
• ·       Piers Morgan (I think we can all agree on that one…)
• ·       Amanda Holden (fake phony forgery of the highest order)
• ·       Alex Salmond (trout-faced moron)

Please note that said intense dislike extends only to the aforementioned shouting at the TV. A troll I am not (although I do tend to look like one after a night out). This is merely my personal opinion and if you want to consider Brucie a national feckin' treasure, you go right ahead. But you might want to consider counselling of some sort at the same time. I find him incredibly annoying and mildly creepy (in a Yewtree kinda way…)

Hungover / hater

Broom Bloody Broom

Given my mild manners and temperament *ahem*, it may surprise you to learn that I suffer from the odd bout of motorous furious. A.K.A. road rage.

It is very much at the milder end of the scale, I hasten to add, and the ginger temper is kept within the confines of the car. No axes have been wielded (that actually happened to a friend of mine once…) and no fingers have been extended (how uncouth!), but my tendency towards offensive language goes into overdrive, and it's not unknown for me to use the recognised sign-language for 'what the f… are you doing you utter moron?!' (hands aloft, palms up, tongue stuffed behind bottom lip).

It's my poor passengers who really bear the brunt of it, as I cut off them off mid-sentence, bellowing 'FOR F#*! SAKE!' at the top of my lungs at the eejit who's just cut in front of me (yes, I know, how uncouth…) My friends and family know me well enough to let this wash over them, but there have been times when I've given work colleagues (or ‘fellow corporate whores’) a lift. As you can imagine, I work hard to maintain a professional image *ahem* and professionalism and prodigious potty mouth don’t tend to go hand in hand. How on earth I manage to secure AND hold down jobs I’ll never know.

The first time a friend of mine was in the car with me she was in the middle of a story when my travel tourettes kicked in (the aforementioned hollering of 'FOR F#*! SAKE!', or similar). We worked together at the time but didn't know each other very well, and the poor girl thought I was having a slightly mental reaction to what she got up to at the weekend. Luckily she's made of stern stuff and our friendship has lived to laugh at the tale. (I can’t remember what she did get up to that weekend, but knowing her as I do now it probably involved pampas grass, a bowl and some car keys, the filthy mare.)

The one that really gets my goat is drivers that don’t say thank you when I have extended a motoring kindness to them. Hence my more frequent, but less foul-mouthed, outburst; screaming 'YOU'RE WELCOME' at these ignoramuses (or ignorami, if you will). A wave of the hand/flash of the lights costs nothing when I've let you out, you boorish *bleeeeeeep*s. Did your mother not teach you basic manners?!

…and breathe.

Anyone want a lift?

Liz doesn't suffer motoring morons gladly either...

Curiosity may kill this Cat

Some people never tire of prying into your private life. I refer to them as 'nosy b@stards'. Not a blindingly original title, but fit-for-purpose. Don't get me wrong. I am fairly liberal with relatively intimate details with those close to me (sometimes a little too liberal after a refreshing beverage or two) but this particular brand of individual generally has no business making your business their business, if you get my drift. The Aunt you see once a year and don’t particularly like; that individual at work with too much time on their hands (who often inspires the question 'what do they actually do…?’); the friend of a friend, of a friend, of a friend whose name you've forgotten. Them.

When you're single they're obsessed with you 'meeting someone special', and specialise in patronising pseudo-excited grins and reassurances you neither need nor want. I think we should start issuing medals / small trophies to honour unattached comrades who refrain from punching these types in the tit (stereotyping, I know, but this behaviour does tend towards the female of the species). No, violence is not the answer, but 'Feck off you interfering old <insert expletive of choice>' is a possibility. Best to nip them in the bud because I have bad news for you single people; It does not stop when you meet someone you're willing to share the remote, deserts and your naked self with. They are never satisfied.

They simply move on, scarcely pausing to draw breath, to 'when are you getting engaged…?' (I was going out with my now husband three months when the questions started. Three months!) And if you do decide to enter the circus-world of insanity that is The Wedding, you open yourself up to some of the dullest conversations known to man. Flautists, flowers and favours my arse. These snoopy types are, of course, in their element. And will expect an invite. (Stand firm! Do not give in!) Then, before you've even cut the ridiculously overpriced cake*, the next line of questioning begins.

'Any news…?' They ask expectantly, dancing around the subject with all the subtlety of a baby elephant, staring at your belly, trying to decide if it's full of baby or biscuits.

It's biscuits, I assure you. Now feck off.

*Ridiculously overpriced, unless you have a talented mother like mine, who made our cake and my dress. 

She rocks.