The Guardian - Michael Holden's All Ears 30th October

On reflection would have liked to have added a penguin into the mix,
I like penguins. End of.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2010/oct/30/michael-holden-all-ears
(article by Michael Holden)
By giving us what we thought we wanted whenever we wanted it, supermarkets have bred a reciprocal brand of super anxiety. Listen closely, and the aisles hum with a discontent peculiar to the resentment of dreams fulfilled. Down by the fresh meat fridges, I found two men bemoaning the very air that they breathed.

Man 1 (sifting through the giblets) "It's cold in here."

Man 2 "Colder than it used to be?"

Man 1 "For sure. You come in here in summer with a T-shirt on and you have to run round, get out before your core temperature plummets down."

Man 2 (pulling at his ears) "I can feel it in my ears. My ears are cold. That never used to happen."

Man 1 "It's just daft. Think about the energy."

Man 2 "It's unpleasant, is what it is. Maybe it's to keep you moving. Get you in and get you out. Like the fucking Crystal Maze.

Man 1 "On ice."

Man 2 "Exactly!"

Man 1 "It's gotta be a preservation thing. They fly this stuff in from wherever the fuck – Argentina – everybody hates that. So they have to keep it as long as possible, drop the temperature of the whole store."

Man 2 "That can't be good."

Man 1 "It's like I said: the energy."

Man 2 (grabbing a lump of meat and reckoning its heft as though he might use it as a weapon) "It all comes down to energy."

Man 1 "We should go somewhere else."

Man 2 (holding the joint at eye level and staring directly at it, Hamlet-style) "There isn't anywhere else though, is there?"

Man 1 "Not that I know of. Not round here."

Guardian All Ears 16th January

Wondering if there's a phrase for 'middle class fear of builders'? - thought I'd just stoke up the prejudice a little bit more for good measure...

http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2010/jan/16/all-ears-the-guide

(Article by Michael Holden)

As a perennial drinker I notice people who come only into the pub in
cold weather. They look around as though the dynamics of buying booze
might have changed since they last endorsed such a venue, relax when
everything appears to be the same, and then pull justifiably shocked
faces when confronted with the price. In groups, they talk about the
weather, wondering out loud if we talk about it too much.
Occasionally, a dialogue breaks out from the droning as it did with
two men who sat as close as possible to the fire, which, despite its
glow, gives out no warmth.

Man 1 I’ve still no windows

Man 2 So what have you got?

Man 1 Just boards.

Man 2 How’s that then?

Man 1 Cold.

Man 2 But you live there ok?

Man 1 I stay in the attic

Man 2 How are the builders?

Man 1 Unbelievably thick. It reminded me why I gave up doing all that
for a living. You tell ‘em they’re doing something wrong and they just
sort of tilt their head to one side and look at you. Like when you’ve
told off a dog.

Man 1 That must drive you mad.

Man 2 I don’t let it mostly. I hide up in the attic, then come
downstairs and have a go at them.

Man 1 Like a cross between Anne Frank and Basil Fawltey!

Man 2 It’s no joke.

Man 1. No. I guess not.