Tag Archives: expensive

THE ULTIMATE GUIDE TO NOT PAYING MUCH RENT YEAH

It’s one of those things that’s blatantly obvious to anybody who pays any attention at all (me, people I know), but it still takes a report from a known public charity to make people sit up and take notice of the facts. Yes indeedy, rent is unaffordable for many people in the country.

Who’da thunk it? Well, like I said, me and people I know, as well as a lot I don’t. Why would we know this? Because rent is obnoxiously high wherever you try and live, at least in 75% of cases. I just made that figure up, by the way. There’s no Shelter-Science behind that.

Unfortunately I can’t claim to be in this group of people. While I spend too much of my wage on rent, my rent isn’t actually bad for what it is. In fact, it’s borderline good. Thems the benefits of having a private landlord who is marginally insane, I suppose.

Though he can evict me at a moment’s notice and probably doesn’t ever have to give me my deposit back or anything.

Anyway, I’ve decided to set up a handy guide to help you all get the cheap rent you deserve. Unless you don’t deserve cheap rent, or your parents or someone else pays it for you in which case you get nothing from me. NOTHING.

1.       Can you afford the rent?
If yes, move to question 2. If no, abandon all hope.

2.       Is it a shithole?
If yes, abandon all hope. If no, move to question 3.

3.       Do you really need to move that much? I sort of like your current place and don’t want you to break up the whole arrangement everyone has right now – I know it’s your choice and I’m being selfish, really, but I’m just trying to look at it from a different angle.
If ‘shut up Ian’, you win! If ‘huh?’ I WIN.

With this help you will all be able to get better places to rent. FACT.

I was going to do something ranty about shit landlords, but I got sidetracked by Inspection 12 and Picnicface. Soz.

Leave a comment

Filed under Prattle

Cinemas: shit, or REALLY shit?

I haven’t been to the cinema in bloody ages. In fact, the last film I saw was Clash Of The Titans (Titans Will Clash) in 3D, which was absolute ass of the highest order. I think it was really expensive too, but then I didn’t pay for it so WHO GIVES A FUCK?

I am, today though, going to the flicks. The pictures. The cinema. The movies. The picture house. The other name for it. The porn salon. No, wait – not the last one. There I will watch The Hangover 2: Hangover In Space.

I do not expect much from the film. Mainly because I really loved the first one, and it absolutely did not need a sequel at all. Hopefully low expectations will be rewarded with some fun, though.

Anyway, I need a topic away from aimless rambling here… hmm… cinemas, yeah. They’re a bit shit really, aren’t they? I mean, you have to sit in a room with other people, and we all know how shit other people are. They’re all “blah blah” and MUNCH MUNCH and screaming stupidly and smelling bad and being alive and other crap.

God I hate them.

Then there’s the skin diseases you can get from cinemas. Seriously – when I went to see Rambo in Leeds I went really itchy on the seat then a few hours later half my body was covered in a horrible rash. I mean, it went away pretty quickly, but still – that’s fucking foul.

Then there’s the shit expensive food and drink that can barely be classified as either of the things they claim to be. The massively expensive tickets. The inconvenience of having to go there. THE PEOPLE.

Yeah, I think I’ve convinced myself not to go now. OPPS.

Leave a comment

Filed under Prattle

I do find strange things “thrilling”

Much as I whine about travelling on trains – no, don’t worry, I do, I’m not just exaggerating for hilarious effect – I do still find some elements of their involvement with my life quite nice. For every twat there is in a carriage, there’s… well, there’s another twat if we’re honest here. But then for every goit looking over your shoulder, there’s at least another goit looking over who appreciates what you’re watching (dude watching me watch Penn & Teller yesterday: well done for laughing at the sight gag).

For every massive delay, there’s a funny cow mooing at the train (okay, that only happened once). For every time you have to change somewhere like Rugby, there’s the chance to go for a refreshing station-poo. For every rail replacement bus there’s… the fact I don’t have cancer? That’s the best I can think of there.

But the best aspect of travelling by train a lot has to be the ticket hunting. If you’ve ever put some real effort into getting tickets as cheap as possible then you know what I’m on about, mainly because that’s exactly what I’m on about. There’s a real primal winning sensation when you manage to find a ticket – no matter how stupid a journey it is – for a low, low price.

They’re becoming all the more rare these days though, what with prices inflating massively because train people are greedy cunts, or something. But that just makes it all the better when I do find the ticket that’s actually Worth The Effort – changing at Rugby, for example. But I honestly doubt I’ll ever manage to find a Bournemouth to Manchester ticket for £12 ever again. That will be my crowning achievement – the one time the thrill of the hunt was on a par with the actual outcome.

Leave a comment

Filed under Prattle

Bargain holiday to Bora Bora, anyone?

I was dicking about earlier today looking at holidays to silly places (namely Bora Bora, close to Tahiti). I thought it would be a good little experiment to see how much of my yearly salary as a percentage it would take to have one week in a luxury resort, with everything included. Now, I’m not going to divulge the exact figures or %s here, but it wasn’t looking pretty.

Then I saw it.

There are times when you are surprised at something – in this case, prices. You are surprised, but at the same time you knew damn well it was going to be like this. You feel a combination of shock and pride, as you are taken aback by the number that confronts you, yet smug because you predicted it would be about that. But this other number… this was something special.

On the island paradise of Bora Bora, it was possible to rent a three-bedroom mansion/palace/some shit like that for around £156,000. For seven nights. And I’m not even sure if that was all inclusive. One hundred and fifty-six thousand pounds, and you don’t even get to keep the house afterwards.

That might not shock some of you – in fact I’m sure it won’t. But it’s the first time I’ve ever made a number that big come up when I’ve clicked on things. Even back in my youth when I got a Chrysler dealer in Sheffield to quote me the price of a Dodge Viper (he didn’t know I was 15) the number wasn’t that big. I didn’t feel shock and pride this time though – I felt shock and like I’d just been neutered. I will never, ever be able to even think about possibly ever even considering thinking about possibly ever going near the ‘book’ button for that particular “deal”.

I mean obviously I booked the place, but that’s besides the point.

2 Comments

Filed under Prattle

Train tickets are incredible value for money!!!!!

I’ve mentioned it before – in fact, I’ve talked about trains a few times before – but I couldn’t find any full on blog about my hatred of train ticket prices. Hence, that’s what you’re getting today. Woo, yeah, etc. You never know, I might be able to work up enough ranty-steam to be able to write something reasonably entertaining today. I won’t, but the hope is there.

I use trains a fair bit – more than I ever have, but less so in recent weeks/months. Why am I using them less? I still live 3.2 billion miles away from my girlfriend, so I should still have to go up to Manchester to see her on a regular basis, right? Well, yes. But a couple of things have changed this recently: one, she came down here a couple of times for ages, and two, I really can’t afford stupid expensive sodding train tickets. I think I’ll concentrate on the latter reason here, lest we fall into a trap of going “I’VE GOT A GIRLFRIEND” for the next couple of hundred words, thus pushing her ever closer towards dumping my ass.

Let’s just put it this way: I get a bus pass each month* which costs me £52. This isn’t cheap. Still, it gives me a month of unlimited travel on the Yellow buses through Bournemouth – hence, it is useful. A train to Manchester and back from Bournemouth costs £98.70 (ninety-eight pounds seventy pence). Two trips, totalling 9-10 hours, costs a fraction of my wage I don’t even dare work out, lest it scare the shit out of me. When Bournemouth Airport’s second terminal/outhouse opens (unless it’s already opened) I will be able to get flights to and from Manchester for around the same price, if not cheaper. Flights on planes. Not a shitty train, taking five hours and invariably caused undue stress by engineering works or a leaf on the track: a metal tube that glides through the air to Manchester in less than an hour. For roughly the same price. I fail to see why these two options should cost the same, I really do.

So thanks trains. Thanks for being so utterly maddening you’re one of – if not the – most talked about subjects on this blog. Thanks a fucking lot.

*Though as soon as my new shoes arrive that’ll be a thing of the past. Coalition-style cost-cutting measures are GO!

Leave a comment

Filed under Prattle

Cambridge: the definitive review (7/10)

(This is definitely not just an entry pulled out of my backside to make it easier on my tired, hungover brain. Oh no siree, you won’t get that kind of thing around here…)

What did I ever do to offend you, Cambridge? I’ve never been to your stupid ‘place’ in my life, yet you do nothing but bully me with shitty rain as soon as I arrive? Well screw you – I’m all for handing out critical maulings to things that don’t treat me with the fairness and respect I deserve (professional note: this is a lie), especially stupid jumped-up little towns that think it’s acceptable behaviour to rain all over me and force me to step in a puddle when you know damn well my trainer has a huge hole in the bottom of it. It’s not like I enjoy having dry feet or anything. Sigh.

Still, stupid wet weather aside there were other things that brought the overall Cambridge experience down. Too many rugby twats, for one. I don’t care if you are the legal definition of a ‘hunk’ and tower over me by half a foot – rugby is shit and… well, get out of my way. I need a piss. Silly town.

£7.50 entry to a club, forcing me to sleep in the same bed as a boy I hardly know, being really shitty to get to and from from Bournemouth, annoying drinking games getting in the way of sitting around in bored silence, 23p orangeade that tastes of nothing, not being able to pay for the guest house as the woman wasn’t there, then being made to feel like we’re scamming them this morning when she comes up to ask for the money – the list goes on. Cambridge, you had a poor showing.

Oh, and the sheer amount of cyclists bring the place down to levels I never thought possible. As such, this mark is the lowest I’ve ever handed out in the definitive review series.

7/10

Leave a comment

Filed under Prattle

I blame British Rail. And Thatcher

Train rant. Woo woo! See, it took me a total of seven and a half hours to get back to Bournemouth from Manchester. Normally this takes about five hours. A 150 per cent of standard journey time is not something that makes me very happy, to say the least, and I would like to know just a few things.

Why the fuck do we have to go via Reading? Why can’t we fucking well go in a fucking straight fucking line? What the fuck is the point in going to that fucking place? I mean, yes, there is a point in going there, but only for people who want to go there. A train from Manchester to Bournemouth should have two stops: Manchester and Bournemouth. That’s it. Cut hours off the ridiculous length of the journey by not doubling back on yourself halfway down the country. Stupid bloody direction.

Then there’s the endless engineering works. Build the fucking tracks out of something that doesn’t degrade – adamantium, or something. Get it prepared for the future, then you won’t have to replace the bloody things every single weekend. I was supposed to catch one train – one train – and I ended up getting three and a coach. I also ended up standing in Winchester for 35 minutes for no fucking reason.

But hey – surely it’s okay? In all seriousness, I know engineering works can’t be avoided. Problems come along with the fact that the cattle being shipped across the country (also known as ‘passengers’) are not told a bloody thing about what’s going on. The most you get is “sorry, engineering works” and then you’re electrically prodded off the carriage. I’m sorry – yes, the British trait of apologising when you’re the one who should be apologised to – but I would like to be told what the hell is going. WHY did I have to get off at Winchester? WHY was it a coach from Banbury to Oxford in the first place? WHAT the hell is Banbury anyway?

Then there are the things I’ve mentioned before, like the complete lack of space – hence making me sit in the disabled seating and thus making me feel quite bad. And the astonishing cost of a ticket across the country – I would like to, at some point in my life, at least think I have some money left over to spend.

Still, I am happy I can get from here to Manchester. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be able to go and see the girl who makes me cookies and bread. And that’s not a euphemism.

3 Comments

Filed under Prattle