I RUN, I RAN, I RANT

OK.  Let's get a few things straight.


I'm a menopausal fairy.  I had the misfortune to be born into the 20th Century when, as my regular readers will know, I should have lived in the 18th, at which point in history gorgeous men were queuing up to emerge dripping wet from lakes in order to bag a Sheila for the sake of family continuity, not to mention a bit of decent shagging.  Get your muff, Charlotte, you've pulled.  


(Erm...)


Anyway, here I am, marooned in a part of the Med where the old ladies are no longer old ladies (at which point is the Cutty Sark - having had 97 per cent of its timbers replaced - not the Cutty Sark??? How many litres of Botox does it take to replace a little old lady, FFS???)  I am not currently afforded the luxury of having a teenage son at my beck and call - if he wants to eat food that month - to come and turn on the desk light (what do you mean, it's got a switch?  What the f*ck does that mean?)  I have to sort all this 2011 b*ll*cks out for myself, for God's sake.


I've just spent weeks of my life I'll never get back endeavouring to open a Facebook page for me, NiceEtoile.  


It's the 21st Century. We can put man on the moon.  (Am not even going to engage at this point with why we can't put them all there. Tempting though it is). 


We can invent the iPad.  We can invent the iPod.  We have yet to invent the iPud.  (It's Sticky Toffee Pudding and it's all for me).  


However, we cannot communicate to menopausal fairies how to open a SWEARWORD page for their comedic purposes.  Therein.  Lies the tale.  Please God by you.


I feel as if I'm in a deleted episode of Lost in Space (and a deleted episode would be something - reckon they destroyed all the good ones and put out on air the segments they filmed at the end of the wrap party, at a point when they were all entirely wrapped).  


Get this:-


What the f*ck does Default loading tab for everyone else mean???


Am I supposed to love my Wall spam filter???


Why does Auto-spam comments sound rude???


I'll level with you here.  I have two degrees.  I have a measured IQ in the top one per cent of the population.  So why can't I decipher what should be the reasonably easy task of how to put information about me (about which I'm an expert) into a few SWEARWORD boxes???


How is it I have been given money at various points in my life to write witticisms about top politicians?  To makes jokes on live radio about important global events as they are unfolding?  To describe the terribly upsetting trauma of what it is to have dimpled kneecaps?  (Oh, sorry, need to send off that Health & Beauty article to Melissa).  But that, somehow, I am totally incapable of creating what is, in reality, a non-real page for me, Mickey Mouse?


Am I completely teapot?  Is the Pope Jewish?  Half past Sarah Palin, m'Lud.


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AAAAaaaaaarrrrgggghhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

***

IMPORTANT NOTICE

This blog entry has been interrupted due to severe electrical storms in the vicinity of the author's brain.  Dogger, Fisher, North Utsera, South Utsera, you can't get quicker than a Kwik Fit Fitter.  Tottenham Hotspur 5, Hamilton Academicals academic (cals).   Monkey Woman 457, NiceEtoile second left past the herbaceous border.

Thank you and Happy Easter.

(Can I sue???)