Don’t you sometimes just want to punch the world in its face? (Here’s a weird piece of information: I was recently deep in a meditation when my left arm suddenly shot out, fist balled, and jabbed the air – not once, but twice. Even my astral self has attitude).

Don’t you feel exhausted by a zillion demands on your time, energy, patience, and capacity to give a shit? If not all of the time, certainly some of the time?

In the past, passive-aggressive customers have accused me of not being very ‘spiritual’ when I have refused to put up with their crap. I say ‘in the past’ because it’s an insult that hasn’t been hurled at me for some years now. It might be that no one feels that way about me anymore. Or, it could be that I have managed to free myself of that ilk of customer. Or, it could be that I have become so scary they daren’t say it to me. Whatever the reason, ‘spiritual’ people, too, have their limits. I’m not comparing myself to Jesus, but even he got peed off with people at times, tearing a few new ones along the way. Well, that’s how I read it, anyway. 

We’re all supposed to be endlessly patient. Like today, for example, waiting in line in our local pharmacy – a place I dread visiting at the best of times. It’s always silent. The staff move around behind the counter like a bunch of people who have recently had a huge fight and now aren’t speaking to each other. They can never find anything, having to root through baskets and piles, despite having informed you by text that your medication is ready for collection. And then ‘suggesting’ that maybe, in reality, you didn’t receive a text. Anyway, I digress. Today, an elderly woman hogged the only available assistant for what felt like an eternity. Over a tube of ointment. The assistant, a very polite lady (although there is probably a posher name for it, these days – and, by the way, I have been a shop assistant myself, before anyone responds with outrage), showed endless patience (good for her). There was myself, clutching my intended purchases, a young guy sitting down with his head in his hands, and a man standing obediently and silently to one side – waiting for God knows what – hardly daring to breathe in case he caused a disturbance. And the ointment discussion went on and on. I tried to remind myself that, at 68, that might be me, soon. But, I doubt it, so it didn’t prevent me from fantasising about stepping in and saying, “Are you buying the bloody thing or not? Whatever condition you need it for will either clear itself up or kill you, at this rate. And then you won’t need it.” But, of course, I didn’t. Because that would be wrong – wouldn’t it? And yes, I am fully aware that it was a First World problem. 

However, on that score, don’t you get sick of having to never complain, because someone, somewhere in the world, has it worse than you? They don’t have access to a pharmacy, never mind a tube of ointment (or, in my case, a temporary tooth-filling kit and a pack of painkillers for my rampant toothache – which might explain a lot…). Of course we’re grateful for our blessings, and we’d help a person in need, without question – but that doesn’t mean we haven’t got any stresses or strains of our own. This is the life we know. And in this life, other human beings can be a real pain in the proverbial. And those other human beings view us in the same light. I am pretty sure that the poor souls who work in that pharmacy go home every night to stick pins in wax effigies (and not in a healing way, either). That’s probably why I have a toothache.

Another recent rant includes the fact that the people employed to collect our household rubbish regularly drop stuff all over the ground – and, this week, left a whole bag of our neighbour’s rubbish behind, which was swiftly broken into by the local wildlife. Who then spread it all over the lane. I know it isn’t the most glamorous job in the world (though highly necessary) – but you bloody chose to do it. So do it (I know, I know – there’s probably a whole list of rules and regulations that justify their actions… or lack of). 

And let’s not even mention those who have the attention span of a gnat and therefore can’t read and absorb a few lines of text on a website or social media group. (I hear the cries: “Oh, you’re so harsh. They’ve probably got dyslexia, or learning difficulties, or mental health problems” – Or, just maybe, they’re lazy and used to being spoon-fed. That’s always a possibility). They contact you, the organiser or business owner, to supply them with the information they have barely scanned and certainly not taken on board. This happens to every business owner or group admin I know. And some of these enquirers return every few weeks or months, asking the same questions, without ever responding or acting on the information. Attract several of these each week and you can say goodbye to chunks of your precious time and even money. As they say, time is money. Plus, it’s a piss-take.

Which brings me to this post’s shining moment: the satisfying power of PISS OFF. I recently heard a woman, on a YouTube news channel, telling Kirstie Allsopp to “Go back to your crackers, love, and piss off!” The emotion she put into it made my hair stand on end – in a good way. And the way she forced the ss sound through her teeth deserved a standing ovation. It positively oozed disgust and dismissiveness. I’d found the perfect mantra for 2026, and decided it was going to replace f**k off, for me, this year. Plus, there was something incredibly funny about Kirstie Allsopp and piss off being in the same sentence. Who’d have thunk it? Phil, maybe? (Probably only UK readers will be aware of who Ms Allsopp is. She’s actually pretty cool, but probably should remember that she’s a little removed from the struggles faced by ‘ordinary’ Londoners). 

Anyway, on that note, I’ll end this First World moan. Apart from adding a moan about moaners (why does my partner immediately spring to mind? Something about the length of the advert breaks on television, maybe…?) Oh, and also about Tom Cruise playing Jack Reacher. Really? Did Lee Child have no say in this decision? And yes, I know it’s ancient history… but it still pisses me off.