Vicky Goes On (Again)

Tag: writing

  • Bank Holiday

    It’s the last bank holiday of the Summer and the weather is slowly turning autumnal. The leaves are falling off the trees and the air is getting a bit crispy and clear. Also, since it’s August, it means it’s the Notting Hill Carnival.

    Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m a curmudgeon about all sorts of things so don’t think that I’m singling Carnival out for any sort of ideological reasons. It’s just that I am from right near there and they always got in my fucking way. AND the shops locally try to rip off the locals thinking we’re carnival-goers. And the tube stations are exit only and the rubbish is strewn all over the bleedin’ shop.

    And another thing, some of us don’t want to stay awake listening to whistles, throbbing bass lines, and vuvuzelas (are they even still a thing actually?).

    I often wonder why I always feel so reluctant to get involved with bank holidays and summer fun. And I have realised that the reason I am reluctant is because everyone else is also there. I much rather have a random day off with a lot fewer people about. For someone born in London I sure don’t like crowds. Sidenote: I have just been having a conversation with the enigmatic flatmate where I just admitted that I find interacting with anyone at all a bit much. Sometimes. God, it’s hard being a human person.

    It’s not a bank holiday in Scotland or Ireland this week and that’s why i have always enjoyed visiting those countries during this weekend but in an effort to save some pennies I have not gone anywhere at all this year. And yet, I am still not a millionaire. I don’t even have Netflix.

    P.S. I want some barbecue chicken and I have been thinking about indoor, smokeless barbecue cookers. Who knew such things existed? What a world.

  • Delulu for Labubu

    I am sick of overconsumption. Not only because of the planet’s inevitable death under a pile of plastic but because it’s just bullshit.
    This all started winding me up with those Stanley Cups. I first heard about them and thought, ‘surely people aren’t going crazy over a Canadian Ice Hockey tournament.’ And I was right. People were going crazy over REUSABLE (please note the ‘reusable’) cups. I’ll admit, I own 2 water bottles. But one is bigger than the other and I use them. Both. OK, I gave the smaller one to the flatmate but he uses it. Sometimes.
    We’ve lived through so many fads (fidget spinners, scoubidous, Cabbage Patch Dolls, etc etc etc) but the Stanley Cup broke me and the Labubus are twisting the knife. Not only are those cups like £65 (not an exaggeration) but people were losing their minds collecting all of the colours, and then they buy bullshit accessories to add to them. A little cap, a tray, a pocket you can stick on the side. Then there are special ice cube molds for them, because heaven forbid you use regular ice cubes. Like a poor person.

    And now Labubus.

    demonic keyring capitalist nonsense

    Those are Labubus. And they are stupid. Look, I am not one to yuck someone’s yum but they’re just transparently addictive bullshit. Their USP is that they come in blind boxes, i.e. you don’t know which one you’re getting until you open it. That is so obviously a means to fuck with our addiction and dopamine sensors that I am sickened that people continue to fall for this. I can’t blame the companies. They are capitalist pigdogs who obviously want to make all of the money all of the time. I am sickened by the people falling for it. Time and time and time again.

    Innocent little guy

    When I first heard of the Labubu I thought people were talking about Moncchichi.

    Moncchichi was an innocent guy and now he’s tarred by this nonsense. Maybe he was at the beginning of this nonsense but at least there was none of the addiction high-jacking. You know where you were with this little guy.

    And the Labubu shit isn’t just about buying nonsense toys. On the one hand “they” want us to recycle and use paper straws and then on the other hand they’re selling us all this fucking shit and, the thing that really gets up my goat, WE FUCKING BUY IT.

    On the subject of recycling – I watched as a street sweeper emptied the recycling bin into the general waste bin and then put all that rubbish into one bigger bin. So, answer me: what the hell is any of this even for? Anyway, they put all the responsibility onto the consumer whilst BP spills oil in the oceans, whilst Thames Water pump literal sewage into UK waterways, whilst Chinese factories pump goodness knows what pollutants into the air and literally undoes any and all green efforts. All this and I have to drink out of a paper straw that disintegrates in liquid and Coca-Cola attaches their lids to the bottle so they don’t really close properly anymore. Well, guess what? I rip the lids off because ‘fuck it’.

    And please can we all stop going delulu over Labubus?

  • Washing machines live longer with Vicky

    I’ve become a plumber.
    I haven’t retrained or anything but just call me Mario. My washing machine was being a bitch and I fixed it. And I only googled it twice.
    In my adult life I have become very aware that I am a practical person and I could be really proud of that but I am not. All this proves to me is, gurl I’m poor. When I first had a flatmate she thought that her lamp was broken. I asked, you’ve changed the bulb? (she gave me a look but you gotta start simple. My dad used to be a breakdown/rescue driver (had a truck. You know, can’t start your car? My dad will come pick it up or get it running again) and the number of times the solution was the customer needed fuel is astounding. Anyway, she had so good for her. I said, OK then maybe it’s the fuse.

    It was the fuse and I saved her from throwing out her lamp. And she has learned that fuses can blow and how to change them. Go us! I must add here, in her defence, when I was a kid electrical items were sold without plugs (because I’m from the Victorian Times? What? Why was this a thing?) so my dad taught me how to wire a plug. None of this makes sense. But I do have a skill.

    And what’s lamps got to do with plumbing? I’m getting there.
    I have a different flatmate. After years of living alone the solo dream is over and I now live in a nice flat. But the nice flat has a washing machine that decided it didn’t want to work. Well, guess what washing machine? I don’t want to work either but here we are. Anyway, it wouldn’t spin or drain and had clothes in it and WHAT THE HELL, MAN? I rang my brother and managed to drain, spin, and open the machine so OK great. But then this piece of shit wants to fill with water for no reason. Well. I refuse to back down to a machine.

    Anyway, I fixed it. It’s fixed. I’m a plumber. It’s all good. So, what I’m saying is: fixable things can be fixed by you. Yes, YOU. You can do it. If it’s fixable try to fix it yourself. Nowadays you don’t even need a Hayne’s Manual you can just google it and watch YouTube videos. See, the internet can be helpful still.