Kids-children, gallons-litres, color-colour, yards-metres…….
It’s been another bank holiday week with so much for the whole family to enjoy, and thats not all. Apparently, if you are the owner of a baby goat you could have saved yourself a small fortune. ‘Kids half price’ ‘kids go free’ ‘kids clothes half price’ and ‘lots for the kids to do’.
I sat in one restaurant perusing the kids menu and wondered if kids would actually enjoy eating burger with French fries. (Chips, apparently). Although, being goats, they’d eat anything! A huge lorry drove past the window of the restaurant: a huge new lorry baring a huge new famous company logo. I thought it such a shame that they’d spelled the word ‘colour’ wrong. I mean, there’s a company with a household name spending all that money on branding and they still haven’t noticed that ‘color’ is wrong on their entire fleet. Heads will roll I thought.We drove down the motorway for a while and soon came across the inevitable signs warning us of road works up ahead. One read ‘Road works 2 miles’ followed closely by another which read ‘diversion 200 metres’. Many other signs give indications in metres. Why?
At the petrol station the price per gallon was in litres: or is it the other way round? Should it be ‘gas’? Surely balloons are filled with gas. Then it dawned on me that I was driving a car that was capable of speeds well in excess of 100 miles per hour yet the national speed limit is 70. I’m sure there would be a great saving on the cost of fuel if all cars were limited to. say, 80 MPH. When we eventually made our way through the town centre I thought it wonderful to see two police officers walking side by side along the pavement until it was pointed out to me that, because they were community police officers, they didn’t actually have any powers of arrest. Oh look, there’s another lorry with the word ‘centre’ spelled wrongly. They must have gone to the same place as the other lot. We decided to stop for a drink at a village pub but it’s so difficult to find a pub that’s just a pub and that doesn’t reek of fried food and ‘snax’ or caters for baby goats. Isn’t that what restaurants are for? When we arrived home I thought it might be a good idea to fall asleep whilst watching some old film on television. It was all ‘movie’ this and ‘movie’ that. Suggesting of course that at some time there must surely have been a ‘stilly’. Perhaps I should just ‘pimp my crib’ and go to bed. Forgive me, (political correctness demands that I say that) I’m not really a grumpy old man; it’s simply that I’m turning into my Dad.